Thursday, March 30, 2006


Sunset spread a red tinge all over the sky. A single star glittered, borrowing energy from millions of fellow stars. Being tired from a day of work, I wanted to rest in this small nest. Somebody murmured outside.

“Who is it?” I looked up to the sky.

Nobody was there except that star on the eastern horizon. I looked down through the little gaps between the strands of my nest. People were moving fast in a rush. How could a man be able to talk in such a low voice? Impossible. Keeping my mind steady, I tried to listen.

I was surprised to hear the murmuring of leaves (dalamarmarangal). They were talking with the embracing breeze. I couldn’t resist curiosity; I tried to recognize the words. They were talking about me! The inner most feelings (nileenam) of mine. My dreams, hopes, thoughts and ideas. Let me share these dalamarmarangal on this page of nileenam.
© 2006 Sindhu Bhaskar. All rights reserved

Friday, March 24, 2006


Dear friends,
Me, Uma wants to tell u the story of mine, the mystery of my life. I want to share ups and downs, thoughts, sorrows, happiness etc. This is my first attempt to write such a long creation, there may be many mistakes. Please bear with me.

I arrived back home yesterday evening, after a one-week international seminar at Bangalore, hosted by the Institution of Engineers. Oh, sorry; I forgot to tell about me. I am Uma Maheswari, in my early fifties, a scientist working in the R & D department of a famous tractor company. I am blessed with a loving and caring husband, a wonderful daughter, wealth enough and more, love, and good reputation. But I still have a feeling of incompleteness . . . Neither my husband’s wealth and affection nor my daughter’s love fulfill me.

Soon after getting home, I started searching for a treasure that I had forgotten somewhere. I found it on top of an almirah in an abandoned state. This almirah had been a gift from my mother during my wedding festivities as a part of nalla veedu (the first visit of the bride’s party to the groom’s house after the wedding). My treasure was nothing but a simple money box made of clay in the shape of an apple, painted yellow and red. It had a narrow slit in which to put coins. Yes, it was the bank of my childhood. He gifted me this money pot during a summer vacation. I was in the first or second class, or was it during an Aadi vacation? I don’t remember exactly. I took my treasure, carefully wiped it clean, and held it close to my heart. I began staring at it as if I were seeing it for the first time. It embodied a collection of my dreams, hopes, disappointments . . .

“Amma, what is it?” Achu entered the room.

“Nothing, Molu.” I hid it behind me.

"Amma, please show me,” she pleaded with anxiety.

“It is a treasure!”

“Treasure? Let me see.” She snatched it from me.

”Wonderful! Amma, how much money will there be inside this? I am going to break it.”

“No! Achu, please don’t; it is precious to me; give it back.” I caught her hand, trying to get it back. During the attempt, the earthen pot fell down and broke into pieces like my memories of the past. Manchadikuru (the red seeds of Adenanthera pavonia), broken pieces of bangles, and small white rounded stones shining like pearls . . . spread on the floor. Within one second, my eyes filled with tears. I wiped it with my saree munthani (the free end of the saree) not to let her know my uneasiness.

“Amma, it is really a treasure; I will decorate my new bonsai pot with this.” She started picking up each bangle piece, manchadkkurui, and stone. I took the peacock feather that was still sticking to a piece of the pot. I need at least this for his memory. I went back to my bedroom, carefully hiding that peacock feather. I heard this song from Achu’s room: “Oh, my pretty, pretty boy of my love like I never ever loved no one before you.” As the pitch of the song grew higher, my tears immersed in it.

© 2006 Nileenam. All rights reserved


perfect drops of cloud, of heaven,
dancing on my forehead
running down my arms and
off my finger tips in a joyous stream
water is a fresh embrace to remind me I' m not alone
I remember that day with you, on the field,
and the water running on our skin
droplets warm on my face like your love
tasting sweet
my heart raises at the smell of rain
the smell of soft dirt under summer showers
smoky storms of Monsoon
refreshing downpours to clear the air of spring
my upturned face like an open lotus
ready for the day
(c)2006 Nileenam, All rights reserved