Birds of Same Feathers

We meet and talk with a lot of people. After talking for sometime we say good bye and never remember them again.

But there are some others. We meet them, talk with them, we see them again and talk more and more and they become part of our lives and they remain with us the rest of our lives. We call them FRIENDS.

I have many friends. Too many that it would be difficult to count them or list them. They are UNCOUNTABLE....!!! But when I essay to write something about my friends, it is special, and the people too should be special...

I don't know what coincidence it is that all my good friends are muslims, starting from Saneera and ending at Rajiba. My parents never told me or teach me that we are hindus and they are muslims or christians. And never instructed me that this is our temple and that is their mosque or church. They never advised me that this is our God and that is their God. We never had Gods or temples in our life, in our home. Now, I give to my son what my parents gave me; the belief that there is only one religion, that is humanity.

I met my high school friend Saneera on the day we were admitted in the school. Our fathers knew each other, so we opted to be friends. We talked too much in the class that we got punished always by teachers. Our physics teacher used to ask us what secret was being shared between “Pathummakutty” and “Ammukutty”. It was fun always to talk in the class, and to eat those black and red packets of pickles and choclates from the shops nearby. She went away after school. It was not easy to keep in touch with your friends in those days. We never had facebook or mobile phones.

Pre-degree was the naughtiest years of my life. There was Fathima waiting for me reserving a seat for me near her. We were extremes. And still I don't know why she kept that seat for me before all those years. She still has that special place booked for me. She had written letters even when I forgot. She still calls me whenever she is back home. She still brings foreign choclates especially for me keeping them safe from all her cousins and relatives.

After a gap of four years Priya came to my life. Everybody misunderstood her as a hindu girl. Everyone asked her why she never put a sticker on her forehead. And she was Priya Mohammed, the prettiest of my friends. I was the craziest girl in that Teacher Training College. It was the most complicated year of my life. I wanted to kill the depression which was going to kill me otherwise. I wanted to escape from the memories of an almost ruined love. And Priya was there to help me cure my wounds. We read a lot together. We travelled a lot together. When we left the college, we wrote too many letters to eachother. And whenever I was about to lose my mind, I went looking for her. She was my comfort, the solution of all my problems.

After working in many schools as a temporary teacher, I joined in MSP School. I never realised then that it was going to be the second most important place in my life, when my home occupied the first. There I met a wonderful woman, Sherin.I too became a woman, not a girl anymore. But I was still girlish. And there were still problems in my life. And she taught me, for the first time in my life, how to face the problems in stead of brooding over them, how to handle situations in stead of yielding to them. We shopped together, sometimes alone and sometimes with our children. We discussed movies and books. I went to 'Parvanam', her home with my son to spent holidays. We had good times till she left for Dubai taking long leave from school. Then I realized that there are no more problems or complications in life which I can't solve or manage.

And , Rajiba was more like a dream than real . She came to my life from internet before 4 years. Still she remains. You don't believe if I tell you how we meet each other. You may even say that I'm still dreaming and its a fairy tale that I say. When she came home from Muscat during holidays, she came to my school to meet me. Both of us wanted to confirm that we were no more dreams but real.

I wonder how much I love them, how much happiness their memories bring to my mind... I'm blessed with them...Birds of same feathers...

A Holy Place

Everybody needs a place at home,

A place of our own,

A holy place.

Children have the garden,

And the yard,too.

Don't say they are watching television,

Tell them a story, attend them-

They are back with you.

Keep the television somewhere,

The man follows.

It is his solace, and redemption too.

Oh.. He has the bedroom,

The place of his sanity, and insanity too.

Looking here and there,

I went for the bedroom first,

Where I found nothing but a closed door,

Closed always.

Then I chose the garden,

(For I always wanted to be a child again).

There was winter there,

I chilled, left the garden too.

And I reached the kitchen,

It was summer in the beginning,

Soon spring came.

First I tried rice and vegetables,

And one day, I tried a new recipe.

Put myself in the pan, both my body and the soul.

I boiled

I spilled

I was purified.

Oh.. But I was always an overcooked item,

An overburnt piece of meat.

No one liked to relish.

Addictions

I was nothing, but a silhoute

Against that flame.

It burned in between-

Always...

I knew, it was getting dark

And black too.

I was trapped,

To escape wasn't easy.

Touch Not, Leave Not

I am upset

About both.

To touch

Is to spoil

And

To leave

Is to kill....

Places of My Life

A person is created not only by his education, experiences, mistakes and people around, but also by the places where he had been during the journey of life. When I go back to Bangalore for a holiday this X'mas vacation, I wonder how life of one year in Bangalore would have helped in creating my personality.

There are five places in my life. Perinthalmanna, Bangalore, Ottappalam, Dubai and Malappuram.

Each one of them with their on role and memories.

I like to travel. I travelled a lot when I was a student. And I travelled with my students after becoming a teacher. Whenever somebody planned a trip, I was the first to pack the luggage. It was always a lot of fun, with friends or with students....

But I always dream of coming home than leaving. I dream of coming back to Perinthalmanna leaving all places behind. It is my home, I am created by it. In every inch of me, there are the reflections and memories of my town.

But still I can't say much about Perinthalmanna like other places....It's in me, in my blood....

I am sure, I am going to talk about other places too..The two great cities -Bangalore and Dubai. I had been there seeking my love, I had been there to be sleepless. And I had been there to dream about Perinthalmanna, my Home.

And there were two years in Ottappalam where I got my degrees, my guts and one pretty friend, Priya Mohammed.....

There is nothing much to talk about Malappuram. I work there. It's the place which provides me and my son...