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The Grandpa and Bus Conductor

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Yesterday, I was traveling by bus to appear for an exam. As usual, the bus driver was immersed in good old Malayalam songs from the 90s. But for me, it was a bit boring—maybe those songs weren’t my genre. Never mind. One thing, however, amazed me. Let me share the story. There was a grandpa who had difficulty stepping out of the bus when he was about to reach his destination. His weak legs trembled as he struggled to step out of the bus. Observing this, the bus conductor stepped in to help him, holding his bag. As the bus departed, the grandpa turned to the conductor and said, “Thanks,” with a wide smile. The bus moved on, and the conductor, smiling cutely, blushing slightly, blinking his eyes, and lightly nodding his head, turned to us and said, “Ayal oru adipoli manushyan aan, thanks okke paranju ennod” (“He is an amazing soul; he even said thanks to me”). A simple “thanks” had made the conductor’s day. A small act of carrying the bag had made the grandpa grateful to the conductor. I...
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Let's talk about politics

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Image source: Pixabay For me, left is brahmanical, right is ultra-brahmanical, and the centre left engages in a cunning relationship with brahmanism. In other words, right gives me both fear and trauma, centre left triggers suspicion, and the left gives some hope. In doing so, such hope covers your thirst, hunger, and poverty but consistently fails to address those issues. Although you are dying, such hope keeps you alive. Likewise, you can see instrumentalisation of religions by right in the same manner. Religion gives you hope and never solves your issues.  (Now haters pls start throwing stones on me, I can't stop writing the truth). Moreover, at times, I consider the scope of identity politics sort of narrow-minded. To put it bluntly, mere "selective activism." However, I firmly believe identity politics is inevitable as left often fail to address their issues adequately. Identity politics act as a check and balance to the left politics. In life, it's always bad or...
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Are we free?

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I wrote a poem about Genocide in Gaza and asked chatgpt to edit the grammatical mistakes. Voila. They censored my input message that speaks in high volume about how much they are afraid of a G-word. Also, one must realize how each and every message of ours is under surveillance. Future paints a bleak picture. From chatgpt to social media, you are under someone's control, who deletes what they don’t like, who decides what you are supposed to write and what you are not allowed to write.  Are we free? No, our freedom is in someone's hands. It can be an algorithm, programme, robot, machine, or human itself!
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One Sweet Piece of Advice to My Friends

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Image source: shutterstock If your organization isn’t there for you in times of crisis, it’s time to consider leaving. If they aren’t truly supporting you, what’s “organic” in the organization? Everything then becomes mechanical. If they only reach out when they need something from you, it means you’re just a tool to them. Never prioritize the organization’s interests over your own dignity. If they don’t care about you, realize they don’t deserve you. Obviously, this does not mean you should boycott them when they are fighting for a greater, worthwhile cause. This advice isn’t directed solely at leftists but especially to ABVP members. I’ve noticed a trend in our school: students who join this organization often stop attending classes and neglect their studies. Many of these students were previously active in class and frequent visitors to the reading room before joining the organization. Friends, trust me—never place blind trust in an organization. They may abandon you eventually. Ins...
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Are we really 'Politically Correct?'

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A few years ago, opinions given by self-proclaimed secular scholars on issues involving religion were widely accepted by our society, almost as if the secular perspective was considered the most unbiased. However, nowadays, a scholar from a different religion or caste who speaks about another religion or caste often holds more legitimacy and acceptance than one from the same background who discusses the same topic. You see this fascinating funda ? Okay, let me make it clearer. For example, if you are a Dalit who researches Dalit perspectives, society tends to impose the label of a "Dalit scholar" on you, restricting your academic freedom to discuss other subjects. You may find that you are only invited to speak on Dalit issues, even by progressive student organizations—a trend I've observed in places like JNU. In contrast, a Brahmin who researches Dalit issues might be considered authoritative not only on that topic but on any other subject as well. The upper-caste schola...
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Old Clothes

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[ There are more critics than defenders of 'Modern Poems'. It was my late realization that poems should be relatable, understandable, and written in easy language. I adore modern poems with all their imperfections, whether it's the lack of a strict structure, the lack of uniform rhythm, or lack of usage of complicated words. ]  In that village,  in every home,  there was a separate basket reserved for depositing old clothes; a basket deliberately kept for throwing in their memories ; the memories waiting for its abandonment along with the old clothes. In some homes,  these old clothes were used for cleaning the mess in the kitchen or mess created by children.  In some homes,  these old clothes were not even seen as worthy of any use.  In some homes,  these old clothes were considered an extra burden or a waste of space.  From some homes,  the residents sent these old clothes to an orphanage.  From some homes,  the members aband...
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രണ്ടു പൂമരങ്ങൾ

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[This is a small satirical poem that I've written in reaction to Benyamin's comment on the picture of Divya Ma'am hugging Radhakrishnan Sir.] മുസാണ്ടപ്പൂവും നന്ത്യാർവട്ടവും പൂമരങ്ങൾ,  രണ്ട് പൂമരങ്ങൾ.  ആ വീട്ടുമുറ്റത്തു രണ്ടു പൂമരങ്ങൾ ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു,  പരസ്പരം കെട്ടിപ്പിണഞ്ഞു കിടക്കുന്ന രണ്ടെണ്ണം.  നീ എന്നോ ഞാൻ എന്നോ തിരിച്ചറിയാൻ പറ്റാതെ, അത്രമേൽ,  സ്നേഹത്താൽ കെട്ടിപ്പിണഞ്ഞു നിക്കുന്ന രണ്ട് പൂമരങ്ങൾ. ഒന്നാമത്തേതിന്റെ പൂക്കൾ ചുവന്നതായിരുന്നു.  അതിന്റെ ഇതളുകൾ ചുമന്നു തുടുത്തു,  മനുഷ്യന്റെ ചെവി പോലെ തോന്നിക്കുമായിരുന്നു.  രണ്ടാമത്തെ, പൂമരത്തിലാകട്ടെ, നിറയെ വെള്ള നിറത്തിലുള്ള, കുഞ്ഞു കുഞ്ഞു പൂക്കൾ.  അതിന്റെ ഇതളുകൾ ഒത്തുചേർന്ന്, കുഞ്ഞു നക്ഷത്രങ്ങളെക്കണക്ക് മരം നിറയെ പൂത്തു നിപ്പുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. അങ്ങോട്ടും ഇങ്ങോട്ടും കെട്ടിപ്പിടിച് അവ രണ്ടും,  തിരിച്ചറിയാൻ പറ്റാത്തത്ര വിധം ഒന്നായി തീർന്നിരുന്നു.   ഒന്നും ഒന്നും ഒത്തു ചേരുമ്പോൾ വീണ്ടുമൊരാന്നായി തീരുന്ന പോലുളള, സ്നേഹത്തിന്റെ അപൂർവ മാന്ത്രികത.  ചെമന്ന ചെവികണക്കെയുള്ള മുസാണ്ടപ്പൂവിന്റ...
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