Aathira Jim's Blog, page 11

A Midnight Affair

Midnight lost its charm
Stars went into hiding Moon wept behind the clouds
Lost wishes and shooting stars..The wind, the night mist All seems to be missing you But none as much as me..

The Smell of Home

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The smell of hot coconut oil wafts into the room and wakes up Mittu from her nap. She smiles to herself, stirring half asleep. Her Amma would be getting ready to make her favorite snack, pazham pori. Even in this blissful state between dreams and reality, she could see her Amma slicing up the bananas, thin and smooth, as the knife slides into the flesh of the bananas, so as to make them extra crispy, just the way she likes it. She would add in a pinch of tumeric to the batter next, giving the pazham pori a nice golden color, making it all the more appetizing.
Mittu hears the bananas dipped in batter being dropped gently into the hot oil, the sizzling sound confirming her suspicions about her favorite snack. Reluctantly, she wakes up. The smell is too tempting, though her sleep feels disturbed. She walks into the kitchen and sits on the kitchen counter, closing her eyes, relishing the delicious aroma that has filled the entire house. Her mother looks at Mittu and smiles, she knows that this is a sure way of waking up her daughter. 
They don't talk; words are unnecessary between them right now. The freshly cut and washed banana leaves sit on the counter, waiting for the fritters to be placed on them. This was how her mother always served up the famous pazham pori. She was a stickler for doing things the traditional way, unlike Mittu, who made do with instant things in an instant world.
As soon as the first batch is fried, Mittu grabs one and takes a bite, burning her tongue slightly on the steaming hot fritter. The flavors explode in her mouth, making her eyes water. After the first one, she waits for the rest to cool down, her craving satisfied for the time being. No matter how hard she had tried to master the recipe, hers always turned out soggy, the batter and the bananas separated, turning it into a pathetic mess. She had abandoned the attempt the first few tries. 
Outside, the rumble of a thunder breaks her from her reverie. She goes outside and sits on the verandah, waiting for her mother to join her. Tomorrow she would have to go back to work, away from home, from her Amma. But for today, she wanted it to be just like the old times, just the two of them. Her mother comes from the kitchen and joins her with the rest of the pazham pori and two cups of piping hot tea. There is a gentle breeze that rustles up the dry leaves on the ground, sending them quivering and dancing, never failing to amuse her, like they have a secret life all of their own. 


As the rain begins to fall, Mittu looks up at her mother. She sips her tea, her eyes distant, looking at the grey horizon, but not really seeing. What is she thinking about? Is it about Achan? Of why he had decided to vanish from their lives one fine day, without any reason? Or was it about the loneliness that would shroud her till her next visit home? What were her secrets, ones that she seldom spoke about? No matter how hard she tried, her mother refused to leave home and come stay with her in the city where she worked. For her, this was home, this was where she had turned into a wife, a mother. The walls plastered with pictures from the various stages of Mittu's life, right from childhood to her adolescence. Yes, this will always be home for the both of them. 
Mittu scoots on the floor next to her mother and lays her head on her lap, watching the rain begin to fall outside. Tiny droplets of rain water falling on the verandah, on her face; drenching them both slightly as Amma's slender fingers runs it through her hair, massaging her scalp gently. Lying on her lap, Mittu smiles to herself and watches the rain while it beings to pour down as the smell of wet earth rises up and lingers in the air around them, mixing with the fragrance of the pazham pori and tea. For her, no matter where she is or how many years shall pass, this shall always be the smell of childhood, of Amma, of longings, of where she belongs; of home. 

An Update on Me and the Blog

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So I have not been posting much here and has been MIA for quite some time now. Definitely not a fact that I'm proud of. I have been away on vacation for a week and rest of the time I was procrastinating, stuck by the dreaded block, call it what you will. I was unable to write and I thought the muse had left me for good. And just when I almost gave up, I got it back. Or at least I'm pursuing it. Writing has been a part of me for so long that it's really difficult to find myself when I don't write. 
I'll definitely write more and try to post more as well. I owe to my blog, the one constant that has been in my life throughout it all, good and bad. And thank you, my readers, for coming back to read me, even when I was behaving in a not so civilized manner. I know I haven't been blog hopping as frequently as I may have liked. For now, all I can say is that I will be back to read some of my favorite writers. There seems to be a lot of catching up to do on more than a few blogs. So thank you for being patient with me :) I also miss writing fiction, there are a few story lines running around creating havoc in my mind. The only way I can lay them to rest would be if I pen them down. So yes, expect to see more stories floating around here! 
On a happy note, my blog had been selected in the top five personal blogs in India by Blogadda for #WIN15. I may not have won, but the fact that it came in the top five itself is a huge achievement for me. Me, who started writing without any idea of what I was getting into or the impact that it would have on my life. But once I stepped into this world of words, there has been no looking back. I'm so glad that I wrote, irrespective of the fact whether I was read or not. 
There have been people who loved what I wrote and few who thought that I was wrong to write what I did. I'm glad I have both for it leaves enough room for improvement for me. This is not a place where I intend to offend anyone, but if you feel offended by me or my writing, feel free to leave. I certainly don't wish to be shackled by chains and writing should be liberating, if it's not then I don't see any point to it. I was however, lucky enough to have readers like you who has been with me through thick and thin. Thank you from the bottom of my heart! Love you all. It has been a wonderful journey so far and I'm looking forward to the rest :)

Misty Days

Image Source: Tess Kincaid
The drizzling rain outside Our breath that fogs the windows Inside this tiny cafe, you and meSmell of coffee in the air around us
Sprinkled with the spicy smell of cinnamonAnd the unique fragrance of you... Like a freshly plucked flower Your palms gentle in mine 
Time ticks away, the wind takes it afarLike the rain that blows outside Your deep, dark eyes with just a hint of goldLike those lost sunsets of my childhood
The smile that touches the corner of your eyesThe only one thing that gives me warmth On cold mornings when I wake up Like the steaming cuppa that I drink daily
A million things to tell you But in your gaze, I'm lostIn their depths I swim to find myself In them I rise again, only for you...
Linking this post to Magpie Tales - Mag 286. 

Fall

From greens to yellows and redsThe leaves change color Summer to autumn to winter Falling down, one by own 
Change in seasonsChange in moods Changes in you and me Changes in the world all around
A leaf swaying gently in the wind A journey completed Sights like these makes my heart weepFor things that once were
The tree would stand bare at last The dry leaves a melancholic carpet On the ground... Watching it, I drift further and further away from myself 

Mountain Roads and You

Image Source: Magpie Tales

Riding along the mountain roadsClinging on to you Fresh air greeting us as we climb higherGetting crispier as we go 
Twists and turns along the way Some shallow, some steepMy fears disappear with you by my sideThe wind messes up our hair 
Neither of us could care any lessWe are together and that's all that mattersThe hum of the bike, the cool atmosphereBreaks my face into a wide smile
I can smell your hair from behindThere's the scent of wet earth and sweatThat's only belonged to you There's a cottage waiting for us 
Right at the hill top; a tiny alcoveA fire shall crackle tonight Warming our frozen bodies As we consume our love 
Twilight has bathed us both in a golden sheenThe colors have merged into a bright neon skyHere time seems to have stoppedAs we make our way towards home...
Linking this post to Magpie Tales - Mag 284. 

Garden of Paradise

Image Source: Tumblr
I walk barefoot through the gardenThe morning dew tickling my naked toesBlooming flowers all around me Orchids, Roses and Forget-me-notsPinks, reds, yellows, like a scattered rainbow
I don't stop, I keep walking Till I reach the end of the stream The water trickling melodiously Music to my ears 
The air is heavily scented The fragrance of wild honeysuckle Makes me miss a certain time from my pastBut I don't dwell, I drink in the beauty around 
It is here I shall wait for you, my dearest It is here that our love shall finally bloomIn here lies paradise, just for the both of usHere I shall wait till the end of eternity Only for you...

Destination Unknown

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City lights twinkling in the backgroundRain pours down all around me I walk barefoot through these streetsThe honking of vehicles seems like blasphemy
My ears seem to have shut out the mad world's dinI allow the raindrops to pour down on my faceMixing with the teardrops clinging on my eyelashes My wet clothes sticking onto me like a second skin
My feet have started bleeding Have I stepped on a shard of broken glass?Why then is it that I can't feel the pain The pain that I so desperately crave?
My heart beats like a caged bird in my rib case A dull ache spreading all over my body From my fingertips right down to my toesIt feels impossible to move forward, yet I must
I keep walking into the darkness of the nightNot knowing the destination One foot after the other, step by stepThat's all that I can muster for now

I Write To...

I write to remember I write to forget I write because I know no other wayTo find myself 
I write to catch my dreams Ones that flutter on the dangerous I write to face the demons that haunt me I write because I have no other choice 
My words are sometimes stained With blood and tearsThe blotted words spreading on paper Each one speaking out a thousand stories 
I write to heal, to nurse those age old woundsI write to seek closure from the callings of my pastI write to dwell into the wonders of my future I write to live, to feel whole once again 
I write to venture out into the unknown I write to seek shelter in the dark I write to feel the raindrops kissing my faceAnd to feel the wind run wildly through my hair
I write to catch hold of a love that deludes me And the love that consumes me, body and soulI write because I have no other wayTo discover who I am... 

Scarlet Red

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Her hand hovers uncertainly over the scarlet red lipstick on her dressing table, one that had been seldom used and had remained untouched except for a couple of occasions in the past. 
The red on your lips makes you look like a slut. Even today, thinking of the hurtful things he used to tell her makes her flinch, like the invisible knife he had twisted into her heart, with each word it would dig in deeper. 
She shakes off the memory and picks up the tube of her favorite color, applying it evenly over her luscious lips; it would look beautiful with the short black lace dress that she had picked for the evening. 
Strapping on the black high heeled sandals, she smiles at herself in the mirror before heading out, if he saw her today, he would hardly recognize the woman she had turned into, but she felt a calmness come over her when she realized that she no longer cared. 
This post is written for Five sentence fiction for Lipstick at Lillie McFerrin Writes.