KRITHI

Red I had a colourless home, There resided a lot many colourless people Painting their colourless dreams On those colourless walls. But I was born red, And I was outside the ring.  Though they wrapped me in colourless clothes Tied my tongue, insisting that being coloured was weird, I was red. Don't ask me 5 W's and 1 H I was red, and was outside the ring.  Back then, I was colorblind, I guess. When I got out of that colourless haven, I saw only red people, And heard only red speeches Red is truth, Red is revolution, They said.  And on and on and on.  Years passed, and then, I could see colours, I saw not only red, But green, blue, orange and white as well.  And then I saw many coloured rings, Heard coloured speeches, read coloured books, And as always I was red I was outside the ring, But still, I was red.  And after 18 years, I was red enough, To be dragged inside the ring. And so, there I was. But inside, everything was not very red Atleast not the red that I thou

     The concept of Nation, as contended by Ernest Renan, is a novel idea. Many scholars like Walter Benjamin, Victor Turner, Benedict Anderson inter alia have attempted to analyse nation. The very term nation both etymologically and conceptually proved to be a problematique leading every scholar, venturing to define it, into a labyrinth. Ernest Renan begins his essay What is a Nation? by voicing the confounding nature of nation "I propose to analyse with you an idea which though apparently clear lends itself to the most dangerous misunderstandings."(Renan 1). Elsewhere in Imagined Communities , Benedict Anderson also mentions the futility in defining nation "Nation, Nationality, Nationalism-all have proved notoriously difficult to define."(Anderson 19). Partha Chatterjee in his Whose Imagined Community?  talked of the perpetual perplexity associated with the concept of Nation " Nationalism seems to have regained sufficient notoriety for it to be l

“To Thee thou hast drawn my Love, O Fakir! I was sleeping in my own chamber, and Thou didst awaken me; Kabir says, “Thou hast united Thy heart to my heart, O Fakir!”” (Tagore page 14 lines 1-3)                     Indians have known Kabir since infancy yet not every Indian cognizes the glorious splendour of this virtuoso. Over the centuries Kabir has been lauded as an exceptional poet-weaver adept in every enterprise, a Hindu-Islam saint -equally revered by the duo and an iconoclast revolutionary who was courageous enough to question the follies of his own creed. But a close scrutiny of his quintessence reveals him to be a seeker of Love. It was love which formed the kernel of Kabir's poetry. None could better portray Kabir than the  ‘Kabiguru’ Rabindranath Tagore ,who in the introduction to his The Songs of Kabir,  expounds Kabir's verses as the “Spontaneous expressions of his vision and his love” (Tagore 3) which makes “ immortal appeal to the heart.”(Tagore 3)Thi

Clueless I was alone. My water bottle,Mizhiyil playing on Spotify, the silent classroom,the benches,desks, the blackboard with something scribbled,and the Christmas decorations still hanging on it,open windows and door, the bright light and a few bags gave me company. The music kept on changing. Numerous thoughts ran through my head. The last hope of expected ones arrival also drained. What am I doing? No idea.May be yesterday's headache's hangover, I guess (LOL). And then I thought of giving my write up a title. What would I give? I'm clueless. Wait, that too can be a title right? I mean, it makes sense. I'm clueless about what to write,I'm clueless about my life(well, people like me are clueless about their life), I'm clueless of everything. I guess there is no better title than this. Here I am, thinking about love (oh forgot to add I'm clueless about my love  because, " will I ever get a guy who can tolerate me?"). Sometimes having a