Long before the days of the internet, there was an area in college which was called sugar corner. It was where the love birds of the college flocked and engaged in intimate conversions. Along with them was a man who called himself as poet. He made a living by writing poems in calligraphy for the lovers. There, lovers bestowed their poems to their loved ones as a token of love. I too was a recipient of those poems written by him. Gone are those days of love. Love is all social media and selfies without any passion.
M Krishnan Nair was a college professor and a notable literary critic. He is known for introducing World Literature to Kerala People. It is said that while taking classes, outsiders used to flock to his classroom out of interest. He was a dedicated teacher. Once asked the difference between Dostoevsky and Rushdie: he said that Dostoevsky is a giant of literature where as Rushdie is an ant.
Morning cruised around smoothly. I took two classes of Geography, one the Geography of India and the other Geography of the World. I felt happy as the 9th and 10th graders were active and attentive.
It’s evening now and I am looking at the colored sky, the setting of the sun, all melodious epiphany. Yes, we can learn the art of the novel by looking at nature.
I pondered on certain Biblical thoughts mainly the concept of sin. All humans are sinful because of the Sin of Adam and Eve. But there’s a difference. A child who dies won’t be punished for the sin of Adam and Eve and will partake heaven. The second sin is the sin from knowledge, a deliberate, scheming sin such as adultery, murder, covetousness and the whole lot. A mature human can be judged in Heaven based on the sin committed by willful knowledge.
I also thought about death. Though I was an atheist, the fear of death made me a theist. The dreams I had of monsters are very frightening. I have a fear-phobia-complex. I sometimes think that any moment that I might die. I also think that I might have an accident. I am also afraid of committing suicide.
What is the Manna for writing? The sounds, sights and smells of nature are favorite tools for a writer. Writing is like: in Wordsworth’s words: I wandered lonely as a cloud. The colors of the sky are singing a synaesthesia. Nature is the embodiment of the soul and becomes a text for writing. The manna of the clouds poured a celestial music. The brook played the Song of Songs. The waves frolicked in laughter. Wind kissed my cheeks making me glow with joy. Thunder grumbled in rage.
Writing is a painting of words. Writing bequeaths art in the form of figures of speech. Syria is a wailing banshee. The sword of Damocles hangs precariously over Hong Kong. A white beard covered the earth. Fortune is a Goddess of luck. The ribs of freedom started protesting. Seasons are a joy of music. I have a money-empty pocket. Rock-bulldozing rhythm makes the brain go berserk. Cure the tempest of my mind with an apothecary. Palestine let nectars of freedom fly as dove making a homeland to live. Dramatize life on the stage of the theater. Let not the poison of angst become the dread of your soul. Let dreams be saddled by fortune’s wand. Eye not lust: Eye Love. Patience is a wretch of oppression. The heart is a nation o love. Slam a fist on corruption. My neurons are a punch bag.
Once upon a time there were fairies who lived inside the rainbow. They were a happy go lucky lot and lacked nothing. The prince Mosque descended on to the rainbow and did dastardly things. He shut out the colors and light of the rainbow and waged a war with them. Then came the prince of Good Time, the Sun. He felt pity for the fairies and besieged Prince Mosque. He dethroned Prince Mosque and gave back the rainbow to the fairies.
She is a favorite grandmother of the tiny hamlet. The youth of the village are especially fond of her. She is liberal, permissive and celebrates a free spirit and heart. Youth flock to her pastures to learn the first games of sex. She has serviced both fathers and sons. She is a nymphomaniac never getting tired, always wanting more. She is doing great service to the nation as a skillful instructor.
Nobodynothing and somebodysomething are twin selves of a struggling writer. Nobodynothing is an earth of reality, doing a menial job of teaching English to high school students. Somebodysomething aspires to be an established author who longs to travel to places, to smoke clove cigarettes, attend literary symposiums, visit art galleries to make love to the women in his life and many more. The self is an illusion stuck between nobodynothing and somebodysomething.
Today was a smooth day sailing. The school had sports and I was relatively free. I was thinking about the story of creation of Adam and Eve. If Adam was made from the earth his body must be made of clay. But the human body is made up of skin and flesh. Similarly the Bible tells us that Adam’s wife Eve was made from Adam’s rib. That means all men should have one rib less.
I took some time do research on the God of the Masons. The Masons have a God: Jabolon. Ja is pronounced as YA being a short from attribute of Jehovah. Masonic scholars attribute Ba to God Baal a Chaldean deity, and /on/ being attributed to a Phoenician God. I am wondering if this entity will serve as talisman to boost my money status. But nothing of that sort has happened and in the end I had only torn lottery tickets.
Is the story of creation a fable? Is it an allegory? It is perplexing as to why God created the tree of knowledge of Good and Evil and to why God imposed a taboo. What did Adam and Eve experience after eating from the tree? They felt ashamed of their nudity. The consciousness of sex took birth in their minds. It is moot to ask whether sexuality is something that is awkward.