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Sitting on the Fence

  Sitting on the Fence Centrism, unlike defined ideologies like socialism or conservatism, is harder to pin down because it emphasizes pragmatism and compromise, varying with context. While this balance appeals to some, it often seems less compelling to voters seeking clear-cut solutions. Extremes have stronger emotional appeal, making them easier to rally behind, and centrism struggle to clearly define its ideals can make it feel vague. In today’s political climate, media and social media further amplify extreme voices, leaving centrist views overshadowed, despite their focus on moderation and inclusivity. People often say centrists are just sitting on the fence, but I see it more as getting a better view of both sides.  It’s not about avoiding decisions, it’s about weighing options and finding solutions that work. Sure, we may not dive headfirst into extremes, but someone has to keep the balance, right? Instead of fighting from one end, I would rather build a bridge in the middle and
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Grey

  “I don’t want to get old,” my voice filled with defiance. “Everybody will get old,” he replied calmly. “No, I will not grow old. When I grow up, I will find anti-ageing medicines.” “Yeah, good for you,” he said with a hint of amusement. “You know what I don’t like about ageing? It’s living with all my desires and dreams destroyed and depending on others’ mercy.” “Its not the real story. Being old is just a part of the big game called life.” “I always want to be healthy and young, you know ?,” I continued stubbornly. “Who says old people aren’t healthy?” he countered with a gentle smile. It’s been 40 years since that conversation happened. Back then, I believed I should marry that playmate because no one else had ever soothed my fear of growing old so beautifully. That memory has lingered with me ever since, and today, inspired by it, I find myself compelled to write. A day as usual. Need I mention that? Aren’t all days the same, like a lover’s kisses—sometimes fun, sometimes boring?
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Man made out of Clay

A written record of human civilisation dates back to the Nile and includes Babylonian Mesopotamian, Akkadian, Greeks, Egyptian, and so on. And one of humankind’s initial interests was searching about their own origin. From the existing knowledge they found out the stuff from which God has created their initial prototype. Since “clay” is the only material that can be molded to a variety of shapes it becomes the fabric of choice. Here is the story of “a” “God", which later led to all the popular Semitic narratives about the Almighty.  NINHURSAG also spelt Ninhursaga,  a mother goddess, one of the four principal Sumerian gods, created all living and non-living beings on the earth. Since they believed giving birth was a divine quality, apparently their popular god was a “woman”. This female deity with her partner ENKI, lived in “EDNU”. In Ednu, Ninhursag planted 8 trees by taking elements from her womb.  In the course of creating life in different parts of the Earth, she left Ednu adv
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Carl and Ann

 How can someone concur to some one more than  this?  Here is a rendition of the accord of two of my favourites, Carl Sagan and Ann Druyan on life and the afterlife. When Carl passed away and Ann was bombarded with questions regarding their relationship nuances, this is how she responded, “When my husband died, because he was so famous and known for not being a believer, many people would come up to me- it still sometimes happens  and ask me if Carl changed at the end and converted to a belief in an afterlife. They also frequently ask me if I think I will see him again. Carl faced his death with unflagging courage and never sought refuge in illusions. The tragedy was that we knew we would never see each other again. I don't ever expect to be reunited with Carl. But, the great thing is that when we were together, for nearly twenty years, we lived with a vivid appreciation of how brief and precious life is. We never trivialized the meaning of death by pretending it was anything other
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വിശപ്പിന്റെ നിറം

ഓട്ടത്തിനിടയിൽ പാന്റ് സിലെയും മുഷിഞ്ഞ കുപ്പായത്തിലേയും കീശകൾ അയാൾ മാറിമാറി പൊത്തിപ്പിടിക്കുന്നുണ്ടായിരുന്നു. മരങ്ങളും അങ്ങിങ്ങായിക്കാണുന്ന ചെറിയ കുടിലുകളും പിന്നിലേക്ക് മാഞ്ഞു പോകുംപോലെ. താഴെ വീഴുന്നത് വരെയോടണം! അല്ല, കൂരയിൽ എത്തുന്നതുവരെയോടിയേ മതിയാകൂ. മുത്ത് ഒറ്റക്കിരുന്നു പേടിക്കുന്നുണ്ടാവും. അയാൾ ഓടുന്നതിനിടയിൽ പലവുരി തിരിഞ്ഞു നോക്കി.. ഇല്ല, പിന്നിലാരുംതന്നെയില്ല.. . ആദ്യമായിട്ടല്ല അയാൾ മോഷ്ടിക്കുന്നത്. എന്നിരുന്നാലും ഒരു ഭയം. കൈകാലുകൾ മനസ്സിനേക്കാൾ വേഗത്തിൽ ചലിക്കുകയാണ് ഭയം ഓട്ടത്തിനേക്കാൾ വേഗതയിൽ അയാളെ പിന്തുടർന്നുകൊണ്ടിരുന്നു... ദിവസം അസ്തമയത്തോട്, അടുത്തിരിക്കുന്നു. അയാൾ വേഗത കുറച്ചു, തന്റെ കൂരയുടെ മുൻവശത്തെ ചെറിയ ഒരു മരത്തിന്റെ ചാഞ്ഞു നിൽക്കുന്ന കൊമ്പിൽ പിടിച്ച് നിന്നു കിതച്ചു. ഭാരം താങ്ങാനാകാതെ ഒരു ശബ്ദത്തോടെ അയാളും ചില്ലകളും താഴേക്ക് പതിച്ചു.. ശബ്ദം കേട്ടു ഒരു പെൺകുട്ടി പുറത്തേക്കോടിയെത്തി. അയാളെ കണ്ടതും അവൾ അപ്പാ എന്ന് വിളിച്ചു അയാളു ടെ അടുക്കലേക്ക് ഓടിച്ചെന്നു. എപ്പോഴും അയാളുടെ കൈകൾ കീശയിൽ മുറുകേ പൊത്തിപ്പിടിച്ചിരുന്നു. ആ പെൺകുട്ടി വളരെ ആയാസപ്പെട്ട് അയാളെ അകത്തേക്ക് കൂട്ട
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Hair

                    So, their discussions were about hair. The hair on the head, eyebrows, eyelids, nostrils, armpits, and private parts. All Hairy...the sleek fur... "From the many genes of the forty - six chromosomes of man, some hormones are produced by some genes. As a result, the hair that grows on the face is at first glance a symbol of vigor and masculinity". "He, who does not have it, is nullified in the name of being a female.  No one cares about his longings or the untimely death of the seeds he expels on the night, dreaming of a beautiful woman." "Let this conversation be a hymn to them"!!. "Let it be" !! "Please, start your story. The preface is over. " As permission was granted the first one said, "Mate, We both have enough beards. So, when we talk, the problem regarding self-esteem is unlikely to arise. And I don't  even have  to look at political correctness as well" He ran his fingers over the dark stubble
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Anamika

               Anamika   "Where is the red colour”? Anamika set the turmeric aside and looked around. "Oh my god, I'm running late." She is getting help from her sister and a few friends as she prepares for her first theyyam performance. After her uncle passed away, she lost interest in theyyam. He used to tell Anamika stories and myths.  She accompanied him while he prepared and performed. Today is her arangettam. "You know it's the only theyyam where women perform?" her sister nodded in return.   She grew up seeing her uncle perform theyyam. Her father used to perform, but he quit after getting a government job. Recently, Anamika showed interest in theyyam and learned Devakoothu theyyam, and they are on their way to performing it at Tekumpad Koolom Thayakav. She became aware of three individuals making fun of and laughing at her during her performance. Snatching up the saw, she shot in their direction. No audience member attempted to sto
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