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Cruelty Wears the Guise of Fear

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The funerals were over, and the last of the mourners had trailed away. They would go home, where food and drinks and lighter conversation awaited them. Catharsis. They all craved it, and laughter seemed the inevitable aftermath of a funeral. They'd wanted her to come with them, had wanted to hang around with her, anxious, sensitive to the fact that her pain were greater than anything they could feel. She'd wanted to stay, she'd wanted to be alone. Catharsis seemed too unrealistic a goal right now. She closed her eyes, plugged her headphones in and sat cross legged, leaning against the cemetery wall. Far enough away from the graves that distance would be felt, but still close - too close. It was hard to say how much time had passed - certainly the song had played itself in its loop quite a few times - when she felt something scuttle across her fingers. She hated insects. Wasn't used to them, hadn't grown up with them, was creeped out by most of them. She wait...
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Ashes of Winter

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പത്à´¤ു വർഷമാà´¯ി മലയാളത്à´¤ിൽ à´Žà´´ുà´¤ാൻ à´¶്à´°à´®ിà´š്à´šിà´Ÿ്à´Ÿ്. à´¤െà´±്à´±ുകൾ à´•ാà´£ും. à´Žà´´ുà´¤്à´¤ിà´¨്à´±െ à´¶ൈà´²ി à´­ംà´—ിà´¯ിà´²്à´²ാà´¤െ വന്à´¨െà´¨്à´¨ിà´°ിà´•്à´•ും. à´•്à´·à´®ിà´•്à´•à´£ം. à´Žà´¤്à´°à´¯ോ ജന്മമാà´¯ി  à´¨ിà´¨്à´¨െ à´žാൻ à´¤േà´Ÿുà´¨്à´¨ു ... à´Žà´¤്à´°à´¯ോ  à´œà´¨്മമാà´¯ി  - summer in Bethlehem  ഇങ്ങനെ à´Žà´´ുà´¤ാൻ à´Žà´¨ിà´•്à´•ും പറ്à´±ിà´¯ിà´°ുà´¨്à´¨െà´™്à´•ിൽ, à´…à´²്à´²െ? à´°à´£്à´Ÿു വർഷം à´®ുà´®്à´ª് , à´žാൻ à´“à´«ീà´¸ിà´²േà´•്à´•് മനസ്à´¸ിൽ à´’à´°ു à´šിà´°ിà´¯ുà´®ാà´¯ി ആണ് ഇറങ്à´™ിയത്. à´«ോà´£ിà´²െ à´ª്à´²േà´¯്‌à´²ിà´¸്à´±്à´±ിൽ à´’à´°ു à´ªാà´Ÿ്à´Ÿ് ഇട്à´Ÿു ... à´ª്à´°à´¤്à´¯ാà´¶ à´¸ൂà´šà´•à´®ാà´¯ à´’à´°ു à´ªാà´Ÿ്à´Ÿ് : à´…à´¨്à´¨് à´ªാà´Ÿ്à´Ÿ് à´•േà´Ÿ്à´Ÿ് à´…à´±ിà´¯ാà´¤െ à´šിà´°ിà´š്à´š à´† à´•ുà´Ÿ്à´Ÿിà´¯െ ഓർക്à´•ുà´®്à´ªോൾ à´žാൻ തന്à´¨െ à´šോà´¦ിà´š്à´šുà´ªോà´•ും ... "à´ªൊà´Ÿ്à´Ÿി ആണല്à´²േ ?"  à´’à´°ു à´¤ുà´Ÿà´•്à´•ം à´ª്à´°à´¤ീà´•്à´·ിà´š്à´š à´Žà´¨ിà´•്à´•് à´…à´±ിà´¯ിà´²്à´²ാà´¯ിà´°ുà´¨്à´¨ു, à´…à´¤് à´Žà´²്à´²ാà´¤്à´¤ിà´¨്à´±െà´¯ും അവസാനമാà´¯ിà´°ുà´¨്à´¨ു à´Žà´¨്à´¨്.  à´žാൻ à´ˆ à´¬്à´²ോà´—ിൽ പല കഥകളും പറയാà´±ുà´£്à´Ÿ്. à´Žà´¨്à´±െ à´šിà´¨്തകളും, à´žാൻ à´•േൾക്à´•ുà´¨്à´¨ à´ªാà´Ÿ്à´Ÿുà´•à´³ും, പഠിà´•്à´•ുà´¨്à´¨ à´ªാà´ à´™്ങളും, à´•ാà´£ുà´¨്à´¨ à´¸ിà´¨ിമകളും... à´ªിà´¨്à´¨െ à´žാൻ à´•à´£്à´Ÿുà´®ുà´Ÿ്à´Ÿുà´¨്à´¨ ആൾക്à´•ാà´°െà´¯ും à´•ുà´±ിà´š്à´š് . പക്à´·െ à´ˆ à´•à´¥ ഇതു à´µാà´¯ിà´•്à´•ുà´¨്à´¨ à´Žà´²്à´²ാവര്à´•്à´•ും à´µേà´£്à´Ÿിയല്à´². ഇത് à´•à´¥ മനസിà´²ാà´•്à´•ാൻ à´•à´´ിà´¯ുà´¨്നവർക്à´•് à´µേà´£്à´Ÿി à´®ാà´¤്à´°ം.  ഇതൊà´°ു à´ª്à´°േമത്à´¤ിà´¨്à´±െ കഥയാà´£െà´¨്à´¨് à´µേണമെà´™്à´•ിൽ ...
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Village Tales

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Photo by  Nandhu Kumar  on  Unsplash Saw a goat in the middle of MG Road as I was crossing it. It was a dirty white, casually resting on its hind legs, eating leaves off the vegetation grown on the divider. I saw it and thought to myself, "Somebody's goat is about to become mutton." And the goat heard me, and spoke in its turn. "Why do you assume that every goat must be somebody else's property, human, or end up as their dinner? And while we're at it, if I got myself to the middle of the road, then I have as much chance of getting off it unharmed as you yourself." I marveled at the goat's wisdom. "Well said, goat," I praised it. "Well said indeed." And as befit a creature of its stature, the goat paid me no further heed, but continued goatfully to appropriate the municipality's efforts at beautification to be its own dinner. 
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