Wednesday, April 30, 2014

April 30, 2014

There's a land of the living and a land of the majority, and the bridge is love, the only survival, the only meaning.
A month ago, my family went and met Balan. He was so happy to see Suja, her dad, Vinaya and my brother. Although he knew that he was crossing the bridge, he was happy as usual and to his heart's content in all his talks. He was the same as he had been five years ago, despite a slight change in his look.

Then he came on-line, cutting jokes with me. Called me PUZHU (bookworm) and inquired about Chaandikkunju (Chandu) and Paikkutty (Calf/ Nandu).
I thought, Balan would spring back with an incredible recovery awfully thanking the radiance of his countenance. The light that emanated from his face was so intense and enough for many a moth like us to be ensnared in his web.

But he left us yesterday morning!

I couldn't sleep last night. Tried to read a book. Failing to catch on anything I read, came back to the desktop. Chatted with a few of the friends found on-line. Went to sleep at the wee hours of the morning.

Felt like I've been cast away to a land of no sounds! I was sort of deafened by the last shot of a field gun. A man of sound. A man of jokes. A man of stage. A man of songs. He went out and painted the Abu Dhabi town red. His achievements as a relationship-man have been nothing short of miraculous.
You had a good fun. We all miss you, Bala. India Social Centre will miss you. The whole of Abu Dhabi will miss you.

You left your chat-line on, to come again surprising us, didn't you?

I stand unable to speak to Sukanya, Babloo, Kichu, Biju and Pappu. Let them get strength to cope with this rough reality and slowly get over the void of love and sound Balan had created.

No comments:

എന്നും കുഞ്ഞായിരുന്ന അബ്ദുള്ള

തെങ്ങോലത്തലപ്പുകള്‍ തൊട്ടുനിൽക്കുന്ന  ഒരു തടിക്കൊട്ടാരമാണ്‌ മധുവേട്ടന്‍റെ  ശംഖുമുഖത്തെ വീട്. മുമ്പിലൊരു കൊച്ചുവഴി. വഴി അതിരിടുന്നത് വിമാനത്...