Little mix of hope.

When my legs feels to swim, the beginning of everything good to come, deep down, nature’s chill and my pride to flip and flop. To dive in such dark, under the heat of tarred road, is like revealing the thoughts of being both in lost and found.


I can move in any reflection to hold the hands that scream for help. I can taste the freedom that floats in pieces of gold as perfect as marigold. Being in a different world where I fear to stay is like decorating myself with the strength in the clustered way. Each time I gulp down it is as intoxicating as the love potion that clears me to the surface. When I dive a bit deep this time, I could see the rocks that is bleached in pure gold. Each gold petal personify me, they harvest me in with light and hope I lost somewhere. Those glowing golden lights in the turquoise waters captured pleasant surprises in my way. I approach slowly so as to find rock carved in dusky gold with non fragile strength. First glance itself was heavy, I feel twitch, alive fluttering within. I could see the goodness and pure love. I miss that way of heart that new born do, no skin, no color but the light that spoke.


From out of the heaviness I hold, my soul freed with the orange yellow glow of the moment I lost in. I try to press my hands onto the beauty and strength that was gleaming a forever in front of me. I seek refugee under the ground to find energy and vibrations that is still alive in me. I found my lost self inside, piece by piece I embraced it’s scent. I felt alright. I felt loved and I felt like home.
When we step out of sand and dust, every creation loves you, calls your name and your strength. The moment you realise you was fallen across, alas! you are not. There is music, pulse and waves, a tenous thread connects you to promise of holding up . Be your own reason to feel the love and everything you have been looking for in the places you never have been. This determines so much in your life.

#Anjana_Sundar.

Walk to depths and heights.

” Sometimes all you need to do is to have a long walk on roads and thorns to make your soul a bit soft”

I just blinked my eyes twice, when I saw the gigantic trees that stood fearless amidst of the bare brown roofs in bottom, deep black drape above, laterally by the voids. Tiny hair follicles stood on all over my body when the cool mahagony breeze swiped me left and right. My eyes can’t take off from the big master building, that preoccupied it’s space just opposite the grills of my tiny home. The sudden on and off of the lights from the corner rooms was synchronous to my dreams. It will bloom one day with flickering orange glow and wither the next day with beaming regrets. The long roads was taking my soul to the unknown. I was walking, the veil smell that was alive in me from the past few days was suddenly replaced by the fragrance. Well, to call it precisely, it was the Amortentia smell. The fragrances that the busy people on streets carry, who smelled like the wild flowers. The fragrances of cool breeze that brought me into my senses. The fragrances of the chilled mud that gave rhythm to my feet. I took a look on my back, I covered a little distance but it felt like miles, miles with memories, miles in a minute! Suddenly, my flesh turned to that of green eyed monster. Yes, I was jealoused of the air that spranged me. It travelled so hard, wrapping at an instant, uncoiling all the dirt that stuck on my soul. Perhaps, this is what we call sickness is. I was madly fell ill thinking about the beautiful creatures around me which those weird humans neglect to notice.

The yellow glow of the streetlights in the mid corners reminded me of the fading past of childhood, the hustle bustle of the vehicles striked the sudden thought of running youth and the gigantic trees that overshadowed on the either side of the roads narrated the evanescent tales of old age. I just blinked my eyes, in the fraction of time my eyes shut open, the charismatic beauty of everything had tossed to tail.

My eyes witnessed the either side of the universe. The heads down people into their electronic devices never noticed what rhythm the Jay’s humn, whose bangles were clinging on the right, where does the long whistle come from. One thing that is obvious, their fingers were in rhythm on their mobile phones, scrolling up and down, the headphone was neatly tucked and their faces acted well as if they do not belong to this earth. And my guess scored high on high that they dwell in everyplace where free wifi offer and even they are ready to pay to make their wrong faces right. And I know I too belong in this rank, where my tones of precious time went to garbage. But this long walk on the never ending roads that stitched into streets, praising weather, everything had twisted my spines and tattooed that there is still life beats in the lamp posts, tarred roads and in guava trees. The story of crickets flying here and there reminded how good the lost days were!

Covering long miles isn’t just an excerise, it’s a realisation, a medication to your wounded soul. Walk like your legs are not yours, let your every step make a rhythm and perhaps the cold touch of your bare foot in the naked road will take you to the unknown where you actually belongs and it will be the path your soul actually dwells. Let’s free sometime to listen what the sapphire cascade wants to tell, what the waves and the heights want to narrate and I guess that will be fun, worth and soothing than any trolls on the internet can give.

The small jungles stiched into roads unwrapped the secrets that my soul covered so far. I started to flow with the emotions that was jagged in me so far. Perhaps, realization is also an emotion too.

#Anjana Sundar

He – my twin star.

I have seen beauty, in the things I personify!”

If I could talk to my inner soul, the one thing I would say is to calm down the heart which beats up in thunder. It’s like the foggy mornings and chilled nights, the scary stars with the fairy moon, telling a stories of its romances. My heart beats twice or thrice instead one at a time. Is that the sign of any abnormality? Or is that a sign of being ambitious? “Hey, mother soul, please rock and croon the sentimental lullaby to let me calm down to sleep!”It’s like dripping the each ounce of blood from my veins, in a loud rush emotional way. There is someone living inside of me. Is that a monster or an angel? The dark of trees overcasted from the thick crusty bumpy jungles taught me to dream, the rocks spilled on the craggy hilly mountains taught me to sustain, the fields waved on the rich arid shallow valley taught me to survive, the pebbles rested on the shallow turquoise ocean taught me to hear the silence and the inner heart that was bouncing to and forth from the ribcage taught me to live. “Why do I have so much to dream?”. Is that the curse that my ancestors thrown or the sanctifying grace that rained on me? I do hold a divine relationship with my dreams and my soul. I think there is no difference between the former and the later. A perfect dream is a blessing for a calm soul.

He’ is like a thin of spicy mustard, but a little bit harder, he sounds like the ocean, sometimes whisper the secrets that even my ear can’t hear and complains me that am a bad listener, he is like the color that we have all seen,but never known by its real, just like the malachite – he is my luck charm that I wore under my thin fleshy skin that indicates the stone of balance, abundance and manifestation with lots of intention. He eludes all my sins that I had gained so far, he clears and activates my heart to beat it again, with the same potential sometimes a bit more. He is my active pacemaker, who amplifies all my veins, to stimulate the nerves and ends up in conversation with his twin – “Do that again!”. He is the gemstone that I inherited from my ancestors, reunited and moulded in to passionate form.”He personify me, the way I personify him”. He is my pride, sometimes false, sometimes with a little arrogantly, he is my hope, my compassion, who is the only reason for my existence. He is taking me to the long journey for the moral significance. Sometimes, he is the blinking star, with fresh flawless skin without any face creams or wrinkle creams, sometimes he is the scarry stars, giving the half of the torn and spilled images, putting me a task to complete it, to make it either a philosophical argument or a passionate journey. He brought me to a place, in between the two eternities, where I could accompany myself with beautiful stars and the harmful wars.

Dream”- when I say his name out loud to this universe, he gave that quick mellow blush, he sprinkled his star dust over the entire black drape just to reflect my vision. I am his creator and he is my destiny, intertwined together. He is my burnt skin and crushed bones, who never left me alone when I stood flawed. He became my pillow when it rained hard all nights. ‘Looking deep into him’, I could lose myself into hopes. He is my forever follower, the mental image of fear and anxiety frightened by the nightmares. “Hey my dream twin, thanks for letting me gleam, when no one else let me. You lit me with the freedom to begin with. The color you revealed is so rare and beautiful, it made me certainly to fall in love with myself.

He took me to the lighthouse, sometimes in the dark caves, but never put me down. He let me walk on beauty and blinked brightly, always close enough as my own ‘twin star’.

# Anjana Sundar.

Then The Alarm Strikes Three!

I found darkness strange. The yellow Street lamps where I had grown, filled the darkness which promised the happiness for the perfect dawn. I loved the darkness and I always have. I raised my head above to see the white frozen astrals. I wished darkness could prevail as it is the best way that allows us who we are. The cold onshore breeze from the either side, echoed my brother’s voice which was a music under the summer breeze.

* * *

‘Milan, be prepared. I’ll be there soon’. his voice was a melody.

I fantasized my brother, who raised me till now after my parents death. My head lolled down to one shoulder to touch the polka dot t shirt, which I was wearing. It was the dress which my brother gifted on my last birthday. I heard back on school, the ‘amusement Cinderella fair ‘, that was conducted in the central city. My brother, whom I passionately called ‘Honey’, promised me to take into the amusement fair. The hazel beady eyes of mine seemed to reflect the grey of sky. The echo of Honey’s voice still striked my ear.

‘Milan, I ll arrive at 3 pm in the evening, be prepared’.

I waited in the corridor of my small bungalow, like a picture which was drawn by the enthusiastic and passionate artist. My chest nut brown curls waved into the air like a wavy creatures.

Being a 12-year old girl, alone in home was challenging. I was waiting for my promised dawn’s arrival. The coolness drifted into my body, making me freeze, even when I welcomed the day that invited the summer breeze.

It was sunlit day of the late spring. I was now watching at the alarm that I setup a few minutes before. I sat there, awaiting my beloved brother, it felt for me like the adventure out of curiosity, out of enchantment. I fantasized the high notes that were sirens, horns and hollering. I heard the creepy sounds of dusty hinges of the gate. I rushed towards him, holding my breath in hand, the knee length skirt waving in air, perfectly synchronous to the neck line. The specks of colors from flowers like lavenders and roses entered into me. I could still feel the river ‘s soft wending it’s way between the banks.

‘ Honey………… ‘ I could feel his warmth around me.

* * *

Few months ago, sky was painted with red hues of all colors, faded leaving only a black matt canvas. Still, those days, felt me like an old photograph, captured in a Polaroid. Honey, was the perfect song that I sang, a fresh gift but I now realize that it was my illusion. There was once my Honey, whom I loved and trusted into. But, the same one loved the money, not in the way I loved him. He shattered my trust and broken my love.

That day, six months back, the day when he promised me to take the ‘amusement Cinderella fair’. But it became so late to realise that he was fabricating me with his lie, with his fake love. The lie that torn me apart. He was actually planned to sell me to the ‘Red Street Men’ in the greed of money. I deciphered that he only loved money, not me. Money had fascinated him so far.

Tears snaking down my cheeks. I saw my bruises, the wildest miseries flowing through me. The promise of life in the darkness, it was my brother-the sweetness of my life. Finally, it was like the blue haze of day lifted to reveal the dark stars.

Now, I – the girl of half goddesses turned to half evil, as the forced ‘child prostitute ‘, in the red streets. Honey, was the master of my disguise. But, still now I missed him. The love and memories was striking inside my bones. I became the thunderstorms and the battle scars was still visible in the piece of poetry girl.

‘ Milan, be prepared. They will arrive at 3 pm in evening I heard one of the gang leader warned.

The constellations are all summoned on my way. Was that my hallucinations? Ain’t I am tired of this? I set the alarm for 3 pm. The ticking of the mother clock remind me of myself, six months back… I sat in front of the alarm clock, my head was painting. I was panting slowly though. Perhaps, Honey would come one day, to bring the sweetness again.

Someone banged outside.. I opened the door, then the alarm strikes three………………..

# Anjana Sundar.

STILL ALIVE !

The edge of knife striked with less pain,
when “it” touched with no clear hands.
“She” trembled and pretended to be wane,
screaming all long running to dune lands.
The flames of fires burning like a gold,
wishing someone there to help out.
Legs were shaking,forget to told,
yearning for the life to get back a lot.
Thought for a while,that male version of BITCH,
she dragged herself out from “ITS” tick.
Prayed to the most holiest witch,
rapping constantly to get him kick.
Made her mind not to sleep on corpse,
the graveyard is waiting to made “ITS” head in tomb.
The Curves on her,decided to ride like a horse,
remembered the flash of coming out from her MUMMAS womb.
Pulled up her sleeves and ponytail hard,
never ready to narrate her story of Vail.
Thought of her goal to make “IT” a nerd,
and to let her nerves strong to cut “ITS” tail.

The Blazing Blue Sky Of My Life.

– A tribute to my ‘always smiling mom’.

She was woman of wonder, her smile was the glitter in the shining armour. She do more than she ought to. She was the storm, those storm under the dark clouds, that was so strong enough to shook the oak roots. She was my fortune. Her call makes my day. If I spill out the words to describe my love towards her, perhaps that would not enough to fill the voids. I think she is the one who climbed, creeped into my skin to learn me. I gifted the scares on her stomach, I kicked her so hard with my mischievous actions, I made her body look fat, but after all she loved me. Ain’t that true? That whatever mistakes we do in her lap, she never fails to carve the palace in her heart. When people walk in dark, she taught me to crawl in the light, when people remained drizzle, she made me a hurricane, when people played with fire, she taught me to touch the Volcano. The bone chilling attention that she gave me shook my flesh! She crawled, walked, ran and finally flew just only to reach me, to teach me what it is to be lived and loved.

My annoyance towards her was a blend. I screamed, I shouted, I cursed, but more than that her silence makes me weak, her love makes me fail, her smile makes me realise that she is the love, life and lessons of my life, who never taught me how to live without her. She is the little gleam of light, who taught me when to be known, when to be unknown. She is the invisible cloak I wore always, her power lives in me with the undying hopes. She was my dream, who taught me how to dream, she was my legs who taught me how to walk, she was my wheels, that drove past the potholes, she was my wings who enabled me to fly and she was my emotion, who made me to live everyday. She cherished the love that is required for the rest of six lives. She choreographed each seasons of my life, whenever I throw a word against her, the well stacked Choreography will changes. Just like the blue haze revealed the sun, just like the night sky held the astrals, she revealed me to this world, she held me, so tight and strong enough to feel me warm. Her love made me realize that if she wasn’t there, I won’t be alive, I won’t have an identity.

She is my creator, who patiently waited for me to come from her small little womb, who strongly bore the 4 and half kilograms of burden in all the times, who all the 10 months dreamt of my small little legs to touch, which was strong enough to cause the pain by my regular kicks.

She was the shadow of mine and I am the old version of herself. Every time, she utters my name, she sounds like the moon, every time she touches me, she makes me remember that magic still exist and that was in her arms. She drew the vivid picture of the divine relationship between the mother and child in the moon and it is still the picture as fresh and as young as it was when she showed me the moon for the very first time with the delicious bowel in my mouth.

Silkiness of her smooth hair, fresh, as fresh as Apple shampoo, still I smell it as it was when I was wrapped around her warm body in the hospital bed. I was born to her like a brooding misery, born out of consequences, making her backbone wrench. But, I could sense her Adams apple blushing when she first touched me and I must ask forgiveness to her as I presented her the bad expectation that the 4 and half kg weighted child inside her womb was a boy. God knows her anxiety out of curiosity then. She was the burning star in the night sky, whose love which literature fails to narrate. I think this would be the best love story ever written and it could be a fairytale with the happy ending, if one could realise her love in its purest form.

Her love was like the masterpiece poetry written by an enthusiastic poet. Her love is an echo under the summer breeze.

‘She is the warrior out of me, just like the day lit in the spring ‘.

With love,

# Anjana Sundar .

Love you mommy…..

My Two Day Story Of Eudaimonia.

I wished to travel fast and far, but this was rather a slow travel, but far enough to flow my sins off”- Travel to the divine place.

It was all of a sudden. The nights of day travel always fascinated me. A trip to one of the most divine place in South India . I have been there, bleeding out the dark gel dripping in the veins. The girl who witnessed the 1000 pairs of eyes. I took a look on the black curtain that stood above my head. The clouds are becoming bigger and bigger, slowly in motion. I just like those weather, the weather that promised for an upcoming life. I just realized that there is life in everything we see, we hear and we feel. The trees moved, astrals blinked, waves danced, birds chirped and the smiles in the every faces I glanced gave a swear of happiness. My foot paces were slow, contrasting to the climate. It was all of a sudden, that the dark sky turned to the bright shining blue drape.

I could sense the heat enter into the pores of my body, I could feel the wrecking balls playing inside my head, I was brimming with gratitude. I could hear the chit-chat around me, but those was all a blur. I couldn’t miss those mesmerizing panoramas of the unknown village I was into. Perhaps, it is a kind of metaphor to call so. It wasn’t a city nor a village. But, it was a hodge podge of “cillage” (certainly an irony). The whole area was begging to surrender to its excess cultural beauty. It was the non – metaphorical traditional landscape in the hills of South India. It was like all the streams of culture meeting at the river. The name of the cillage is quite unique and antique – MADURAI.

It was so divine area, with the vast geographical place covering the dieties of different size and power. I was like paining myself, my neck all over, as the tower that welcomed us, was almost touched the morning sky. The towers from all the directions say North, South, West and East made me aww. We slowly moved inwards. It was bright inside.

For a split second, this was like revealing the mystery around me. Later on, I realized that those mystery that I overtook was not just a play of words, it was an experience for a lifetime ,it was a feel of soul that overwhelmed me with joy. A sudden kind of breeze with water drops from near swept my hair and covered a part of me. Perhaps from inside it was uncovering my soul. I moved slowly, foot paces naked, touching the wet grey granite, gracing it’s texture – so soft and so delicate.

I ran my fingers through the pillars around me, there was more than million of pictures running all over it. I was perplexed of what those mean? Who was it’s architect? What was the landscape plan? How long does it took to complete ? My thoughts traveled miles in a minute. I touched through its hard surfaces, it was a zig-zag motion, I was dragged by its scenic beauty – it wasn’t scenic though, it was the hard, erratic sculptures, with millions of symbols carved in the exotic shapes. There was elephants with the larger trunks, snakes with different types and lengths, there was deities carved with different signs. Something got caught my attention, there was a small Idol with the light sandal shade, naked, placed at the top of pillars, just opposite to the west tower. The one leg of that Idol was broken, it wasn’t an intentional break though. It was made broken and the guide was narrating the history of those scenes to the tourists. I was totally euphoric, seeing them near me. Those foreigners added the warmth to the scene, admiring those cultures of India with its deepest sense. “They follow those that they don’t have, teaching us the essence of those that we have”. They seemed like moving the miles, before they explore. They were all like drilling themselves into oneself through those pillars. They gave me a quick glance. I could sense their excitement in their eyes. They seemed like searching the poetry that was embracing them. They bowed and greeted with their wet white hands, trying to imitate the cultures around them.

I slowly set the scenes inside the tower . There was different idols placed at different sides, meeting at the junction. There was a cue ,not huge though. Inside them there was inscriptions carved on the walls, pillars and everywhere.

I could sense those letters, in some geometrical symbol, in my finger receptor cells. I took a closer peep into those dark shadeless signs, from my memory, I could recall that those are the tamilian literatures. Those empires during some BC before had ruled this area of South India, known pandyas . They developed some of the epic arts in literature like Manimeghalayi and silapadhikaram, those arts were reflected in these areas. I could still feel the bounds of my thoughts while I was in the history classes. Those were so challenging days. Inside there was the shiva Idol that woke up the urge in me to go through the shiva trilogies. To the right there was yet another gigantic ganesh Idol, with thick hard black stone carved into a diety shaped with huge eyes, trunk and sort of them. I realized that “exploring the place I was exploring was an eternal exploration”.

I heard the philosophical arguments between the devotees surrounded there. My mom joined them and put forward her visions. Those sequence of their conversation was without science but fuelled with belief. It didn’t took me too long to decipher that belief is stronger than science, as human thinking can change the science with their strong believes. I nodded my head up and down. It looked like I was taking stand to their argument, but I was actually lost in those what my eye receptors had experienced so far.

It was breathtaking and photogenic without photos. There was no need of capturing them onto film, instead it was still alive and fresh in me, still young and bloom, those eternal streets, shops, temple and all the things there. It wasn’t materialistic. I could sense life around me which was immortal.

Eudaimonia – the contented happy state I felt when I travel. It was just a two day trip, but I choreographed the story that could be narrated for 2 generations.

I have miles to go, before I walk….

# Anjana Sundar