பதிவுலகம்

 கனவுக் கதை சார்வாகன் When we reached National store there was no crowd of customers at all. It is a kind of comfort at Natesan’s shop. There would never be rush of crowd. Black, green and red peppermints, rubber balls, cheap pens, assorted color inks in bottles (sold not in bottles but just loosely measured) soaps, combs (no mirrors in National Stores), something to enhance the personality before and after shave, dies to blacken white hairs, a pair of nose ………….. four ruled, with varieties of rules, unruled, cross ruled -- bundles of notebooks, pencils, and many more items, everything waits for the buyers. Usually we are the ones used to be standing there. Natesan used to be all smiles and would extend a welcome saying “vaanga vaanga”. He would not expose the brown tinted teeth line. His teeth used to be white. He is not habituated to chewing betel leaf and nuts. Only smoking. That too, not inside the shop. He has no such habits of drinking, illicit relations, gambling, racin...

Visvarupam by Saarvaagan Who is he? What is his name? Ram? Mugrugan? Muniyan? Maadan? Muthan? Markandan? Mahadevan? I see him daily. I see him, whenever I search for the neem stick, on waking up while packing my sleep with sleeping mat. He used to be drinking porridge under the neem tree. On that day also he was doing the same. The mud pot from which he was drinking porridge was black, covered with dirt resembled a deity that is equally black and dirt covered that has not been worshiped. Soft cheeked kids with dried tears with dirt marks and with shrunken eyes were sleeping beside him. Job. Has he a job to go for? Is he in search of a job? Why should he be going for a job, if it does not fetch him a good meal? Who is he? What is his name? I have a thousand names, Sahasranaamam.   I am nameless, Anamadhayam. I am a person. A common man. A numbered prisoner. A Policeman. A...