Author Archives: Vijinarayan

About Vijinarayan

I am a freelance writer based at Coimbatore in India.An avid reader and an occasional blogger, I write for popular newspapers in India and for many online Platforms. A cancer survivor trying to live every single day of my life meaningfully.

April showers

It is raining poetry everywhere

This hot month of Indian lilacs

Have turned into a season of poetic showers!

NaPoWriMo they say and it starts raining poems-

Any form ,any thought you name it

Thou shalt have a poem!

Hues of all sorts ,emotions inexplicable

All roll out into verses straight from the hearts!

Sonnet,ballad, limmerick,tanka,hiku-

Poets are ready to clad themselves in different attire and

Delve deep into the ocean of verses to collect

Those beautiful pearls of poetry which are their own!

This hot April month has suddenly become cool

For it is raining poems everywhere-

These beautiful summer showers of poetry

Has the power to enshrine in your hearts

The most beautiful blossoms that a man can ever behold!.

Coimbatore Chronicles(Elephant stories)

Wherever you go a mountain travels with you in Coimbatore

So does an elephant story.

Coimbatoreans love the mountains,

As much as they love their hulk friends.

These elephants are given nomenclature _

Sometimes funny,sometimes fiery,

Mostly hearty and lovely!

These big friends love to say hello to sauve Coimbatoreans,

Hence with elan they saunter into their habitats

From the blue mountain jungles!

There you have a Bahubali(the strong one) –

Who can lift or break anything,

Looking majestic with his long ivory tusks.

Here you have an Arisi Raja(rice king)

Who loves to eat rice from the houses and shops

Well you can’t call it shop lifting,

When a pachyderm wants to share your grocery

Who can say no to him?!

Sometimes our big friends come in herds too!

They confront a random truck driver

To feast on the bundles of sugarcane loaded on his truck,

He waits patiently for their feast to get over,

Well we Coimbatoreans can never say no to an elephant!

Elephant stories abound here -As old as those blue hills

And as fresh as the air that blows from there,

We love them all our hills as well as our elephants!

Coimbatore Chronicles (Raagamalika mornings)

There is a jugalbandhi at my roof !

Rehearsal for a fusion music fest underway!

That yellow tiny birdie whose name

I am at a loss to know ,turns out to be a Goldfinch,

Thanks to my Google lens!

She turns out to be a charmer

Her voice blends beautifully with

The sparrows and mynas in my garden ,

The green parrots have come this early for the

Half eaten guavas  on the tree that they left last evening-

Taste of it kept alluring them through the night!

These little darlings are Bhairavi, Madhuvanthi,  

Bhoopalam and Sahana to me !

Yes indeed these heralders of a beautiful day

Now have the name of my favourite ragas !

How more aptly they could be named?

They may never know how their fusion music makes me live

Yet another day   ,

Sun hardly peeps up

I gear my self up for the remains of the day.!

Coimbatore Chronicles. (Peacock Days)

A peacock starts  its scream ,

It is just three in the morning,

Will there be enough water and food for it ?

Did I put rice on  my terrace walls ?

Did I fill the earthen bowl there with enough water?

Is he on my terrace waiting for me to wake up?

Is he just a traveller who dropped in to say Good morning to me?

And have his early breakfast?

Dear blue charmer  do you know that,

Your scream in the mornings

Can drive away my blues

And help me  start my days with a silver smile!

Seeds that bloom in rain

I came across some unique seeds in the

West end of my little garden.

Pour buckets of water,manure it well,

Or keep ploughing around it with your spade,

Like a yogi doing deep penance these seeds will be hibernating .

The day a gentle rain sprinkles its benevolent drops on them –

There they come out peeping gleefully up from their slumber!

My little munchkin hardly stirs out of his bed,

No amount of cajoling from a time bound dad,

Threatening from a custom bound grandpa

Or promises of chocolates from an amused uncle,

Can make him budge even a wee bit,

The minute he hears his mama’s voice

Asking for her little prince-

There he goes darting up like an arrow from Arjuna’s hand!

Indeed some seeds bloom only when

The gentle rain falls on them!

Weaving Dreams

Blurred green fieldsFrom a racing car-

Stick to my eyelids.

Ameen sayani’s magnetic voice

Announces yet another Mukesh melody.

Virginia Wolf scowls From the cover of a book.

Silver birches swing under the pressure of the wind,

Aroma of the hot brewing coffee

And amma’s ‘lakshmi rave ma intike’

Blend into a hot steaming creamy cup.

Sister racks her head and mine

Over the complicated tangle,

Of a circumlocutory kolam.

Tsunami waves seem to engulf 

The beaches of Kollam-

While the Eagles sing ‘Hotel California’in full throated ease

From the you tube.

Sree padmanabha reclines in Great splendour decked to the hilt

With sparkling gold and diamonds.

Indians scorn a cricketer’s uneventful innings

Parul ben claims she makes

The best methi roti in Ahmadabad.

Shrill ringing of the milkman’s cycle bell,

Jolts me out of my bed,

Rubbing my eyes I frantically try to Weave a single dream and fail!!

An elegy to a poetic thought

I was making my umpteenth dosa

 When white batter on my enormous thawa,

Started getting roasted to the accompaniment of gingely oil,

A beautiful poetic thought struck  me-

It came like a darling grandchild stepping into your room to show his newly acquired skill.

The beauty of it made me pat my own back,

At last I was thinking like Gibran and Rumi.

As I was folding the dosa a call for chutney came from the table

I rushed to fulfil my duty of a chutney provider,

When I came back I felt blank!

My poetic thought had just vanished from me for ever,

Try as I may my foggy brain refused to budge,

No amount of beating my head and chest yielded any result,

It was neither in my head nor my heart.

My stirring the batter endlessly

Or whipping the chutney and sambar a hundred times,

Did not bring back my poetic thought!.

Was it the ire of Gibran and Rumi haunting me like this?

May be they did not like the idea ,

Of a great poetic thought emanating from a gingley oil smelling kitchen?

Little did they know

That I cannot go to a hill top or sit by the gurgling water stream with a goblet of wine

For my poetic thoughts-

I have to find them between the making of two dosas!

Was this selective amnesia inflicted on me

For daring to find a great poetic thought from the corners of a south Indian kitchen?

My lone tear drop that rolled down on the dosa tawa-

Will it make that dosa of mine saltier or tastier?

I wait for judgements from the table!.

Pilgrimage of a tree

An  unimaginable pilgrimage

With head held high.

Of a lonely tree -A tree without roots.

Wonders never cease on earth

Not the ones that turn you Topsy-turvy and make you 

Stand up elegantly with a smile.

Cute little sapling’s roots were clipped

But then came the wonder –

Rain or shine,storm or snow ,

Tough things made the plant tougher  and tougher

And here you had a Strong benevolent tree stronger than rest of its clan.


Possibilities and practicalities were shoved down the drain,

The majestic tree stood its ground 

Yearning in every tissue for the clipped roots

And hence began its Pilgrimage in search of its roots.

Kingdom of the roots stood spellbound!

How can this happen? A tree without roots ?

And it has created an orchard too?

Old trees of the kingdom  Danced in pure glee!

Hugged and kissed the son of the soil-

The strong and big rootless tree .

Gods of the kingdom of roots smiled 

And told the old trees the  secret of all secrets

“Indeed this is  a world of wonder no doubt ,

But what ye behold before thee is no wonder,

The clipped roots had left behind,

Some soft wet soil as a mother root always leaves,

And this soft wetness was enough 

For any lone sapling to survive!

This moistness has the power

To turn a rootless tree to a dense forest,

It is in search of this moistness 

That this lonely tree has come after five decades!!!”

States of matter



Ruminating on the Many vistas of life-

I wonder what great  notions and philosophies 

My life had rotated and revolved around for decades endlessly  ?                                         

The great truth dawns on my puny self!

Sans a peepal tree or a cave,

The great revelation sinks in,

My life of course Keeps revolving

 Round  and round only two things -Solids and liquids!

These two states of matter,

Have kept me busy 

All through my precious  long life every single day.

Eyes opened ablutions  rushed through,

Walk straight to the stove,

Keeping in mind the nuances of coffee making

 Transferred from generations Of coffee makers-

A cuppa  Kumbakonam degree coffee gets ready,

Here I begin my day with my share of   liquid

It is breakfast time

Keeping in mind my partner’s taste buds

As well as frightening calories

A mid way cuisine of sorts gets ready

And here I have my dosage of solid!

A mid morning  green tea or black tea ensures your good health,

There I go again -My rendezvous with liquid.

Eat your lunch like a prince or a king

But it must have some authentic Tamilian ,Keralite or punjabi dishes

There goes my brush with solids again!

Another coffee and yet another elaborate dinner

There goes my roller coaster ride of-Solid liquid,solid liquid,solid liquid!

Like Buddha  the revelation has dawned on me

That just two states of matter

Can make your life revolve round it!!!