Mangala – Welcome Home.

Mangala is the new star at the Periyar Tiger Reserve, Kerala, India. The tiger cub, abandoned by her mother was discovered by the forest officials, who nursed her back to health.

Now, as she turns two, she is about to be released back into the wild, where she really belongs. So, here’s to Mangala – the tiger cub set to get back home !

The green sparkle in those eyes,

Soft fur in stripes of gold,

What you be ? Oh ! Mangala ?

A cub missing its Mom, or

A ferocious beast-in-making ?

You belong; not here,

In man’s tiny domestic world,

But out there, in the vastness of the jungle.

There, the leaves would greet you,

Amid the wind that caresses your skin.

The cicadas sing you their melodies,

The soil would yearn your touch,

And, the brook beckon you,

To its deep bosom.

You belong there, Oh ! young one,

You are born of the jungle.

Mighty, kind and unfettered.

So, Welcome home !

©Anakha K Vijay. All Rights Reserved.

The picture was published in The Hindu, on April 11, 2021. Copyright acknowledged.


What is pain ? Is it just a feeling, or may be something deeper ? Something, that touches us inside out, something that transforms us ? 
Perhaps, pain really has the potential to make us stronger, bolder and live life better. I don't know. Do you ? 

Pain, is what they called it.

If only I could tell you,

How it felt, to let the arrow

Pierce my heart, into pieces,

Like a shattered mirror,

Never to be the same again.

Pain, it was, the tears.

That filled my eyes,

That made me not see,

The heart inside, that was

Bleeding, like the soldiers’ wound

That never healed.

There was none.

None of the smile I knew,

Or the kind eyes as always,

All I saw in you, was the brute,

Not the love I knew, nor the light,

But a dark light that burnt me.

Pain,  you make me cry.

But I shall fight, like the

Gallant knight, brave and dare,

The sorrow of the pain,

You can make me cry,

But not take my spirits.

Pain, I love you.

For I can’t think how lost,

I be, without you to fight,

And that I shall-  Fight.

Love you, only to get away,

So I can fool you I am still caught.

© Anakha K Vijay. All Rights Reserved.

Nb. The picture is from the internet. Copyright acknowledged.

The Roots

We are all, but a product of our pasts. The experiences we have been through, our life circumstances, people, memories and more… These are what root us to our identity. My thoughts on the ‘The Roots‘ of life that nurture all of us and keep holding us onto what we really are.

When you think of the past,

You know it always gets back,

You know it rings every time,

For, what has happened, moulded –

You out and in- The Roots.

How plants alter their roots to adjust to soil moisture •

Where you come from and where you go,

Are what your past tells you.

You learn to love, to let go,

To grow, to shrink away,

To a far away land-away from the Roots.

It beckons, as a lighthouse

Guiding the lost sailor,

To shores unknown, where you are safe,

Just as you were at your Roots.

Then, there are dreams,

In hues, lost to time,

Those that speak to me,

In tunes of memories, from The Roots.

You run, you fly,

You swim the currents in waves,

That take you across oceans, across unseen skies,

But something holds you still- The Roots.

©Anakha K Vijay

Nb. The Image is from the internet, copyright acknowledged.

An Enduring Love Story


Hello readers ! Today, I would like to share with you my experience with another wonderful book – India My Love, by Dominique Lapierre.

What is it like to traverse 20,000 km across the Indian subcontinent in a veteran Rolls-Royce ? What lessons do the erstwhile land of maharajas hold for a foreigner captivated by its beauty ? This work answers these questions and a lot more !


Published by :Full Circle

Year of Publication : 2014

Genre: Non fiction

Translated by : Asha Puri [From French]

I chose to read this one out of sheer curiosity. I had read two of the author’s works – The City of Joy and Freedom at Midnight (with Larry Collins).Those two are absolutely fantastic books that leave a deep imprint on you. Now, I was curious to know the real love story the author had with India.

This book is the story of a humanitarian crusade in support of the poorest of poor. It is an insight into the mosaic of lives India holds and the lessons it represent. In fact, this is what I like the most about this book. It teaches you valuable lessons, in very subtle ways. Consider, for instance, the hungry school girl from the Bengal countryside who shares her biscuit with a dog. As the front page of the book recounts the Indian proverb – All that is not given is lost. This spirit strikes you deeply.

All that is not given is lost….

There are some interesting observations on India in the book. The author, quite correctly calls India the land of surprises. How else does one explain the location of a signboard of Indian Space Centre in a rice field ! Also captured is the adrenalin rush of adventurism India offers. The author gets to chase boars on desi horsebacks and travel in a third class compartment with hijras.

The deep bond the author shares with Mother Teresa is also evident from his narration of his times in Kolkata. The author also initiates a fund collection drive for a charitable organisation that is near bankruptcy. Several emotional incidents are narrated here. For instance, a grandmother donated the entirety of her savings; a twelve year old boy broke open his piggy bank to donate his entire savings ! These are proof of how love becomes meaningful when it leads to fruitful action. I think, that is what makes this book valuable.

Actions speak here. Loud and clear. The pictures in the book – of the smiling young Ashu cured of leprosy, the rag mounds of Kolkata where hapless children dig for valuables, young children of a Resurrection Home at Kolkata praying before their meal – these clicks speak louder than a thousand words !

A few snapshots from the book

This book strikes you as a deeply personal, simple account. There is an instant connection made with the reader, plainly because the account is a very ordinary one, but extraordinary in spirit. I would really recommend this book to anyone who desires a better understanding of India.

So, that’s it folks ! Happy reading 🙂

All rights reserved @ Anakha K Vijay.

The Crown’s March.

Trying  Times.

Perhaps, mankind is yet to grow enough, to defeat the vicissitudes of time. In a span of few months, the corona [meaning crown] virus, not even one hundredth of a millimetre has brought powerful nations to a standstill.

Spreading faster than wildfires, it has pushed Governments, organisations and the entire humanity to the limits of our energy.

As I pen this, I earnestly hope that all of my readers are doing good. Take care of yourself, physically and mentally. Be strong. This too shall pass…

The March

Swift megapolis,

Glitzy streets,

Soaring towers,

Still, in the silence of death.


The lights are out,

Its dark, cold.

Damp are the empty streets,

All as the crown reigns on…


All locked in safe walls,

At homes across a centum nations,

Praying, that the crown

Don’t come their way.


Are you afraid ? Am I ?

That the march of the crown,

Would be too much a trial,

For God’s greatest creation ?


Oh, worse have we seen,

And this we shall overcome.

In a tight embrace, shall we hold,

Each other in this courageous battle.


In the flame of our minds,

Shall we light the torch of unity,

Across borders, across oceans,

Bound by the blood of love.


Sapiens, wake. Be bold.

This crown shall fall,

Before the march of us – soldiers,

In this battle for survival.


Trying times; but the crown shall fall,

Fall shall it, before, the might

Of humanity’s innate strength,

To love and learn.

Image result for united humanity

©  All Rights Reserved – Anakha K Vijay. 

NB – The picture is from the internet. Copyright acknowledged.


Hope, it is.

What makes us move on.. what pushes us through life, each dreary moment when we feel all is lost, when we see no light..

Hope, it is… !

Each day passes on

As the wings of hope,

Flies time on and on,

Onto galloping days.


Each day, hope it is,

That we would live to see,

And open our eyes,

To behold the beautiful sea.  IMG-20191215-WA0012.jpg

That my heart would beat,

For the next hour, steady,

Till fate can take its seat,

Till destiny says I am ready.


The dark tunnel beckons,

You hope there’s light far away,

Shining like beacons,

Light after the dark on your path.


Hope it is, that makes you go,

The darkest caves all alone,

Where none has chosen to tow,

And yet you hope for a star to shine.


Beauty of the flowers,

Make me want to sing,

Out loud, in the bowers,

Hoping my voice lasts the song.


As Mama kisses me night,

I hope … she stays there,

Forever; that her loving tight

hug would be forever more.

Thanks a ton for reading !! Comments are welcome 🙂

©Anakha K Vijay . All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy- Megs.


Hello folks !!

Once, a friend gifted me a book and he wrote on the front page –“A book is the only immortality”.  Wonderful words ! How fascinating … the idea that the story of a book is immortal. That which a book seeks to say lives on for generations to come.

What better way to keep a book alive, than by sharing what the book gave you. So here I am, sharing with you wonderful people my experience with one such book !


Author: Jhumpa Lahiri

Published by : Penguin Random House

Originally Published : 15 November 2016



The subject of this book is one which most of us, take for granted. In this deeply personal account, Jumpha Lahiri narrates what book covers mean to her, both as a reader and as an author.

Why do books have covers ? Do book covers speak ?  Do covers cast spells, or tell stories ?

The Clothing of Books remind one of the words of William Shakespeare – ‘Brevity is the soul of the wit’. Running onto hardly 75 pages, divided in 7 Chapters, what attracts me to this work is that it says so much in very few words.

Just as traditional wear give one a sense of belonging, book jackets give a book its rightful place in world of books. To books, covers are a sense of identity. Also, as the author puts it, the cover makes one aware that the book has been read. Who can forget the ‘naked’ books of the library! Those rendered old by constant reading.

The author also delves into the need of a book jacket.? As she puts it – ‘If the process of writing is a dream, the cover represents the awakening’. The jacket is often the first interpretation of a text. It has a very intimate relation with the author.

What makes this analysis stand out is the fact that it is borne out of first hand experience of the author. At one point, Lahiri confesses that she had to buy a book for its cover more than once, simply because she could not resist it.

Cases of collaboration between the authors and the artists of book covers are also narrated. In modern mass publishing, book covers also have a commercial function. An interesting thought is also posed – What would be the relevance of a cover to e-books ? Such a relevant thought in today when digital reading has found its place.

When I bought this book, frankly, I did not expect a book jacket to mean all so much. This book has transformed my perspectives on book covers. Next time, I buy a book, I will definitely ponder over the story the cover seeks to tell me ! So, mind you. Next time you grab a read pause for a second. Listen carefully, is the book jacket whispering    something ?

Now, why don’t you people tell me… have you been fascinated by book covers ? Leave your comments below !! Thanks a ton for reading.

© All Rights Reserved. Anakha K Vijay. 


All Things Green And Good

Hello beautiful people ! Hope all of you are doing good. Have you ever been fascinated by colours ?? Vivid shades of blue, green, orange, red or black ??

Once I got to spend some time in the lush green tea gardens of Munnar, Kerala, India. Beautiful place.. and of course, a poet’s paradise !!

Simply penned down what came to my mind. The power of Green … here we go .


The blue green of deep oceans,

Where shoals swim and pearls sparkle,

Where green is deep mystery.


The green of lush meadows,

Where the morning glow drops in dews,

Where green is hope for a bright day.


Velvet-green of the hills,

Where sounds of music roams free,

Green is melody, straight from heavens.


The green eyes of the striped beauty,

That roams the jungle fearless,

Where green is ferocity.


The green of a little pixie,

That prances around my window sill,

Only in my dreams, where green is magic.


The green of the Christmas tree,

When the winter is high,

Where green is new beginning – to love, care.


The green of the huge oak tree,

In my courtyard,

Where green is strength.


The green of ice candies,

That tickle my taste buds,

When green is yummy.


Bright green of the balloons,

Tied to balloon-man’s cycle

Green, like an urchin prancing.


The thunderstorm drains hard,

Now, on my window sill ,

And I am scared.


That the green pixie would go away,

That the rain would wash away

All things green and good.


The first picture is of the tea gardens of Munnar. The latter, from a watchtower at Chinnar Wildlife Sanctuary, around 50 km from Munnar. Photo Courtesy – Sagar, Megs.

© 2019 Anakha K Vijay. The Dreamcatcher. All Rights Reserved. 

Well, thats it ! Thanks for reading. Eager to hear your stories with colours.. nature’s palette !

The Night

The mysteries of the dark night have always fascinated men. Shadows.. dancing to the wind, wolves hunting in packs, the moon, stars, fairy tales told by grannies… and a lot more! Here is my own version of the mysteries of the night. As the day dies … 

The tired day lulled itself into a sleep;
Tight, beneath its starry blanket,
Oh! How the moonlight shone,
Colouring meadows a silver glee.

Tired eyes, dozed off;
Shutting out, worries,
Sapiens bore all day,
Now, deep in sleep, unaware,
Of wonders , that the night set.

The Moon shone; serene
Shy, as if awaiting her love.
Oh! how they loved- clouds and moon,
Never tired, in each others’ arms,
In the star-lit sky.

Roofs shone, milky white
Beneath lay, children lending ears
To tales, that for generations echoed
In the silence of the night,
From lips of nannies old.

Little twinkling stars, stood steady
Staring into the secrets of the night,
Oh! how they gleamed,
As if, they were diamonds
From the deepest mines.

Wolves moved forth,
Searching for prey, pacing
The distance of night,
In quiet stealth, only to scare,
Folks awake in the night’s depths.

The wind blew, steady
Whispering secrets unknown,
Across distances of the night,
As if a spy on the round.

Crickets sang, owled hooted,
Rustling leaves swayed,
To the symphony of musicians –
Invisible, singing to ghosts of days past.

Shadows danced, swinging
To the night’s rhythm,
Oh! how they swang,
As if a ballerina’s feat,
As the trees clapped in applause.

Then, slowly, lovers in the sky bid adieu,
Stars dissolved,
wolves fled to caves dark,
As human eyes, awoke to night’s death.

Well, all things good,
Are once to end,
So does the night vanish,
Taking its wonders into hiding,
Only to hide till the day is tired.

Well, this one is a long one ain’t it ? Can’t really seem to contain the mysteries of the night in a few words ! Thanks for your time…

– DC.

©Anakha Vijay, June 2019. 

Photo credit – Megs.

The Rumble

The Rumble, far and low;

Came gliding onto the heavy sky,

Clouds dark, floating about,

Cast onto their brow,

A dampness…Rumbling.

Image result for rain

Lighting the Sky,

Painting the whole

A thunderous glow,

Crystal drops dancing,

As if setting the stage grand.

T’was close now,

The Rumble, come it did,

Searing through seas past,

Speeding, Racing the winds,

Searching for a damp abode.

Shower down, shower , shower,

Down down, the Rumble,

Platter … Platter danced,

Children of the clouds,

Down to the music of the rumble.

Thanks for reading folks 🙂

[The picture is from the internet]