K.S. Nanditha: The Poet Who Embraced Death by Aparna Ajith SignUp
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K.S. Nanditha: The Poet Who Embraced Death
Dr. Aparna Ajith Bookmark and Share

K.S. Nanditha who stirred the hearts of readers through her poetic smithy has come to the limelight only after she stepped into the ‘the undiscovered country from whose bourn no traveler returns’. Her life and death remain as a mystery to everyone who knows her personally as well as poetically.

Life denies lot many things to lots. Nanditha denied many things to her life by hanging herself on the end of a sari. Her parents came across her series of poems penned in English and Malayalam in diaries after her death.  Her parents found those poignant and pure verses worth publishing. The poet that was alive in her remains awake in her lively and lamenting lyrics. Her poems brim with a craving for death and love.

Had she fallen that badly and madly for death, the great leveler? Was she a singing caged bird? I am always intrigued by her haunting and insightful lyrics. She unlocks my heart by rousing a tsunami of pent up emotions in my recess.

Born on 21 May 1969 at Wayanad district, the land of pristine exquisiteness from God’s own country, Nanditha’s poems still purvey a serene feeling to all readers. She took her life on 7 January 1999. She told her parents that she was expecting a telephone call that night and she would pick the call. Did she really receive any call that night, as nobody else heard the telephone ringing? Whose call was she expecting? Had the call come, would she have committed suicide?

Every time I see Nandithayude Kavithakal, (Nanditha’s Poems) these queries pester me. The name that garnered her fame makes me dive into the depths of her dazzling lines. At times, she is Anne Sexton and Sylvia Plath for me. Here are a few poems that I cherish forever. I earnestly believe that her poems must be heard and echoed on alien shores too.


 
My birthday makes me restless.
That day…
On a piece of white paper with pale-blue lines 
You drew your thoughts
And gave it to me as your birthday gift.
It was fire in the tip of your pen
It melted me
That day, it was clear daylight
And the night was moonlit
Today, the sun becomes dim
And the stars fade away
What I searched in between
The bouquet of flowers made by my friends
The wishes of my younger brother
And the Milk-Payasam my mother served,
Was for your pen.
The pen that you threw away
At last, when I discovered that pen
In between the stack of old books
The flame on its tip
Had died!


2
  
My mirror has gone mad.
It throws weird images at me.
In the past
It was sensible.
Once an angel
Once a witch
But always
One image at a time.
Now
There are silent screams
Thrown at my feet
Like empty oyster shells.
Once I caught
A pretty wine glass
Before it caught my eye.
Later
There were faded violets.
Today I was shocked.
It was an egg
Fidgeting in blood
Like a fish out of water.
I swear, it contracted
Like a heart.
Gory, terrifying
It spit out a sperm
And died.
An empty red plastic bag
Horror!
I tremble...
Before I collapse
I throw my mad mirror
Out through the window
Down to the streets.
I killed it.


 
The touch of affection
the aching need of what I sought
leaves me out of all the fairs
My mask, too fine and serene,
my smile ugly, words worthless,
the mask is torn to pieces.
Still, I wear a self-conscious laugh
facing the world out of its beauty
to frown with disdain

4 

The world laughs
At your foolishness;
And calls you insane.
Those sharp eyes do not see anything.
They do not see you.
You are far away
Beyond even a thousand miles.
When their eyes see you
You are laughing.
Not at your foolishness;
But at theirs……
  


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08/03/2020
More by : Dr. Aparna Ajith
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