Limitless

Musician with seven notes

Painter with three colours

Wordsmith with twenty six letters

Sprinter with two legs

Migratory bird with a pair of wings

Atom with its three parts

Watchmaker with three pointers

Wanderlust with four directions

Dressmaker with a needle

Locksmith with a hole and a key

And, thief with none

Swearer with just one tongue

~June 26, 2020

Words

Sometimes like paste 

smoothing out of a tube

At times like a baby 

labouring out of womb

~ June 19, 2020

Glowing Faces, Pissing Pots

Glowing faces, holding devices

walking boundaries, slowing pace

unnerving statistics, changing dynamics

revealing rumours, feeling faint 

merrymaking brats, chiding parents

Cut to scene ii:

Pissing pots, germinating glory

calming plants, clinging stalks

helping tendrils, soaring alacrity

saving seeds, growing greed

experimenting life, exchanging notes 

passing clouds, raining sometimes

surprising turns of events

blooming hearts, feeling great

sowing hope, reaping success

learning lessons

rooting back to basics

being down to earth

~ June 18, 2020

Wet

We get beaten up

until we come clean

We are tumbled around

until we kick out the dirt

That's the rule all around,

no point negotiating...

But then,

it's worth even if we are hurt

because when we get wet,

hung and hooked, and

lie high on tight ropes,

all day long, we get to flirt

and flutter with our folks,

and it's still OK to be

downed and left low and dry

because everyone's on 

a cycle of low and high.

We are the clothes 

hanging high 

on the clothesline 

and hooked

by the clothes peg.

~ June 16, 2020

Mind's Eye

A moment came when,

on a moonless night, with

a bunch of ambling clouds

patching the dark blue sky,

I could have aimlessly 

peered through the vast

expanse of the darkness 

so deathlike, dull and dry,

but looked skyward to spot 

a twinkle or two, and

some anonymous birds

darting with a sideward gait,

and just then, 

just over my head

on a patch of clear 

deep blue canvas,

I glimpse a fleet of 

white ethereal beings

fly past with such grace.

I cannot help but ponder...

For once, 

I do not have to bother 

to look at a wonder

the second time

through my camera's eyes

because this moment 

hidden afar in darkness

cannot be frozen with 

such detail, depth, and clarity

by anything but 

my mind's eye.

~June 13, 2020

Flavours

Cows are lazing around, and leaves are shining brightly, under the street light's glow. They are swinging merrily by the branches' arms like there's no tomorrow. There's orange, vannila, mango, ready for a perfect tango. And, there's berry flavour too... Strawberry and black currant. All seen from a distant, these are flavours of pastel colours peeping out of the windows. Out of greed, I decide to buy one of each. My eyes devour some instantly, and freeze the rest as words. Time passes by, and words become verses. The night deepens, and houses' night lights begin to shut. One by one, the flavours disappear, as a reminder for my slumber. ~ June 09, 2020

Words by the Window

On an uneventful Saturday evening, I was about to start on another planned session of reading. This time, it was the book Unbroken by Laura Hillenbrand. For me, the books Unbroken and The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks (by Rebecca Skloot) share the similarity as that of Andre Agassi's autobiography Open (actually by J. R. Moehringer) and All the Light we Cannot See (by  Anthony Doerr). Like how I saw J. R. Moehringer's praise for Anthony Doerr, I was surprised to see Rebecca Skloot's praise for Laura Hillenbrand. Certainly, a coincidence wrt Coincidence!

A few lines into the first few pages of Unbroken, and a commotion breaks out, which makes me look out of my window. Outside my window is my house's backyard, if there's one at all. Well, that is the park's small stretch of barren land, sparsely dotted with malfunctioning children's playing equipment. The same park that was swarming with humankind of all age groups is now a deserted parcel of land, devoid of all the trampling (my heartfelt thanks to corona!). For the same reason, apart from hearing the cawing of crows, I can hear the continuous short squeaks of the shy squirrels, the longish flute-like cooing of the cautious cuckoos and mynahs, shrieking parrots, and the other sweet voices of unseen and unheard of birds and animals. Listening to them gives the thrill of sitting in a silent cinema hall, witnessing the demoing of the state-of-the-art sound effects. Or rather, I must say it gives me a kind of a blissful feeling. 

Beyond this land stretch is a huge expanse of school campus that houses a lot of trees and spaced-apart classrooms. A few decades ago, there were apparently a lot of mango trees, and so the school was pseudonymously called as maanthoappu school. This huge expanse served home for these numerous birds and animals. With the current undisturbed and silenced set up, the fauna seems to be feeling like home and living in their natural state of habitat. That would explain the variety of blissful voices... birds and animals talking and singing freely in all its glory.

Amidst this, when I hear the cacophony of alarming cawing, I cannot help wonder if something is amiss even though it is beyond my capacity to reason or help. I see a congregation of crows flying in and out of a particular spot in a tree. These crows looked like they were conniving and waiting to find that five-second window where someone guarding a place nodded off, and they all convened at this particular branch in quick succession one after another to see this secret code being shared. And their entire mission depended on knowing this code. They flew in, accomplished their mission, and quickly departed. Though they all were cawing together at the same time, there was hardly any cohesion. There was no harmony, but only pandemonium and discordance.

A Late Evening Walk

Moonlight caressing my head

Music filling my ears

Lightness levitating my heart

Clarity infusing my thoughts

Positivity shining in my soul

Ecstasy soaking my spirit

Burdens evaporating like ether

Confusions shattering like a mirror

Ideas shaping like pearls of mercury

Having tamed my troublesome today

I am awaiting my bedtime like a baby

To slay tomorrow's slothfulness

~ Jun 03, 2020

Red Silt

The next morning,

We see Red Silt...

On the road and roof tops, 

flat as well as slopes

of the poor and the riches.

In all the cracks and crevices.

On the drying clothes,

and the helping handrails.

On all of the resting vehicles.

Beneath our feet and

as part of our breath.

As part of our emotions...

Of expressive neighbours, 

few full of curses, and

a few of logic aplenty. 

Of unexpressive silence, telling 

of neither apathy nor empathy.

And some visible silence, 

either out of helplessness 

or of forgiveness.

The house that stood so tall

has now scattered itself

as dust, silt, and other forms,

after trying its best 

to resist two days of 

purposeful bulldozing.

~ June 04, 2020

Heil, lockdown!

Stiff ankles, locked knees, 

gloomy outlook, glum mood,

longing hours, counting days, 

unmet plans, forgotten places, 

rope walk, invisible tether, 

fake enthusiasm, irrational fear,

chained spirit, conditioned mind, 

spaced queues, rationed supplies, 

bare minimum, handful children,

shrinking world, houseful terrace,

hopeless nights, bleakly days, 

ruthless sun, prickly heat,

dry mouth, wry smile,

blanched face, fleshy neck, 

wrinkled skin, unkempt look,

unspent fun, nowhere to run.

blinking cursor, blank space, 

withering words, cautionary tale.

dark mode, need a jailbreak. 

down the lockdown!

dot.

~ May 27, 2020

.

Fan in Four

Of the things that I hate the most 

tell me about 

the whirling fan in four... 

of the monstrous whooshing noise, 

and of its mechanised gusty air.

But then, when there are 

these weightless bloodsuckers 

hanging around 

like they are on a vacation 

with free food 

on the mercy of your tired legs

while you are working like a maniac...

Just imagine what comfort it is

on a sultry night, after a long day 

to just hang up your feet 

at the edge of your working table

letting them nod to the music, that 

the snug-fit earplugs deliver to your ears,

and with a good book in your hand... 

Now, you savour the satanic pleasure, of 

seeing the parasites suffer from starvation 

from the corner of your eyes...!

High-five to...

The fan, in speed four!

Sunshine of my life

It has not even been nine hours

since the time it rained, and

just about twenty hours

since I last saw you.

And yeah, I agree...

there was the night in between.

Though you have been scorching,

and there's much more to see,

I already am missing you.

You know, I am that desperate lover

losing sight of his new-found love.

I rejoice and am filled with

a pleasant feeling of fullness,

in seeing just a glint of you...

The faintly shine of a famished sun.

Like that sweet, divine moment,

when the love of my life

returns to my arms

after a brief desolation.

My New Super Power

It is almost 3 am.

I count 3578, 3579, 3580... inside my head.

I have already come two full circles.

From being supine, to my left, 

to my right, and am now on my back.

Rewind to 1 am. 

I start on an hour-long self-inquisition, 

and write down my to-do list.

Satiated, I hit the bed.

Innumerous ideas and action items

related to unconnected threads

continue to pour in.

After a few minutes of restlessness

I remember the sleeplessness tip:

count one to hundred

and you would be asleep by 99.

Seriously! Whatever...

Anyways, here's how I discovered 

my new super power:

As I start to exercise and 

count my reps, 

I get drifted away and 

begin to reflect very lucidly 

about all the strangeness of life.

And yet, surprisingly I realise 

when it's time to change the rep...

Like there's some timer 

running inside my head.

Untitled

I imagine the letters d-e-a- being written in slo-mo and in a calligraphic way. Hoping that the next letter would be ‘r’, I wait. But no… it turns out to be ‘t’ and finally halts at ‘h’.

Death… here and there, now and then. Can we certainly say where, how, and when? Or, in some cases why…!

I imagine, or rather, there are certain events that happen which lead me to or indicate the inevitable and impending death of a dear one. I sit and wait for the day to come, and then, I wait long enough only to forget it amidst the other unemotional worries of everyday life. And then again, there’s another one such event. Nothing happens. My hopes, or, should I say, hopelessness, shatter.

How is one supposed to live in a continuous ‘let-go’ mode when it is not past tense yet. The problem is that it is present continuous tense. Or a future tense, but without the mention of the prefix ‘near’ or ‘distant’. You know it is going to happen for sure, but you are just not sure when. Of course, we all know that there is no point wondering about when something bad is going to happen, or how, and all the other gory details.

It may be very practical for a surgeon to talk about the patients’ death or life that depends on the surgery they perform. However, ask the practical doctor to talk about the dear one’s death, even if they know it is just a few years away. No way…! If we look at death objectively, yes, it is the presence or absence of a life. But we are not designed to look at it that way.

We don’t worry about death everyday, even when we all know that everyone’s going to die one day. And it is not that we love our kin and kith always hoping every minute that they will not die. I mean, you don’t consciously have that thought about life or death, right?

So, how easy is it going to be if you are kept reminded about it on a periodic basis?

It is torture.

Well, these gloomy thoughts are not entirely about my dad, aged 74, who is determined, or has determined that he will die at 75. But partly yes. In fact, he and I discuss about death… no, it is not a discussion per se; it comes and goes as a passing comment in some random conversations. You know, a kind of mockery about the probability of his deterministic statements becoming true. It does not ache, even a bit, when we do so. But honestly, it aches when there are indications of the event happening soon.

I believed that I was far better than the surgeon who would not mention death even as a passing comment or as a matter of death, or better than the folks who have not realized that, in a few years, the eldest ones are not going to be around. But then, I realize that it does not help in any way or prepare you to face it bravely… Even if you are or not practical about it, it is still going to hurt the same way.

This writing may look a lot like an expression of the fear-of-death concept—thanatophobia.

But no... Just that it is a little intriguing how we all love and live happily when we know that people are going to die. So, it just turns out to be that you can be so, as long as you are certain or forgetfully uncertain about death. There is an area where you are neither here nor there about when and how it is going to happen.

Well, that’s the danger zone that we need to be aware of... that zone of hopelessness.

A note about notes

I think I sold Rahman a little short in "Of Opera, Train Tracks, Rhapsody, and A Gentleman in Moscow" when I briefly touched upon his usage of Carnatic notes in his compositions. It brings such a ravishing feel to the songs, no denial about it. And yeah, the mention of Carnatic notes in a song tends one to slow down the conversation, sink into the current state of being with eyes closed, with swaying of heads and the four of your fingers count and group portions of the song by repeatedly contacting the thumb. But no, we are not anywhere closer to this state of being in most of the songs where Rahman uses the Carnatic notes. There is a lot of tempo that the notes bring to the songs.

I had mentioned about Yaakkai Thiri from Ayudha Ezhuthu, Mangta Hai Kya from Rangeela, Dil Se Re in Dil Se, Kannalane from Bombay, and Thee Thee from Thiruda Thiruda. Perhaps, it was a thoughtless list. So, here is some thought to it.

Like the 'seeing red cars' phenomenon, I could not help but pay attention to the ones that had Carnatic notes. Of songs in that category, I must not miss the titular song in Bombay Dreams (yr 2002). While the female chorus does have some notes, it is not until Rahman pitches in with his strained tone that the song picks a considerable pace, especially in the last minute. 

Well, the album was a bit of a let down for me, primarily because part of the album is a medley of songs from movies such as Taal, Mudhalvan, Dil Se, and Minsara Kanavu... the ones that came out in the last three years of the 90s. Be that as it may, a few of the original pieces do exhibit Rahman's genius. Take the How Many Stars song; it has such a beautiful stature, in both words and composition. Or, Salaam Bombay or The Journey Home for that matter. Through the Ganesh song, one cannot stop and wonder about the fact that the Ganesh Chathurthi festival in Bombay is nothing short of a celebration. And the second song in the Bombay Dreams album to exhibit the magic of notes is Wedding Qawwali. 

One more with notes is the Kariye Na song in Taal. It is a folk-themed song with more emphasis to the verses. And in his own style, Rahman would play down everything and keep it to a bare minimum. Add to it, the Noor-Un-Ala-Noor song from Meenaxi. While Taal was overrated and lived to its expectations, Meenaxi's songs are those that exhibit Rahman's passion and repertoire. Thankfully, I have listened to Meenaxi's songs over a thousand times in these 15 years and not seen the videos until today; even Mangta Hai Kya's video for that matter. Certain things (do not) happen for a reason! 

A few other notable songs with Carnatic notes are Luka Chuppi from Rang De Basanti and Tere Bina from Guru. 

Anyways, now to the closing notes: though my desperation to reach out to Rahman's new songs and familiarize them has died out, I still cannot stop being amazed by the fact that, by hook or crook, the songs end up reaching my ears.

Of Opera, Train Tracks, Rhapsody, and A Gentleman in Moscow

With Amor Towles' Sasha aka Alexander's intriguing narration of Sofia's presence filling every inch of his lonely but made-to-be-lively life, can I ever imagine being distracted by anything at all in this world! No... absolutely not. But then, I am human; more importantly, a music-loving rahmaniac. So, you must have guessed what happened. In fact, I started reading "A Gentleman in Moscow" sometime in mid-December. Though it took quite some time to get used to Moscow's terrain and the Count's whereabouts in Hotel Metropol, it took a really good pace until mid-Jan, then I lost my rhythm midway of the book, and while attempting to pick up the book, I must have re-read the same chapter at least ten times, and then, finally one day in April, I surpassed the oft-treaded road (chapter named Absinthe), and finally moved on to Addendum and managed to hop from 1930 to 1938! Can you imagine, in about all of the 40 chapters of the book, all chapter names start with the letter A (the only exceptions being the chapters named 1930 and 1946)?

So, if I have been at it, failed so many times, and have managed to carry on, then imagine the persistence I must have had when I set forth myself to read, and especially with Amor's writing being just so stellar in the Adjustments chapter...!

Anyways, coming to the topic of distraction and that led to my subsequent suffering from migraine for the next 3 days... I left you hanging at guessing what happened, right? You may have guessed it right. But I am not going to let you walk away with it that easily. Yes, it is some song, but you must also guess which one of Rahman's distracted me from my sage-like stance and set me into an unimaginable state of trance. So much to talk about... and I am not sure where to start.

Let me start with Rahman's love for the sound of the trains on the tracks. How many of them! Mangta hai kya from Rangeela, Chaiyya Chaiyya from Dil se, Chikkubukku chikkubukku railae from Gentleman, O Saya from Slumdog Millionaire, Mental Manadhil from OK Kanmani. Of these, let me talk about an under-rated but one of my top favourites--that is still, even after 25 years of its existence. Yes... the Rangeela one--Mangta hai kya. What more can I talk, and how else can I describe, more than what the title has already said! This is Rahman's first song that he sang in Hindi, and so, it still is a little rustic and inexperienced. And, even though the song credits read Rahman and Shweta Shetty, I am sure that it is Unnikrishnan who sang the Carnatic bit in the end. And that again is one of Rahman's trademarks - the usage of Carnatic notes in songs. Dil se re in Dil Se, Yaakkai thiri from Ayudha Ezhuthu, Mangta hai kya from Rangeela, Kannalane from Bombay, Thee thee from Thiruda Thiruda. Now, I have traversed so much.

So, let me go back to the Gentleman. In fact, I was wondering a few days ago on how relevant is the theme or setting of the book to our current times. The indefinite house arrest of the Count and our similar plight these days, only hoping that the prevalent virus does not keep our company. Yeah! the one named 'Corona'. Of course, Count Rostov's pursuit is so much longer than ours. A long elaborate post just on the invasion of Corona into our lives much later.

For now, more than me talking anymore about Amor Towles's amazing book, a few lines in his own words that can vouch for his work.

The twice-tolling clock: A student of both the Stoics and Montaigne, the Count's father believed that our Creator had set aside the morning hours for industry. That is, if a man woke no later than six, engaged in a light repast and then applied himself without interruption, by the hour of noon he should have accomplished a full day's labor.

The Juggler: With the fruit in his hands, he stood perfectly erect. Or rather, he stood at a slight tilt induced by the wine, a sort of 12:02. ... For Andrey's hand had been crafted by God to juggle. So deft was his touch that the oranges moved of their own accord. Or better yet, they moved like planets governed by a force of gravity that simultaneously propelled them forward and kept from flinging off into space, while Andrey, who was standing before these orbits and releasing them a moment later to pursue their natural course. ... And when he set the four knives in motion, Emile leaned back in his chair and with a tear in his eyes, watched as his trusted blade tumbled effortlessly through space, feeling that this moment, this hour, this universe could not be improved upon.

Sofia: Retreating to the safety of his washroom, the Count took off his shirt, bathed his upper body, lathered his cheeks, all the while muttering the principle riddle of the day: “She is no more than thirty pounds; no more than three feet tall; her entire bag of belongings could fit in a single drawer; she rarely speaks unless spoken to; and her heart beats no louder than a bird’s. So how is it possible that she takes up so much space?”

Over the years, the Count had come to think of his rooms as rather ample. In the morning, they easily accommodated twenty squats and twenty stretches, a leisurely breakfast, and the reading of a novel in a tilted chair. In the evenings after work, they fostered flights of fancy, memories of travel, meditations on history all crowned by a good night’s sleep. Yet somehow, this little visitor with her kit bag and her rag doll had altered every dimension of the room. She had simultaneously brought the ceiling downward, the floor upward, and the walls inward, such that anywhere he hoped to move she was already there. Having roused himself from a fitful night on the floor, when the Count was ready for his morning calisthenics, she was standing in the calisthenics spot. At breakfast, she ate more than her fair share of strawberries; then when he was about to dip his second biscuit in his second cup of coffee, she was staring at it with such longing that he had no choice but to ask if she wanted it. And when, at last, he was ready to lean back in his chair with his book, she was already sitting in it, staring up at him expectantly.

Gratification

You are looking around
to find your way back
And only later realise
that it's the same street
you drove past a while ago...
'cos you're on the other side.

How about the feeling
of being greeted by an analogy
just when you are waking up?

How about the feeling
of longing to put your legs up
after a hard day's work,
And your thoughts light up
just when you've lain yourself?

Delayed gratification!
Or, is it instant,
because you get back up
And finish working on it?

Oh! You must be wondering
about the analogy...

Try running your finger tips
over a blade of bamboo...
From the hilt,
through the forte
to the foible and back.

Worth the wait?

My Trees

There are trees in my head
some stumped, some blooming
And some far away
and long forgotten
by distance and time.

Of the stumped ones, some are
oozing blood and suffering
Some stoic with closure,
and some stumped ones
still showing signs of life
with trifoliate, one or two.

Of the blooming trees,
some are verdant
with joy and no misgivings.
Some with varied hues, of
pink, green, yellow, and brown
telling of moments of
being born, fully matured,
and some
wishing and withering away.

I like my trees however they are,
and am thankful
for reminding me to practice
acceptance for who they are.

~dated: Feb 03, 2020