Numb

 

In my deep sleep

when you were in my dreams

My fingers got numb 

for sleeping in a way 

that cut off blood supply

And in my sleep I thought: 

Touching my numb fingers 

felt like feeling you through me

~ 21May25 

Bittersweet

You were like my love for coffee 

that I picked late in life

I loved the sweetness, 

but it came at some cost 

After denial came acceptance

of the fact that I cannot take you

with your innate bitterness.

So, I had no choice but to let go.

But that I still love coffee 

is also undeniable. 

As is with you.

So, I won't mind bearing you,

with ‘a pinch of’ sugar, 

which is just occasionally.

Certainly, now the wrestling

in my mind is settled.

Can I call this closure?

If yes, it did take a while…

Peace, now!

~ 10 Apr 2025

Puncture

My torn heart 

lets your words of yesteryears sew me

unaware that 

the needle eye is no more

~ 10Apr25

Terrace

 

You yearn for the warmth 

of a good friend’s house

that's aplenty of loving gestures 

But all you feel is the unwelcome 

coldness of solitude 

So, you meander through 

your sullenness

feeling the calmness of the

night sky above your head

And in minutes, you find solace

in the winds and the words that 

caress your tired body and mind

Isn't that proof enough

that one thing can be

substituted for another?

08 Apr 2025, 09:41 pm

Quarantine and Teens

 

Well, this comparison came to me this morning: about my state of being when I was in COVID quarantine and dealing with a teenager. I know it would sell for a good meme, but since it's not my area of expertise though it may be something I would love to consume, I will just have to stick to writing it down.

Put on the masks aka Talk less

Maintain safe distance

Eat healthy

Sleep on time

Exercise for sure

Practice mindfulness aka yoga aka meditation

~ 06Apr25

Omane from Aadujeevitham

 

Note: the song is best experienced using headphones.

A disclaimer: I know it's a tad too late to write about the song, maybe, I am a year late. But given my confidence in its longevity, it's just delayed justice. It's a classic and needs no further explanation.

The song begins with a curious BGM and continues for most part of the song, guiding the song like the rail for the train. Through the entire song, it moves like water gently folding and making progression towards a destination it's sure of. And in just a few seconds, Chinmayi is almost speaking out the verses in monotone. She starts off singing like a person wandering in the woods, singing their favourite song so softly, and they are like a teaser or a precursor trying to convey about what's to come. 

In the background, you can faintly hear the santoor, cello, violin, and tabla playing shyly and humbly like they are being introduced to the audience who are to listen to an epic of a song. 

And then again, Chinmayi sings the same verses in a way that sounds like someone saying, ‘I repeat…’. By now, all the instruments are playing their notes in a beautiful flow.

Just when we think we are getting used to the song, Vijay Jesudas  comes in, with his first cameo act. He sings with so much emotion, a contrast to Chinmayi’s monotony in the beginning verses. Now the song is cruising ahead, like the train that's steadying and in full swing, on autopilot. And Chinmayi goes ahead with her part in full prowess. You cannot stop wondering about what to notice: her voice, inflections, or the way she effortlessly delivers the complex Malayalam lyrics. 

A note about the lyrics: I bet you cannot sing along, even after multiple attempts, and strategies such as listening to it a hundred times may help. I suppose you don't have to bother so much if your native language is Malayalam. This is in contrast to songs like Malare that have simpler and listener-friendly words. I've tried all means: to listen to it by paying full attention, sometimes by letting it play in the background, sometimes by understanding the lyrics, sometimes by reading it without the song, and trying to read the lyrics and sing along. Anyways, with respect to the sweetness of the song, somehow, I liked listening to the Telugu version best after the Malayalam version. Tamil, Kannada, and Hindi were ok.

So, back to Chinmayi. I've missed her so much since the likes of Kannathil, Enna Idhu, Zehanazeeb, and Titli, that now it's come to the point of not recognizing her voice. Of course, I was too preoccupied with my life. I must be… because even for me to be dazed in the voice of Kadhale from 96, it took quite a while! Obviously, Chinmayi is absolutely amazing. Add to the list of missing things in my life, and tending to the point of forgetting: the genius that Rahman is. This song compensates for everything.

Back to the song… by now, the first quarter of the song is done, which is almost like a teaser to the song. And, in the middle of the song comes a breather in the form of a chorus that sings carnatic, folk, and hindustani, followed by a qawwali. All blend together and one after the other in the middle portion of the song. The highlight of the qawwali is that it's sung not in the usual high-pitched rustic male voice, but in a cooing light-weight female voice, and that's something unusual yet amazing. The entire song sounds like it has a different structure because of this chorus. 

So, there's not a quiet moment in the song, like in most songs where the instruments play for a bit. The only time you can hear just the music is in the ending.

At this point, it's worth mentioning about the transitions: though there are a lot of times where the song changes hands, like Chinmayi handing it over to Vijay Yesudas, and back to her, and again from her to the chorus. Even until this point, there is no trace of transition elements, and yet the song goes on so smoothly. The best part comes when the song transitions from chorus to the qawwali bit. This is certainly the proof of inventiveness of ‘the’ Rahman: with just a half second of tabla playing, the song completely changes mood, with only the tabla and harmonium playing in the background. And the next transition is from qawwali to Chinmayi. Now the curious BGM comes to rescue, and we have no trouble getting back to square one with how Chinmayi started off. The penultimate transition is from Vijay Yesudas to Chinmayi, and that's rather abrupt: when he goes off on high-pitch, Chinmayi takes over the reins in a very unwelcome manner. But we can hardly think of it as rudeness. It is sweet, because she is on a mission: to safely steer, what started to look like a catamaran when the song started off, and that has now turned into a huge gigantic titanic.

So, in the last quarter, the instruments play along with singers, with the assertive authority of someone who's got the hang of the song. What played very tentatively in the beginning, like seeking permission, now plays in a very sure-footed manner. Both the singers sing like they are traversing through a familiar terrain, a known territory with the support of the instruments. 

And in the end, when the mood changes to we bidding farewell, the music slows down like they are applying the brakes to a giant juggernaut, and ending on a rather melancholic note. By now, we experience that we've travelled through the life of a great long-winding epic.

~ 16Mar2025

Reading The Authenticity Project

 

Getting started

I placed an online order of the book The Authenticity Project by Clare Pooley sometime in Jan 2023. During the few days I was waiting for the book to arrive, I had exclaimed to C that the only imagery that came by when I thought about the book was me gently and lovingly dropping on the bed with the book in both my arms. And reading it to my heart’s content. Like it was a real person!

That was how much I was excited by the book; of course I did not know what the book was about and chanced upon it by recommendations from somewhere, and the convincing point for me to buy it was Sophie Kinsella’s take on the book. So… the imagery of me lying on the bed with the book could be because I was going to read a fiction book after a long time: not the serious ones along the lines of The Kite Runner or The Good Earth, but the light-hearted ones. Speaking of that category, I've loved reading Sophie Kinsella's books, and was even more delighted that she had written a praise for this book.

Forgotten 

I guess by the end of the first quarter of 2023, after dad's death-facing episode, I kinda lost touch with the book. Add to it the table tennis rigor and other distractions associated with it, new books (Five Regrets of the Dying and so on), dad's death, mom's cancer treatment, and new school for the boys. So, it was basically a perfect sabotage to make me completely forget about the book, as well as the whatever little flow that I had in my life.

Getting back

I hardly remember why I got back to the book. Perhaps, I chanced upon the book after I rearranged my so-called library because mom had come back after six months of staying away at M's place owing to chemo treatment. And add to it my memory of the fondness with which I held the book the first time and started reading it.

The feeling

With any book that I am reading, I mostly rely on the bookmark to pick where I had left, and I've never had difficulties picking up the context, even if I was coming back after a week or so. But then, they were all non-fiction. With this one, when I started reading from the page where I placed the bookmark, I could hardly remember why all the characters in the book were together in one place. So, I went back one chapter. Nope. Absolutely blank!

I knew all of them in the book, their back story, but then, was completely agnostic of where they are in their lives. I flipped back a few more pages and skipped a few more chapters back in time. And then, I completely gave it up. I felt like I had amnesia, not of self but of other people's lives. So, I decided that instead of being so unsure I might as well start from the beginning. So almost 270 pages of reading went in vain! I was like, me getting hooked to a book is like a rare phenomenon, and now this!

With the number of ‘work in progress’ books, I wonder how many times I am going to have to feel this way in my life…

~24Feb2025

Making Sense

 

When music works on me

my life seems to me 

like a copy-color book

It piques my mind

I pick the colour it tells

And shade my thoughts

under its spell

At times, 

it makes me 

imagine and invent 

new hues, and

splash splendid shades

on my mundane life

At times,

it singles out a subtle emotion

wading through the pool 

of fluidic memories

illuminating it

So I can examine later

in greater detail

Like the sight of food

evoking a sense of taste 

One sense can make another.

The sound of music

for me

evokes a sense of colour 

~ 23 Feb 2025

Courtesy: Thendral vandhu theendum pothu enna vannamo...

For Dis-ease To Go

 

Physical

Cut a negative: Avoid eating junk food

Add a positive: Choose good food

Enhance: Do physical activity

Mental 

Cut a negative: Avoid anger

Add a positive: Sleep well

Enhance: Do breathwork

~21 Feb 2025

Understanding People

 

A child is born out of the labour of love is a mix of chromosomes from both sides. Extending this physical phenomena over to the psychological concept of love: the love for a person is not just singularly because of the person being loved; it is in actual your perception of who they are, which is an interpretation of their personality by means of who you are or how you see them. So, you are in love with yourself and the other person, together, when you say you are in love with the other person.

And when it comes to understanding people, there are two sides to it: your side and theirs. There is their side of looking at you, and the reaction, both yours and theirs.

So, at any point in time, it is just a partial understanding between the two that drives the relationship. A partial understanding of who you are, who you are to them, and add to it a partial understanding of who they are to you.

And at any point in time, it is an imagined reality of the other person and their actions. Thanks to Ben Okri for articulating this so well, as well as the buddhist thoughts and concepts of what reality is.

Hence, there is never a complete understanding at any point in time; and it would take years, for even completely conscious beings who have this understanding of how fragile their understanding of each other can be, to be able to correlate each other’s actions. And add to it the effort it takes to come to terms with the other person's idiosyncrasies and shortcomings. That is indeed a lot of time!

So, if the person accepts or rejects or denies another person’s love, it is not entirely because of them or you; there is equal contribution from you and them.

~16 Feb 2025

Clarity

 

Forget living each day of life with clarity…

Even for the phrase ‘moments of clarity’ 

to occur to me, 

in my mind, 

it takes years or months of distraction.

I wonder…

When and how on earth will I progress!

15 Feb, 2025

List - After a long time!

 

Grounded, uninterrupted, blissful solitude, morning rain, piano in the background, the snuggle of the pet and its soft breath on my skin, chirping birds, panoramic terrace view, wet red tiles, occasional writing, reading, mind-wandering, photographing, connecting…

~ 13 Jul 2024

Glad

 

You were the song in loop

That was all over me.

Now, I am over you.

~ 05 July 24

Mistakes, Purpose, and Grace

 

Grace means that all your mistakes now serve a purpose instead of serving shame.

~ Brené Brown

Usually, we feel shame or beat ourselves over the mistakes that we've realised as mistakes. Say for example, the parenting mistakes that we make and realise, through cause and effect as well as exploration. If we are courageous enough, we make sure that we (re)learn the right way, change our ways, and act accordingly. And when we tell and help other parents in need, by way of communicating effectively to not do the same mistakes we did, then there's purpose and gracefulness in that act; even if the acts of ignorance were shameful, when we act with the purpose of relearning and sharing what we know, there is grace in it.

~ 15Jun24

Death - The end stage

 

From 

Able to brittle 

Coherent to fuzzy

Thriving to surviving 

Sufficient to dependent

At times

the coming of the end

is not too sudden 

to realize or

to stop the hazard

But

happens like the sunset

slow and elusive 

and difficult to prevent

~ 09 June 2024

Me, my son, and his mother

 

At times, I wonder 

how it would feel

to feel the tenderness 

that my son feels 

towards me

~ 21 mar, 24

The Buddha and Lao Tzu

 

My only solace was

that it wasn't fatal,

but something reparative 

But I replay in loop 

the seen and the unseen

of the untoward accident

based on the decision I made

I enact variations of the 

traumatic event

based on the decisions

I could have made

Despite the Buddha telling me

pain is inevitable, 

suffering is optional

Despite Lao Tzu telling me

living in the past is depressive, 

living in the future creates anxiety

Guilt and logic keeps swaying me

on each of its sides

as I walk on the tensed life rope

What's the point, if I know and yet

don't or can't remember?

I can only write, reread, shut, and 

wish myself Godspeed.

~  20 March, 24

Being Pencils

[This, I am writing with a 0.9 mm lead microtip pencil. Well, it would not really be a 'microtip' in its truest sense. It is a mechanical pencil. No need to sharp the pencil and no breaking of the lead because of the additional pressure that we may be applying because of lack of practice or the knack of using a microtip pencil. So, 0.9 mm is a good idea!]

We must be pencils, really... not pens.

Or rather... Aren't we better off, if we think of ourselves as the pencils that we used to write with when we were kids? Perhaps, we get too arrogant instead of the real reason for switching to a pen: being confident with spelling and writing.

With the pen, there is also the expectation that we ought not make mistakes. And beat ourselves too much over our mistakes; be judged by the rest or at least think we are being judged, while everyone makes the same mistakes of not getting it right every time.

Unless you are an open book (a pen that has a transparent body), we are never going to know, or let others know so they can tell you when you are running out of life. Unlike with a pencil, we really know what's happening to us, and when it is the end of life.

And since there's a steady flow of ink (basic trait of a pen), we think of it as a permanent state and never are prepared enough when we or the rest of us run out. But like with the pencil, we never must be, or can't be comfortable with our current state of affairs. Getting blunt is permanent: we just cannot sail through with what we know; else we get stale.

We must be really self-aware, and need to sharpen our saw, so as to be in the game for the long run. And it gets evident or shows up to the world when we are getting stagnated (the pencil getting blunt). Since we keep sharpening ourselves after realization, and since the cycle repeats until our end of life, it becomes a habit. The act of how to stay sharp and that we ought to stay sharp so that we are relevant and serve the purpose of our existence becomes ingrained in us, that it stays as part of the muscle memory. So, we get very efficient with the 'live-die-repeat' way of life. 

In addition, at times, the sharpening tool may be an external help; this serves as a reminder that we must stay humble and value the dear ones or even the ones that hurt us, who help us in the act of staying sharp. We cannot get everything done by ourselves. And, at times, too much in-dependency can create difficulties in terms of giving and receiving love.

And when accidents happen (like the breaking of the lead), we pick ourselves up, start again, sharpen, and run. But with the pen, when accidents happen (like when the pen tip malfunctions owing to a crash), it is usually the end of life even though you have a tank loaded with a good shade of ink.

And there are mundane things like even with a pen that has a full body of ink, if kept unused (the brain that is inactive), the ink goes dry and makes the pen not of much use. Unlike the case of a pen, the pencil is always ever-ready to be put to use.

And we know that with an eraser around, we can always stay corrected. So, there's scope for humbleness. Of course, there are correction pens for a pen to stay corrected, but hardly have I seen so many correction pens around, for the various types of pens.

Now, I guess that's enough reasons for us to be and stay as much as a pencil can be, instead of being the mighty pen!

~ March 07, 2024 - 24 min

Life, creativity, grief and death

 

Life's mundanity 

sterilizes 

the seeds of creativity 

---

Life's vividness

dilutes the grief in death

~ 05Mar24

Versions and Variations:

All my creative thought seeds

Die in the heat of life's mundanity 

----

Heat of life's mundanity 

kills

the creative thought seeds

----

Heat of life's mundanity 

kills

Seeds of creativity

----

Life's mundanity 

mutes

the seeds of creativity

The Pastel Green Dress

 

This is about 

the anonymous dress of mine

that you totally disregarded 

and said is just not fine.

Yesterday, 

when I was hanging

the dress on the clothesline,

I thought I must let you know:

After all your cheeky remarks 

and my desperate defenses, and

for all the fun in the conversation 

that brimmed with lightness...

I would treasure the dress even more.

~ 29 feb 24

Forty days of Grief

 

Today it's day 37...

Will you believe if I say

I am wondering 

how each person will grieve 

if I die at this point in time!

I think I will soon become 

death personified...

~24feb24

The Wall in my Head

 

At times, I run through our past,

our exchanges and interactions,

like how I would feel a pretty wall,

but with some bumps and cracks.

And for each incident

I keep guessing a probability 

of the cause of the distance.

At times, I say I've gone past 

our state of affairs, 

which seems like it was more of 

my mind playing tricks

based on my expectations

you never met, 

or never had to meet.

Did I 

misread enthusiasm as affection

mistake impulse for attention

misjudge disinterest as preoccupation

misinterpret indifference as silence 

It perhaps was...

A perspective that you never had

An angle that you never viewed us from

Perhaps, the wall is in my head.

Who can tell?

~ 12 Jan, 2024

Imposing

 

Perhaps, i overstepped 'cos

You were the candy store 

for the kid in me

You were my favourite teacher

for the diligent student in me

You were my history 

for all that I could rewrite

You were all those spent years

whose mistakes I could prevent

Now, tell me

Was I too imposing?

~ 12 Dec 23