life is beautiful... again, is it not?

the bed of pale frosted grass, the bright green footsteps on the frosted grass, the gleaming sun in the east, the shimmering reflection of the sun-gold on the melting dew, the mix of the warmth of the basking sun and the morning chill, the inexpressible feeling when the baking sun sprawls on the skin, the bright early evenings, the sprightly light and crisp evening air, the sunset that you perceive but not see, the vacillating twilight, the defeated dusk, the vapors dying to deform as dew, the rising vapors falling as dew, the dark deep shivering nights, the clothes that snug you, the freezing ice needles around the ear lobes, the deserted dazing roads, the warmth under the thick covers, the requisite respite, the fresh feet that feels the cold floor tiles, the hot ablution, the vapor on the mirror, the words on the glass, the rejuvenated life, the rediscovered passion, the regained love, the resurgent sprightliness, the words revelatory of good omen.

Wen Raey is here!

Exertions taught me new lessons,
making me muse all the way to glory.

With Wen Raey,

Hope I see more Monday mornings and
more trucks that gush the dust.

hOpe I remember to...
accept paradoxes and recharges gracefully, and
tackle the blocks that eventually give bliss,
be grateful to the wondrous ensembles and
the pecks on the cheek,

hoPe I encounter more silhouettes
that make me see life, sleep, and death, all in one.

And, HOPE to have more memories
that give me a feel that life IS beautiful.

Wish you all a happy new year!

exertion

physical exertion becomes an antidote to ennui when there is no time to think—think about people, plans and pains no time to apply rationality and sensibility no time to learn and unlearn and relearn when there is disgrace, disgust and hopelessness, and your soul is seething with anger to prove to the world of your capabilities when there is this world that, you think, is looking at you as an anathema. I know it is a bit too acerbic and hopeless. I guess, writing brings the worst and the best out of me. How coincidental, somehow the thoughts in the previous post seems to have been like a forerunner to my way of life—especially the last statement! Sincerely hope I revert to my normal mode soon.

Hope, Dream and Sleep

Hope is the dream of the waking man
Dream is the hope of the sleeping man
Sleep is the dream of the working man

Such an amazing quote!! I was stunned when I saw this yesterday, at my client's office. In fact, stunned is not the word. I am still being captivated and amazed by it. It is a beauty! Would surely rate it somewhere close to Separation by Merwin.

I had googled to find who the author was. Seems like it is an anonymous quote except for the first line of the quote.

The first line of the quote is by Aristotle.

Lessons

The night was chill and calm. I took refuge in my private music source to bring myself out of a burgeoning bedlam. There were big ugly frogs hiding in the pipelines, scaring me and running a chill down my spine, a petite beautiful lady chatting with her boyfriend, construction workers returning from the day’s amends, and, maintenance boys changing shifts after mends. Farther from where I am, a naive adamant kid was refusing to listen to a grownup kid. After her repeated efforts, patience, and hurt, she threw her hand, up in the air and broke down, “Am I here to teach protocols to people? Won’t it just listen and play with me?” By now, I had walked closer to them. The kid’s mother kindly said, “The kid is still learning, or maybe, it didn’t know that the lessons were supposed to be learnt. Or maybe it wouldn’t just learn under you, however nice you are. Give up on the kid. It will find its way, in due course.”

SEPARATION

Your absence has gone through me
Like a thread through a needle.
Everything I do is stitched with its color.

— W. S. Merwin

Sources:
Merwin, W. S. "Separation." The Moving Target. New York: Atheneum, 1979. 9.

This is a beautiful poem. I fell for it the day I read it at Melancholetta, sometime in April. Separation has been haunting me for quite a while now.

Story Tree...

...contd from meera

He thought it would be an ordinary journey. Standing behind the pillar he watched the train snort arrogantly into the station. With each snort he was reminded of his grandfather's words "You will fail in the city and return penniless"; with every heavenward whistle, he heard his cousin, "Don't worry. Come here and I will get you a job at the construction site." Now he had a 34-hour journey to prove one of them wrong, and he expected the excitement at the end of the journey. He looked at his ticket once again: compartment S9 berth 23.

He would preserve this ticket. When he would succeed, he would frame and hang it for all to see, as a reminder of the fact that greatness had humble origins, of the day when he set out to seize his destiny. His lips quivered with emotion as he carefully counted the money in his wallet, yet again. Four crisp hundreds and two crumpled fifties. At seventeen, it seemed like a fortune to him. He would carefully plan his expenses. He felt as energetic as the strong breeze that hit his face. He stumbled backward, as the wallet slipped from his hands.


Turag watched it fall, with the fingers of both his hands curled—one gripping the steel bar and the other gripping nothing but air. The wallet settled, the second time it touched the greased stones. It was diminishing in size and moving away from him like an open-mouthed balloon propelled by the gushing air. He knew, well enough, the events that would follow if he pulls the stop-chain. In fact it was a stop-chain that brought a wind of change in his life. Getting off from the thought-train that the stop-chain had evoked, he rushed towards it, with uncurled fingers.
___

i pass the baton to sensibly stoned, s m i t h a and the sun dew

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musings

There are withered leaves of yesterday, pale and dead; executed and lain bare on the green floor by the martinet, gushy evening winds. There are pigeons that enjoy free rides, down and up, stepping out from its man-made pretended nest, and landing ladylike on the outer ceiling of the elevator, saving its shoulder's strength for other worthwhile journeys, There are white-haired cranes that walk on the grass, delicately, leaving the floor unhurt, freezing and pretending to be nonexistent, as I walk past it. There are clouds that threaten to drench the dehydrated earth, waiting to close the deal and induce new life cycles. And there are also, frozen tears that never saw beyond bay, eyes that forget to remember the once thought-locked face, rehearsed words of confessions that never saw its way, mind-numbing thoughts of innumerous affrays, faded memories of moments of dismay, memoirs evoked by the disjoint rails, and persistent jubilant tunes of victory tales. Now, I see from a distance, a whining kid that wants to see the chocolate store, and select the ones that appeals to its eyes, waiting to learn a new lesson in its life. And here I am, amused by the kid, cognizant of the kid's state of affairs, But still, yearning to see what life has in store.

The one that stays longer and stronger...

The tough-minded
optimist views
any problem
as a challenge
to his intelligence,
ingenuity and faith.
He keeps on thinking,
praying and believing.
He knows there is
a solution and
so he finally finds it.

The title was for another write-up that I started writing; but I have been held up with other things. I liked the title so much. And the one in quotes is something that I have been telling myself quite often nowadays. Believe me, it’s quite an amazing thought!

Wondrous AR

Yes, I am talking about Rehman!! I am literally spellbound by the ‘Mayiliragae’ song. It is certainly one of the most beautifully woven spell in the air. It falls under the simple songs genre—simple in terms of usage of the orchestration. It’s an amazing blend of North and South. And, I never imagined Tabla and Thavil would compliment each other so well.

Even the non-apparent but significant cymbals (jinggu cha) are a treat to follow! I am sure each of the performers would have been on cloud nine when they were performing for this song—especially the rise in the tempo of the Thavil and Nadaswaram bit just before the second half of the song. In fact, the Thavil and the Nadaswaram are the inseparables—like the letters ‘Q’ and ‘U’ of English.

Talking about the vocals—none other than Rehman can use Madhushree’s voice in a better way. Be it the song from Aiyudha Ezhuthu or this one in Ah Aah. It is just the perfect example of how good or bad a voice can sound when in the hands of different music directors. And except for a few places, even Naresh Iyer has also mellifluously sung the song.

The pallavi of this song, ‘mayiliragae mayiliragae vardugirai ennai…’, which in the broader sense means that the touch of his or her beloved is similar to the magical and the lovely feel of the caress of a peacock feather. Believe me, the tones in their voices evoke similar emotions on the people who listen to the song!

I shouldn’t be talking about the ‘Maramkothhiyae’ song on this occasion, but I am compelled to as this is an amazing concept per se. Again Rehman excels in the remixed version of his own wondrous slow-tempo song, ‘Mayiliragae’. Each of two songs is unique but still each song is as dependent on each other like the steps of a ladder. Together they act in tandem to elevate the listener to a higher plane and both the songs compliment each other well in its characteristics.

Rehman for sure has craftily created a musical treat—at least for me!!