Being Varun...

It does not take much being a two and a half year old kid who is very sharp, who does not bother much about things that he is not interested in, who lives the moment to the fullest—be it being angry, frustrated, sad, happy, ecstatic, or funny. Well at least, the state in which he is happy is certainly longer than the time he spends being in the pessimistic gamut of states. He quickly forgets about why he was sad or unhappy about something, and moves on if he finds something more interesting. He does not stand hell-bent on being unhappy about something. What if he does not find anything more interesting? He perhaps lowers his interest level and settles for something that just deviates from his erstwhile state. Most of all, he wants to be happy all the time.

But seriously, believe me it is pretty tough to be Varun; primarily because, as we grow, we start gathering worthless definitions of ourselves. We accumulate misgivings, learn things wrongly and think they are right—misconceptions; do things that most suited us before and stick to it without revamping it to the time we currently are in.

Before proceeding, just one question: why can't we all forget about the misgivings and be happy about what we are presently happy about? Why don’t we just forget things that do not do any good to us?

Anyway, there are two things to this whole rigmarole. About forgetting the things that made you unhappy and about preventing yourself from being unhappy.

With respect to forgetting things, it becomes a bit difficult because, we are always taught to remember things. And it being our sole responsibility, we excelled in the art of remembering and did not think about forgetting. So, it involves some effort to practice the art. There was a beautiful article that I read in a daily newspaper: Teach me, Lord, to forget. It was published in the Hindu on September 01, 2000. In fact, I have a clipping of this article with me and I certainly treasure it till date.

With respect to the reason for being unhappy, it is primarily because you do not get what you want, which leads to disappointment, and it paving way to unhappiness. Probably, when you do not expect anything, you keep raising your disappointment crossbar. So, you are safe and far away from the realms of being disappointed.

But then again, there are two aspects to it—emotional and non-emotional.

Let’s deal with the non-emotional aspect of expectations, disappointments, and being unhappy. To achieve anything, you certainly must expect that you must reach a benchmark. So an expectation from self is a critical factor for progression. Which brings about a topic of striking a balance between expecting something before an event happens and accepting the situation as-is, after it has happened. So, which means are we are talking about interpreting and dealing with the results? Then what about things such as, not receiving something that you deserve? Don't we have to fight for our rights? So, is it that we will need to accept things that we cannot really change? Then, what exactly are the things that we cannot change? How exactly can we classify the things that we cannot change and things that we can change? Is it defined by the number of times you try to change a state of affairs to attain what you wanted?

And talking about the emotional things, it is pretty hard to explain to someone the extent to which one must be detached and not expect things from others at an emotional level. I suppose, one must not expect anything from the other to the level where they can keep themselves unhurt. Or, is it that you bestow all the love and support and not expect anything? How can that possibly be? If you smile, won’t you expect someone to smile back at you? I suppose smiling is a pretty simple, straightforward, and easy equation.

I guess it is also with respect to how one has defined a universal object. One person could have defined happiness as two kilograms of sugar, whereas, the other could have defined it as having two ten dollar bills in the trouser pocket purse. And what happens when the two of them try to share happiness? It is meaningless. So, how do we solve this conundrum?

Quote

They cut the grass to make it greener. Likewise, to grow continuously and sustain, make people feel insecure; insecurity breeds growth.

I was thinking as to how I can make sense out of this quote. It kind of kept me haunting, because it has always been the case that I either like a quote or don't like it, or the quote would be really dumb. It has never been the case where it has made me think so much. Something like, you either like a person or don't like the person. And another category is the one that is very confusing. This one falls on the last category which is confusing, and made me think a lot. I mean, this quote is something that is debatable, because standing all by itself, it does not convey the meaning. I somehow feel that there is something that remains unsaid.

In fact, I was reminded of Keats' verses from 'Ode on a Grecian Urn': "Heard melodies are sweet, but those unhead are sweeter."

And so I started writing about this... I am looking at it from one's profession point of view...

May be starve them to boredom by not giving them work? May be that is where the concept of Bench comes. And as you well know, human mind thinks faster and instills in itself a sense of urgency when it sees suffering—both self and of others. In this case, may be laying off other people might cause insecurity. See, again it depends; some minds may work in one direction and others in a different direction. Say, one might feel insecure on seeing something, the other might feel depressed, or some other can feel instigated?

I mean, forget insecurity being a factor of motivation or growth. Looking at it philosophically and psychologically, the basic thing that causes insecurity is the fear that you are going to lose something that you have, and if not something that you treasure, at least losing something that causes an imbalance or taking somebody to a new low. I do not see any other reason that can cause insecurity.

So, it pretty much explains the fact that, any action that might cause you to lose something of yours, be it self-respect, respect, money, time, effort, relationships with your peer, a poor performance or appraisal rating, not enough recognition for your work etc. But all this, I see it only leading to searching for a better option or a setup, rather than trying to perform better in the same setup.

One more thing is that, you really cannot trigger an event or an act that can cause insecurity under the pretext of being altruistic. That will be the cruelest of things that you can do to someone, when at work. I guess insecurities are again, all in the mind—someone can feel insecure all by themselves. Another aspect is that you cannot make someone think that the other person is creating insecurity for them, so that they flourish. One gets detached and develop hatred towards the other person, once they know that the person made them feel insecure deliberately.

And as I think, it is not single event that can make someone feel insecure, but a combination of various disconnected acts that reinforces, and makes someone feel that they are insecure. Also, to artificially create those kinds of activities, and instigate or expect the same kind of reaction, to make them feel insecure might be difficult to attain. First time around, they may feel insecure; the next time they may feel that, 'no, may be it is for our own good that it is happening so, etc...

Or maybe, editing the quote for its sentence structure could have made more sense? I mean, if it were constructed in passive voice? Something like:

Cutting the grass makes it greener. Likewise, an insecure feeling makes people to grow continuously and sustain; insecurity breeds growth.

analogy

You are as best as the grape that i am eating now, which has the right sourness, sweetness, size, shape, succulence, wellness, and seedless. And..., i am yet to find You.

Now, this is what I call pure distraction. The scenario: it is in the evening and I am analysing a set of very complex data and was completely immersed in a line of thought pertaining to it. I happened to unmindfully reach for a few grapes from the packet of grapes that I have been munching since morning. And the above analogy is a result of the distraction. I guess, this is what they refer to as 's e r e n d i p i t y'...

Translation of Nee Partha from Hey Ram

Epitome of Passion - A translation of Nee Partha from Hey Ram

Thanks to those fervent gazes that fazed us.
Thanks to the night that brought togetherness in us.
Thanks to the enduring wildness within us.
And, thanks to each of the immortal memories between us.

What is the need for the word, 'I'?
I am nothing but you, and nothing without you.
I bother not to beseech for boons anymore, 'cos
I can't feel any blissful than this seventh heaven.
I pray, let me have you always near me...

Why are we continuing this act,
even after the play is over?
I can go on forever, with memories of this one-act play.
Your thoughts would be alive till the last breath of my death,
I pray, let me have you always near me...

Thanks to those fervent gazes that fazed us.
Thanks to the night that brought togetherness in us.
Thanks to the enduring wildness within us.
And, thanks to each of the immortal memories between us.
I pray, let me have you always near me...

Most often you would find desperation or bereavement intertwined with passion in most of the passionate love songs. Of the very few songs that express totality, bliss, and serenity through pure passion, the song 'Nee paartha paarvaikku...' from Hey Ram just takes me on a high.

And, I have never heard a song where the orchestration is powerful enough to act as the third voice, falsifying the definition of a duet. When I say orchestration, Ilaiyaraaja just scintillates with his intelligent and creative use of just the piano. The few seconds of flute and an immediate follow by the violin, act as the transition elements handing over the song from the introduction phase to the next higher plane.

I would certainly place the piano prelude and motifs very close to Beethoven's masterpiece: Fur elise. The piano amazingly blends with the emotions of the vocalists. Rani Mukherjee's husky voice for the narrative in the beginning of the song adds genuineness and innocence to the fervent nature of the song.

Do I have to say anything about the Kamalahasan's lyrics at all? It is one of the rare songs that have short, simple, and straightforward lyrics. Kamalahasan has done an amazing job!

what do i have for this new year?

Well, it is strange... last year this time, I was in a different state as mine; and this year too I am in a different state—a different place altogether. A place where,

no two haircuts and no two car models are the same,

fast cars on the road make you think of a roaring seashore nearby,

roads are so clean and neat that you think it is so artificial and almost out of the ordinary,

you do not see as many as bikes as you are used to seeing in a metro in India,

the bikes are as fantastical as they could get as on English movies; well, to quote one such movie, it would be like the yellow super-hero bike that Uma Thurman sports in Kill Bill Vol 1,

the bikers ride as... well it isn't exactly rash, perhaps rude, as on a racing track. And yes, they do really kick off as the bikes do in Kill Bill.

the buses are without a conductor and the bus fares are flat and are not based on place you go,

you see a smile, and a 'hi' and a 'howaya doin' from every person you want to smile at,

it takes some time to comprehend that people are really joking and even more time to understand the pun in that joke.

people can sting you if they really want to and you would not notice a thing cos they do even that with a smile! believe me, life can get miserable, if you wanna think that they really do mean to hurt you. You can be really happy if you are ignorant, in all such cases.

So, these are the fresh memories of my really really late Q4, 2006.

And I know that there are umpteen things to set straight in the coming year. All I can do now is to sit, think, and then when it comes to it, execute. For the records, for my consultation, and my well being, I would want a few thoughts up here for my brand new year. Hope it does some good to people who get to stumble at my door.

And yes, there is a lot of running to be done this year!

“When you put yourself on the line in a race and expose yourself to the unknown, you learn things about yourself that are very exciting.” - Doris Brown Heritage

"Ability is what you are capable of doing. Motivation determines what you do. Attitude determines how well you do it." - Lou Holtz (Notre Dame football coach)

"You cannot always control what goes on outside. But you can always control what goes on inside." - Wayne Dyer, runner and author

“What I learned from a 16 mile AM training run with Gerry Lindgren... ‘your legs aren't tired kid... it’s only your head telling you!’” – Gerry Lindgren to Tom Fleming

"A man is a success if he can wake up every morning and do exactly what he wants to do each day". - Bob Dylan

Courtesy and thanks to... www.londonrunner.ca for the quotes above.

And thanks to Bruce Lee for this:

I fear not the person who has practised ten thousand kicks once; but i fear the man who has practised one kick ten thousand times.

and last but probably the best..., here is my Serenity Prayer:

"God, grant me

Serenity
to accept the things i cannot change

Courage
to change the things i can, and

Wisdom
to know the difference. "

Happy New Year 2007!

Grandpa's little Story

It was a Friday and the day for a review of that week’s work. The reviewer was a perfectionist and their last week’s review did not quite go well. So M decided to catch up with some revision and took out some printed material to go through. She had twenty minutes of her half hour bus travel from LA to Santa Monica Boulevard. She had a sheet of paper that has some of the most fancied lingo of the week—swim lane diagram. M's mind was trying to grapple with the apparently new terms such as swim-lane and her heart with the implicit infra digs that the people of the host(ile) country was throwing at her.

The bus stops, and an old man sits next to her. And as usual, the old man starts a conversation by saying, 'It has been a long time since I studied such diagrams.' I use the word usual because in these parts of the world, it is pretty easy to pick a conversation with a stranger rather than the person you know and a smile accompanies almost every face that you would want to smile at.

M smiles and gives a rapid and warm longitudinal nod to the gentle old man.

O: So, are you studying at UCLA?

M: No. I am working here.

O: Are you from India?

M: Yeah, I am from India... From a place called Chennai.

M knew that he didn’t quite catch the name of the place, even though she was sure that he knew India much than the others she has met in this country. People have never till now approached her with facts about her nativity as yet—she probably didn’t know anybody that far as yet.

O: Oh... ok. I have been to Cochin, long long time ago! It is a very nice place and I liked it a lot.

M: My place, also known as Madras is also close to Cochin.

O, with a smile: Oh yeah! Madras? I know Madras. I have been to that place once or twice.

By now, M would have looked at the old man for quite sometime and noticed that he has a real cute smile and he had just two of his premolars that were discolored. But the beauty revealed only when he smiled heartily. It must have been two days since he last shaved and the white stub that was merging with his thick left and right sideburns looked pretty much like mown grass.

Silence prevailed for about ten to fifteen seconds.

O: So, you are married?

M: Yes, I am—for about three months now.

O: Oh, so your husband is also here?

M: No, he is back in India.

O: Oh!! That must be pretty tough, I guess.

M nodded and pouted in accord.

O: There was a nice story that I now remember and would want to tell you. This is of an Indian girl who studied in the same college as my daughter and her good friend. She was really intelligent and beautiful with dark hair and eyes. She fell in love with an Indian but of a different sect I believe. But it certainly was a point that her father could harp on and say no to her love. The man was handsome, and smart and brilliant too. He was employed and well paid and had his head where it ought to be. Her parents were back in India and her father was vehemently against her choice and did not relent to his daughter's wishes. She tried her best but he would not approve their union. They waited for five long years and the father finally agreed to the marriage. In fact, when her dad met the boy, he was very impressed and happy about his daughter's choice. Recently, she had invited me and my daughter for her daughter's first birthday and I was cracking jokes on how it was during those days. I could see my own daughter in her. She was so respectful and never forgot to invite me.

M nodded in awe and happiness to be the recipient of such a nice open conversation with a harmless company in a strange and foreign country—a nice old man sharing a nice experience with her.

I mean, what on earth made them wait for five long years and that too in the peak of their youth. I guess, he would have probably kissed her maybe—that is all about to it, until they got married.
In India, when you marry a woman, you owe so much to her family too. It is not just her that you are marrying; you get wedded to the whole family. My first marriage was with an Indian lady. That is when I realised this. It was so much trouble, because she didn’t want to stay here and I didn’t want to stay there. Anyway, I feel that the dark women are much better than the blondes. They think their way through a problem and act decisively and sensibly. You know, both my marriages were with dark women. And I was really happy!

Nowadays, people do not wait for that long. They are really fast. In my age, divorces were far from reality. But now that seems to be the only thing that is real. Rest everything, including marriages, seem like lighter scenes in a person's life. You know, you’ve got to like the person who you want to marry. You must not love the person. Or rather you will not be able to love the person for a longer period; but you certainly can like a person for years together. When you marry the person you like, you will want to wake up with a smile morning after morning and there is no question of divorce.

In fact, I wouldn’t have waited for so long for a person—may be for the person, but not for her parents. Do you think your husband would have waited for you?

M was completely engrossed with the way the old man emoted when he was describing all of this. And when the question was asked, she was so overwhelmed. After a few seconds of pause and a mischievous smile she then replied,

I don't think so. But then, you see, most of the marriages in India are arranged by parents and the bride and the groom have a lot other different problems to cope with—new person, new family etcetera.

O: So, is your husband older than you?

M: Yeah, he is four and a half years older. It is one of the prime factors in a marriage in India. And three to five years is a pretty common figure.

The old man nodded and immediately asked the question as if he was ready with them beforehand, 'Do you know that women mature faster than men?'

M: Yeah, I do know that. But then, the only problem is that men do not realise the fact, until it is too late.

Both giggle and accept the fact. By now the bus had reached Santa Monica Boulevard and M was getting ready with her stuff.

The old man realised the same and nodded saying, 'So, Santa Monica is round the corner...'

M: Yep. Another bus straight down onto my left and I am all ready for today's work.

Both smile and M pulls the wire that promptly brings up the indicator 'Stop Requested' to glow and is as ever, backed by a voice that uttered the same with an exclamation.

M rises and says, 'Wish you a good day and a merry Christmas!'

O: You too beautiful lady!

Why and how does it happen?

Yet again, the magician has done it, weaving spells in the air. And I realise and appreciate it pretty late. Usually, it is me who treasures and welcomes the brilliance of the outcome. This time it is late realisation.

My question is which ear do I listen to... the voice and the music from the instruments complement as well as compete with each other. It is streamlined and simple music, without complications and apparent innovations. Also, there is certainly the brilliance and the spontaneity of an impromptu performance.

Shreya, the wonder, (her voice) is just awesome! I wonder how a person, without understanding the language can sing as if she is living the situation of the lyrics. Just too good!! And of all she emotes really well. Be it while beseeching or while asking questions earnestly.

It is an agreed fact that each language has its own intonation with regard to questions. Though those are apparent, sometimes, there are certain subtleties that expose the nativity of a singer. But, Shreya cruises through and lands the questions in the song with such poise like a light tiny feather in the air.

Except of course for some places that you might get confused with her tongue’s nativity where she pronounces 'oone vaa' very lazily, where it sounds like 'oade vaa'. Agreed that with certain words, sometimes, even the best of the breed native vocalists sound like they have not paid attention to the pronunciation. Let me not ask for too much...

In the latter half of the song, Rehman amazes me when each time there is a brief 'yes' in the form of a 'hum' from the chorus for the questions that Naresh and Shreya ask in the song. As if to bring an effect that an angel above is listening to Naresh and Shreya’s plans. Where exactly does this occur? It happens in the middle of the third minute of the song when Naresh starts off with

'Nilavidam vaadagai vaangi...,
HUM
vizhi veetinil kudi vaikkalaama?
HUMM'
Naam vaazhum veettukkul vaeraarum vandhalae, thaguma…?

The chorus when I first listened somehow sounded unwanted with the Hindi word 'rangoli' in such a beautiful and lyrically strong melody. But then the contrast only adds to the beauty of the song as you hear it on and on.
As to the orchestra, the Santoor bit in the beginning and the middle of the song gives a good beginning and a relaxing break from the breathtaking melody. The violin in the beginning adds momentum to the cheerful but melodious start. But except for the violin that plays alongside the vocal that sometimes goes overboard. And, Rehman somehow seems to be obsessed with the instrument thavil; even in this song (in comparison to Mayiliragae of Aah aah), he has tried to position the instrument amidst and along with the thumping western artificial beats. It has blended well.
Great song!

If you've still not figured out which song I am referring to, it is 'Munbe vaa, en anbae vaa...' from the movie 'Sillunu Oru Kaadhal'. Music by our very own, milord, Rehman.

All of a sudden...

Music takes a long time to appease me. The cool crisp evening breeze fails to soothe me. I realise that I am turning blind... to the awesome sunrises, sunsets and the still full moon. My mind and feet does not take the path leading to divinity. I find dreariness has turned dearer, so much that it has become the sole source of inspiration for creativity. Sometimes I lose grip of the things in my hand both literally and figuratively... and... Being kind to human beings seems so difficult!

a to zee

Be an answer to those unanswered questions
Be the breeze that dries my sweat off
Be the cloud that provides me shade
Be the danger that makes me bold
Be the enigma for which I search an answer
Be the fire that keeps me awake
Be a goader who pushes me to reach the destiny
Be the horizon towards which I keep walking
Be the innocence that saves me from trouble
Be that joy in my life for which I pray
Be the kiss that wipes off the pain
Be the love that makes me humane
Be the mild sunshine that gives me light
Be the night that provides me sleep
Be the orchestra that makes the music for my life
Be the pain that I can bear when I am hurt
Be the quote that stays in my mind forever
Be the rain that blooms my life
Be the song that will cool me off
Be the time that sees every second of my life
Be the undertaker who buries off my worries
Be the victory that I crave for
Be the water that flows through my throat
Be the Xanadu where I can live in
Be that BIG 'yes' I say after every triumph
Be the zenith on which I must always be...

That is me unedited... a few years ago: to be precise, I wrote it sometime in May, 2001

scrambled!!

A strange thought occurred to me in two consecutive days. This is about the two ladies at my office food court counter. The first day: one looks like an unforgiving teacher; the next day, the other lady looks like a doctor.

The teacher behave-like with her grim face, questions people with her eyes, listens with her ears directed towards people and shrinking one of her eyes, right hand punches the keys of the billing machine, the left reaches out for the money, the right hand now tears the printed note and hands it over, picks the change and places it on the billing machine with her palm turned inside.

The doctor behave-like has a pen in her hand, converses to people with her eyebrows, listens to the people with a nod, scribbles on a chit, circles the numbers, issues the chit and then receives the exchange, smiles, and expects the next one in the line.

Those were the days my friend...

When we blew our first big bubble out of the clandestine chewing gum; learnt to neatly roll the string around the ridges of a top, and swiftly flung the top from the tethered end of the string; first felt a thoroughly used prohibited catapult from a group of nomads who were ruthlessly aiming at the dogs, stretched the catapult to the maximum and splayed a mango off its stem; teamed up together, and contested with our next-door neighbors for wet-and-throw where we drew a circle on the wall, wet the tennis ball and threw it on the wall, inside the circle, and exchanged smuggled goods for the points we won; collected crystalline green marbles from our roadside friends, rolled it over the muddy roads and played aim-and-hit, and sometimes rolled ourselves over the mud, fought with them over a missing marble that fell into a nearby gutter, and when the rains gushed in and left us in solitude, we gazed at the small green marbles that had innumerous frozen air bubbles inside them.

Those were the days my friend, we thought would never end...
- Mary Hopkins

Translation of Minnale Nee from May Madham

Oh Mirage!
What's the reason for your past presence?
Why did you inflict that pain in my eyes? - and
How did you disappear from my soul?
The few seconds that you came in
burnt away the warmth in me.
Oh Mirage! My thirst is looking for you...

My dreary eyes saw the vanishing act of your myriad colors,
And all that I have, as memento, is the little warmth and sanity
that I managed to salvage.
My bosom shattered owing to bereavement and pain - and
the innumerous shards reflect nothing but your absence.
Having blossomed at your faded footsteps,
I am waiting for you…
with fear and a fervent flame in my tears.

Doesn't the earth wait for the rich rain, and
doesn't God wait for the festive gaiety?
Doesn't a poet wait for his words in pain...
so, won’t my love endure, if I wait?
Having blossomed at your faded footsteps,
I am waiting for you…
with fear and a fervent flame in my tears.

Oh Mirage!
What's the reason for your past presence?
Why did you inflict that pain in my eyes? - and
How did you disappear from my soul?
The few seconds that you came in
burnt away the warmth in me.
Oh Mirage! My thirst is looking for you...

Certainly yes! This translation/redendition is for sure the proof of the indelible impact of the song in my previous post!

Minnalae...

minnalae! nee vandhadhaenadi?
en kannilae oru kaayamennadi?
en vaanilae nee maraindhupoana maayam ennadi?
sila nazhigai nee vandhu ponadhu,
en maaligai adhu vendhu ponadhu.
minnale! en vaanam unnai thaeduthae...

kan vizhiththup paarththapoadhu kalaindha vannamae - un
kairaegai onru mattum ninaivuchchinnamae.
kadharik kadhari enadhu ullam udaindhu poanadhae - ingu
sidharippoana sillil ellaam unadhu bimbamae.
kanneeril theevalarththuk kaaththirukkiraen - un
kaaladiththadaththil naan pooththirukkiraen.

paalmazhaikkuk kaaththirukkum boomi illaiyaa,
oru pandigaikkuk kaaththirukkum saami illaiyaa?
vaarththai varak kaaththirukkum kavignar illaiyaa...
naan kaaththirundhaal kaadhal innum meelumillaiyaa?
kanneeril theevalarththuk kaaththirukkiraen - un
kaaladiththadaththil naan pooththirukkiraen.

minnalae! nee vandhadhaenadi?
en kannilae oru kaayamennadi?
en vaanilae nee maraindhupoana maayam ennadi?
sila nazhigai nee vandhu ponadhu,
en maaligai adhu vendhu ponadhu.
minnale! en vaanam unnai thaeduthae...

This is a song for which, for years together, I have truly felt, and have still been feeling the emotion behind each and every word in the song. For sure, this is yet another song that has left an indelible imprint in my heart and mind.

Mrinmayi and Malathi

A circular beam zoomed from the eastern skies and created a private sun on the wall. This miniature sun steadily sank in front of her, as the sun at the east rose behind her. Sweet child of mine, rocked heavily from the blaring speakers. Malathi looked at the apparent slow movement of the sinking private sun and her usual ironical lop-sided smile appeared thinking about the underlying paradox.

A few kilometers away, at Mrinmayi's house, the sun sneaked through the opening that she missed to seal last night and it basked her pale foot. She wanted to sleep endlessly night after night like how she found pleasure in swinging from one link to another on the web. She was clambering from the floor to the bed; she didn’t know when she had fallen off.

After Mrinmayi sprawled on to the bed, she started frowning as her mind recollected the closing lines of their last conversation. “Does it not hurt you just because it is your finger nail?” Repugnant assails never seemed to cease. Each one badgered the other with questions and remarks that only created conundrums for which these two would never be able to find a solution. Mrin didn’t quite know what went wrong in the lovely relationship that they had shared when they were in the same college.

Was it distance or was it that they knew each other too well that it had started to hurt? Theirs was a simple relationship and though everything between the two was so lucid, it never ceased to cause envy among their common friends.

Malathi, the plain and sarcastic lady, would pass off for any normal uncomplicated girl. But she was the kind who would appeal to a select few. Though she had often wondered what made a few people like her a lot, she never got an answer for it and each time, at the end of the analysis, she only ended up laying false definitions of herself.

Now, after about a year after college, they worked for the same office. In fact, they really wanted to get into the same organisation after their college. But the stars were not in favor of them, and Malathi took up a job in a small concern and Mrinmayi in a relatively bigger company though she got offers from bigger multi-national companies, she refused them for the sake of higher rate of growth.

Though their offices were poles apart, they always made sure they met each other in the weekend and exchange thoughts on mundane topics, small talk, stocks and shares, happenings in their streets, in the world—basically anything under the sky. It was something really simple that they had shared and they knew each other’s limits, dislikes, hate, sorrows and happiness. More than anything what worked for them was the respect that each had for the other, despite each other's anomalies, differences, and shortcomings.

Well, after a few months there were a few vacancies in Mrin’s concern and Malathi for her unmistakable intelligence, she did crack the hard nuts and landed in the same place as Mrin’s. Things were sailing smooth and looked pretty neat, until the day when Mrin's organization had asked her to travel abroad for a high-valued assignment.

An morning in Mrin's life

Heaps of mud decorated the road of the potters. For a change, they were not to make tiny pots that shelter the grains or water from pelter. They were to be used to create edifices, where the object of over-confidence, who thinks he is the GOD, is to take shelter. In fact, the structures would themselves be ashamed of their skyscraping.

Joys of innocence spread warmth on Potters Street. The bundle of joy was from the kids who were apparently happy about discovering the wetness in the fine sand in their feet and hands on a hot morning. Four kids surrounded the mound, started digging from the four directions, dug in deep till the first two found each other's hand. Several sets of four were waiting for their turn. The winners would then team up together to play a bigger game.

Several minutes of dedicated patience was being spent on repairing a watch that stands a proof of something irreversible--a horologer was repairing his customer's watch with his object-magnifying monocle on.

Mrinmayi was aware of all this while she was still contemplating whether to attend the eleventh-day function of Satthi Amma's demise. It was a bountiful Saturday and the one that Mrin was waiting for a long time. She was to meet her friend who had just come back from Jaipur. She never knew when she grew fond of his beautiful hazel eyes and his very non-apparent dimple that other people would have to search for on his cheeks. Perhaps, even before she became aware of him. People who knew his lineage would know from whom he had inherited those beautiful eyes. It was his mother who had those lovely glowing eyes that spoke a language of its own. Like an add-on, Mrigank had an additional charm in his eyes that would make you say hi, even if you have just met once and were a reticent person.

They had studied together till their class ten, and they were neighbors too. The fact that, the school roll call had Mrin's name immediately after Mrig's made quite a significant difference in the rate at which they got to know each other. But then, as fate would have it, Mrin's dad had to come to Madras owing to his occupation. Mrig and Mrin were the best buddies in the whole world till then, and even after they had departed, fate had them meet at least three years once, somehow, till before college and quite often during college days. Mrigank got an admission in a college in Madras aka Chennai. He had to keep reminding himself of the name change because he was so used to the name, Madras. It is certainly true for the number of times he would have referred to the place with that name, on quite a few dozens of envelops. They wrote to each until the advent of internet and other communicate-on-the-go type of mechanisms such as sms, mobile etc.

Just as Mrin was immersed in those lovely hazel eyes, she jolted with her eyes wide open and sprang towards the wooden table where the cell phone was present. The sense of urgency was quite apparent to the fact that she was expecting a call and also to stop the tremors that the cell phone was creating thereby disturbing the clam ambience.

The cell phone displayed ‘M’. It was Mrigank.

In a jubilant voice Mrin said, “Hey!!”

Mrig, in an elaborately long intonation said, “Hi!”
The interval between the ‘H’ and ‘I’ seemed so long that you could finish speaking one long sentence in the style of disclaimers that appeared on the stocks or insurance ads on TV.

So what are you up to in Madras?

Oh! Nothin much, just trying to recuperate a bit.

“Recuperate...? Why? What happened?”, asked Mrin in a worried manner.

“There was a small accident while I was trying to get off the plane.”, said Mrig in such a nonchalant tone that you would want to shake up the person and remind them of taking the responsibility of being a bit serious in life.

And you are saying that as if you went and got a pair of casual trousers?

Hey, Mrin!

Mrinmayi just loved it when people called her ‘Mrin’, despite the fact that one of her friends made sure that she called Mrin by her full name, because of the fact that the name sounded very Russian. She was indeed right, because there was a small village called ‘Mrin’ in Ukraine, a country that shared borders with Russia.

“It isn’t a big deal, just a small scar near my eye, and on the cheek.”, said Mrigank in an amused intonation.

Oh, man!! That is bit too much. What do you mean? And now, because of your nonchalance, I am getting a bit suspicious on the adjective that you used to describe your scar. Did you say ‘small’? I am afraid it is getting a bit serious here.

Hey! No you don’t have to worry to the details of the inch of the scar. I am perfectly alright.

No, Mrig. You are staying at Shruti didi’s place, right? I am coming over right away. Don’t take this as a chance and run away from the house. I will be there in another thirty to forty minutes.

Mrin’s call ended with a ‘Stay-right-where-you-are’, in a purposely americanized and threatening intonation.

Before Mrig could say an elaborate ‘Yes Madam’ in a rhetorical manner, he heard a distinct silence at the other end.

Mrin had already hung up and had started her vehicle to leave to Bose Nagar—the place where any hermit would love to settle down in his meditation. It was such a clam place and it would be an ideal place for an early morning walk or a walk at any time of a cloudy day. She reached his place, wished the elders, and Shruti didi, Mrig and Mrin collaborated into a long pending raillery of each other and there was no ending to the roars arising from the house.

An evening in Mrin’s life

It was just another day in the life of Mrinmayi—tall, fair, pretty, intelligent, and 28 years old. If you think that she is the protagonist of this story, you would soon learn the truth. The workload was pretty lean those days, due to the recent increase in staffing at her workplace. After many days, she got a chance to return home in that hour of the day. She decided to walk the few kilometers from the station that is situated nearest to her house.

The roads were pretty dusty due to the early evening breeze. The flowers on the floor stood as a proof of the breeze that blew and axed the flowers from its root, or rather, from wherever the breeze could spot a weak link between the flower and the tree. The fact that it was not breeze, but gushy winds that did what she saw in front of her, was slowly dawning on her, because, there were also a few fresh leaves that the wind managed to execute. The flowers from the trees decorated the road with pink, lavender and mild-orange and with strange patterns. A few yards away, there were huge, dead, ugly leaves on the road. There was constant rustle as the road was quite busy. And as she went past it, she enjoyed every moment of the rustle she heard.

Apart from all these scenic observations, she noticed that a few men, even at this time of day, were indulging in revelry after heavy intoxication. That brought a scowl on her face and transported her back to reality. But, within a few minutes, she reached home. She removed her shoes and as she was about to enter her house, she realised that her dad who was sitting in the veranda of their house was attempting to tell her something. She turned back and saw him just complete a few words.

"What did you say, dad? I didn’t quite follow you.” asked Mrin as a response.

"Satthi amm... Satthi Amma has..." he tried to say something, but she could just witness the tearful expression and hear her dad, as if he suffered from an infected larynx.

"What happened to her?" questioned Mrin with her eyebrows coming closer and thereby creating a crest on her forehead.

"Satthi Amma has passed away." broke down her dad.

OOPS!! What happened?

"She was well until today afternoon. She had her lunch and complained of being a bit uneasy. The tenants then asked her to take some rest and put her on to the bed and a few minutes later she breathed her last breath." replied Mrin's dad. She could sense that the composure claiming its way back into his system.

What was her age?

85. Almost the age of your grandma. But when compared to your grandma, Satthi Amma was pretty healthy during her last few days.

Did you go and visit her house?

Yeah, I was there the whole day, trying to set right a few things for the funeral.

Memories of the old lady flashed her mind with her overall face appearing first, then the diamond nose stud that constantly shimmered, and then the mole on her face. She was the only person who remained with the same intensity of white shade on her hair and seemed like she never grew older than that. Mrin had identified symptoms of Satthi Amma ageing, probably, only when she complained of difficulty in climbing their two-storeyed building to meet her dad. In retrospect, she was reminded of the gap in between the front teeth, her slanted walk, the summer holidays, her grand son kaarthi, his mom—the english teacher, the long and broad wooden bench by the side of which she use to sit in the earlier part of Mrinmayi's life. Her memories then darted across to the days when she used to just wave and smile to Satthi Amma who sat at the doorstep of her house, perhaps her way of catching up with the world, whenever Mrin went past her house on the bike.

Mrin was carrying out her routine and then when her mom came back from office, she broke the news to her. Her mom was pretty much composed and took the news pretty calm as compared to her dad. Her mom asked as much the same set of questions that Mrin had asked her dad, when she first heard the news.

Her dad being the proactive narrator in their family, started telling tales about Satthi Amma. Mrin learnt, both from her mom and dad, that she was the one who first held her when she was born and that she had taken extra pain in helping him admit her mom during the day of her birth. This and a lot more stories rolled by after that.

A few minutes later, Mrin and her mom left to Satthi Amma's home, to pay homage to her. "She had borne eleven children, of which a few died and made sure she saw that every one of her children buy their own house and settle comfortably well." Mrin heard her dad's voice resound inside her ears. "She had borne eleven children and brought up the ones that survived, with utmost responsibility." Just imagine the patience and experience she would have developed in all these years!, she told herself when she heard her dad say 'eleven children...'. She knew that Satthi Amma was called so because of her last son's name Sakthi. Of all her children, she knew only a few of them, Narayanan, Giri, Vijaya, Palani and Sakthi.

Satthi Amma was staying in Kumar Street, whereas Mrin's family was staying in Ganesh Street. Theirs was supposed to have been a single street, if not for the slight bend in the place where the two streets met. Somehow, the other streets lying parallel to theirs were all just one street.

In two or three minutes, they reached Satthi Amma's house. Satthi Amma was kept in a freezer box. She saw Vijaya and Palani standing beside the transparent box, and chanting aloud some sacred verse along with some others who Mrin was not able to identify. Like how, sometimes we identify a complete song on hearing just one or two words of the song, Mrin though she was a North Indian, she soon identified that they were chanting Thiruvasagam. She felt happy that she could at least identify what was being sung, even though she wasn't able to quite empathise with those who were mourning on the loss of their aged mother.

Mrin again fell into the retrospect mode and was reminded of Vijaya Coffee, Narayanan's own coffee shop, where Mrin's mom often bought coffee powder. She remembered that ever since she has known, Mrin's mom had been grateful to Satthi Amma for having introduced coffee and teaching the art of making absolutely amazing coffee to her. She would often instruct Mrin, “Ask Narayanan uncle to grind the coffee with two and a half portions of chicory.”

She stood there, retrospected for a few minutes, heard one or two people discuss Sathhi Amma’s life and their experiences with her, and prayed to God for her sons and daughters. After a couple of minutes, Mrin and her mom left the place, each one lost in their own thoughts.

little things...

you are completely hard-pressed for time, but still manage to succumb to your urge to write, wanting to drink an amazing cuppa even if the burns are still hurting your tongue well past two days since your last sip, wary of the staircase that tumbled you, but still enthusiastically perform acrobatics on the same fleet of stairs the next day, knowing that you are gonna be badly hurt because of another helping of a cup of custard, but still venturing for another one, rubbing your tongue against the upper jaw acknowledging the numbness created by the betel leaf that you munched in a wedding, you know you are too tired and it is almost brunch time, but you still over-workout yourself for that extra serving of custard you had last night, you are traveling a long distance bus journey. and you are irritated by the discomfort it may cause due to loss of sleep. and all of a sudden you wake up and feel happy to realise that you have been sleeping all along, ...and so runs the list in the recharge package.

after a long time...

i felt grateful to my friends,
i lazed around doing nothing,
i felt wasted after watching tv the whole day,
i have lost interest in someone,
i wanted to write,
i wrote using my personal computer,
i dozed off while i was attempting to think hard,

i kept the food wastes
on the secluded corner of the parapet wall,

i despised and feared a copious insect
that has been ruthlessly cruel to me,

i was about to slip into an unwanted
theme of character analyses.

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!!

discourse

Well, this is an aftermath of a discussion (call it chat) that I had with my colleague. Like in all lengthy discussions that meander to multitudinous topics, one invloves in the play of tracing it back to its origin, and I asked myself, "how did we start discussing about cats...?" Ahh... after unsuccessful brainstorming, I went back to him and in 5 seconds he came up, “pets<-the doctor who had a big dog<-blood donation.”

I said, “ahnnn ok! good.”

It all started with a mail harping on blood donation.

Me: Hey!! Have you donated blood, in your life?
Colleague: Yeah, once. It was to a doctor who our family knew.
M: How was it? I mean, did you feel any euphoria that I have always imagined to exist after blood donation? (with a grin)
C: Euphoria? NO. I felt uneasy for a while, in fact for the whole of that day; especially after you see that something of your's is leaving your body. It becomes alright after a day.
M: (a nod and a smile)
C: They took a unit of blood—I have always thought one unit meant a litre, it was 300 ml and they don’t take beyond that, at one go, and they won’t let you donate blood if the time lapsed is less than three months since you last donated.
M: (with a raised eyebrow) Ohh...
C: This is the doctor whose son wrote those Tamil poetries. (questioningly and with a locked eyebrow) I have told you about this guy, right?
M: (with a reminiscent expression) Which guy...? Ahnn... ok. now I remember! (with an enlightened expression)
C: They had a big dog at their place. This big... (with his hand kept in the usual position that one uses to indicate heights—hand parallel to the ground, at a distance of about 3 feet) It was an Alsatian.
M: (with both eyebrows raised and with a bewared glance at the parallel arm)
M: (with a change in expression) You have grown pets?
C: Yeah we had two dogs and many cats.

A smile started blooming when he started saying 'many cats'.

C: In fact, dogs are better than cats, you know? Cats are always arrogant and lazy...

I perceived that he was drawing comparisons to a kind of species that I knew of well, and so pounced back at him, “you seem to be comparing cats with women...”, with an inspecting look on my face.

C: (with a light laugh) Did I say anything like that?
M: Ok Ok.

I thought, ”why to unnecessarily tarnish our sect? let me stop right here!!”

C: In fact, they say ‘If you give food and shelter to a dog, it thinks that you are God. If you give food and shelter to a cat, it thinks that it must be God!’
M: Wow!! That was a nice way to sum up the attitude of a cat! :-)
C: We had a large family of cats growing around our house and it used to frequent our place quite often.
C: If it’s sitting on the sofa, and you go near the sofa and look for a place to sit, it will look at you with such an annoying look—as if to suggest why the hell are you disturbing me?
M: (with a tinge of amusement) Ahh... is it?
C: But cats are generally fun to look at while they play. If the parent cat rests on the floor, it keeps shifting its tail from right to left and vice versa, and the kittens keep chasing them—it would look as if the parent is teaching the kittens to chase its target.
M: In fact, now I remember, the kittens generally cling to the clothes, right, with its fragile paws?
C: Yeah, and you know there are a few things about cats—if you drop them from any height with its body turned in any direction, it always falls on its legs!!
M: Ohh!! (of late, with my spontaneity with analogies, I, closing my eyes for a fraction of a second and opening them as if finding the greatest idea to the most difficult problem on earth) Something like the shuttlecock, na? It always falls on the ground on the cork.
C: Yeah, I guess. (with absolutely no expression or amazement)

I thought, “Ohh God, why always me? Anyway, I guess he is busy with his cat observations that he didn't get deviated by my beautiful analogy.”

C: And one another thing is that as long as it was at our home, it has never gone to the kitchen and foraged for milk—but it promptly went to our neighbor’s house and drank milk!!
M: Ada paavi! (with a tinge—just a tinge—of sarcasm) You seem to have trained your cat very well!!
C: And if it ever ate something that caused itself a stomach upset, it intuitively knows which grass or plants to eat or chew to make itself free from the ailment!
M: That’s news!! (with a smile)

And there comes a mail that reminds me of my work (oh yeah, that’s what I am paid for, right!!)

There ended our digressing discourse!!!

Monday Morning...

5.50 a.m., Monday morning. Ennui. 6.50 a.m., a bang on the shin, wrinkles on the face, clenching of the teeth. Blackout. 7.20 a.m., arriving at the bus stop--early by ten minutes, encore 1984, a lass lunging and falling on her face on the road--out of weakness, lifting her by her arm, settling her. Empathy. My bus arrives and is waiting for me to get in, a feeling of helplessness, getting into the bus, she falls off to the floor again. Remorse. ‘It’s Ok. Just Shut It Out!!’, says my mind. And am off to "doublespeak" and "thoughtcrime".

(Blue) Black Magic

i was looking at a blue-black thick blanket,
trimmed at the edges and curved like tree-tops,
pinned up to a light-blue display board.

and just when I took my eyes off,
flickers of pinkish white light
shimmered from the thick of the blanket
and showed me a few more hidden tree-tops.

soon, revelation came along;
they were the potential rain-bearing clouds,
waiting for the wind to unfurl its flourishes!

dust and truck

you ran down on me, and trashed me like the dust underneath the wheels of a truck, and i, i went behind you, gaining an ephemeral momentum, like the same loose dust, mindlessly rushing behind it. nota bene: my eyes saw the dust and imagination created the rest

isn't it ironic?

After a very long time, it's lyrics time! It probably befits as a sequel to my last post. :-) I am not posting the entire lyrics here; instead, I am just quoting the ones that I thought were really the epitome of irony. I mean, if you are trying to explain the meaning of the word 'ironic', you would succeed if you just quote these.

"A traffic jam when you're already late
A no-smoking sign on your cigarette break
It's like ten thousand spoons when all you need is a knife
It's meeting the man of my dreams
And then meeting his beautiful wife
And isn't it ironic...dontcha think"

And, Alanis!! Ahh... she uses just the right intonation to express these ironies. Just amazing!! Absolutely amazing!

isn't it paradoxical?

isn't it paradoxical, that the clock's hands have to go on in circles, for me to move ahead; i have to smelt ore, for iron to be robust; i have to pluck the taut guitar strings to relieve me of my tautness; i have to dichotomize something to identify the beautiful symmetry in it; i have to imprison air, for a balloon to soar high with freedom; i have to bury a seed alive, for a plant to come to life?

words

If you take it for granted that others know how much you appreciate them, they will probably think you take them for granted. Put thanks and appreciation into words.

- anon

i kinda liked this! believe me. words make quite a lot of difference... :-)

Recharge

Three hours is the time that my cell takes to recharge from drain. I am human; I probably take much longer. Well, let me come to the things that matter to me right now and are lingering in my mind.

Like how a small insignificant tiff rushes out all the past trivial tiffs to the forefront, the events in the few hours of a fine and sprightly morning acted on all the similar performances that failed to arouse emotions of any sort earlier.

So, what is it?

An hour-long morning walk and an hour spent in a temple.

It is always a welcome break—a peaceful saunter on a serene Sunday evening, when the families in the locality sink into family welfare activities leaving the streets deserted and without much activity. The oldies sit on the porch munching away the talks sensible to them. The youngsters sit on their cycles, sniggering but very apparent in their act of passing petty comments on a passerby.

The vicinity of the temple is an idyllic setup, with a hum arising from the susurration of the ladies who make basil garlands. There is an occasional rise in the decibel level whenever they beseech the devotees to bestow garlands, off their kiosks, onto the shoulders of the One in the sanctum sanctorum. The chime arising from the direction of the two cows serving the needs of the temple, adds a musical backdrop to the rustic lure. Looking closer at the tenderly looking cows, there is a yellowish orange smear on the forehead that brings divinity. All this makes a perfect stage for a trance.

The temple’s design falls in the design gamut of a typical south Indian temple; it has one main sanctum and multiple sub-sanctums. Typically, the sub-sanctums are would be that of the son’s or the daughter’s or of the people important to the One in the main sanctum.

As I was trying to connect to a Goddess at one of the sub-sanctums, this happened. A little boy who had accompanied his grandfather was enjoying his freedom confined to the temple grounds. He was sauntering in the yards whilst his grandfather reached one of the sub-sanctums. However, in no time the kid traced his grandpa and reached him. The grandpa, immediately, on a serious note and in a mildly threatening voice asked him to pray to the Goddess. The kid went to the locked gates and very endearingly said, “Saamee, saamee!!” that my reverence was distracted by its endearment. I am just wondering from whom or where the child had learnt to emote.

And the tone—it is still resonating in my ears!

The highlight of the temple visits is the time spent on the verandahs of the temple after offering prayers. Ideally, for me, it is the most sacred of the moments spent in the temple–the time spent in revisiting oneself and focusing on the revitalizing the soul. But when you are looking at connecting to the world, you tend to watch people around you and enjoy the things going on.

A kid’s obeisance replicated from its parent—the kid laying down itself as prostrate as its father and checking now and then if its father has risen and if not, ducking back to its original position, another kid nodding the head up and down—an interplay only known to the kid and the mother, a few children riding on the backs of the sculptured elephants and crocodiles positioned by either side of the sanctum, and another kid going far away from its parents and after discovering that it has gone far away, coming back with such happiness and falling into the arms of its parents and a lot more such sweet things happening around.

It is very true that the meaningless murmurings and acts are always sweet to the senses. Even the repeated acts of a kid chasing away all the pigeons that are being fed won’t let me imagine worse things about it. I readily do agree that our tolerance level is very high when it comes to kids because we don’t assume that they are aware of the “rules”.

Block and Bliss

I felt like standing in front of a tub of cold water, for yet another session of the morning ablution, knowing that I will be able to surpass the block and enjoy the bliss, only if I let it run down on myself for the first few times, every time... I sat down to write.

Ensemble

An analogy is poetic; a comparison prosaic. Crush A kid toying with a trick it recently learnt to play Newlywed Couples Fresh toothpaste and a new toothbrush Parents, Kids and Identity Flower that bears fruit Disquiet Wrongly crossed cross-legged posture Sea, Surfers, and Surfboards City Roads, Adults, and Bus Footboard Advice, Acceptance and Results A Good Pen, Willingness to Write and a Beautiful Handwriting Mind and Tempered Mind Sour Curd and Sweet Buttermilk Fate and Premonition A Mortuary van following an Ambulance rushing to the hospital

am grateful to

the contrast-colored space around a literal, the silence that lets me hear the spelt out words, the darkness when i am asleep, the void that engulfs my mind, the discomfort in certain relationships, the coldness in a relationship, the restlessness of my mind and, my shortcomings.

kannathil muthamittal

O! Flower of the heavens,
Why that forlorn look in your eyes?

You are the life’s beginning
and the visible horizon.

You swept like the breeze
and stayed as the breath.

O! Sanguine surge in the soul...

You are my akin as well as my foe,
the flower of love and a thorn in the womb,
the cherished rain and the clouting thunder,
a neonate body as well as an aching death

O! Conqueror of death, conferrer of life...

You are my wealth as well as my wrecked ship,
an enriched epic as well as the error in it,
lent light and the bitter tears at night,
my bountiful sky as well as my broken wings,

And the beloved sorrow that I nurtured.triskaidekaphobia

No. I am not moonstruck. Just thought I shall translate/render the title track of the Maniratnam movie - Kannathil Muthamittal, written by Vairamuthu. The lyrics as you see below is the post in my blog dated 13th of June, 2005.

a peck on the cheek

nenjil jil jil jil jil
kaadhil dhil dhil dhil dhil
kaNNathil muththamittaal nee kaNNathil muththamittaal

oru dheyivam thandha poovae
kaNNil thedal enna thaayae

vazhvu thodangum idam needhaanae...
vaanam mudiyumidam needhaanae
kaatrai poala nee vandhayae swasamaga nee nindrayae
maarbil oorum uyirae...

enadhu sondham nee, yenadhu pagaiyum nee
kadhal malarum nee karuvil muLLum nee
chella mazhaiyum nee, chinna idiyum nee
piRandha udalum nee, piriyum uyirum nee
maraNam meenda jananam nee,

enadhu selvam nee, enadhu vaRumai nee
izhaiththa kavidhai nee, ezhuththu pizhaiyum nee
iraval veLicham nee, iravin kaNNir nee
enadhu vaanam nee, izhandha siRagum nee
naan thooki vaLLartha thuyaram nee
- vairamuthutriskaidekaphobia

Silhouette

It was a rainy dark night. There were heavy dosages of flashes of white light like those thrown on a celebrity involved in a controversy. And the thunders - they started from one end with heavy thumping and ended at the other end in an allayed mode – probably the heavens were witnessing those spiteful moments of the malicious pandava-gaurava dice tussle. But it seemed like the thunders and lightning had taken some inspiration from the mortals. The usual thunder-follows-the-lightning pattern was absent and there were heavy flashes of light but no subsequent thunders. It was as if the thunders were involved in a retort rather than a conversation. The thunders boomed after a relatively longer time.

Vehicles sped on the autobahn and the roads lay bare feigning to be an offspring of the rain and light – they shimmered as wet black silk would. The street lights were the only indicators of the intensity of the downpour. One could easily think that the government had come up with an innovative idea of providing showers, in the night, from the streetlights to alleviate the cruel heat that reigned through the day.

I was in one of those speeding vehicles and was trying to measure the intensity of the showers from the streetlights. The rains denied me the luxury of relaxing after a heavy grueling day at work. It brought in me a sense of urgency, though I couldn’t imagine one single task that would provoke me to react with such urgency. The heart-pounding feeling existed and this unrest did hurt me.

The driver constantly made sure he removed the mist that formed within our closed compartment. The two sticks dutifully alternated from one end to the other clearing off the clouds’ attack on us.

Sitting on the backseat ensured that I see just the silhouettes of the other people traveling with me - the silhouettes that formed as a result of the light beam emerging from the vehicles on the opposite direction. The beam from our vehicle threw light on a car that was experiencing the same package as ours. I could see three heads: one was of the driver’s which I wasn’t quite interested; the other two on the back seat was that of a man’s and a woman’s. They were seated alongside each other so close that there was enough space for two people to sit on either side of the two. Another of those beams heavier than ours from the opposite direction, made me see just the silhouettes of the three now.

I was slowly getting relieved of the sense of urgency that the rains managed to instill in me, a few moments ago. I felt the peace that could have prevailed between the man and the woman. Our vehicle now succeeded in overtaking their car and both the vehicles moved on parallel tracks. I loved this peace that prevailed in me and controlled that instinctive urge to look into their car. The two cars were on a parallel mode long enough for the two to get uneasy but I didn’t quite sense any movement.

By now, a vehicle speeding in the opposite direction made our driver to operate in the safe mode and I again saw just the silhouettes of the two. The lady had rested her head on her man’s shoulder. I imagined peace to endure between the two. The driver of our vehicle flashed his lights prompting the vehicle in front of us to move faster. The flashing of lights showed me the yellow number plate which stood as a proof of a hired vehicle. The driver of our vehicle now zoomed and extended his arm backwards and switched on the vehicle’s private light. He did it with such perfection that he never removed his eye from the road. It was an act that would come in handy – sure he would have taken a long time to practice it. Apparently time had come for the paths to diverge from the public median. He asked for directions to reach the houses of the inmates of the vehicle.

Within these few moments of distraction I lost track of the coupled silhouettes. I frantically searched for peace. Just after few fractions of seconds I saw them traverse on the main median and we on our less important road. I consciously made a check on my state of my mind. Peace did prevail in me, as strong as the bond that I imagined between the two.

life... sleep... and death.

can i live as peacefully as i sleep? can i sleep as peacfully as people die? written a long, long, long time ago - maybe about 5 to 6 years...

Life is beautiful.

My Credits: Meera’s lists

The distant church chimes, the day’s first tune that you hum, the locked hair in between a hook, the pink tint on the clouds after a sunset, the sweet body ache after a tiring workout, trembling of the hand, the subtle hints in a budding relationship, the creak from a sheave, usefulness of an aglet, lint on washed clothes, the non-committal conversation with a long forgotten friend, the innumerous shades of green in plants and trees, the neatly trimmed coconut leaves,

a supple one year old kid, the moments after a sobbing child sleeps on your shoulder, the comfort in hugging a kid, an awe-inspiring nimble five year old child, the naïve questions of an eight year old, the shyness in an adolescent,

the soothing berceuse in an Ilayaraja’s song, the privacy provided by the headphones, the distinct clarity in the guitar tunes, the mellifluent music from a saxophone, the continuity in flute melodies, the divinity attached to a veenai, the tremor produced by the thumping of drums, the impulsive hum of the next song in your favorite play list,

the million questions after an eerie dream, aroma from the first jasmine flower in the garden, the fine early morning dew on a parked vehicle, the reverberations from a speeding bus felt by the foot, water sprinkled on hot tiles,

the crispness of starched cotton, water droplets on an unused dress, the coziness in a thoroughly used cotton saree, the hand that tries to grip the elusive satin, the firm grip of your terrified friend, the solace of a good friend, unkempt hair after a hair wash, the reminiscences arising after finding a long-forgotten written memoirs of a train trip, the dry dead leaf placed in a book that brings to life the memories related to it,

the hum that arises after hitting a half-filled metal container, the lull after placing your hand on the vessel, agility of water, firmness of ice, the thinness of watermelon juice, the thickness of mango milkshake, the quick moving beach sands under your feet, the hardness of the rocks on a hill,

the neatly arranged toes of the foot, a pen that makes your handwriting legible, the graphite that wanes, the decisiveness arising out of just a few eye glances, the rocking of a train, the straining conversations exchanged on a speeding two wheeler, validating a stranger’s lip movement to the song played in the bus, the rubble from a freshly laid tar road that hits your mudguard,

the discreetness in a mason while mixing cement, sand and water, splitting of bricks with his instrument, the pleasure in curing a constructed wall, the scent and the sound arising while curing, the neatly arranged scaffolds of a building, the evenness indicated by the bubble in a spirit-level, the arranging of the bricks while they are unloaded from the truck, the entire act of transferring the bricks stone by stone,

the serenity of early mornings, the hurried breakfast, the briskness in the later hours of a morning, the essential lunch after starvation, the lazy afternoons, the vibrant evenings, the detached dinner, the peaceful sleep.

How does it feel...

when, you see the crisp leaves of a checkbook that bears your name, you just created an excellent piece of writing, you see a pretty lady and... she takes a really long time to walk past you, you lose your ear to a humorous jingle amidst cacophony, you see a date associated with you that stands as a proof of an enduring relationship, you are acknowledged for an extremely brilliant joke, you understand the intricate meaning behind a word that you mindlessly use everyday, you see something very simple in design that captivates you and fills your senses, you set tears in your friends’ eyes with your joke, you used your discretion to avoid yourself getting into a disaster that was threateningly appealing, you kick a small object that you threw in the air, in your first attempt, you realized that you served yourself the right quantum of side dish, you find an answer to the ‘why-me?’ in your life and prevent it from happening to others, you spot something that others are desperately trying to find, after 15 years of schooling, you tend to choose lighter shades for your work, on a Monday, you see a distress-call mail from your friend 13 hours too late, you look forward for the peaceful sleep, sans the nightmare that has been stinging you for days?

memories...

my headgear lies somewhere on top of a stand, unused and covered up with layers of dust - the smaller specks neatly and comfortably juxtaposed, among the bigger blotches...

Making love out of nothing at all, Air Supply.

I am waiting for you, in the backyards of my house. I want it to happen again; the same way as it happened a few nights ago. Ours was not something that was planned. The tryst was destined and was forecasted by the heavens. But like all forecasts and predictions, I was as cynical as I would always be. I paced up and down for a few minutes and looked at the heavens. I had a premonition that you would be coming.

The last time it happened, it was wonderful and sublime. It was a feeling I never had experienced before. Though you didn’t give me a chance to see you last time, you did give me signs of your coming, before you came. I did pick up the signals of your arrival, like how a patient wife spots her beloved’s footsteps, amidst other tramps.

My heart was pounding and my adrenals pumping.

You neither let me speak a word last time, for you were aware that I knew you too well; true, we didn’t have to. Of all the eligible ones thriving on this earth, you chose me. You gave me the simple, priceless pleasure of being the first to experience you. Thanks for the honors. I felt liberated – liberated from the shackles of my own personal restrictions and inhibitions. That day, I did find the reason for my habitual, sleepless explorations into the wee hours. It now seems to me that the nocturnal intrusions of emptiness were designed, just for you.

I feel sad that I experienced this kind of revelation only after nearly two decades of my existence. I don’t feel ashamed on my meek surrender; I only feel happy that the wait made me realize your ruthless power to engulf my senses. I still admire and wonder the way you nonchalantly doped me but still managed to empower me.

You gave wings to my restless, struggling mind. After you had devoured me, I was floating in the air, weightless, leaving behind all the impending worries - the heavy-weight worries and the light-weight silly thoughts of mine. The worries – big, small and silly worries, that fill my senses like those big, small stones and the silt that fill a jar to completion.

Yes. I did feel you. Do you remember? A few people even gave us our due privacy, evacuating their bivouac on the terrace. They just couldn’t continue their slumber after you had come. I only felt gratified when I caught a glimpse of their envying faces after they saw your impositions on me.

Now, here I am waiting for your palpations, in the godforsaken hours of the 24-hour cycle - waiting for you to feel me, waiting to submit myself and to feel the liberation, waiting to float again. Won’t you do it again please, I beseech you, and won’t you reign me, O! Rain?

;-) Ppl!! I knew you were gonna fall for this! This is a perfect example of an anti-climax, isn’t it? Though, I still have my doubts if this is a likeable piece... anyway, hope you nsoi-ed it!!!

I would like to say a few words about the title of this post. This is an excellent song I recently happened to listen to and I just fell for ths song. A few of my blog-friends would know the extent to which I adore this song. A simply amazing song, this one, especially the place where it goes...

"But I don't know how to leave you, and I'll never let you fall;
and I don't know how you do it, making love out of nothing at all
(Making love) out of nothing at all,...."

This song was released as a new entry in their 1983, Greatest Hits collection. Air supply, the Australian soft rock group was originated by Russell Hitchcock and Graham Russell. They became very popular in the late 70s and early 80s.

This is an amazing song and do listen to it, if you can.

And, yeah! thanks for listening for so long!!!

Rambling

Ppl!!! You must listen to this… the moment this happened I thought I should be blogging about this. Here I go.

Life was getting pretty heck-ed up and inertia was setting into me. Things were moving at a pretty fast pace but nothing moved me – I was like the coin in the inertia example in the physics text books. Machine-washed clothes piling up on my bed waiting to be moved into the wardrobe; maybe they would need another washing, if I let them lay there for long enough. All the bills that the shopkeeper gleefully gave me, in exchange for my money, his profit and the commodities, were inside the myriad small covers – the ICICI and ABN Amro bank covers. This along with the ATM slips were eagerly waiting for an entry in my expense tracker, like a child waiting for its share of second helping of the ice cream.

All the Frontline issues that were untouched were also piling up. If it had ears it would have felt so grateful to my mom – for having bought it and mentioning, “Why don’t you read Frontline instead of sitting like this”. My thumb having settled cozily in the narrow groove between the up and down buttons of the remote would not let me budge. The neatly arranged books were all covered with dirt, like those snow clad mountains.

I love cleaning and setting things right, except for I need goads at the right spot to set me into motion. I started with those lovely dirt clad shelf of mine. The last time I arranged this shelf was in early 2004, I guess. I kept piling sheets of papers and notepads on to it. And now, it has grown into being an untamed, recycled forest. One after another I picked them, dusted and kept them on a table that was a few feet away. Segregations and categories kept increasing - like how I add another column in a table in MS Word, after I decide that adding it would enhance the meaning of the table.

So, I have these categories: sheets that have an unused side, sheets that needed shredding – expired bank statements, missives that were never exchanged. Birthday cards, thanks cards, all-the-best cards all on to one side. Sheets that need careful examination – God only will know when I will take these up!!!

I was shuttling between my shelf and the table. I know. By now, if not for the mosaic on the floor, the path that I traced back and forth would have a rut. The rut the bullock cart left on soft earth – the arcane path that I always want to trace.

I spotted a small notepad that endured the weight of the stack all these days. It brought back memories of the train that I took to my hometown from Pune. I flipped through the pages one after another, with my hand tracing the semi-circular path - right to left. I see an address there – the address of a friend that I made in the train. I see her name written in both Hindi and English – it showed that she hadn’t rehearsed the English version well. She was a tenth drop-out and all she new was Hindi and a lot of Marathi. In spite of my unused Hindi, we did exchange a few words and had a good time.

And then, I see this...

“Well! Valentines Day? Phew!!! That’s the ways life is. Even the bags have a place to rest! What an irony? We were supposed to travel in the third class AC compartment. Even a second class should have been a luxury. We landed in the compartment of proles. I think ‘proles’ is an over-statement. Anyway let’s talk about the observations or interesting facts that hooked on to my mind. In fact it is like the-Madhavan-style in Anbe Sivam. But my fall was from a smaller height when compared to his.”

My hand draws another of those semi-circular figures in the air, eagerly waiting to read more from the next few pages. I had a feeling that I might relive a few of those memories again. My mind imagined all those it can, within the few seconds my hand drew the curve. I flipped. And what do I see now? - A circle with four diameters, with a square on one of those thin pies.

What the hell does this mean? It meant nothing. It meant that I apparently got interested in other interesting things that happened in the train that I forgot to write about it. It just meant that I needed a good break from the cleaning sessions. It just meant that I had to play a prank on my brother and have a light hearted laugh, when I saw him go, ‘enna di ithu? michham enga?’ - 'What is this? Where is the rest?’, after he drew a similar geometrical figure in the air. It just meant that I had to re-live a few of those moments of a day in February, 2003. It just meant that I had to leave a rambling incomplete, so that I could blog about it. And it probably meant that my train-friend could have had a few coughs when I thought about her.

And now! I just wonder, ‘how many virtual semi-circles will a library have...?’

Days of ignorance / innocence

Quite unbelievable; but we, I mean our family, didn’t own a TV until I was 10 years old. Thank God for that. I am sure it was a blessing in disguise. Prior to that, I didn’t have much access to TV either. My mommy would probably let us, I mean me and my brother, watch ‘OLiyum Oliyum’ (tamil) – ‘Light and Sound’. I pity the English language for not having been able to express lucidly, the fact that it’s the light and sound that constitutes a song (read movie).

With regard to pronouncing those words: oLiyum oliyum - you should pronounce the 'L' in the first ‘oLiyum’ with the tongue curled inwards and the ventral part of the tongue touching the upper gums. The 'l' in the latter 'oliyum', with the tip of the tongue touching your upper gums.

Coming to the point, the fact being that I was not very interested in watching TV, I hardly bothered to peep into my neighbors’ small screen. Oops!!! I think I am compensating for all those that I missed during my early days – the moment I come back from office, I am all hooked up to the TV.

We got our first TV... don’t ask!! We, I mean my parents, bought a brand called ‘Pyramid’. I mean, the irony being within about 2-3 years of its existence it became extinct!!!! I shouldn’t be saying this because the very first mobile that I got – Siemens A50 – that’s about 1.5 years ago, is now a non-existent model.

So, we got our first TV – a black and white TV with no remote control and with those sturdy knobs. There were these smooth operating knobs to increase the volume, decrease or increase the brightness and contrast. Then the knobs which were hard to turn till a threshold and beyond the threshold it would rest, with a ‘click’, to its next position. The latter was to change channels, apparently.

I am all done with explaining our first TV; so let me come to the crux. So, I the Ms. Innocent, was eagerly waiting for the TV to work. Did it work? Of course, it did. Otherwise my dad would have ripped off the heart from the electrician’s rib cage!! Now, what do I see on the TV? – A commercial of the ‘pyramid’ TV. Your highness now comes up with a brilliant question – ‘Hey!!! How can our TV show an advertisement of our own TV?’

Ok!! Ok!!! I didn’t know the laws of electromagnetism then, please pardon me. I can even hear somebody comment, ‘nee chinna vaiyusilae erunthae eppadi thaana?’ which means, ‘you have been exhibiting such radiance right from that small age, is it?’

Guys, enough is enough!! Now that you have had a good laugh, I consider it responsible of me to explain myself at this juncture. Maybe I thought that if the viewers already had that brand, then why is he wasting the precious time space on air? Well... I know I was too small to think about advertising strategies then, anyway...

And then, there was one another excellent thought of mine which, people in my family had had a good laugh over it. Ok. Let me explain the background first. My mommy works for a central government organization. Saturdays are usually an off for them.

Once upon a time, when I was about 6 – 7 years of age, she said she had to go to work that Saturday also. I asked her ‘why’, for which she said, ‘Our chairman is coming today. So we all will have to be there in the office.’ I was all confused and nonchalantly asked, ‘why do you guys have to be there? It will be a trouble if you guys are there. How will he clean the chairs then?

Well well!! the folks at home, especially my brother and my mom had a good laugh and asked me ‘What?’ I answered, ‘isn’t a chairman of a company, a person who takes care of the chairs, clean them and maintain them?’

I know, i can hear people guffawing now!!! Anyway, It is justification time!!! I would have probably derived the explanation from the fact that a post man delivers the letters or a milkman who supplies milk or a cowboy who tames and rears cows. Isn’t it a logical conclusion? I know you guys would say, ‘fat chance!!!’ anyway...

Quite funny these anecdotes are, I know. But then I couldn’t help sharing my ignorance or innocence, which ever it is - you guys decide. As always altruistically yours wanted you guys to have a nice time at my virtual home – at my expense!! Hope you guys enjoyed it; as much as I did, writing it. Like how every time, when I am in public, I compensate a loud laughter with a tight, pursed-lip grin when I visualize kushboo asking janakaraj for an address with the street name nae-sa-ma-ni-ponni-ya in the movie annamalai. I can hear more laughther this time!! Way to go, people!!

Transmigration

After pacing up and down for a few seconds she sat on the parapet of her terrace. There are a bunch of school boys who were improving their reflexes, reacting to the ball thrown on an unevenly surfaced wall. A few others on the same balcony were, apparently, discussing cricket. There is a guy on a distant terrace showing signs of interest towards this lady sitting on a parapet wall.

The sun was just about beginning its slumber. She stared at the falling sun. It looked as if the tower behind which the sun was hiding was its final resting place. Her soggy red eyes made her blink in a consistent but slower frequency than the inconsistent normalcy. The sun’s brightness seemed to fade with every blink.

She looks at the boys who were ceremoniously engrossed in improvising their fielding skills as if it was the last minute of their exam preparation time. But all she saw was a hazy black patch. She would have wondered myriad times about the ephemeral existence of the black patch every time she looks at anything, immediately after she reaches the core of the sun, battling her way with the sun rays to reach it.

Her stomach was grumbling. But she despises eating food with a lump in her throat.

She thoughtlessly gazes back to her earlier area of focus. By then there is just the tower – the tall, svelte tower; like those long skirted American blond beauties whom she started admiring a few weeks ago. The sky was painted with a faint tinge of pink on a light blue canvas with the intermittently scattered, persistent, ever existent white patches.

She reverts to those boys. Now, she could see their faces clearly. They had retired from their play and were chatting. She thought they should have quit due to the fading natural light. She turns her head further away from the west and traces back to the terrace where she saw the guy, whom she thought was conscious of her existence. He had gone by now.

The music from the walkman had stopped long ago. But she realized it much later – after she reasoned out as to why the boys had quit their practice.

All along her life she worshipped music and had immense faith in it. So much so, even when she had a headache and her friend asks her to anoint, she would amusingly say, ‘I shall listen to the walkman.’

She took the walkman from her trouser pocket, gazed at it for a while, with the same affection a mother would, when she sees her child after two long days. The walkman was revivified. By now, she seemed composed and was in a much better frame of mind. Her eyes had the enough thinness of the watery film to look at things in the right perspective.

She now turned her head towards the western skies and it was crimson red.

Dated: April 02, 2005

Impromptu, Random Thoughts!

The aspiring cyclist who keeps trying to pick up a race with every speeding vehicle, that fast approaches him from the rear and eventually zooms past him in a jiffy,

The commoner who desperately tries to pick up a cue, from the girl who travels in the slow moving bus,

The killer-stare from the meekest of all the pedestrians, who has been offended by the sudden and unexpected barge of a vehicle venturing in the wrong side of the road,

The happy and well dressed mannequins of a posh boutique,

The smartly trimmed coconut leaves and the stickler-pleasing army haircut of the common trees growing in the familiar but arcane distant houses anchored in the street farther from yours,

A car’s rear wind shield, which bears the similar sounding names that are apparently related to the owner of the car,

The confident bitter-better half who signals to the world that the shoulder or the lap of the rider is safer than the strong, designed-with-care steel loop fastened to the two-wheeler by a sturdy and time-tested nut and blot,

The deliberately deglamorised and minimized version of a witty road safety billboard that might have an opposite effect, if read on the move,


The stealth smile and the memoirs that a particular song manages to evoke every time I listen to it,

The beautiful eyes of the dark colored cleaner of the bus that I travel,

The pink lips of my new found friend,

The sands of the beach, enclosed between my cell phone and the cover, that I, the Ms. Immaculate, purposely forget to clean,

Well…, below are the various titles that I came up with, for this post…

Common and not so common facts
Common and not so common facts – common ones listed first
Untitled!
Untitled thoughts!
Impersonal and Personal thoughts…
Random thoughts!
Uncensored Random Thoughts!
Ad-lib, Uncensored Random Thoughts!