Mazhai Varum... from Veppam

Yet another warm song from Joshua Shridhar and Na Muthukumar! It has a simple and steady BGM flowing through the entire song with the violin, flute, and cello interludes adding strength. Suzanne D'Mello does her part well in creating an unrequited-love-song feel to it. A lady love's unrequited love song is of course extra-special! Suzzane's version has a mix of solitude, passion, fervency, and longing. I did understand that it is a mellowed-down voice that is singing Mazhai Varum and her voice might sound great for a power-packed song. All these were what I had with me, to write, until I Google-ed her out. After that, it was surprises all the way...

What I did not know was that she is the voice behind Latika's theme and Dreams on fire from Slumdog Millionaire, Hosanna from Vinnaithaandi Varuvaayaa, and to my greatest surprise, Nalamdhaana from Silambattam. All these were surprises because, I have listened to each more than a thousand times; yet I could not get to appreciate her all these while. Each of these songs has a completely different genre and she has such grace in her voice in softer songs and power in the rest. But then, the inconsistency in the song credits makes an impression that they are all different people all together. The various names that appear in the credits are Suzie Q, Suzzane, and Suzzane D'Mello. Of course, she has a huge list of hit songs under the Bollywood category.

And for a singer of non-native tongue, her pronunciation of Tamil, in this song, is good. Her strengths are certainly the nuances she brings to the song and her humming just takes the song to a different plane. At the places where she goes too deeply husky, it gives the exact feel for Mazhai Varum. In this song, she supresses her popular RnB tones, and does a casual and light singing and that makes her voice sound a lot sweeter and younger. Something like how Suchitra sounded when she sang Tharai Erangiya from Eeram. Talking about Tharai Erangiya song, it was another song that I fell in love with instantly, for its simplicity, innocence, and sweetness. Anyways, I wanted to talk about just the Mazhai Varum song, giving due credits to each; but the realization of Suzzane's identity digressed the intent of this post!

How to name it?

What do I call it,
if I still feel the warmth
you bestowed on me, ages ago...,

When I have won
the war waged by
my failing memory,
fate, time, and distance,
the charm of new relationships,

and

life-changing events
such as marriage and parenthood...?

Quotes as Commandments for the New Year

Be fit for more than the thing you are now doing. Let everyone know that you have a reserve in yourself; that you have more power than you are now using. If you are not too large for the place you occupy, you are too small for it.
- James A. Garfield

Be master of your petty annoyances and conserve your energies for the big, worthwhile things. It isn't the mountain ahead that wears you out - it's the grain of sand in your shoe.
- Robert Service

To the children's teachers...

The piece below has been popularly referred to as Lincoln's letter to his son's teacher. There are sources that deny this, though. However it may be, I think of it as one of the best writings that I have come across till now. A few others are If (Rudyard Kipling), and Success (misattributed to Ralph Waldo Emerson).

He will have to learn, I know,
that all men are not just,
all men are not true.
But teach him also that
for every scoundrel there is a hero;
that for every selfish politician,
there is a dedicated leader...
Teach him for every enemy there is a friend,

Steer him away from envy,
if you can,
teach him the secret of
quiet laughter.

Let him learn early that
the bullies are the easiest to lick...
Teach him, if you can,
the wonder of books...
But also give him quiet time
to ponder the eternal mystery of birds in the sky,
bees in the sun,
and the flowers on a green hillside.

In the school teach him
it is far honourable to fail
than to cheat...
Teach him to have faith
in his own ideas,
even if everyone tells him
they are wrong...
Teach him to be gentle
with gentle people,
and tough with the tough.

Try to give my son
the strength not to follow the crowd
when everyone is getting on the band wagon...
Teach him to listen to all men...
but teach him also to filter
all he hears on a screen of truth,
and take only the good
that comes through.

Teach him if you can,
how to laugh when he is sad...
Teach him there is no shame in tears,
Teach him to scoff at cynics
and to beware of too much sweetness...
Teach him to sell his brawn
and brain to the highest bidders
but never to put a price-tag
on his heart and soul.

Teach him to close his ears
to a howling mob
and to stand and fight
if he thinks he’s right.
Treat him gently,
but do not cuddle him,
because only the test
of fire makes fine steel.

Let him have the courage
to be impatient...
let him have the patience to be brave.
Teach him always
to have sublime faith in himself,
because then he will have
sublime faith in mankind.

This is a big order,
but see what you can do...
He is such a fine little fellow,
my son!

Remembering 'Don't speak'

You and me
We used to be together
Everyday together always
I really feel
That I'm losing my best friend
I can't believe
This could be the end
It looks as though you're letting go
And if it's real
Well I don't want to know

Don't speak
I know just what you're saying
So please stop explaining
Don't tell me cause it hurts
Don't speak
I know what you're thinking
I don't need your reasons
Don't tell me cause it hurts

Our memories
Well, they can be inviting
But some are altogether
Mighty frightening
As we die, both you and I
With my head in my hands
I sit and cry

Don't speak
I know just what you're saying
So please stop explaining
Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)
Don't speak
I know what you're thinking
I don't need your reasons
Don't tell me cause it hurts

It's all ending
I gotta stop pretending who we are...

You and me
I can see us dying...are we?

Don't speak
I know just what you're saying
So please stop explaining
Don't tell me cause it hurts (no, no, no)
Don't speak
I know what you're thinking
I don't need your reasons
Don't tell me cause it hurts
Don't tell me cause it hurts!
I know what you're saying
So please stop explaining

Don't speak,
don't speak,
don't speak,
oh I know what you're thinking
And I don't need your reasons
I know you're good,
I know you're good,
I know you're real good
Oh, la la la la la la La la la la la la
Don't, Don't, uh-huh Hush, hush darlin'
Hush, hush darlin' Hush, hush
don't tell me tell me cause it hurts
Hush, hush darlin' Hush, hush darlin'
Hush, hush don't tell me tell me cause it hurts.

~ Eric Stefani, Gwen Stefani

Grief

I am now, A betrayer of the past that I ought to be faithful to and A slave of the misgiving present. Because, eventhough we are so-close-yet-so-far in this 'the longest period' that we have lived together after nearly a decade of solitude, The conversations between me and you is a festering wound... My words, the oozing pus, an outcome of the tussle, between our forgotten past and the unforgiving present. And often and everytime, I wish I could be sweeter to you overlooking your inabilities to foster the beautiful kinship that is now an almost was...

Rain treasure

I see...

Hope on the burgeoning barren tree, Platinum on the waxy lotus platter, Gold at the tip of bamboo blades, Black diamond on the umbrellas, Emerald on the tender foliage, Sapphire on the washed skies, Garnet on the rose petals, Satin on smooth roads, Happiness in my mind, Warmth in my heart, Spirit in my life.

Let it be...

Well, I don't have anything to say
but only helpless questions
for which I do have an answer, 'let it be'
The only answer that I found for myself,
the only convincing one,
in the music and words of 'Let it be'

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be,
Yeah, there will be an answer, let it be.

When I find myself in times of trouble,
mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, 'let it be.'
And in my hour of darkness
she is standing right in front of me,
speaking words of wisdom, 'let it be.'

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be.
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

When the broken-hearted people
living in the world agree,
there will be an answer, let it be.
For though they may be parted
there is still a chance that they will see,
there will be an answer, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be,
Yeah, there will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

And when the night is cloudy,
there is still a light that shines on me,
shine until tomorrow, let it be.
I wake up to the sound of music,
mother Mary comes to me,
speaking words of wisdom, let it be.

Let it be, let it be, let it be, Yeah let it be,
there will be an answer, let it be.
Let it be, let it be, let it be, Yeah let it be,
Whisper words of wisdom, let it be.

Translation of Unnarugil Varugayil from Kalloori

You enthrall me with your presence,
You are the reason, my sweetheart...
that I am always at loss.

Ecstasy seeps into me,
And I feel I am on the brink of fame
Just when I hear your name.
My shadow departs me to joins yours;
I defy myself and I get reckless.
I briefly assay,
and my heart has nothing to say.

Though I succeed in staying faraway
from the thought of your eyes,
your heart conquers mine, and
I don't have the heart to resist.
I tell myself a million times
to deviate from the path of yours;
I deviate and yet you reach me!
Now, I can do nothing but to stop.

My soul, my persona, my ego
all seem to take a new form.
My friends speak, though,
my ears refuse to fall by the norm.

Make me understand...
Is this how love deals with agonies?
or are these consequences of my desire?

How I wish to experience with you
all my life's pain and joy again?
While I pine for you relentlessly
time slaves me and burns me into ashes,
through every second that it is with me.

I wish to speak a million words
right into your eyes,
I wish to grasp all the flowers
that blossom in my dreams,
I wish to find the abode of God
and decipher the mystery of love,
I wish to break my heart's shackles
and the need to conduct my senses...
All but in vain!

I seem to gallivant
in your eye's direction,
and wait forever, with all my faith
for your gaze to set onto my eyes.
You trouble me
like a lie locked in my heart,
Albeit, I still try to hide you
and yet, my eyes let me down...

In love, but I win!

Six hours and a few days. This was the time that I spent trying to find a competent English lyrical replacement of this beautiful song 'Unnargil varugayil...' from the movie Kalloori.

The overall experience was even similar to falling in love. Initially, I felt an urge to win over the song by being able to come up with an equally competent English version. I attempted to pull through mindlessly, by sheer pride. But then, the initial excitement faded away, and I felt miserable as I could not do justice to the song. I realized that I was not being honest in my intention—of feeling the song and then be inspired to render. It tormented me and guilt prevailed. A few days later, after realizing the mistake that I did, and after listening to the song over and over again, I felt the pleasure and the charm of the song.

My previous renditions were Kannathil muthamittal, Minnalae, and Nee partha paarvaikku. Each song had extremes of emotions and it was quite easy for me get evoked. I mean we listen to a thousand love songs in a day. And to translate it, the song must be really special to be able to create the enthusiasm that you decide to invest some of your efforts and emotions. But this song is special—as in, even though it is a light love song, yet there was something unique about its rhythm and structure. The specialty of the structure of this song is that the pallavi repeats itself thrice in the beginning of the song and not a single verse repeats itself later.

The song flows through like a marathon and that too effortlessly. The best part is that the orchestration is very ordinary and yet the song stands apart for its simplicity, innovative structure, and the beautiful lyrics. Na Muthukumar has beautifully captured the plight of the ones in love and I am speechless to describe about Joushua Shridhar's tune to this song. The usual style of music in typical love songs or any song for that matter is that there are about three tunes: one for pallavi, one for the two saranams, and perhaps one more for the music between the pallavi and the saranam. With this song, I could not believe that there are at least about ten unique tunes in this one song!

I must say it was sheer pleasure working on the 'free translation' of the tamil lyrics of Unnarugil Varugayil from Kalloori. Coming soon...

Dated: May 04 - May 07, 2009

Yesterday...

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away,
Now it looks as though they're here to stay,
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Suddenly, I'm not half the man I used to be,
There's a shadow hanging over me,
Oh, yesterday came suddenly.

Why she had to go I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday...

Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play,
Now I need a place to hide away,
Oh, I believe in yesterday.

Why she had to go I don't know, she wouldn't say.
I said something wrong, now I long for yesterday...

Yesterday, love was such an easy game to play,
Now I need a place to hide away,
Oh, I believe in yesterday...

This is some late realization, I accept. But then, such an amazing, simple, beautiful, heart-wrenching song this is... by The Beatles. Something that would stay close to my heart and mind.

Competition

The urge to compete with self or others is an instinctive and deeply rooted feeling in quite a number of individuals, especially kids. What is important is to identify what evokes the spirit of competition in them.

One morning, I was walking relatively relaxed towards the bus stop—relaxed enough to notice trivial things that often catches us unaware and lets us revel. There were the usual scenes of dog walkers, the man who cycles his son to the school and never forgets to draw the cross as he passes by the church, the cycle man who dutifully sits by the side of his for-hire cycles and wears the looks of a dad who has that many number of aging unmarried daughters, the grocer who never feels bored to sell the same goods to the same people with the same enthusiasm and rigor, the dry wood godown that has its casuarinas stacked all in order and the cold coal on the floor gathering some heat from the mellow morning sun, the work-in-progress lamppost around the corner of the road pretending to be a banyan tree with all the thick black wires hanging from top to bottom, the vengeful blacksmith who strikes the iron while its hot and the onlookers who see their instruments of work getting ready, the bustling government gym, and the me who is wondering about the oft-repeating dream where I run really hard across the connecting corridors of my school and climb down the stairs two steps at a time with utmost precision to reach the back gate of my school.

There was also this very small puny school boy sporting his green t-shirt with some white printed letters hiding behind his backpack, white shorts, his hair oiled and kempt—I can even hear the instructions that his mom gave him while combing his hair, the tightly pulled up socks that covered his shank, the matt-finished white shoes with a green band that ran all along the periphery of his shoes, walking brisk and carefree.

So it is me and small kid in the picture now... He would not have caught my attention if he had not tried to reach one of the strings hanging outside the petty shops that display their liabilities. This is what exactly happened: while he was walking, he thrust some pressure onto his toes and sprung up and touched the string with his head. I was amazed at this gesture that made me conclude that there is nothing unique about me when I try to reach the beams of a roof with my finger tips.

With just this act of his, he managed to evoke a smile and gather all my attention. At this stage, we were walking by the side of each other and this continued for about 20 seconds. Believe me—to maintain the same pace as mine, the kid really had to take at least twice as many steps that I took for the same duration. He was obviously trying to beat me. And the moment I realized him, I wanted to test his intent or rather, my intent. I increased my pace and went ahead and in the next a few seconds, I did really witness him inching closer to me. Finally, I let him feel good by lagging behind...

November Rain

Bleached skies, blistered window panes Dutiful warriors fighting the rain armed with the spokes and black arch. Incessant rains, incessant deaths. Bleeding roads--bleeding green instead of red. Helpless trees: do you ever repent the death of a thousand leaves? 'cos you bring the rain but the rains betray you...

You are too good...

I am inside a moving train that wont let me hear, feel, or smell you You are far away blessing everyone with flourish blooming the blushing pink to red replenishing the reservoirs reciprocating your love to the tree-tops and the grass roots waking the slumbering leaflets with your gentle pats and taps letting the satin clouds sweep and kiss its lady love at the top of the mountains you are too good, despite the streaks of rashes that you create on my window panes...

Theory of relativity

Painstaking self-accomplishments made in the past five years looks far too easier and quicker than the goals that I plan to achieve between now and the end of the fifth year from now.

time off thoughts...

feet's feel of a dry restroom floor crows that imitate the celebration of a footballer's goal work-life in fast lane and life in safe mode parentish body-language of an offspring coherent flow of thoughts retentivity of thoughts till you find a pen delicious breakfast of dinner left-overs self-indulgences of a martinet an unintrusive stranger in a journey

Buddha

Do not believe in anything simply because you have heard it. Do not believe in anything simply because it is spoken and rumored by many. Do not believe in anything simply because it is found written in your religious books. Do not believe in anything merely on the authority of your teachers and elders. Do not believe in traditions because they have been handed down for many generations. But after observation and analysis, when you find that anything agrees with reason and is conducive to the good and benefit of one and all, then accept it and live up to it.

- Buddha

Some Thoughts

A wonderful painting is the result of the feeling in your fingers. If you have the feeling of the thickness of the ink in your brush, the painting is already there before you paint. When you dip your brush into the ink you already know the result of your drawing, or else you cannot paint. So before you do something, "being" is there, the result is there. Even though you look as if you were sitting quietly, all your activity, past and present, is included, and the result of your sitting is also already there.
~ D.T. Suzuki

I must learn to love the fool in me - the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant who I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool.
~ Theodore I. Rubin

My Current State of Mind...

Happiness does not come from doing easy work but from the afterglow of satisfaction that comes after the achievement of a difficult task that demanded our best.

~ Theodore Isaac Rubin quotes (American Writer and psychiatrist b.1923)

Your imperfections...

The maverick tooth that did not align with the others The marginal squint that shows up on your portraits The stubborn dimple that refuses to smile The wanderer in you who meanders The temper that stuns a tsunami The mind that thinks The tongue that stings

Eureka!

The sky thinks a lot on a cloudy day!

I am You

I tend to act the same good way I heard someone say about me like how I try to be the replica of the portrait in which others considered me to be handsome.

Reminder:

I am a bird. I must not walk.

Love. Fear. Sorrow.

i didn't realise how diverted i was until you looked at me, and only then my reflexes realised that i must set my stealthy eyes off you. It is the most fearful when you relate discrete events or objects to the death of someone close to you. True tears are those that you wept while you were imagining a world without the someone whom you value. i love your presence and fear your death...

Music and people

This analysis started when I read a quote on iGoogle: Classical music is the kind we keep thinking will turn into a tune. - Kin Hubbard

For a long time now, I had gotten into a habit of sharing quotes with my friend, over messenger. But, now that she has migrated to a foreign land to assay if the pastures are really greener, I kind of miss the remnants of the grins that we usually exchange when we meet—the ones that we did not have time to share amidst the busy schedule at work. But, you don't really have to worry about not being able to share your thoughts, because the messenger medium is still going to be the same except for the time gaps after which I get a reply. The time gap is close to 12 hours, which is an expected modus vivendi and to which I have got pretty used to, after a bunch of my sidekicks and thought partners left to the US about four years ago.

Well, the reply was: I really don't understand what he is trying—if he is making fun of classical music, I do not agree to it and if he is trying to make a point, I do not understand it…

Fair enough, I thought.

The reply that I managed to send was: I don’t know if he is trying to make a point or make fun; but given that he is an 18th century cartoonist/comedian, I guess it is the latter. Seriously, I mean, accepted that it is really difficult to learn and master classical music (be it hindustani, carnatic, or western), but still, I think the frequency of the patterns are so sparse in a given 4 to 5 minutes time space that it is really difficult to comprehend it. May be if I acquaint myself with its structure by methodical learning, I might enjoy it better than I do now.

Not sure on what lines she is going to reply. Meanwhile, I thought I must gather some of my scattered thoughts together before they get volatile. So, what is the relation between the words in the title, and the title and the contents that you have been reading till now? I do not have a concrete answer for the latter question, but I seriously thought understanding music and people were similar in some kind.

Certain people connect to you so well, match your wavelength very well, that after one or two conversations, you think you would be able to predict much of the person's behaviour and become friends. Same with music—certain tunes catch you real quick.

Sometimes, you feel the need to know a person for quite some time, to get started and going. Same is it with music—certain songs stay in the testing grounds for a relatively long time before it stirs you deep inside.

With people, you need patterns to judge a person's behaviour. You would like to see certain patterns in them and would want to see them quite often to actually accept them as friends. Almost all songs that appeal to us follow this simple logic or mechanism. I mean, it is not that you sit with a paper and pencil, or laptop to jot down the observations—the brain keeps registering all the behavioral patters associated with a certain person in a certain memory slot allocated to that person; it could even be an incident for that matter.

Certain other people fall under the category of fast music—they catch your attention pretty quick and leave you without any damage, with the same speed they came zooming into your life. You were happy as long as they were there, but did not really bother or worry you after they left you. This could be because of the entry of another person of the same or a different kind, like how one number replaces another, on music charts.

Some people leave lasting impressions and they might happen to be your school-time friends, who come all through your life's up and downs. They would have accompanied you in almost of kinds of moods—moodswings. Like certain songs that you just want to listen whether you are bored, tired, depressed, irritated or uninspired, or happy, elated, or fully loaded and in full throttle.

What I have written can well be passed off as worthless, but still it seemed to have derived some kind of satisfaction of having me gotten an opportunity to reel off my thoughts. Alright, it is time to wind up the free fall...

the 'd' words...

despondent
dispirited
diabolic
depressing
dull
disappointed
discontented
damned
desolated
devastated
dank

Add Death also to the list... Somehow, I seem to be collecting a lot number of negatively-connoted words starting with 'd'.

July 2

Every king was once a helpless baby, every oak once an acorn, every mighty ocean swell once a ripple, and every great structure once a blueprint. It is not where you are today, but where you are going that counts.

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