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...
Friday, October 26, 2007
Friday, October 19, 2007
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'.
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'.
Monday, July 02, 2007
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.
Monday, June 11, 2007
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?
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?
Friday, February 09, 2007
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.
Saturday, February 03, 2007
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'...
Sunday, January 28, 2007
Translation of Nee Partha from Hey Ram
Epitome of Passion - A translation of Nee Partha from Hey Ram
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!
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!
Monday, January 01, 2007
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!
And thanks to Bruce Lee for this:
and last but probably the best..., here is my Serenity Prayer:
Happy New Year 2007!
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 HeritageCourtesy and thanks to... www.londonrunner.ca for the quotes above.
"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
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!
Tuesday, December 26, 2006
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!
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!
Friday, November 03, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, October 17, 2006
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!
Saturday, August 05, 2006
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
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
Monday, June 12, 2006
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.
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.
Friday, June 02, 2006
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
Sunday, April 23, 2006
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!
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!
Saturday, April 22, 2006
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.
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.
Thursday, March 23, 2006
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 15, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 07, 2006
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.
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.
Tuesday, February 07, 2006
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.
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