A Missive To Rain

Dear rain,

I know that you were furious and out of mind the last time you came out and played in the field. But then, I thought it was all over and you were never going to play the same nasty game again. 

This time around, you have misbehaved so badly, acted like a drunkard and caused so much fear and calamity out of the rampage act, that we folks out here have now begun to fear the word, 'rain'.

Now... hold on. I also hear that it is not you who did all this damage, but some of the folks who had feared you and in return, had to act recklessly. 

So, even then, you are not the one to blame, are you?

Anyways, even otherwise, you did act like a savage, throttling your enemy, the drain channel openings. Literally, the only thing I did not see come out of the drain hole were the two hands that would scream for help. Except for that, it was picture perfect--I did see them breathless and call for help.

And your other partner in crime, the man-made calamity... That was terrible. You seem to have annulled the concept of civilization--the aspect of separating  good water and bad water. And you seemed very good in practicing communism (everyone having the same needs and everyone having the same level of access to essential things). 

Well, you also clearly helped distinguish the bad from the good, opportunists from the altruists, and the selfish from the selfless.

Well... what else do I say. Yeah. The stone-age kind of life that we led in those days where there was no electricity, no internet, no phone, no interaction with the outside world, and that family to themselves, eating in the light of lamps and candles, lots of book time with the children, interactions during dinner time and otherwise, making the children go to sleep at 8 pm with no AC or fan.

The cars! You made funny situations where it was so ridiculous when I heard that for my car that was worth 4 lakhs, the estimate repair cost was 6 lakhs! How can that possibly be? So the sum of all parts of an entity is now greater than the cost of the entity. @Aristotle, I need a counter for this.


Parting Note:
For all capacity that you have to make beauty bloom in all its splendor, you showed that you also are capable to devastate and act as a savage... 

Kudos! Long live!


Yours,
reNUka

y o u

You are that sweetness
in your endearing and addictive
'I Love You's'.

Fear

Fear and worry clouds my head
when I do not keep in touch 
with you 
and
your ailment.

I am often left feeling guilty
and get distressed
When I imagine the situation
where
I would be told about you

instead of hearing you...

A prayer

I need the premonition,
rather than the news.

I need a premonition
like... 
you are irrevocably ill,
rather than hear the news
that you are no more.

And, I know I am being 
so very pathetic
by praying so.

You

You are the movement 
between our firmly affixed numb hands 
that provides the reaffirmation.

Your Voice

My auditory perception has been conscious of
either silence or your voice in my head.

P.S.: Wondering why I never posted this one...

r a i n

I am still wondering...
about the q u e s t i o n s.

Why that fury, dear rain!

Questions!

Why that fury, dear rain?
Is this some kind of an uprising?

Are you charged up against someone?
Were you stopped from discharging your duties?

Must we be the ones to bear your wrath?
Would we be able to bear your outbursts?

Are you the same gentle one who weeps so silently?

Are you mirroring the rudeness we bestow on the earth? 
Are you giving us a taste of our own medicine?

Or, are you just going through a phase, 
like me?

And, I wonder...
how you do this to me, 
Every single time you pour?

Dishevelled

Your hair was...
Neither your soul nor your spirits.

Thank you time!
And sorry...
to have disowned you, briefly.

Time

I have disowned time 
for betraying me
and have declared it to be a disgrace
for thieving away your time on earth.

I continue to stay intractable 
and refuse to make any contacts to you,
for the fear that 
someone else would answer, 
instead of you.

I am trying to avenge time 
by holding you immortal
through the last words that we spoke
some eons ago.

I would remain a fool. 
I know... 
because, t-i-m-e is everything.
It heals as well as hurts.

The circle called life

When thinking expands, the thought grows
When thoughts grow, the talk shrinks
When you talk lesser, your action excels
When actions excel, fame increases
When fame increases, you accumulate wealth
When wealth accumulates, happiness brims you
When you are happier, life blossoms
When life blossoms, pride ascends
When pride ascends, you talk more
When you talk more, your act shrinks
When you act lesser, fame decreases
When fame decreases, wealth reduces
When wealth reduces, life gets dull
When life gets duller, the thought grows

and yet again,

When your thoughts grow...


Source: WhatsApp foward
Translated from: A temple inscription in Tamil


The other day, I was wondering... what would I do without such quotes!
Here's for the New Year!!

Comfort

You are that piece of cloth 
that comforts my sweat-drenched lush hairline.

Translation of Poo Avizhum Pozhudhil from Enakkul Oruvan

So, here is the translation of the song Poo Avizhum Pozhudhil from Enakkul Oruvan. By the way, the song takes the credit of being one of the very few songs that has filled my ears the maximum number of times in a loop, without interference from other songs, for days together. There we go...

As the flower unfurls,

my mind sees a thousand dreams.

I float through one dream

and see the same moon.

From her face's innocence,

emerged a radiant smile

and it sprinkled

a myriad lucent flowers.

Then, the skin gets to feel

like the floating cloud.

The clouds entwine

to give birth to the rain.

Your verse traverses through

the notes of my breath,

And there surfaces, the music of love

that warmly drench my inner depths.

Like the effulgent moon

seen in the sky's breadth,

She'd be seen

in this man's expanse.

She spread her stellar wings,

Locked my fingers into hers,

Turned a blind eye

and drew me in dreams.

This is the one state

that escapes the length of time.

No wonder...

I see a million flowers

bloom on my skin.

Poo Avizhum Pozhudhil from Enakkul Oruvan

An intriguing start to this mesmerizing song gives you a feeling that you are travelling hand in hand with your lover into a safe and dim-lit tunnel. Not that just this music bit lets you visualize things; everything in the song spreads your imagination. What more can the lyricist ask for, to get noticed, if the music has already started expressing what you are about to say? One might wonder if it is the composer’s way all through… No. It is a level-play over the entire 4 minutes or so of the song—all elements in the song are in a state of controlled domination. And everything flows so mellifluously—the flow from one tune to another, from one pitch to another, from one thought to another, from one modulation to another, from one emotion to another.

Well if you had noticed the title, good for you. I forget myself so much when I listen to this song that I feel it is not surprising to have forgotten to say which song I am talking about. It is the Poo Avizhum Pozhudil song from Enakkul Oruvan (2014). I am so awestruck by its simplicity. And... Just listen to the strings throughout the song! Such a beauty... either it is subdued and acts as a moral support like a parent behind a kid learning to ride the cycle; or at times a companion to the singer, like the better half with an equal voice; or at times, like the friend who shouts in a chorus, disapproving of the teacher's blames when you are caught in the middle of a mischief at school.

Though the lyricist, Vivek had spoken about the words in this song in a different context, I am still not convinced that he was referring to just that context. I will still leave it to the listener to interpret the unsaid. And yes, very beautiful lyrics that delivers the right imagination for the mood of the song.

Do I even have to talk about Santosh's brilliance? He is a treat to my musical senses.

Not in context to this song, but pertaining to his capabilities, he has got the capability to score for a range of situations so aptly—for a harmless kidnapper who walks coolly after closing a deal, as well as for the yearning lover boy who just got noticed by his girl. What a repertoire!

Though I did not want to translate this song, something made me attempt it. Let's see if I was able to capture the beauty of the words in the song...

Mommy! It is still raining!

When I am happy and you are around,
I am all smiles. I keep my arms wide open.
I walk and look up at you.
I even think you are showering your love on me.

When I am sad and you are around,
I am sober. I don't even swing my arms.
I walk and wait for you to embrace me.
I even think you are crying for me.

And you know...?

I sometimes think that
the crucified Christ,
even with all his energy sapped,
shows his love for you.
He keeps his arms wide open
and is proud to have felt you,
before the rest of the world did.


P.S.: I hope you spot the analogies!

Paradox!

Rain, my dearest...

You bring in so much gloom,
and yet,
there is such glory when you arrive.

Dated - Oct 09, 2014

Rain of Tears

Sometimes my tears would not stop;
like blood gushing from a deep cut...

Ailment

In each minute of the waking hours that I get distracted

I think, 'why you'?

A lesson for the year

People who bitch to you about others are the ones whom you must be wary of... they will not twitch to bitch about you to others!

Book Review - Purple Hibiscus

The title, Purple Hibiscus, very much befits the crux of the tale and is indicative of the crossover of the meek children of a stickler perfectionist and a religiously fanatic father. The crossover is more from the point where they are children who are brought up to say only the most obvious and nothing extempore, and not being able to speak a sentence without stuttering, to children who become mature enough to be able to gather courage to shoulder a huge responsibility at the time of dire straits—especially the narrator Kambili's elder brother Jaja. The purple hibiscus is the shrub that grows at Kambili's aunt's house. Kambili's brother, Jaja, is in particular very interested in the color of the shrub and even brings a shoot from their aunt’s house so that he can grow it in their house. The purple hibiscus is really about Kambili’s brother Jaja.

What is surprising is the reverence and yearning that the children show, especially Kambili, towards their father in spite of his acts of flagellation. They love him in spite of his torturous dealings. 

One interesting aspect is about the presentation of the parts of the book. The Psalm Sunday chapter which is the turning point the novel is placed at the beginning and this makes us look forward to what really happened that made Jaja behave the way he did, and that made his papa behave so violently towards him.

The flow is seamless and the language is simple; it certainly is refreshing to see the simple yet striking analogies at regular intervals, throughout the novel. The Nigerian political situation and the unexpected small twists which are disguised as daily happenings in Kambili's life give the reader enough grip, seriousness, and suspense to hold on to.

As the story progresses, the contrasting elements unfurl and that too without being apparent—like the richness versus the thriftiness in the food that is cooked at Kambili's and the aunt's house; the post-colonial influences on the means of praying at the catholic churches versus the superstitious ways of the praying at the Africa's traditional temples; the abundance versus the dearth and resourcefulness in every aspect at aunt's house versus at Kambili's house; the claustrophobic and curtailed means of living for Kambili and Jaja versus the prevailing freedom of speech and the confidence with which the aunt's children are brought up; Kambili’s mother’s submission to Kambili’s dad’s harshness and her subservient and dependent attitude versus the widowed aunt’s forthcoming and independent attitude towards marriage, and much more.

Purple Hibiscus is altogether, a great debut, a good read, and a no-nonsense book! Kudos to Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie! Waiting to read the book Half of a Yellow Sun...