Untitled

I imagine the letters d-e-a- being written in slo-mo and in a calligraphic way. Hoping that the next letter would be ‘r’, I wait. But no… it turns out to be ‘t’ and finally halts at ‘h’.

Death… here and there, now and then. Can we certainly say where, how, and when? Or, in some cases why…!

I imagine, or rather, there are certain events that happen which lead me to or indicate the inevitable and impending death of a dear one. I sit and wait for the day to come, and then, I wait long enough only to forget it amidst the other unemotional worries of everyday life. And then again, there’s another one such event. Nothing happens. My hopes, or, should I say, hopelessness, shatter.

How is one supposed to live in a continuous ‘let-go’ mode when it is not past tense yet. The problem is that it is present continuous tense. Or a future tense, but without the mention of the prefix ‘near’ or ‘distant’. You know it is going to happen for sure, but you are just not sure when. Of course, we all know that there is no point wondering about when something bad is going to happen, or how, and all the other gory details.

It may be very practical for a surgeon to talk about the patients’ death or life that depends on the surgery they perform. However, ask the practical doctor to talk about the dear one’s death, even if they know it is just a few years away. No way…! If we look at death objectively, yes, it is the presence or absence of a life. But we are not designed to look at it that way.

We don’t worry about death everyday, even when we all know that everyone’s going to die one day. And it is not that we love our kin and kith always hoping every minute that they will not die. I mean, you don’t consciously have that thought about life or death, right?

So, how easy is it going to be if you are kept reminded about it on a periodic basis?

It is torture.

Well, these gloomy thoughts are not entirely about my dad, aged 74, who is determined, or has determined that he will die at 75. But partly yes. In fact, he and I discuss about death… no, it is not a discussion per se; it comes and goes as a passing comment in some random conversations. You know, a kind of mockery about the probability of his deterministic statements becoming true. It does not ache, even a bit, when we do so. But honestly, it aches when there are indications of the event happening soon.

I believed that I was far better than the surgeon who would not mention death even as a passing comment or as a matter of death, or better than the folks who have not realized that, in a few years, the eldest ones are not going to be around. But then, I realize that it does not help in any way or prepare you to face it bravely… Even if you are or not practical about it, it is still going to hurt the same way.

This writing may look a lot like an expression of the fear-of-death concept—thanatophobia.

But no... Just that it is a little intriguing how we all love and live happily when we know that people are going to die. So, it just turns out to be that you can be so, as long as you are certain or forgetfully uncertain about death. There is an area where you are neither here nor there about when and how it is going to happen.

Well, that’s the danger zone that we need to be aware of... that zone of hopelessness.

A note about notes

I think I sold Rahman a little short in "Of Opera, Train Tracks, Rhapsody, and A Gentleman in Moscow" when I briefly touched upon his usage of Carnatic notes in his compositions. It brings such a ravishing feel to the songs, no denial about it. And yeah, the mention of Carnatic notes in a song tends one to slow down the conversation, sink into the current state of being with eyes closed, with swaying of heads and the four of your fingers count and group portions of the song by repeatedly contacting the thumb. But no, we are not anywhere closer to this state of being in most of the songs where Rahman uses the Carnatic notes. There is a lot of tempo that the notes bring to the songs.

I had mentioned about Yaakkai Thiri from Ayudha Ezhuthu, Mangta Hai Kya from Rangeela, Dil Se Re in Dil Se, Kannalane from Bombay, and Thee Thee from Thiruda Thiruda. Perhaps, it was a thoughtless list. So, here is some thought to it.

Like the 'seeing red cars' phenomenon, I could not help but pay attention to the ones that had Carnatic notes. Of songs in that category, I must not miss the titular song in Bombay Dreams (yr 2002). While the female chorus does have some notes, it is not until Rahman pitches in with his strained tone that the song picks a considerable pace, especially in the last minute. 

Well, the album was a bit of a let down for me, primarily because part of the album is a medley of songs from movies such as Taal, Mudhalvan, Dil Se, and Minsara Kanavu... the ones that came out in the last three years of the 90s. Be that as it may, a few of the original pieces do exhibit Rahman's genius. Take the How Many Stars song; it has such a beautiful stature, in both words and composition. Or, Salaam Bombay or The Journey Home for that matter. Through the Ganesh song, one cannot stop and wonder about the fact that the Ganesh Chathurthi festival in Bombay is nothing short of a celebration. And the second song in the Bombay Dreams album to exhibit the magic of notes is Wedding Qawwali. 

One more with notes is the Kariye Na song in Taal. It is a folk-themed song with more emphasis to the verses. And in his own style, Rahman would play down everything and keep it to a bare minimum. Add to it, the Noor-Un-Ala-Noor song from Meenaxi. While Taal was overrated and lived to its expectations, Meenaxi's songs are those that exhibit Rahman's passion and repertoire. Thankfully, I have listened to Meenaxi's songs over a thousand times in these 15 years and not seen the videos until today; even Mangta Hai Kya's video for that matter. Certain things (do not) happen for a reason! 

A few other notable songs with Carnatic notes are Luka Chuppi from Rang De Basanti and Tere Bina from Guru. 

Anyways, now to the closing notes: though my desperation to reach out to Rahman's new songs and familiarize them has died out, I still cannot stop being amazed by the fact that, by hook or crook, the songs end up reaching my ears.

Of Opera, Train Tracks, Rhapsody, and A Gentleman in Moscow

With Amor Towles' Sasha aka Alexander's intriguing narration of Sofia's presence filling every inch of his lonely but made-to-be-lively life, can I ever imagine being distracted by anything at all in this world! No... absolutely not. But then, I am human; more importantly, a music-loving rahmaniac. So, you must have guessed what happened. In fact, I started reading "A Gentleman in Moscow" sometime in mid-December. Though it took quite some time to get used to Moscow's terrain and the Count's whereabouts in Hotel Metropol, it took a really good pace until mid-Jan, then I lost my rhythm midway of the book, and while attempting to pick up the book, I must have re-read the same chapter at least ten times, and then, finally one day in April, I surpassed the oft-treaded road (chapter named Absinthe), and finally moved on to Addendum and managed to hop from 1930 to 1938! Can you imagine, in about all of the 40 chapters of the book, all chapter names start with the letter A (the only exceptions being the chapters named 1930 and 1946)?

So, if I have been at it, failed so many times, and have managed to carry on, then imagine the persistence I must have had when I set forth myself to read, and especially with Amor's writing being just so stellar in the Adjustments chapter...!

Anyways, coming to the topic of distraction and that led to my subsequent suffering from migraine for the next 3 days... I left you hanging at guessing what happened, right? You may have guessed it right. But I am not going to let you walk away with it that easily. Yes, it is some song, but you must also guess which one of Rahman's distracted me from my sage-like stance and set me into an unimaginable state of trance. So much to talk about... and I am not sure where to start.

Let me start with Rahman's love for the sound of the trains on the tracks. How many of them! Mangta hai kya from Rangeela, Chaiyya Chaiyya from Dil se, Chikkubukku chikkubukku railae from Gentleman, O Saya from Slumdog Millionaire, Mental Manadhil from OK Kanmani. Of these, let me talk about an under-rated but one of my top favourites--that is still, even after 25 years of its existence. Yes... the Rangeela one--Mangta hai kya. What more can I talk, and how else can I describe, more than what the title has already said! This is Rahman's first song that he sang in Hindi, and so, it still is a little rustic and inexperienced. And, even though the song credits read Rahman and Shweta Shetty, I am sure that it is Unnikrishnan who sang the Carnatic bit in the end. And that again is one of Rahman's trademarks - the usage of Carnatic notes in songs. Dil se re in Dil Se, Yaakkai thiri from Ayudha Ezhuthu, Mangta hai kya from Rangeela, Kannalane from Bombay, Thee thee from Thiruda Thiruda. Now, I have traversed so much.

So, let me go back to the Gentleman. In fact, I was wondering a few days ago on how relevant is the theme or setting of the book to our current times. The indefinite house arrest of the Count and our similar plight these days, only hoping that the prevalent virus does not keep our company. Yeah! the one named 'Corona'. Of course, Count Rostov's pursuit is so much longer than ours. A long elaborate post just on the invasion of Corona into our lives much later.

For now, more than me talking anymore about Amor Towles's amazing book, a few lines in his own words that can vouch for his work.

The twice-tolling clock: A student of both the Stoics and Montaigne, the Count's father believed that our Creator had set aside the morning hours for industry. That is, if a man woke no later than six, engaged in a light repast and then applied himself without interruption, by the hour of noon he should have accomplished a full day's labor.

The Juggler: With the fruit in his hands, he stood perfectly erect. Or rather, he stood at a slight tilt induced by the wine, a sort of 12:02. ... For Andrey's hand had been crafted by God to juggle. So deft was his touch that the oranges moved of their own accord. Or better yet, they moved like planets governed by a force of gravity that simultaneously propelled them forward and kept from flinging off into space, while Andrey, who was standing before these orbits and releasing them a moment later to pursue their natural course. ... And when he set the four knives in motion, Emile leaned back in his chair and with a tear in his eyes, watched as his trusted blade tumbled effortlessly through space, feeling that this moment, this hour, this universe could not be improved upon.

Sofia: Retreating to the safety of his washroom, the Count took off his shirt, bathed his upper body, lathered his cheeks, all the while muttering the principle riddle of the day: “She is no more than thirty pounds; no more than three feet tall; her entire bag of belongings could fit in a single drawer; she rarely speaks unless spoken to; and her heart beats no louder than a bird’s. So how is it possible that she takes up so much space?”

Over the years, the Count had come to think of his rooms as rather ample. In the morning, they easily accommodated twenty squats and twenty stretches, a leisurely breakfast, and the reading of a novel in a tilted chair. In the evenings after work, they fostered flights of fancy, memories of travel, meditations on history all crowned by a good night’s sleep. Yet somehow, this little visitor with her kit bag and her rag doll had altered every dimension of the room. She had simultaneously brought the ceiling downward, the floor upward, and the walls inward, such that anywhere he hoped to move she was already there. Having roused himself from a fitful night on the floor, when the Count was ready for his morning calisthenics, she was standing in the calisthenics spot. At breakfast, she ate more than her fair share of strawberries; then when he was about to dip his second biscuit in his second cup of coffee, she was staring at it with such longing that he had no choice but to ask if she wanted it. And when, at last, he was ready to lean back in his chair with his book, she was already sitting in it, staring up at him expectantly.

Gratification

You are looking around
to find your way back
And only later realise
that it's the same street
you drove past a while ago...
'cos you're on the other side.

How about the feeling
of being greeted by an analogy
just when you are waking up?

How about the feeling
of longing to put your legs up
after a hard day's work,
And your thoughts light up
just when you've lain yourself?

Delayed gratification!
Or, is it instant,
because you get back up
And finish working on it?

Oh! You must be wondering
about the analogy...

Try running your finger tips
over a blade of bamboo...
From the hilt,
through the forte
to the foible and back.

Worth the wait?

My Trees

There are trees in my head
some stumped, some blooming
And some far away
and long forgotten
by distance and time.

Of the stumped ones, some are
oozing blood and suffering
Some stoic with closure,
and some stumped ones
still showing signs of life
with trifoliate, one or two.

Of the blooming trees,
some are verdant
with joy and no misgivings.
Some with varied hues, of
pink, green, yellow, and brown
telling of moments of
being born, fully matured,
and some
wishing and withering away.

I like my trees however they are,
and am thankful
for reminding me to practice
acceptance for who they are.

~dated: Feb 03, 2020

Abuse

I am pushed to a corner
I crash and crumble.
I clamber, and
pick and own myself yet again
I charge myself and grow
an appetite for destruction
I contemplate and finally settle
for Departure
as a means to avenge
the attempts to inflict harm
on my esteem and stature.

But no...
I decide to deviate.

I take stock
and check on my composure.

I sit with my grief, and
pore over a complicated pattern
to color its sting on paper.
A few hours pass through,
but there's nothing but failure.

I drench myself
with music on loop
Thinking that its cheer
would reverse my gloom, and
I only end up discoloring it.

In vain, I try all means to
squelch the burning rage
and simmer it down...
Until it translates itself
into these words.

Underground

When the numbers sprouted,
did you all not try to convene
and talk about a revolt
against this insanity and greed?

Or, was it that
you happened to feel
the need to love your captor?

I know...
You squirmed and dodged
when they were boring you.
But then, they had the final say.
After it was all done,
they were trying to drain you
at a really rapid pace.
Now, that you were never used to...

You were even fine to serve them
as long as they went slow on you.

But then,
those inhuman things!

...

Your thoughts, dear water?
The one whose seeds are above
And roots below!

The RainTree

What can those tiny drops 
do to you, you wonder...
Those that lived on the edge
and remained on the brink, of the 
myriad leaves of a raintree?

After the scheming invisible rain 
added enough dope
to the ready-to-shoot drops,
One by one, 
they darted towards me... 
The me, lying supine 
under the gigantic raintree.

Imagine those sparkly silver bullets,
Falling with force, and
Growing in size as they dropped!
The ominous steel-grey blobs, 
I thought, 
were going to pierce through me.

But then, here's all they did...

In succession, 
they splashed on my face, and
on the pathway's icy railings.

They caught me unawares, and
Shattered my resolve to dodge, 
Sprinkling euphoria on me.

Rain, Road, Adversity, and Life

When it rains, 
you lucidly see the scratches 
and pits, on even the most-familiar 
and oft-taken roads.

The adversities in your life
expose your weaknesses to you, 
making you realize how equipped, and 
prepared you are.

Now, it is up to us, whether to
see the weaknesses as a threat
or as opportunities in disguise.

It is up to us, on how 
we plan to maneuver our pitfalls;
whether we mend our path, or
complain of our shortcomings.

Translation of Nanbane from Mankatha

Melancholy of Voices

Woman:
Why, my dear friend,
did you have to fool around,
and pretend to be so hapless?
Now, you've proven to me that
you are the greatest histrion,
the one that the world has ever seen.

A woman never falls in love
after testing the waters,
of a man's goodness and evil.
Oh well, what is the point,
of realizing, a tad late
that it isn't the Ganges but a mirage?

Man:
Love is a dream castle
Learn about it, my lady love...
I search for true love
in the realms of love; but,
never have I ever seen one, my love.

Woman:
I fell for you, on the twist
of my bangled arm...
And I yearned to cling to you
and travel around...
I scripted an epical love tale
and etched it in my soul.

Alas, only to realize so late that
the epic was flawed from A to Z.
And tears flowed down my eye's path.
I owe all of it on you.
Is this all that you have for a reason?
Why should all the hurt belong to me?
Indeed, you tore apart
an endearing love-scape...

If the Tamil lord has six faces,
the man has a hundred,
each showing a different colour.
Why, my dear friend,
did you have to fool around?

Man:
Will love win or will it fail?
No one ever knows its fate,
my lady love.
Are you sad that the love-scape is torn?
Why do you worry, 'cos even this will pass.

Woman:
I recollect that you bosomed me.
But, little did I realize that
you were just trying to shun away
the light of my love-sunk soul.

The tree becomes a withered log
when the wind slays it down.
Would you even realize...?
That you threw thunder on my heart
and pained my fragile being.

To My dear ladies of the world...
listen to my golden words!
Love is a dream castle
and all of it is an illusion
and full of hallucinations.
All is well only when
you live with caution.

Man:
Love is a dream castle.
Learn about it my lady love...
I search for true love
in the realms of love,
never have I ever seen one, 
my love.


This song is another beauty from Yuvan! Wish he comes back with a bang from his hiatus and gives such amazing gems to the music world. On my experience of translating this song... To start with, this song is really close to my heart, and another song that took a really long time for me to translate. Again, like any of my other translations, I am in two minds on whether I did justice to it or not.

The Human Eye

I walk on the road,
looking at the passersby
I glance at a human in black,
who appears suspicious to me
We lock our eyes long enough
to be convinced,
of the innocence.

Now, I pass and let go.


~ by The Dog

All Of It

What would a kid choose:
an umbrella, rainbow-colored
or black?

We know it without doubt.
The one coloured with 'all of it'
All the colours of joy!

What would I choose:
a day, of joy or of gloom?

Who would I prefer to be:
a person, bursting with spirit
or full of dreariness?

I know it right away.

A person full of joy, and
A day of joy, filled with

Music, reading, and writing
Learning, teaching, and creating

Food, water, and sleep

Exercise, fun, and laughter
Nature, sunlight, and sport.

All of it.

Proxy - A sequel to Pleasure

Piano Sonatas
from the 'Best of Beethoven'
playing in the foreground.

Rhythmic whirring sounds,
of the fan blades in motion

My unaccomplished 
'100 days of...' chart
tethered to the wall, swaying, 
and trying to catch my attention.

The clip holding the world map
to the wall calendar,
tapping itself against the wall,
clapping for itself for its feat!

Beyond these,
outside the night walls,
the wind play sport
and proxies for the rain;

Its sound duping me
into believing that there's 
a repeat act,
and nudging me to write.

Pleasure

Thunder sounds
gentle and muffled

Rain sings
like in a trained choir

Lightning streaks
of soft-toned hues

All three take me
by their arms
Making me yearn
to get my skin wet

But then, here I am...
Not out, yet,

All-absorbing
already soul-drenched
and my pleasures quenched.



Dated: Jul 24, 2019

Purpose

At times,
I feel the seconds,
of the time given to me
ticking and toking
I feel it as visible as...

the throb of the heart
caged inside my chest

the pensive chair, rocking
back and forth

the trickling drops
of a leaking tap
that cannot withhold itself

the one-eyed blinkers of vehicles
raring to head left or right

the blinking series of tiny lights
hung outside on name boards,
outside of shops

the waves on the beach shore
marching ahead and receding

the alternating shriek of
the red-blue sirens, belonging
to a speeding ambulance

the dripping glucose lining up,
waiting to be infused
into my recuperating bloodstream.

I lucidly see the purpose
of this feeling...
and yet, I fail to act, to do, and
deliver with all my might.

Yours Lovingly

Here, now... 
I feel your dead weight on me.
Don't you worry
I'll take care of thee.

I am your sounding board
when you are all alone
You can lay on me
and take a stroll, out 
in your dreamy starry world.

I'll lend my ears
and listen to your murmurs
I'll show you the morning light
until your darkness is out of sight
When you have troubled thoughts, 
O dear,
I'll let you soak me with your tears.

You can count on me
all through your life.
I'll be by your side, and
give you a calm and clear mind
even when you are full of strife.

Now that you've heard what I said
come let's sleep tight...

This is your loving bed.

Today

How much I yearn to say
'I missed you today,
after you left!'

I have second thoughts, and 
stop my flow of thoughts.
I want to validate and 
re-validate, and 
want to test if it would
fade and die.
I repeat the words in my head,
and with a deep sigh,
I check if it would feel
wierd to say so.

I ask myself, 'so what'
and then ask
'will it stay if I say it aloud'
I tell myself
'it is better to stay sad
than to feel sorry'
I also ask 
'are they fleeting thoughts', and 
'what if I do not miss 
after a while'

Well, well...! 
We all know well enough, essentially, 
that is what happens...
We miss people, and then,
we get used to it.

~Dated - May 02, 2019

Bitterness

I've tried...
Enduring you
Being indifferent to you
Tried to avoid you, and
Ignore you.
Confrontation just doesn't work!

You come back, fall back,
and persevere.
And leave a bad taste 
in my mouth.

Like an ocean of bile
in my stomach.

I

The deafening thunderous applause
you give yourself
after you bend and break...

Wish I could learn from you,

Oh! Waves...

Bad Definition of Karma

Knitting together events that gratify your sadistic vengeful self.