Cotton Ball

It's a cold day.
I imagine tearing away 
white layers of soft, fluffy cotton 
from the bale.

I make two small balls 
and stuff them into my ears.

As I listen to an all-absorbing song, 
an urge comes over me,
and I continue.

I take the song in my hands,
roll it into two chunks, and
thrust them into my ear canal...

To provide comfort and warmth
to my cold heart,
and clear itself
from the over-crowded clutter
caused by the innumerous, unsolved 
problems and troubles of my world.

A Heart-Warming Tale

Eddie the Eagle

Apparently, a tad old review. Be that as it may, I wanna write it anyways.

This one is such a heart-warming true narrative of Eddie, a kid who aspires to be at the Olympics. The movie's director manages to create the endearing feeling for the protagonist by showcasing his zeal to participate in the Olympics, despite his shortcomings. You kinda get a feeling of having won a medal for Eddie when the only thing that he achieves is the minuscule victory of having qualified for the Olympics, and that too when there were hardly any stringent minimum qualifications laid for qualifying for participating in the Olympics.

Most of us are mediocre folks, who live a life of a cigar that is either smoked or trampled, all done too quickly. So, this one eggs us to dream, and go after it. Another remarkable point is about the freedom that Eddie's parents give him, especially his mom who is super-supportive of Eddie's dreams. Consistently, the endearing mom that she is, she puts his aspirations at the top of her list and forgives and encourages that self-motivating lad. And, all of this, despite Eddie's dad who had long given up on him. Wish we could have a person like Eddie's mom in our home team!

And, not really sure why the handsome Hugh Jackman would have wanted to do the role of a prodigal ski jumper. Anyways, good to be seeing him without the metal prongs.

Mirror

Looking in the rear-view mirror of your two-wheeler after you leave the parking lot is almost like the loving ritual of dropping a peck on your loved one when you say goodbye after you reach the destination; of course, when you are in a good and chirpy mood. And yeah, at times when you both are not really doing well after a 'i-beg-to-differ' situation, you have a second or two of gaining composure and you think on how you really want to word your bye--do I scratch and scar the scab, or leave it to rest for it to heal.

Something that I now remember is a quote that establishes a relationship between a person's outlook and what they do in front of a mirror. It goes something like 'you really have a bad sense of humor if you don't smile at yourself in the mirror.' Long live such quotes, because at times, in our dreary lives, those are the only times we smile.

So, I park my vehicle and the rear-view mirror on my two-wheeler invited me as usual. I look at the speckles, on my face and on it. No... I only realize the speckles on it after peering deep into my face for a good one minute. And then, slowly I see those aberrations distracting me. Something like, you instantly are able to realize how you are doing on the outside almost instantly as you see yourself. But then, getting to notice the speckles on the mirror is like realizing how well you are doing in the inside, and it is not on a normal day that the aberrations show up. It actually interferes with what you are seeing—the physical self—your thought that you are doing just fine. However, think about it...

Blessed are those who realize this intervention and set on the act of cleaning the mirror, of getting rid of the distortions. You give the speckles a cursory wipe first; this is that acknowledgement thought on something that is bothering you. And then after the wipe, you see those stubborn speckles, the one that is much deeper that you thought; that's the root cause that you manage to point fingers at. Then you employ your nails, or apply pressure and try hard to wipe things off clean. After the job at the epicenter is done, you work on the inner edges to finish the cleaning. Ta-da! Now you are able to see things really crystal clear. There...! isn’t it obvious that after you mend the inner stuff, you look even better on the outer.

And there are times, when things are going too fast, you know there are specks but then you lose control of things, the mending act gets sidelined, and then you go down the spiraling path! Something like, you are late to a destination and just happened to wipe your mirror after you started the bike, and then realize those speckles. You cannot cleanse when your mind is in a chaos; it is impossible to mend it when you are in haste. You've got to pause, stop, mend, and surge ahead.

From introspection to mending stuff! I wish the realization and the mending act was as easy as realizing the specks on the mirror and cleaning it, partnering with time and priority!

The Growing Neem

About a year ago, at about eight in the night
when I was among the lot after a day's fight,
I saw a sapling in an almost wretched state.

Hardly did I know that I were to seal its fate.

I did see a steel strap beside the stooping sap,
And wanted did I to mend its breaking back.

I choked its neck with this rusted strap.
I was yelling at it, 
'think of yourself steady and strong!'

I fought until I stitched it back to its kin,
Even though I knew I was hurting its skin.

I left it there, hoping to have done a job so fair.

Today, it was just about the same time,
after a day's work not so fine...
I see a strange groove on a growing tree.

Hey...! He's the same dude who was so helpless 
and let to sway until he almost fell.

Now, here he is, grown twenty feet tall.
Proud was I to have seen him done so well.

But then, hold on for a second y'all...

This trough on his trunk that is running around
and about five feet from the ground?

Was I the one who left that scar?

I wonder about the neem's tale to the leaves!
Am I being damned or being thanked,
for the scarred life or for the breath of life?

Your Beautiful Eyes

The steady flicker of your naive eyes
always marked by a carefree candour
that which feast on the world's wonder,
and drenching it
with an imagination so splendour

Is like

The flame of a divine lamp
that which drinks the ether around,
neither too fast nor too slow,
living its fullest life
in each moment of its lustrous glow.

Beautiful, isn't it, to see...
both dancing
to the song of a thanking ode,
for being blessed to just be?

Poison

The point is not just about 
taking the blows or your deftness.
It is about being able to realize 
that you are about to be blown.

But, it is not that easy with words.

You... your mind may be poisoned 
without you being cognizant of it.

That is the difference...

in refusing to take poison
versus realizing 
that you are being poisoned.

We ought to be agile and immune.

Coincidence

How about this for a coincidence?

Long ago, when I had overcome a bout of greediness--OK... let's be a bit positive and call it enthusiasm, or love for books, or... eagerness, for lack of any other word--in buying books that have a good rating... I must talk about my book selection routine a little later; perhaps, that's an entirely different conversation (monologue?) altogether. Too much of meandering... I know. Anyways, the book, 'All the light we cannot see' by Anthony Doerr was one among them. And then, when I start reading it, I enthusiastically pursue the habit of jotting down the stuff that really impresses me, shakes me or whatever kind of emotion it brings out of me. So, of the three pages of ravings about the book, the one praise that I bother to write down is by J. R. Moehringer, author of Sutton and the Tender Bar. 

"Doerr sees the world as a scientist, but feels as a poet. He knows about everything - radios, diamonds, molluscs, birds, flowers, locks, guns, - but he also writes a line so beautiful, creates an image or scene so haunting, it makes you think foerver differenty about the big things - love, fear, cruelty, kindness, the countless facets of the human heart ... Doerr's new novel is that novel, the one you savour, and ponder, and happily lose sleep over, then go around urging all your friends to read - now"

It is indeed an amazing take on the book; no doubt about it. That is the reason why it takes a place in my beloved notebook. Now, the date was 28 Dec 2016. I have entries, more from books that I cared to leave midway, than from those that I bothered to finish. Just a rude reminder to myself that 2017 has been the worst of all the un-self years I have had to deal with so far. Un-self? I mean, not being myself or having very less time for myself. 

The last fews book that I read (in 2016) were 'Wonder' by RJ Palacio, 'When breath becomes air', by Paul Kalanithi, 'The One and Only Ivan' by Katherine Applegate, and in 2017, just one book: 'The Gita for Children', by Roopa Pai. And for the books that I deserted too quickly are Jon Krakauer's Into the Wild, David Mitchell's Cloud Atlas, Malala's I am Malala, John Grisham's The Firm, Kiran Desai's Inheritance of Loss, Jennifer Niven's All the Bright Places, Atul Gawande's Being Mortal, Jandy Nelson's I'll Give You the Sun, Harari's Sapiens, Doerr's All the Light We Cannot See, and Thich Nhat Hanh's Old Path White clouds. I know... Whatever!

And today, in a history of firsts, I manage to finish a book, and that's 'Open' by Andre Agassi. Rarely have books been able to catch my attention early on (he starts off like a wounded soldier and yet having to face the battle with such hate for the battlefield), and have made me read it till the last word. And this is one among such; I finished reading in one week, given my hectic schedule. In the last two pages of the book... a kind of closing statement from Andre, is the 'acknowledgements' section.

It reads, 'This book would not exist without my friend J. R. Moehringer. It was J.R., before we even met, who first made me think seriously about putting my story on paper. During my final U.S. Open, in 2006, I spent all my free time reading J.R.'s staggering memoir, The Tender Bar.'

And then, it is quite obvious that I would not remember that I had written that name a long ago, that too for some other book. I just happened to notice the name when I was about to jot down the difficult words in Andre's book on my notebook, and happened to peruse through the other entries that I had made.

Coincidence, right? I picked Moehringer's name so randomly, which was part of an praise list of some other book, and it comes back after a year in some other context; he is now the pseudo-author of a book that I manage to complete.

Sun

What do you wonder at, my son?

That the fragile flower
permeates cheer

while the fearless man
wilts and withers

under the light and glow
of our beloved sun?

Who am I?

I have seen your anger

I have seen you being rash

I have seen you being irrational

I have seen you lash

I have seen you as an arrant rogue
I have seen you being loved
I have seen you being used
I have seen your devotion

I have seen your fondness

I have seen you happy

I have seen you helpless

I have seen you punish 'em

and when you've let 'em flourish

I have seen you threaten

I have seen you tremble

I have seen you being blamed

I have seen you being wanted

I have seen you change, 

forms and shapes, and,

I have seen your resolve

I have seen you repent

I have seen you cleanse

I have seen you calm

and I have seen you cry

I have seen you being bullied

I have seen you betray

I have seen you in pain

and when you loved in vain

However...

You are unlike the humans around,

You never fake.

In all, I have seen all of you.

Who am I to you, dear rain?

Wrinkles

I read my writings of a decade ago.
Vernal, vivacious, pithy and sharp.
Liberal, focused, aplenty and nimble.

And then, I immediately,
scrutinize my face in the mirror.
Wrinkled and dull.

I wonder...

If my mind became as vulnerable
as my skin had become--owing to its love,

Time.

Introduction to Violence

Wouldn't exposing kids to the act of buying meat from a butcher (and thereby to the cleaning process) be considered as an act of violence?

~ Running Thoughts, June 04

Hyperbole

Seeing a speck on one's own nose.

Of Death and Sufferance

Does death kill ego, hatred, and any other forms of misgivings? For a moment, I thought it did. No... Not really. Between two beings in a tensed relationship, it proves who won and who had the last laugh. Under the pretext of homage, the ego-clad victor stands tall towering over the dead, registering the fact that he has won the race of time. Of course, it is only a temporary relief. But then, we are all ingrained in accumulating brownie points through temporary aspects, be it measures, relief, or victories; such a temporal object the human is. We go behind all things ephemeral: beauty, fame, money, power and whatever falls in the line of that trajectory. Well, what else can we expect? There is but one thing that we do which is indeed anti-temporal. And that is dying.

If one believes in after birth, then even that is temporal. What does this one important act of mankind signify? Because I do not believe in after-birth, I assume that it hardly signifies anything to the dead. For those who are left to survive the death, it is loss, both monetary and non-monetary. But then, death also bestows the survivor with wealth, power, and the usual accompanying suspects. Death brings out what was never said before—of the dead and the things surrounding them. With matters concerning benefits, at times, it brings more estrangements and more misgivings.

Of course, when the death has nothing to do with power, money, and fame, it is pain. It pains from deep inside to come to terms with the vacuum and the desolation created by the dead’s absence. Our heart cringes even with the very thought about the loss of someone who filled your time and senses with joy… like the loss of your very own progeny. 

All said, even these after effects are ephemeral. Time stands a victor, gobbling up even the sorrow that death creates. Don't you forget the fallible human memory that plays the partner in crime with time.

And of sufferance, does death act as a means to reconciliation? In most cases, it does. It makes the intolerant to reconsider and let what was then a major rift to macerate into a passable event. 

Leave alone a situation of death... Even if there is a near-death situation, and if an opportunity for reconciliation presents itself, would we not think about disengaging our ego and come forth to express our forgiveness and be uber-human about it? If that can be done, can we not imagine such a hypothetical situation, be large-hearted, shed our hatred, and look to work in harmony with folks whom we cannot even stand the sight of? That one act of kindness would open up so much more possibilities for collaborative living. If not anything, it would, at the least, let us be at peace with ourselves. 

And certainly, next to work, sufferance is the deliverance of mankind.

Air

You sucked in so much of me,

only to blow out the light of my soul?

Hurt

Do I tell her: Don't ever hurt me again.
or
do I tell myself: Don't ever get hurt again.

<...writing... as I listen to the rain's chatter.>


Dated: Sep 15, 2016

Afar and Aimless

Seconds after you left me,
the void space around me
threw me afar and aimless;

like

the unknotted full-blown balloon
that is sucked and squeezed,
and pulled to nowhere.

Hopefulness

Sometimes...

words, of hope and positivity,
come rushing towards me

and jolts me
like a blow of vengeance.

Redemption

I am searching your eyes
For all the love that we lost
Over our anger, actions, and words,
For so long...

Will you redeem it for me,
My love?

Seconds

Anger... mine and yours.
You ask, "what about it?"

In a few seconds,
all was done.

Like that untethered
full-blown balloon,
devoid of its noose.

In one word: haywire.

Dust

Be wary and cognizant
of what you do with the dust:

Defense
Offense
Delayed defense
Delayed offense



...Aug 21, running thoughts...

P.S.: To be read in correlation with 'Dust and Truck'. 

Companions

What better companions than

The walls that back your spine,

The books that hold your heart,

The music that fills your senses,

And

The thoughts that create your mind!

...Aug 06, running thoughts...

Forgiver

Rain, my dearest!

I forgive you.


Yours ever,
Forgiver

P.S.: Apparently, my 200^th post!

What do i do...

What do I do with all the 

songs of my soul 
that do not see the vocal passage,

love in my heart
that do not penetrate the indurate,

tunes in my head
that do not become scales and notes,

thoughts in my head
that do not meet the monochromes of a paper,

light in my eyes
that do not see the words of a book,

fire in my spirit
that go unkindled.

weary

i am not running fast,
but i am gasping for breath.
i am not working hard,
but i am longing for a break.
i am not thinking through,
but i am feeling spent.
i am not shackled,
but i am aching for freedom.

Aftermath

After I was charred
And just when I began to sob,
I hear a child cry...

It was neither an obstinate
nor an unreasonable cry.

It resonated inside my entire self,
And felt like our cries were in unison.

My heart shattered...

Like the shattering
of the bridge that shared
the same vibrating frequency
as the march of the soldiers on it.

Charred

Of late,
Things are being spewed at me.
The hurling objects look to me
like glowing snow-like pebbles
smothered with ash.

Alas!
It is not until late that I realize
they are the radiantly glowing,
hot and fuming pieces of coal.

I chide myself
for being incognizant
of the mistaken identity--
of the words.

And...

I am all charred by then.

Heartaches

Heartaches are messy.
Especially the ones involving misunderstandings.

Thankful and Happy

It's not happy people who are thankful;
It's thankful people who are happy.

Greed

Why that urge to stuff 
as much of you 
as much as I can
inside my head and heart, 
my thoughts and soul?

Love sunk, again!

When I fell in love with a song, I always tried to translate it and quenched my thirst. If I loved it so dearly, I also wrote about it. And now, even though I have not written about this song as yet, and I am going to write about it now, I am not sure if the respect for this song is going to die down so easily… Honestly, I am so madly in love with this song that I am feeling so bad that I cannot translate it one more time!

Out of the blue, the thought to listen to it and make it fill my senses bloomed on a very tired night, when I was trying to keep a guard on myself and that is something that I am not going to talk about here, because it is going to be out of context. In fact, the song actually managed to hijack my concentration from a thing that has been holding my mind captive for days together now. However, without much digression, let me say the song that I am talking about. But before I plunge, I must say that music and writing has again come to my rescue.

The translation was dated Nov 23, 2011. The rediscovery is happening almost 5 years later. And I just discovered that I had written, ‘Childlike Joy’, when I had attempted to translate this song then. No wonder…! Well, I am talking about my fondness for this song.

So what is so special about this song? OK. So which song is it that is robbing me of much needed sleep… It is ‘Kadhal Vaithu’ from the movie, Deepavali.

First off, I think it is the verses, and the next two things that would go in hand would be the voice and the music. I am not really going to talk about the lyrics here because I think I have done justice to it. So, the next best thing is the voice. Vijay Yesudas literally dignifies this song despite a few shortcomings that exist in every song, which are a few necessary evil things, either to fill the time and space, and the void. He is so sincere, so matter of fact, so soaked in love, elated, so endearing and passionate, in that order from the moment he starts singing first word of the song. And then he goes off in the tone of a story teller, and then becomes a person who is so love sunk. And then, the music takes off…

The simple guitar chords that begin the song, the amazing violin in the early to the middle portion of the song, the sarangi in the later half, the brief and subtle piano at the end, and the closing violin that signs off the song epitomizes the way a composer can use the instruments so flawlessly.

Amazing!

Dated: Feb 16, 2016

Move on!

I was looking for 'move-on' quotes and here are some of them that I liked:

One of the hardest parts of life is deciding whether to walk away or try harder.
~Unknown

Moving on is hard.
Knowing when to move on is harder.
~Unknown

I am proud of my heart.
It's been Played, Stabbed, Cheated, Burned, and Broken.
But somehow...
It still works!
~Unknown

You have brains in your head. You have feet in your shoes. You can steer yourself any direction you choose. You're on your own. And you know what you know. And YOU are the one who'll decide where to go...
~Dr. Seuss


At some point you will realize that you have done too much for someone, that the only next possible step to do is to stop.
Leave them alone.
Walk away.
It's not like you're giving up,
and it's not like you shouldn't try.
It's just that you have to draw the line of determination from desperation.
What is truly yours will eventually be yours,and what is not,
no matter how hard you try,
will never be.
~ Unknown

A quarter in my mind

Words of the quarter:

Euphoria
Addiction
Delirium
Therapies
Realization
Learning
Positioning
Placidity

The sweet thorn

You were that sweet thorn
That I could touch on and on
And I hate to say that
It is not so...
Anymore.

I am ready

The resurgent and rejuvenated me is ready
To lock horns with the raging bull...
called l i f e
dot

Sleepless

You illuminated my sleep 

with your memories,

and made the minutes of those sleepless hours

the switches to turn off the light.

OK... So, there may not be a parallel, but then the fact is that this post is certainly an inspiration of the following verses in the song, 'Thalli pogathey' from Acham Yenbadhu Madamaiyada...

Nagarum... nodigal...

Thasaiadi pole

Mudhugin mela

Vizhuvadhinale...

Vari vari kavidhai.


And my attempt to translate just that bit, an impromptu one...

The ticking seconds lash my flesh.

It pares the skin over my spine.

And so...

I write these streaks of verses.

Thanks to lyricist Thamarai for her beautiful verses!

Euphoria

You are the...

Thought—

the first one in my mind—after the sun blooms.

Smile

that creeps amidst the dispirited chores.

Sensation

that my feet feels on the beach.

Rhythm

in my spirited morning run.

Reason

for the verses in my poem.

Music

that I decide to play in loop.

Memory

that fills all my senses.

Feeling

when I talk to a long-seen best friend.

Euphoria

that the music I looped creates in my mind.

Translation of Mazhai Vara Pogudhe from Yennai Arinthal

There she comes, the rain.
And now, she begins to shower.
Would it do to not get soaked?

The flower garden is closing in.
And now, the place is oozing with charm.
Would it do to not get lost?

My heart floats
like the cloud-like soft cotton,
What do I do to redeem it?
I wonder to whom would it listen!

With her sea-like eyes 
she tranced me.
I have already gone lost,
and yet, it is all for good.

A bit on the fire, 
a bit on the river,
unsure and still, stands my heart.

With her dark eyes, 
the doe-eyed keeps stabbing me,
and yet,
the pain has such sweetness.

She asks me to live in,
in her dimpled cheek.
What a priceless boon
for a lifetime!

She dropped by when the moon slept in the clouds, 
and I was drawn deep in my dreams.
And yet, when she left, 
she never bothered to caress me.

The eyes would not shut
and the sleep would not arrive.
She named it love,
and blessed me abundantly with it.

She nears, and my heart goes ahead.
She goes, and my heart goes behind...
My heart! You are so stuffed with her memories.

Keep the eyes of the butterfly shut,
and yet, it still reaches the flower.
What about the rain?
It does have to reach the earth.

Where you stand, 
there reaches my eyes.
I am so fixated that you walk back and forth, 
and my heart just keeps vacillating merrily.

You... 
are the swaying peacock,
with your tail on my shoulders...
I would watch it trail by, 
all my life.

Mazhai Vara Pogudhe from Yennai Arindhal

After quite a long time, a song has caught me unawares, made me get hooked to it for its casualness, coolness, the romance in it, verve, and for its amazing lyrical quality.

Thamarai never fails to amaze me with her brilliance. She is just amazing! The song has the feel that the Ennai Konjam song from Kaakha Kaakha gave. The structure of the song and the way Karthik has sung the song kind of reminds me of the Karka Karka song in Vettaiyadu Vilayadu. However, it still has some very unique elements like the part where the lady hums and the veenai bit plays the second fiddle, and yet, it is the veenai that you strain and yearn to hear more. The veenai kind of reminds you of the striking way in which it was used in the Uyirin Uyire song in Kaakha Kaakha. But then, the pleasing undertones in this one just draws you in... And, looks like Harris has still not forgotten the guitar background that features in the 'Love at First Sight' song by Kylie Minogue. Kinda the same guitar bit that appears in the Manjal Veyil song in Vettaiyadu Vilayadu.

All said, Mazhai Vara Pogudhe is a beautiful song from the team. And when I say 'team', how can I miss talking about the visual? It has a real charm to it--the way the couple starts off with an SMS and ends with a beautiful romance bit. None to beat Gautham Menon for the way he makes the visuals for his songs. Of course, should I even say about the pair... This one, for sure, is such a beauty and would stay etched in the memories for quite some time now.

Translation of Mazhai Vara Pogudhe from Yennai Arindhal... Coming soon!

Music

I listen to music to beat my blues...

P.S.: Funny I just realized there is so much music even in that sentence that I just wrote!

After a long time!

Playing in loop: Just the way you are, by Bruno Mars.

Amazing is just not the word!

Emotion and Writing

At times, there are changes that warn you, worry you, and overwhelm you. And by the time it is all finished, you feel so spent. And then there are changes that are so subtle that you realize that things have changed only after everything is over.

The way things change in one’s life without any notice is such a mystery. And either ways, you are so disturbed that you become so sleepless by the event. And either ways, when you expel the emotion by writing, it certainly does a lot of good. It is better that way, because you become a much more composed person having tamed the beast called emotion.

You can pour it out on someone; but then, how much ever you talk about it, the intensity just does not abate, and at times, it grows on you and batters you.

Writing certainly tames your mind. As you spend time on writing, you get to take control of the situation and drive the outcome, rather than being a victim of the outcome.

So, w r i t e!

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...

Poetry

Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.

~ Robert Frost