A New Year, A New Beginning...

Morning Raga - A Beautiful Start to The Day...

I came across two beautiful videos on youtube today, from the movie MORNING RAGA . The first, Thaye Yasodha brought back memories of how hauntingly divine a violin can sound in the hands of a master performer. The second video captivated me with its beautiful song, Mathey Malayadwaja, and its excellent cinematography.

With Age Comes Insight...

Some things in the world are for all mankind. Clutching them to oneself in the name of nationality, patriotism, and religion simply will not do - not when that something is as beautiful as what you are about to see in the video below...





Jana Gana Mana is India's national anthem. Written and composed by Rabindranath Tagore, Jana Gana Mana means "thou art the ruler of all minds". I believe the video above was conceived by AR Rahman, who also appears towards the end. But I couldn't help observe that the intensity of the song reflected itself much more beautifully on the faces and voices of the older generation of singers featured in the video than the very man who was behind it all.

They, the older singers, did not need animated gestures to show their patriotic fervour - no energised raising of two hands or overly expressed emotions were needed in their case. I suppose, with age (and experience) comes insight, and when one has that, nothing more is needed than to just be...

Inspiration comes from within, with a good thump on the back...

Inspiration comes from within.
True.

Yet not as true,
as I would like to believe it to be...

The words were there, no doubt.
Thousands of them,

lodged in between my being,
To cough them out,
That too, as and when needed,
Was never as easy as I had hoped it to be.

They sometimes came in tens,
Sometimes hundreds,
sometimes,
cough I as I might endlessly,
Not one would come forth.

Then came a day,
The day a good thump came on my back.
And lo,
Out came pouring,
(though not without difficulty)
Tens, hundreds, and thousands of them words.

As they came forth,
They fitted in,
Here and there,
To fill the whats, whens and whys,
Till a story was told,
The story of how...

Inspiration comes from within,
True.
But not as true,

As it does,

with a good thump on the back…

My Alter Ego - Unplugged...

I have a weakness. For things that a full-grown adult that I am supposed to be is supposed to have gotten over by now. Cartoons, funny animations, comics, Enid Blyton mysteries...the list is rather exhaustive, I must blushingly admit :). I suppose that explains (to the many baffled people around me) why I still insist on subscribing to cartoon channels on cable tv when there are no kids living with me, why I still pick a couple of Beano/Dandy/Archie comics whenever I am at a bookstore and go snuggle in a corner and grin and giggle to myself as each page is flipped, and why when it comes to having lunch at home or at work, I would push away the serious fiction that I otherwise love, to instead reach out for a classic Enid Blyton mystery book (Five Find Outers and a Dog...yeap that's my all-time favourite) to accompany my each bite.

Of course, to say that I do not engage in the more sensible aspects of an adult life would be unfair. I do conscientiously carry out all that an adult needs to, and is expected to do...and then, when I am left on my own and all traces of adulthood I blink away into oblivion, I would escape to my own little world...in which I am once again this pig-tailed little kid who skipped more often than she walked, a skinny 7 year old who 'drove' her imaginary car to go around doing little chores for her mother, the timid baby of the family who was the 'little boss' everyone wanted to love and protect.

I suppose some of us never outgrow the best years of our lives. Even when one is forced to shift roles, from being "the protected one" to the "one who protects', a deep yearning remains within to want to return to the helpless innocence that once enveloped our lives when we were kids.

A while ago, I was looking at a picture taken when I was 3, and was lost for a few seconds in those eyes that spoke of nothing but innocent joy, in that grin on my face which knew only happy tomorrows. If I could turn back time, I would return to that moment to reclaim that innocent grin, safely lock it within an age-proof case, and drop it into the ageless hollow within my soul...so that, even when I turn into a grey-haired, feeble 70-year old, the child in me would still be grinning away wishing for endless tomorrows...

Having laid out details of my alter ego, can one wonder then, why videos such as the one below delight me to no end...:)

Merry Christmas, Folks...!

We own nothing, and are but a part of the act of life...

BIRD BRAIN
By Jeganathan Ramachandram

I have a story to tell
of a fish which had the head of a bird
it wandered many times about this obscure reality
but the fish never realizing it was the head of donkey
wagged its tail every time it wants to swim
So goes the story of life
each of us think
we own the moment...never realizing
that the moment stays awhile and moves past us
We own nothing … we are only a part of the act of life
It is sad that this ignorance
has taken centre stage in our life
in ignorance man is believing ...
HE OWNS.

(Painting & poem by Jeganathan Ramachandram)

How often have I been reminded of the truth behind the above poem and painting, and yet how easily I sometimes disregard it, especially at times when I need to remember it the most.

I suppose, when overcome with the intensity of difficult moments, it's easy to not see what you know to be true. Instead, the mind reaches out to the familiar yet false security offered by one's weak mind, and succumbs to the comfort of helplessness. And in all helplessness, we begin to blame ourselves and all that surround us. But really, who are we to claim responsibility for anything that happens in our lives when "we own nothing, and are but a part of this act of life"? Ellaam avan seiyal, said our forefathers. How apt. Indeed, old is gold (as a friend aptly reminded me of earlier today) :).

The man who wrote and painted the above told me recently that I do not know how to be more accepting of anything and everything that form my life. The problem, he said, lies in my proneness to "think". How true what he said was. When the "director" who is responsible for conceiving each scene of my life sits in absolute command above, who am I (the mere actor who carries out his instructions = live my life) to question His decision as to how the scenes should flow.

Indeed, life (and ways to live it) is universal. How else then can you explain the uncanny similarities between what we Indians believe to be the truth of life, and what Shakespeare had in mind when he wrote the following...

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

Lose Yourself in His Eyes...

Ramana Maharshi - Sage of Arunachala...

Ezhaigal ithayamum vahanam thaane, erida manathillayo...

During a recent prayer for my late mother, we, the children, were asked to join the priest in singing a beautiful hymn entitled HARA HARA SIVA SIVA. It was pretty long, and among the many stanzas, one especially moved me to tears. It goes like this...

Rishabame Vahanam, Theru-vinil Oorvalam
Thinam Sellum Gurumaniye
Ezhaigal Ithayamum Vahanam Thane
Ezhaigal Ithayamum Vahanam Thane
Erida Mana-thillaiyo
Arunachala Sivame

The mere mouthing of the part which asks the lord beseechingly,

"ezhaigal ithayamum vahanam thaane, erida manathillayo"
(the hearts of poor souls are but mere vehicles that carry you within, my lord,
have You no wish then to mount them)

...was an intensely humbling experience for me.

Maatha Pithaa Guru Deivam...

Late last night, we placed our mother next to the man with whom she once spent 45 years with... the man who married her when she was a mere 18 year old, and he a mature 30 year old. The man who fathered us 6 children, and whom we knew as our appa because she pointed at him and told us so.

There is a famous prayer we were raised on - maatha pitha guru deivam. Maathaa (mother) is the ultimate truth, we were told by those who explained the prayer, for she is the source from which we come into this world. Pitha (father) comes second in your mental registration, after the bond between the mother and child is created, although he is the very cause of your formation in your mother's womb. Then comes Guru (the teacher/guide) who feeds your mind with knowledge and who directs you to the guide of your lifetime, Deivam (god).

My maathaa and pithaa have both moved on now, having played their roles to perfection, and having given us all they possibly could have. Much to my surprise, their absence in my life has created a hole deep within me - a hole in which emptiness alone is apparent. How do I fill that hole...what would I fill it with...I have no clue whatsover.

Today, I came across a keertanam my father used to sing whenever he practised on his harmonium. It brought back memories of my father's face - the way he would close his eyes as he floated in ecstasy relishing the meaning of the lyrics, and the beauty of its music. Vatapi Ganapathim was his favourite, I believe, for he practised it almost all his life. It's been 7 years since my father left us, but I did not feel his loss as much all these years until amma too passed on recently. I suppose, amma quickly took over his place, since she was always the more vocal one of the two, or perhaps it was a conscious attempt on her part to not make us grieve too much for him.

Now that she too has left, who would do that for us, I wonder.

I may be an adult, an independent 39 year-old who had outgrown the clingy phase, but with her, I had always felt like the kid I once was - the one whose most comforting 'chair' was her mother's sarong, the one who followed her mother around wherever she went...the one who believed that her mother's presence was the only reality in life that would last a lifetime.

Last nite, my father reclaimed that reality from me, taking her away from us and placing her next to him, standing next to her majestically, as he did the day he held her hand and made her his own.

I am one who believes that everything told by our forefathers have profound meanings attached to them, and while misrepresentation over the years has maligned many a beautiful practice/saying preached by them, I believe that if only one attempts to understand them from the core of his/her being, the true meanings will unravel themselves almost instantly. In that note, I believe that the questions that I had been asking myself since the day my mother passed away, have now found a hint of an answer from the "maatha pithaa guru deivam" prayer I quoted earlier.

Indeed, the man above works in ways that are beyond us all...

Although not exactly related to the content of this post, I have decided to go ahead and post the video of the famous keertanam I came across today...for it was this very keertanam that made me return to my childhood to relive a part of the life I once shared with my dear father and mother, and gave me inspiration to write this post.

Ode to My Amma...

I thought I was above it all...
Beyond all that was around me,
Things, people - that which existed and that which did not.
Thought that I had surpassed the bonds of love,
and had become numb to all around me.
Consciously severing all ties,
from the depth of my heart,
with the steadfastness of a recluse,
who goes in search of himself by shedding all that's not him.

Alas,
little did I know,
that as much as I tried to break away,
there was one force I had around me then, that had the power,
to break the fake shackles that was guarding the walls of my world,
penetrate through my numbness,
and touch me in ways I had not allowed anyone to touch in the longest time.

Today,
I stand humbled,
Reshaped by her passing,
into the helpless foetus that I was when I floated freely in her womb.

Today,
I stand fully aware of the truth,
That the greatest power in the world,
is the power you allow her to have,
over you and over all that surround you,
For she is afterall,
the ultimate source of your life,
The source which you clung close to for survival,
As she grew you into existence.

Amma,
little did I know then,
that I love you this much.

Watching you struggle as you breathed your last few breaths,
I found myself being reborn again,
from outside your womb,
as a mother to the child that you then had become.
As you humbly nodded to all my assurances,
and struggled to utter a childlike yes each time,
I found myself humbled from the core of my being,
And all I wanted to do then was to hold you,
and give you the breadth of life that you gave me...
...the day you brought me into this world.

Rest in peace amma,
Rest assured that my love for you will keep me going strong,
And help me scale, with sheer ease, the greatest of heights I may face.
Rest well in pride,
that you had given your daughter a new birth
by giving up on yours...

Laugh Till The Stomach Hurts...

I don't remember when was the last time I laughed till my stomach hurt. It must have been more than two decades ago. That was when I had many friends in school, and 4 witty brothers living under the same roof. Then, laughing till my stomach hurt was almost a daily affair. Today, as I was lying on a couch resting my aching body, I glanced at the tv programme that was being aired, and found myself laughing uncontrollably...till my stomach hurt. I could not stop even after the scene was over. Vivek is good at what he does...

Let Me Sing You A Waltz...

India, Here I Come....

I am grinning from ear to ear now. :) If everything goes according to plan, I will be in india in 2 weeks! I am delighted to bits I must say.

The best part of it all is this - I will be spending 10 days at a lovely guesthouse in Pondicherry :). The 2 month travel will also take me to Villupuram, Kanchipuram, Mamallapuram, Thiruvannamalai, Velliangiri Hills (Isha Centre), Thanjavur, Madurai, Rameswaram, Dhanushkodi, and of course, Chennai. YIPPEE!

A huge part of me is elated, no doubt. But a part of me will ache for sure, when I land in India. The part that headed there 4 months ago with a childlike joy that can never reclaim itself, no matter how many more trips I make to India.

So, India will remain to me a land of irony - one that brings out the bliss in me which I can, alas, only relish with a nagging ache in my heart...

He Captures Their Souls...

The discovery of digital cameras has helped bring the best out of the unlikeliest of photographers. I am one of those. I love photography but I know absolutely nothing about the technicalities of it all. And yet, I do have a selection of pictures that I can (with a little hesitation) call my own...not with too much pride, but with the humble satisfaction of a true amateur :)

In the field of travel photography and writing, what sets the guru apart from the amateur is the former's genius to produce works that create within the reader/viewer a nagging desire to drop whatever he/she is doing and visit the place in question at the next possible instance.

A day ago, as I was seriously browsing the net for information on Tamil Nadu, I came across Oochappan.

What can I say - ever since then, I have returned to his site again and again, countless times. Viewing his works has made me wish I could prepone my travel plans, and on a brighter side, it has assured me that I have made the best decision of my life thus far, to spend the next 2 months travelling amidst the colourful lives that Oochappan's genius has captured.

Oochappan is a Belgian, I believe :)

Visit http://www.trekearth.com/members/oochappan/ to know more about this man, who captures the souls of the people he photographs, not just their images.

Taking That First Step...

"You may wonder, 'How can I leave it all behind if I am just coming back to it? How can I make a new beginning if I simply return to the old?' The answer lies in the return. You will not come back to the 'same old thing.' What you return to has changed because you have changed. Your perceptions will be altered. You will not incorporate into the same body, status, or world you left behind. The river has been flowing while you were gone. Now it does not look like the same river" (Steven Foster)

I have this dream...

I am not sure if the word "dream" would do justice to describe the intensity of this desire of mine. Afterall, it's been burning within me since I was 14...

And it looks like that dream is now not too far away from my reach. Yet, I am fully aware that it's but a stepping stone...towards a world of experiences waiting out there for me.

I feel like a child about to take my first step. But unlike a child who probably does not have the ability to stop and think about the next fall that's in store, this state of being aware (that I find to be a curse of being an adult) that I am in makes me wonder about my upcoming share of falls. Afterall, can any journey be complete without its fair share of "bruises and bumps". But I do know that with each fall, or at the onset of one...I would look up to find the hand of "the man above" reaching out to lift me up.

When I first learned to cycle, I was 19. Before my first lesson, I reminded myself that there was absolutely no way I could eventually cycle with ease untill I have had my fair share of falls. And fall I did. Again and again...till one day, it seemed possible to cycle for 3 seconds without falling off it. The 3 seconds stretched to 6, 10, and eventually, one day, I fell no more.

As I am about to venture out into the world all by myself, I am reminded once again of my cycling lessons. Only this time, I know I cannot stop with each fall. I must reach for the "hand" believing it will always be there for me...raise myself up...and continue. I can't hope to "call it a day", push the cycle back home to engage myself with less bumpier activities, consoling myself that I can choose not to go for a ride the next day.

This time round, the "ride" must go on...until I reach "the" destination - the way to which I know not of, the path of which is not for me to dictate...

The Maturing of An Actor...

Not one to watch interviews with actors, I ended up glued to my seat for nearly an hour, when during my usual channel-surfing, I saw the image of actor Karan being interviewed on Sun tv early this morning.

I started admiring his acting skills when I first watched Karupusamy Kuthagaitharar in bits and pieces. The storyline did not impress me as much as Karan's natural acting skills did. The heroine did not at all shine. In fact, the only role I saw her playing was that of a young woman whose longing brought the best out of Karan, the actor.

Must admit he is looking much better these days, sporting a trim figure, not to mention a cool looking goatee. Physical mundanity aside, Karan does seem to have a good head on his shoulders. Obviously passionate about being an actor for the right reasons, Karan spoke very confidently during the interview - with the authority of an actor who has lately displayed remarkable acting skills, and yet with the humility of one who knows where he stands in the film industry. His views and convictions spoke well for the maturity he obviously has loads of.

It's a nice feeling watching an actor mature and shift from being annoying to likeable. When I first watched him in Nammavar, I could not help harbouring a deep dislike for him (probably goes to prove that he had done a great job even then). Later as he donned common roles, I completely stopped noticing his presence/roles in the movies he acted. But it's refreshing to note that Karan has grown with experience to stand tall today as an actor whose movies leave an indelible mark on viewers.

That which we fear is ironically also that which we cannot not love...

Rituals have never been my cup of tea. When I was little, and when doctors were seeked only when you fell terribly ill, the thought of my amma taking me to visit local "healers" itself would scare my common fevers and flus into oblivion.

People in trance send a fear down my spine...even at this age. And till this day I still dread the thought of having to face a kavadi-bearer whenever I am forced to attend a religious festival. Now, you must understand that it's not out of disrespect that I dread them so. It's plain fear - the kind children have of burly looking men with thick moustaches that indian mothers often point at to threaten their children into finishing their meals. Yeah - that kind of childlike fear.

And yet, each time I watch this scene, tears of adoration would form in my eyes. And yeah, I do know that Padmini was not the real Goddess Shakti, and unlike the aunty who lives a few doors away who appears to think that the dramatic scenes depicted in tamil serials are continuing even while she is quickly running over to my house to seek a second opinion on them from my mother, I do know that movies (especially devotional ones) are often exaggerated versions of what we believe to be religious myths.

And yet, I become mesmerised whenever I watch this song scene. I am pretty sure I have not seen or heard anything much more divinely haunting than this in my entire life, and I am certain that even 20 years down the road, this song and scene would still send tears from my eyes, and (ironically) a trance-like shiver down my spine.

Aval Oru Thodarkathai...

The first time I heard this song, I was no more than 10. Of course, at that age, my not relating to the song was nothing surprising. The second time I watched the movie and the song scene, I must have been in my 20s. Then too, it seemed just like another good song, one that reflected on the life of a woman who did not seem real to me. Nevertheless, a good song, I thought.

It was only when I heard it again in my mid 30s did I realise...that such women do exist, and that sometimes, stories depicted in movies and songs are really stories of people like you and I...stories of real people, with real stories to tell, and real lives to live...

The "Spiritual Quest" of Three Brothers...

I stumbled upon this movie as I was aimlessly walking around in a video store this morning. Just finished watching it a while ago. A delightful movie, I must say. A wonderful way to meaningfully spend a lazy saturday evening...

Blinded by Ignorance...

I had always prided myself on being a caring, conscientious person. Today, I realised otherwise.

I was selecting a photograph among the ones I had taken during my recent trip to Srisailam, India. My heart nearly stopped when I zoomed into the picture below for the first time since I took it.




While I was busy snapping away, feeling all grand and elevated that I was this "different and realised" woman who saw beauty in the most simplest of people (the tendency to feel that you are interestingly different tends to overwhelm even the most sensible person when you are in remote parts of india where people who live simple, unaffected lives look at you - the tourist with a huge camera hanging around her neck - in amazed interest), I was blinded by my own ignorance and subconscious arrogance to not notice that the man facing my camera was not watching my antic in all calmness, but instead was asking me for some money through his upturned palm. I remember walking away after that utterly delighted with myself for having taken an interesting photograph. I wonder now if I even turned back to look at the man...

Honestly, I did not think I had so much of ignorance in me, till now.I just feel sick with myself after I realised that a while ago. That moment busted all the ego I had in me till then, and gave me a totally different perspective of life.

I wish I could return to that moment, and give that man what he wanted that could have given him a little joy, momentary though it could have been...

Words of Wisdom On Joy & Misery...

Delicious Ambiguity...

I wanted a perfect ending...
Now, I've learned the hard way
that some poems don't rhyme,
and some stories don't have a clear beginning, middle and end.
Life is about not knowing,
having to change,
taking the moment and making the best of it,
without knowing what's going to happen next.
Delicious ambiguity.

Gilda Radner, 1946-1989
American Comedienne

I Stand Alone...

I know the sound of each rock and stone
And I embrace what others fear
You are not to roam in this forgotten place
Just the likes of me are welcome here

Everything breathes and I know each breath
For me it means life
For others it's death
It's perfectly balanced
Perfectly planned
More than enough for this man

Like every tree stands on its own
Reaching for the sky I stand alone
I share my world with no one else
All by myself
I stand alone

I've seen your world with these very eyes
Don't come any closer, don't even try
I've felt all the pain and heard all the lies
But in my world there's no compromise

Like every tree stands on its own
Reaching for the sky I stand alone
I share my world with no one else
All by myself I stand alone
All by myself I stand alone
All by myself I stand alone

I Found Myself This Afternoon...

I found myself this afternoon...

I stopped suddenly ,
and stepped into the back of my mind,
and sat there quietly
watching myself,
all still,
staring into space,
thinking how life would now be.
Now that I,
(the "I" that's being watched )
am standing
at the crossroads of life.

That was when
I realised
that that was not I,
no,
that was she,
she whom I can do without,
she who is within me only due to familiarity.
I realised then,
that I am no more she,
and that I am this new being,
who has the awareness to step within,
as and when it (as genderless as this being within is) wishes,
and observe life as an outsider.

I clasped my hands then,
in deep gratitude,
to the one above.
in deep awareness,
of the greatness above.
I saw then, within me,
a part of Him,
that would from now on be always there,
guarding me with all its greatness,
embracing me in all its awareness.

Indeed I have found myself this afternoon...

The First Sorrow - Rabindranath Tagore

So Much In So Little...

I have read one of his whodunits (Feluda stories). I have heard my brothers rave over him when I was a teenager. I have read, in a glance, about the man's greatness.

But only today did I actually watch a clip from his critically-acclaimed Pather Panchali (Song of the Road). Of course I have heard of the Apu Trilogy and have always longed to watch them. But coming from a country like Malaysia where access to quality-driven art movies (especially ones from India) is almost impossible, I have not had the luxury thus far. And so you can imagine my elation when I came across the clip below on youtube. What can I say? I have never seen so much in so little in my 39 years of existence...

A Glimpse of The Divine...

Malaysia's Not Too Bad Actually....

My Appa...

As a kid, I lived in a close knit community where every household knew each member of the other by name. Men and women grew old watching their own kids or that of their neighbours marry, have kids, and even grandchildren of their own. They would then die, and their children would take over the home, responsibilities and yeah sometimes even jobs that their fathers or mothers held. Now, you must understand one thing here. Mine was not a community where variations in professions existed. If monotony of profession ever existed anywhere, it was at the place where I grew up. All men ( and some women too, for they believed in joint income even then) worked in the garbage collection industry - my dad included. Of course there were different levels of positions just like any other organisation - some were drivers of garbage trucks and those who never got round to getting their driving licenses ended up as manual workers.

Just the other day, a colleague sitting in my car as I drove her to lunch complained (as we passed by a garbage truck) of the stench garbage trucks leave behind when they do their rounds. I still remember running up to my father (when I was no more than 6 or 7) as he would come back from his work . I don't remember having ever smelled anything stench-like on him - the man must have sat for hours at end in a garbage truck much like the one my colleague complained about.

Probably I was so overcome by my love for him that I could not (even if I tried) see or smell anything unpleasant on him. Come to think of it, I must have silently admired the man even from those days when I hardly knew what admiration really meant. This I say because I can still recollect how I would anxiously wait for him to shower, and sit right opposite him on the cool cement floor of our old house, within arm's length and watch adoringly as he ate - each handful of food that went into his mouth, the way he deboned his fish, how he he would pour fiery-coloured fish curry onto the rice and the beautiful (absolutely beautiful) way he would mix both thoroughly without creating any unsightly mess (like some people who eat with their hands do). And when he ate, he ate with such peace and joy that spoke well for the hard earned money that helped put his food on his plate. He was "the man" of my life then....probably he was much more than that..perhaps he was to me this superhero or god who put up with all my silliness and weird questions and still loved me to no end.

Yeah, my dad was a beautiful man with many beautiful ways and mannerisms. He had a fiery temper no doubt (sometimes) and I can still remember the sting I felt on my skin when he slapped my face when I was a little girl (the only time he ever hit me). And yes, he had absolutely no regard for liars or hypocrites and would openly reprimand them and put them to shame. True, my father was no Mr. Popularity among hypocrites. But he was the most sincere, disciplined man I have ever met.

Today, or the first time in 7 years since he passed on, I am missing him terribly....My heart feels heavy, and tears are fighting against the controls of dignity to push themselves through. I cannot explain why.

Appa, I wish the world had more men like you...and wherever you are now, please know that a part of you is always in me though I have never really openly addressed it till now. I cannot ask for the mundane wish most women make, that their loved ones who had passed on get reborn through their own wombs. Perhaps the word mundane is unfair - let's just say it's another way of me addressing my incapability - not in a bitter way but in a less dramatic manner. I may never have the opportunity to pay you back for what you gave me Appa...but please know that my love for you is there within me...deeply embedded where noone else can see it or attempt to replace it in the guise of love...

Exhale...

Everyone falls, in love sometimes
Sometimes it's wrong, and sometimes it's right
For every win, someone must fail
But there comes a point when...
When we exhale, yeah yeah

Say, shoop, shoop, shoop...
All you gotta do is say shoop, shoop, shoop...
My Lord now, shoop, shoop...

Sometimes you laugh, sometimes you cry
Life never tells us, the whens and whys
When you've got friends, to wish you well
You'll find a point when, you will exhale

Yeah, yeah
Say, shoop, shoop, shoop..
Say shoobedoo...

Oh, hearts are often broken
When there are words unspoken
In your soul there's, answers to your prayers
If you're searching for, a place you know
A familiar face, somewhere to go
You should look inside your soul
And you're half way there

I say shoop, shoop...
Feels all right, you can say shoop...

Truly Inspirational. Totally lifts you up to rise above it all...

A Quote To Live Our Lives By...

"People travel to wonder at the height of the mountains, at the huge waves of the seas, at the long course of the rivers, at the vast compass of the ocean, at the circular motion of the stars, and yet they pass by themselves without wondering."

St. Augustine,
Early Christian Priest, Author

Help Me Fly Away...

I wish to disappear
to a faraway island
where everyone I meet
knows me not and sees me not.

I wish to capture them
in thoughts and images
while they carry on
unaffected by me and without affecting me.

I wish to love them
in my heart and soul
while they love among themselves
and loves not the 'me' they don't even see.

I wish to live among them
In the truest form that I can ever be
while they walk on with their lives
totally comfortable with the sides of me they do not see.

And when the time comes...

I wish to die amidst them
unseen and unknown
and only too naturally
unloved and untouched.
Sparing myself of the miseries of a commoner's life
which thrives on binding me within a system
belittling me into submission
using as a reason this human form that I am in.

O God of All Gods...

Help me fly away to that faraway land
The whereabouts of which
Only one as invisible as You
will know the way to...

Playing the Game of Life...

One step at a time I took,
In this hopscotch of a life,
that I started playing some time ago.
A shaky manipulation of one foot,
A careful balance of the other,
Both I managed cleverly,
So as not to fall and give the game away.
So as to reach the end and declare myself the winner.

But little did I know then as I know now,
that a game it is after all,
and like games will, and must be,
life too must be played with the right mix,
of shaky manipulation,and careful balance.
Till we reach the end to discover,
that the trick of the game is not to not fall,
But to merely learn to balance the probabilities,
And manipulate the improbabilities.

Spare Me Please...O Powerful One...

We sometimes live in a daze,
Gazing at vague visions of love and life,
Believing them to be the only thing that's real,
Forgetting all else that had (in fractions) made us what we were.

True, isn't it?
Insanity hits even the sanest of us all,
And when it comes,
it comes not alone,
it comes not in its original guise.

If only we knew,
Insanity is what it is,
As it comes enticing us into its arms.
Would we then have given ourselves to it blindly?

I bow to you in awed obeisance, O Insanity,
How powerful you must really be,
To have all of me choking in your hands,
Even without the slightest tightening of your grip.

Indeed, you are the greatest god of all gods,
I will now learn to appease,
Just so that in all compassion,
You will spare me ...
(for as long as I move about in this world as this physical being that I am now)

...of even the glimpse of your existence.

As I Am Meant To Be...

Noone would see me here,
Noone would judge or be judged here.

Here - I am my own world
Here - I am my own hell,
Here - I alone will hurt and be hurt.

Finally -
I am as I am meant to be.

One Straight Path...

When you cry,
And minutes later lie alone,
Your hand wiping your own tears.
Know then,
That you had just hit upon,
The grim truth of what life is.

Realise then,
That as you came alone,
so shall you go alone.
And that,
Relief does lie in-between,
For everyone else -
but the likes of you.

Know then -
That you are among the "blessed" ones.
For whom HE gives it " real easy".
(No fuss. No frills. No surprises. No novelties)

For the likes of you HE sets,
One straight path.
That's as predictable as it is monotonous,
That too -
From birth till death.

Bangalore A.R. Ramani Ammal - A Legend In Her Own Right

A slip of my hand while driving and I ended up playing a CD I have not heard for a long time. Bangalore Ramani Ammal. I was said to have sung her songs when I was about 3 or 4, when I could hardly speak well. I suppose she must have had quite an impact on me then - at that age when vibes are at their strongest and are accepted wholeheartedly without interference of the ever analytical human mind.

Even till today, the woman's songs send an unexplainable sensation into my being (and no, I don't go into a trance as a result, just in case anyone is wondering :) ). She had this amazing voice - almost genderless I would say (not that I know what I mean exactly by that) and had the facial expression of a no-nonsense saree-clad headmistress.

(To slightly sidetrack, let me tell you that the "saree-clad" bit is necessary seeing where I come from - here in Malaysia, saree-clad teachers or headmistresses are always a sight to behold...most (being Chinese or Malays) would be in a dress or the "malay baju kurung/kebaya". In fact, teachers teaching in non-Thamizh schools hardly ever use saree to work these days. But when I was a kid, an indian teacher almost always wore a saree...complete with their bare midriff inviting the constant popping-out of eyes of the non-Indian students. Of course after a while, the Chinese and Malay students became used to the bare flesh and made less fuss...)

The one in the video was the older Ramani Ammal, I presume...she seemed to have lost some weight compared to the plump, glowing Ramani Ammal I knew (not in person of course) when I was a little kid.

All said and done, what an amazing singer she was. Classic to the core, and almost irreplaceable I must say.

A Hint Would Suffice You Know...

If You're out there listening to me,
Pray tell me which part of my misery excites You?

So I ignore You sometimes - so what?
That gives You the excuse to ignore me too?
So who is the wiser of us two - I wonder?
I am stupid and I make mistakes.
And You - the wise one - let me?
I fall, You laugh and then You help me up.
And when I am not watching,
You push me again?

Some Father You are...

Whatever happened to unconditional love, I wonder?
I love you, don't I, despite my tantrums?
I greet you every morning from my car, don't I?
That ain't enough for You?
So what is it that You really want from me?
Me all prostrated in front of You?

Do You not know that deep inside me,
I never rose from the last time I fell at Your feet...
Do You not know,
That it is in Your hands alone I believe my life to be...

How then can You watch me suffer thus?
How then can You let me fall yet again and again..
and not do anything about it?
A hint would suffice You know...

...could You not spare me even that?

A Game Piece in HIS Hands...

I could use a dose of wisdom now :)

It's that time of my life again (happens quite consistently I must admit) when I take a good look at myself and say, "hey, I don't know you anymore." Looking back at the way I had been behaving lately, I realise that I am losing track of the path I started heading towards some years back.

Distractions? I wouldn't exactly call them that. For one, I am a person who believes that every single incident in life is for some good - eventually. So nahhh...they can't possibly be distractions. Lessons perhaps? I know for a fact that the man above does have a tendency to send them in all shapes and sizes into my life. They'd come splashing into my life drowning me in ecstasy which often blinds me in the process of the reality of their identities. And while HE snugly sits up there watching me with a mocking smile, I would sheepishly fall for the "let's trick her first and teach her later" plan of HIS. Like a perfect fool that I can sometimes be, I would believe HIM, then question HIM, and then believe HIM while not wanting to, and eventually present myself as yet another win in HIS bet of my life.

Sighhhhh. Does HE not have anything better to do, I wonder?

Of course there are times when I am smarter than HE is. :) Times when I quickly pick up the signs of one of HIS games coming up, and stop myself from being dragged into it as a game piece - times when I pull myself back from the temptations with a quick slap in the face . Yeah I do that, literally. Watch me when I drive and you'd be surprised at how many times I do that :) Of course, since it's my own cheek I slap, I do go gentle on them. Not painless-kinda-gentle. But gentle nevertheless :)

But I have not been slapping myself much these days. And that's HIS victory, I suppose.

But I'll have my day soon, my good man...did YOU think that I'd fall every time? Give me more credit than that, will YOU? Did YOU not think that I'd probably have at least one percent of YOUR quick-wittedness? Can a child not have a part of the one who made her?

I'll get YOU some day...YOU can bet my life on it :)

Who Is There?

Someone knocked at the door of the Beloved and a voice from within inquired: "Who is there?" He answered, "It is I." And the voice said, "This house will not hold me and thee." So the door remained closed.

Then the lover sped away into the wilderness and fasted and prayed. After a year he returned and knocked again at the door and the voice again demanded: "Who is there?" And the lover said, "It is thou."

The door was opened.

Jalal ad-Din Rumi

The Little Girl God...

There's God in all of us, I used to think.
Not for a moment realising,
How cynical a statement that was.

That was till I saw,
God hopping before me in shining innocence one hot afternoon.
With an upturned silver plate shielding her head.
And infectious joy dancing in her eyes.

Yes, a girl god she was.
Common in your country, you say?
Should I add then,
That she looked pretty poor too.
And of course,
perfectly grubby as well, without a single doubt.
And if she weren't a god despite all those add-ons,
Then I dare say,
No god except that which appears bare in your country,
can rightly be god from now on.

Ah bliss she seemed to carry in her heart - this little girl god,
And the cheeky innocence with which she looked at people,
As she went about hopping -
Onto the steps,
Into the hearts,
Of those who cared enough to smile at her.
(not that many did)

But did the little girl god care?
No sir.
In the wisdom that's known to belong to gods alone (size notwithstanding),
She pranced away in a mocking smile,
At the people gathered there,
climbing the steps in religious fervour,
People who believed in their belief of god,
And that there was god in them.

Keep climbing, losers - her smile said
Keep climbing to that peak of falsehood,
you believe to be faith.
But mark my words, you aimless climbers.
Till the day you stop to look -
at the little gods who pass your lives,
Till then -
Neither will you be in me.
Nor me in you.

The Madman Speaks...

I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love;
If you want me again, look for me under your boot-soles.

You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean;
But I shall be good health to you nevertheless,
And filter and fibre your blood.

Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged;
Missing me one place, search another;
I stop somewhere, waiting for you.

Walt Whitman

I Am An In-betweener - Hear Me Speak...

Living in-between,
Is never for the realist.
With all its straggling from one end to the other,
It's a game only the idealist can play.

Come hear a confirmed in-between-er speak
Come hear me reveal what it’s like,
To live a life in-between it all,
To exist neither here nor there.

Try I did to stick to one end,
Neither gave me peace,
Neither justified my existence.
Not the way floating in-between did.

That gave me the balance I was not even seeking,
And helped me stay true to my self –
A self that could not choose one over another,
Or lose one to another.

A confirmed in-between-er I am,
A soul floating neither here nor there,
A soul seeking aimlessly,
that which lies in-between -
The Real and the Unreal.
The Truth and the Untruth.

To Think or Not To Think...

I am said to think too much. Perhaps it's true - to a certain extent.

I can't remember when I started this obsession with thoughts - probably when I was much younger - when thinking was seen as a healthy exercise, and was "falsely" seen as proper. Yeap, I have come to realise now, as I step into the 39th year of my existence, that my fondness for thinking, and the hundreds of thousands of thoughts the activity had generated over the years...are no longer allies, but are my follies.

Poor Rodin. Wonder if he knew this when he created THE THINKER. A nude man in deep thoughts battling with a powerful inner struggle must have been fashionable then, perhaps even philosophical. Powerful inner struggle = paranoia? I wonder. Well, go figure life!

Having thought things over, I hereby take a solemn oath to stop all thoughts and to stop thinking altogether. From now on I shall act rashly with absolutely no regard for consideration, and shall live as impulsively as life will ever take me. Afterthoughts too are banned entirely. Having said all that, I shall remain in all calmness as empty headed as I can ever be :)

Tis You Alone I Trust...

The last time I went blank in the head,
Twas not the lord I seeked,
Instead, I called upon the one - who like me,
Had no filter between his brain and his mouth.
Hail O Calvin I cried.
And in a flash he came,
Soaring with his wings of imagination.
And placed upon my head his tiny little hand,
And passed upon me,
all the wisdom his tiny six year old brain ever had within.

Ah - the ecstasy of thinking with a six-year-old mind.

How wilfully I bequiled my writing faculty thereafter,
With the many tricks my manaseega guru zapped into my brain.
Thoughts I had many,
None of which I had really thought over.
They rolled forth as they were,
Untouched by the hypocrisy of conformity.

Ah - the ecstasy of writing with a six-year-old mind.

Where has thou disappeared to, O Great One?
Were you frightened away by the recent hullabaloo in my life,
That forcefully dragged me into the other side of life,
(much unlike the one you and i know to be real)'
One in which I had to act the adult that I am supposed to be,
Adulterating the very principles you and I hold close to our hearts.

Come do your zapping bit once more, won't you Calvin?
I cannot go on this way -
All blank in the head.
My blog as barren of posts
...as my mind is of ideas.

Come soaring O Great One,
Tis you alone I trust.

Blinded by Truth...

The blind one woke up one day to find,
that her eyes could finally see,
all that she wanted to ever see.

The blind one was elated.
That all the dreams she had dreamt for decades,
would no longer remain mere dreams...

The blind one swam in her ecstasy.
The blind one relished it all.
The blind one felt utterly blessed.

Days passed, and one day, the blind one got restless,
She couldn't understand it at all.
She sobbed - as she closed her eyes that one night...

The blind one woke up the next day,
to find that the world had come to a standstill.
And darkness was everywhere in sight.

Thinking that the world around her had gone blind,
The blind one got up, and went on with her life.
Believing that the world had indeed lost it...

And that she alone had not.

Happy Birthday, My Good Sir...

O Bearded One...

Your name I have heard from my early days.
But all I knew then was that,
You were this majestic looking man.
Your name was Rabindranath Tagore,
And yes - that you wrote poetry.
A line here, a stanza there -
I read as I dabbled in poetry, as I analysed them.
But understand you I could not,
Not for the life of me, I could.

But now - as I read your poems
Your message reaches me as voluntarily as breeze.
Leaving me soothed, refreshed, and pleasantly surprised.
I asked myself many times,
How could something so complex suddenly appear simple.
Just now, just as I started writing to you,
The answer came upon me.
Like the very breeze -
You have been sending to touch my face, of late.

I can almost hear you answer me -
In the breezy way you do in your poems.
Of why you had stood at a distance -
as I was reaching out to touch you.
True, my good sir,
How could I have known and understood you then,
When all I did was to analyse you.
Can divinity ever be analysed?
Can wisdom ever be studied?

How inappropriately ignorant I had been.

But you see, my dear sir,
It was not until recently that I started living poetry,
And that is why,
It was not until recently that I really understood you.
I know now sir,
That you only speak your breezy language,
To those who reach out to you from the heart,
To those who wish to feel you without any pretence.

And to those you will send -
Your breezy wisdom,
That you so beautifully crafted into lyrical masterpieces.

Happy Birthday, my good sir,
My loving wishes to you.

On Giving Unconditionally...

I was leaving after withdrawing money at an ATM near where I live. A middle-aged indian man caught my eyes and asked if I could help him use the machine. I obliged, and asked him how much was he planning to withdraw. RM 10, he answered taking me by surprise. Not that I thought nothing of RM 10 which can easily buy one a decent meal, small though its value may be in the present day. But people hardly withdrew RM 10 from ATMs these days. ATMs too are not RM10-friendly here - request for a single RM 10 note and you will find a message on the screen that they only dispense RM 50 notes.

And so, after telling him that, I was going to suggest that he withdrew RM 50 instead when I turned to the screen and found a message that said his balance wasn't sufficient. I told him the machine could not dispense the RM 10, and he responded with a blank look on his face. There was no sign of disappointment in the man. He just took the card, thanked me and walked away.

I tell you, I was so tempted to offer him a RM 10 note - but stopped myself because I did not want to hurt his ego. What if he got offended? Even as I got into my car and saw him at the carpark getting on his bike, I wanted so much to give him the RM 10. Again, my fear of offending him stopped me and I drove away. My heart reached out to him despite the fact that I had smelt alcohol in his breath as he talked to me. Yeah, he could have desperately needed the RM 10 for a quick booze. He probably had drunk all his cash away, thus the insufficient balance. He could be dying because of the amount of alcohol he had been consuming all these while.

He could be this and that. But he needed that RM 10 and I could have given it him.

People tell me all the time - don't encourage addicts by giving them money when they ask you. But really - is an alcoholic or an addict any less a person than he was before he became one? Who am I to decide what's right for him? What is right and wrong really? Yeah drinking is bad, and I would not encourage anyone to, being a teetotaler myself. But my rationale is - when one approaches me for help, I would help regardless of the background of his request. My duty - in fact one of the reasons for my existence, is to help - and when approached I believe in doing that unconditionally.

I wish the man at the bank had looked a little longer at me to reassure me that he needed the money. I wish I had asked him at least with my eyes if he needed further help. Had I tried, I am sure he would have responded with an answer though his eyes, glassy though they appeared...

Every man is involuntarily urged to act by the qualities which spring from nature. He who remains inert, restraining the senses and organs, yet pondering with his heart upon objects of sense, is called a false pietist of bewildered soul. But he who having subdued all his passions performeth with his active faculties all the duties of life, unconcerned as to their result, is to be esteemed. Do thou perform the proper actions: action is superior to inaction.

He who, sinfully delighting in the gratification of his passions, doth not cause this wheel thus already set in motion to continue revolving, liveth in vain.

He hath no interest either in that which is done or that which is not done; and there is not, in all things which have been created, any object on which he may place dependence. Therefore perform thou that which thou hast to do, at all times unmindful of the event; for the man who doeth that which he hath to do, without attachment to the result, obtaineth the Supreme.

Even if the good of mankind only is considered by thee, the performance of thy duty will be plain; for whatever is practiced by the most excellent men, that is also practiced by others. The world follows whatever example they set.

But the wise man also seeketh for that which is homogeneous with his own nature. All creatures act according to their natures; what, then, will restraint effect? In every purpose of the senses are fixed affection and dislike. A wise man should not fall in the power of these two passions, for they are the enemies of man. It is better to do one's own duty, even though it be devoid of excellence, than to perform another's duty well. It is better to perish in the performance of one's own duty; the duty of another is full of danger.

Throwing every deed on me, and with thy meditation fixed upon the Higher Self, resolve to fight, without expectation, devoid of egotism and free from anguish.

(Excerpts from Bhagavad Gita)

A Song That Walked Through My Being...

I look straight at you - unable to move,
My body frozen - mind alert.

You enter through my eyes - in a flash of light.
And - with that same flash of light burning bright within you,
You find your way within me.

Walking through the dense jungle within,
You - totally unfazed,
Slash your way through,
Bent on clearing that which stands in your way.

And I - frozen as I already am,
Watch you walk within me, toward me,
Your hands and feet hard at work,
But your eyes - steadily looking into mine,
Hypnotising me into a meditative trance,
Drumming into my mind, heart and soul,
Your powerful sparks of wisdom -
Infusing within my nerves -
Your radical Puthiya Aathisudi.

achcham thavir.mp3

Download it at mp3space.com

That's Life For You...

My Songs Taught Me Lessons and Showed Me Secret Paths...

Ever in my life have I sought thee
with my songs. It was they who led
me from door to door, and with them
have I felt about me, searching and
touching my world.

It was my songs that taught me all
the lessons I ever learnt; they showed
me secret paths, they brought before
my sight many a star on the horizon of
my heart.

They guided me all the day long to
the mysteries of the country of
pleasure and pain, and, at last, to
what palace gate have they brought
me in the evening at the end of my
journey ?


Gitanjali-101
Rabindranath Tagore

In the Honeyed Calmness of Your Mellifluous Voice, I Lose Myself...

I know not what your song is about,
I know not what the mood of the song is.
With a voice as divine as yours,
Need one know anything at all,
Except to just lose oneself,
In the honeyed calmness of your mellifluous voice...

Dance of the Soul...

It must be the rub-off from my new haircut :). Suddenly life appears that much more brighter, and I feel chirpier. And I keep stumbling upon wonderful stuff online :).

I must have been 13 then (no, no - not when I stumbled upon something online - then, internet did not even exist. I am trying to relate a story here of the time when I was 13). Then, I was this passionate bharatanatyam and carnatic music student who strongly felt that dancing was going to my vocation. (God, I cannot imagine the amount of trouble a short-haired dancer would go through to don plait and flowers - where would I pin my false hairpiece to).

Anyway, yeah, it was the time when bharatanatyam was religion to me. It was also the time when the movie Sankarabharanam was released. We had no DVD player then, and VCRs were only for the wealthy. Our only alternative was to catch it in the cinema (not that we went often - come to think of it, I believe I had only gone to the movies with my family 3 times in my whole life). So Sankarabharanam was quite a treat for me - and especially so since I lived then with the "budding dance doyen" image in me :). Half of the time, it was not Manju Bhargavi who danced on the big screen - it was I, the "dancer extraordinaire" who did. :)

I tell you, that woman (Manju Bhargavi) danced as though her feet hardly touched the earth. One of the most graceful dancers I had seen, no doubt... and what an amazing fluidity she displayed (if one can use that word to describe a person's physical movement). Of course, other than a few years of dance training and big (but shortlived) dreams, I am no expert on indian classical dance. But speaking from a layperson's point of view, I cannot but help think that this woman actually danced as classical dance should be danced - in the free-est of forms - as self expression should rightly be.

In her movements, I did not see any particular mode. And to me - the once-upon-a-time dancer-wannabe - that's a dance of the soul I saw her performing. The music entered her being, communicated with her soul. pulled it out, and together - they danced the "dance of the soul".









Links to other classics from the movie :-

Broche

Ragam Thalam Pallavi

I Need To Breathe...

I am a firm believer in being non-judgmental about people around me. But, much as I try, I cannot stand the vibrations I get from the "high-pitched-voice" lady who works with me now. Her high-pitch stresses my brain - and I become this brain-frozen person whenever she opens her mouth to speak, giggle or to simply prove that she exists. I have tried - to be nice. I have never needed to try in the past :(

This stress is getting on to me. Voices - hers and anyone whom she talks to - hurt my brain. I plug my ears with earphones and yet I can hear her.

I need to breathe...I need music....I need a soothing sight.
Anything that does not remind me of that high-pitched-voice...

Momentary Madness

It all happened within a fraction of a second.

Before I could even evade,
(by letting details of the incident settle in).
The issue behind the incident,
Being the core culprit that it is,
Took control and charged ahead.

Assuming the form of a giant octopus,
With its powerful eight sucker-bearing arms,
It entered my head,
Of course it was now not a mere giant octopus,
(though even as just that – a giant octopus – its strength would have sufficed to overpower me)
It was now an octopus with a human-related issue at hand,
(Eight arms mind you, manhandling one issue).

Can you imagine how wilfully the eight arms spread themselves in my head?
In the name of the god of which I cannot make up my mind now,
It was horrendous, I tell you.

With its eight powerful arms,
This so-called issue a.k.a octopus
Crawled itself into me,
With a look in its eyes that said,
You’re all mine today, woman!
(you know the kind of look a murder-bent person would give his victim as he gains on her).

First it settled itself with a thud in my head -
grabbing control of the physical space.
Then it went for the inhabitants.

The emotions which were in control till then – it stirred,
Moving them away from familiarity,
Repositioning them next to those they could never imagine themselves to be.
Then, seeing that the emotions were all damagingly misplaced,
It gave its evil laugh and belched its satisfaction off.

Then - the issue aka octopus reached for my sanity.

And I knew then –
that I was a goner.

Come Back Won't You, My Dear Man...

Cirukudalpatti Muthaiah,
I heard a song this morning,
A song that started with your name.
My face brightened when I heard it.
I tell you I was grinning from ear to ear as I drove.
For to me, the mere mention of your name spells magic.
(But you knew that already, did you not?)

I knew not then what the song was about,
I knew not if it was one of those silly imaginations of some lyricists,
Who, ripped off their creativity, used your name for the silliest of instances.
I used to wonder why their brains deserted them to make them do so,
(if they had any in the first place, that is)
Did they think you had no better priorities in your world,
Than to come lit up someone's silly mundane love life?

But alas -
Twas.
Yet another attempt of some lyricist.
Who had hoped he could live off the weight your name carries,
Even after all these years since you left us.

You -
The greatest soothsaying poet-lyricist to have ever lived,
The earthly messenger of worldly wisdom,
Brought to this earth by god for the common man,
Personally handpicked to speak our language.

How disappointed you must be, my dear Kannadasa,
That those known to be your kind,
The ones who are supposedly obliged to speak to us like you once did,
That they instead, speak a language that we need not hear.
And stop they do not at just that -
Instead they go on to make a mockery of your genius.
You - the genius who taught wisdom,
Using a medium that's known to many as mundane,
You - who made divine lovers out of us commoners,
Philosophers out of us materialistic fools.

Come back won't you, my dear man.
Come back and reform us.
To teach us how to live life,
To make us see -
that tis not righteousness this world needs now,
Nor morality or immorality.

Come back to make us see -
That life should be lived as it comes,
And that it will come as we live it -
Sincerely in all amorality.

My Mother "Slapped" Me Today Without Even Touching Me...

I can be a rather cold, distant person where familial attachments are concerned. And unlike most people who have a softer spot for their mothers compared to fathers or siblings, I, in all contradiction, grew up having a love-hate relationship with my mother. No - not because she was the sort we sometimes hear about - the kind who deserts her kids or coudn't care less about them. My mother cared for us, fed us well, made sure we went to school in clean clothes, and was especially particular that we grew up with a strong sense of morality and decency. Yeah, she did all that.

Yet, I could never truly always love her as most people would their mother.





Today, just a few minutes ago, sitting a feet away from her at a clinic as she waited for her turn to see her doctor, I actually found myself staring at my mother as if she were this new person I could not recognise. Here was this frail old woman - one obviously in pain - pain that she could never make her children see or understand, for it is never always in explainable forms. More than pain, I think it is helplessness that's weakening her these days. Imagine how one must feel, having been a tough, strong-willed woman all her earlier life, having mothered and raised 6 kids as a perfect disciplinarian - in short having once been the underlying strength of a family of eight - but who was now reduced to a mere aged mother.

She sat there with an uncalled-for fear of me - her youngest child - in her eyes, wanting so much to look at me and reach out and yet could not - simply because I had stopped allowing her to, more than a decade ago. A sudden gush of tears welled in my eyes. It was like a flash of realisation, or more less-refinedly-put, a slap in the face. True, my mother had been impossible for a great deal of my teenage and adult life - indulging in her petty ways to the unbearable extent. And yes, I have many a time wished my mother had acted much more fairly to me and my sister as she had been to my brothers. But really, who am I to judge her - when I should have known better than to do so - judge the very woman who once carried me within her.

I had always mocked motherhood - strongly believing that it was an universally overstated sentiment that seriously needed some downplay. I would laugh unkindly whenever a new thamizh amma song gained popularity, or whenever people wrote poems for their mothers on Mothers' Day. Yeah, I had been a downright cold-hearted meanie where mommy sentiments were concerned. I guess, when one is deprived of something for long, the sense of longing eventually turns into an unkind dislike of that something. I realise now that it wasn't fair of me to mock (and probably envy) the motherhood of a woman who brought me into this world...just because I wasn't going to experience it ever.

This post is not written to apologise (not that it has any chance to - my mother is not English-literate). Neither is this post intended to share the lessons I learned today (I am in no position to do so). I just needed to come to terms with the "slap in the face" I received today, and the only way I do that these days is through my writing, particularly blogging. So there!

One of the Must See Scenes in Thamizh Cinema...

One of the few reasons why I think the world of Thamizh cinema (its present crappiness notwithstanding), Sivaji Ganesan, Kannadasan, "brass-voiced" Seerghazhi Govindarajan and the classic movie Karnan...and yeah NTR too :) The following scene is a personal favourite - one that defines life somewhat in a matter of minutes.

God Appears Before Me...

God appears before me,
His already towering presence,
Expanding before me into a gigantic form.
Stretching Himself across,
His form covers my entire view.
He then looks at me, smiles, and dissolves...
...into this view
that He Has then become...

I Become A Little of Each...

Did you know what you feel to be,
No matter how momentary it is,
Is in fact real?
Did you know?
That which you feel to be,
Eventually becomes you.

I write in a mad state,
Sensing my soul being engulfed by madness,
And at that split moment,
I feel like one – a mad woman,
And as I write like one,
I become one.

I despise all that’s around me,
In all anger – I become my anger,
The subject, the cause and the effect,
That I feel at that moment – that anger,
That alone becomes real,
That anger alone becomes me.

I love like I’ve never loved before,
I float amidst heaven I never knew to exist,
and at that moment –
that love appears real,
the most real it has ever been.
And I become the love, the loved, the loving.

A woman of multitudes I am.
I am but a little of all that’s around me –
the good, the bad, the divine, the disgusting.
So much of each –
That I sometimes wonder which is which
And which eventually becomes me.

Wherein lies my true being.
Wherein lies my truth.
Wherein lies me - within my multitudes.

Scribbles

Life is but a scribble of unconscious plan.
While living it,
You grab a pen
(that being your mind),
And you scribble away on any piece of paper that you find
(that being your life).
You chart a course that looks uncannily real,
You scribble a path that you alone know to be real,
You link them both - the course and the path,
And lo - you have before you,
Your life in your hands.
As you scribbled it to be -
a scribble of unconscious plan.

Delightfully Cute...

Came across this in a local magazine.

Expounding Life's Philosophies Through Snow Art...

Caught between a torrid yet morbid affair with life, Calvin thus expounds his philosophies about living in this weird world :) The master of the senses that he is, Calvin often strikes a perfect balance in life; with an uncanny aptitude for living it in an attached yet detached manner. Hail O Calvin!

THE CALM & CONTENTED CHILD (with a tiger, of course)...






THE THINKER...

















MORBIDITY PERSONIFIED...
























God, give me a kid like Calvin in my next birth, please...:)