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...:)

Finding Solace In A Genius...

There are days when my writing only takes place in my head. Pens, notepads, my notebook - all shy away from me during such days. I would see them and pretend I didn't, and would quickly occupy myself with something else - anything as long as it didn't involve writing. But, in all contradiction (that being my middle name and all :) ), I would write endlessly in my head.

Of course, even during such "difficult" times, I would still be able to write about how I could not write (like what I am doing now), but that's the limit where physical writing is concerned.

That's when I turn to seek solace in the genius of the one and only...

A NAUSEOUS NOCTURNE
(a poem by Calvin)

Another night deprived of slumber,
Hours passing without number,
My eyes trace 'round the room. I lay

Dripping sweat and now quite certain
That tonight the final curtain
Drops upon my short life's precious play.

From the darkness, by the closet
Comes a noise, much like a faucet
Makes: a madd'ning drip-drip-dripping sound.

It seems some ill-proportioned beast,
Anticipating me deceased,
Is drooling poison puddles on the ground.

A can of Mace, a forty-five,
Is all I'd need to stay alive,
But no weapon lies within my sight.

Oh my gosh! A shadow's creeping,
Omnious and black, it's seeping
Slowly 'cross a moonlit square of light!

Suddenly a floorboard creak
Announces the bloodsucking freak
Is here to steal my future years away!
A sulf'rous smell noe fills the room
Heraldingmy imm'nent doom!
A fang gleams in the dark and murky gray!

Oh, blood-red eyes and tentacles!
Throbbing, pulsing ventricles!
Mucus-oozing pores and frightful claws!

Worse, in terms of outright scariness,
Are the suckers multifarious
That grab and force you in its mighty jaws!

This disgusting aberration
Of nature needs no mitivation
To devour helpless children in their beds.
Relishing despairing moans,
It chews kids up and sucks their bones,
And dissolves inside its mouth their li'l heads!

I know this 'cause I read it not
Two hours ago, and then I got
The heebie-jeebies and these awful shakes.

My parents swore upon their honor
That I was safe, and not a goner.
I guess tomorrow they'll see their sad mistakes.

In the morning, they'll come in
And say, "waht was that awful din
We heard last night? You kept us both from sleep!"

Only then will they surmise
The gruesomeness of my demise
And see that my remains are in a heap.

Dad will look at Mom and say,
"Too bad he had to go that way."
And Mom will look at Dad, and nod assent.

Mom will add, "Still, it's fitting,
That as he was this world quitting,
He should leave another mess before he went."

They may not mind at first, I know.
They will miss me later, though,
And perhaps admit that they were wrong.
As memories of me grow dim,
They'll say, "We were too strict with him.
We should have listened to him all along."

As speedily my end approaches,
I bid a final "buenas noches"
To my best friend here in all the world.
Gently snoring, whiskers seeming
To sniff at smells (he must be dreaming),
He lies snugled in the blankets, curled.

HEY! WAKE UP, YOU STUPID CERTIN!
YOU GONNA SLEEP WHILE I GET EATEN?!
Suddenly the monster knows I'm not alone!

There's an animal in bed with me!
An awful beast he did not see!
The monster never would've come if he had known!

The monster, in his consternation,
Demonstater defenestration,
And runs and runs and runs and runs away.

Rid of the pest,
I now cah rest,
Thanks to my best friend, who saved the day.

On The Power of Singing...

Some songs delight us, some move us. And yet there are the rare few that reinforces our faith in the unknown - that unknown power that we doubt even as we believe, that we believe as we doubt.

Songs are said to move the most powerful of forces - little wonder why saints of yore sang like there was no tomorrow :). I still remember a scene from Thiruvarutchelvar. In an attempt to get the sealed doors of an abandoned temple to open, Appar (Sivaji) would sing for a good 10 minutes and the first door would open. Thirugnanasambanthar (Prabhagaran) who was till then awaiting his turn, would do his bit, and lo, within seconds, the next door would open. Then, of course, Appar would pass out.

Sambanthar would revive him later and ask, "Why sir, what happened?" To which Appar would say, "You are just a little boy, yet all you had to do was sing for a mere few seconds to move God and to make him open the sealed door. I, on the other hand, had to sing again and again till He relented. I am an old man, how much more prayer do I have to perform before I reached your level, and even if I could, would I have the time - me being old and all?" Sambanthar being Sambanthar, would say - "My good sir, God opened the door within seconds of my singing because he probably had had enough of my singing. But he could never get enough of yours, and was so mesmerised in it that he obviously had forgotten himself. Thus the delay in Him responding with the opening of the door."

When I first saw that scene, (I must have been 20 then), I wondered - surely, the scriptwriter could have had some sense than to include this piece in the movie. Afterall, would Appar stoop to that level and judge his relationship with God based on the length of his singing? But now, as I reflect on it, I realise how necessary that scene was - for it relayed key messages even in all its tactlessness.

The moral of the story? None really. Need there be any? :)

Watch the following video and you would probably realise that music can indeed move the most powerful of forces. So the next time your singing does not reap the desired result, remember - God had probably lost himself in it. Have patience and ye shall be rewarded. :) But stop singing not...:)

The Guesthouse - Jalaluddin Rumi

This being human is a guesthouse
Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness
Some momentary awareness
Comes as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they're a crowd of sorrows
Who violently sweep your house
Empty of its furniture
Still treat each guest honorably
He may be cleaning you out
For some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice
Meet them at the door laughing
And invite them in.

Be grateful for whoever comes
Because each has been sent
As a guide from the beyond

(Translated by Coleman Barks)

Begone Sense & Sensibility...

Sense.
Sensibility.
Who needs the both of you?

Not when life is blissfully beautiful,
Not when the world cracks open an old wound or incites a new one,
Not when beauty stares at you in all its grandeur,
Not ever.

Sense.
Sensibility.
Ever heard of the word extinct?

Go bond with those unlike me,
Go get your sympathy from the prim and proper,
Go find yourself in those who could never find themselves.

Better still -
Go into a self-exile and don't find your way back.

The Beauty of Your Being...

Did you know, sir, that you have really beautiful eyes?
I wonder if anyone had told you that before
(you being a saint and all...would anyone have dared to?)
I admit I know very little of you,
But when I saw that pair of eyes,
And that calmest of smiles,
I couldn’t help falling for you
(in a spiritual way, of course).

What made you tilt your head that way, I wonder
What made you smile that way
(though your lips and eyes),
Was it the reflection of your compassion,
That you (at that moment) showered
On the one who was trying to capture you?

Or was it the enlightened knowing - that
that face, that body,
what are they really
(to be captured in a photograph)?
When what lies within,
(that soul which you know to be the real you)
Can never, any picture, describe...

Beautiful you are, my divine Ramana Maharshi,
I wonder if you knew that...

I Once Knew A Little Girl ...

I once knew a little girl,
Chubby-faced, cheeky-eyed,
Two long plaits hanging by her head
(Plaits that looked like two karunaagams, said some).
A heart that knew nothing but joy,
A mind that churned questions after questions
(Who is the mother of the mother of the mother of the neighbour aunty).
A pair of legs that skipped wherever she went
(Walking was drearily slow).

There was barely any flesh on her body,
Skinny she was during the early years,
But a tinge of chubbiness was there always
(in her cheeks),
Tracing her to the man who made her,
Reminding her of where she came from,
Never allowing her to forget the dark old man (with his full-teeth-grin),
Even as she grew bigger
(literally too, and eventually matching the chubbiness of her cheeks).

This little girl I knew had a sister,
Much elder, much wiser, much like a mother.
Clinging to the sister as she grew
(sometimes literally too).
The little chubby-faced one stepped into the world
(still occasionally hiding behind the older wise one - with big scared eyes,no doubt),
Learning a great many things,
Making a great many mistakes,
All of which entered her books of experiences
(not that she didn't have enough books to manage already).

I sometimes wonder what happened to her
(that little chubby-cheeked one),
If at all she really is no more
(like I believed her to be),
Or if she has outgrown that child I once saw in her
(so much so that I no longer recognise her),
Or if she is indeed hiding away from me,
Fearing that I would see the real her,
And that seeing me would remind her of things
(things she wants to forget).

I haven't a clue...

But I do miss that chubby-faced, cheeky-eyed one,
The one who had two long plaits hanging by her head
(Plaits that looked like two karunaagams)...


* karunaagam is black cobra in thamizh

Loving India From Afar...

As grandchildren of grandparents who left their motherland more than a hundred years ago in search of better prospects in an alien land, I belong to the community of Thamizhians who, despite being distant from India in many ways, still hold her very close to our hearts.

There are many Malaysian Indians who died without ever having set foot on the land where their roots began. My father was one of them... I am sure in his heart (though he had never said it out) he must have felt an emptiness for not having visited his "mother india", of which he always spoke with great pride and affection, as though his soul had never really left the land...

I still remember how, sitting beside him - a little girl no more than 10 - I would hear in awe of his many stories about India, of the great men of India whom he came to know of through hearsay perhaps, but of which he spoke with such enthusiasm and passion that you would almost believe that he was there...living among them. And no, my father was not a man who exaggerated, he was a man of his words who lived in the most truthful way he knew how to. The connection he felt with India was not a show. It was genuine. It was that connection which made him heed the call of Netaji Subhas Chandra Bose and join INA (Indian National Army) in the 1940s with the desire to serve India in anyway that he could. Each time, at the mention of INA and Netaji, his face would lit with a pride I rarely saw in him at other times. The patriotic songs he sang, the stories he told, the names of great people that were always on his lips...

Indeed, what a wonderful childhood I had...

Being the youngest had its advantages :). While my brothers and sister were too pre-occupied with their studies, I often had my father all to myself - the man and his innate loyalty to his motherland. I wonder now if there was ever a time when he placed his hand of my head and passed it all onto me...:) He must have when I wasn't watching...:) How else could I explain the many instances when we publicly displayed and defended our favouritism for India - like in the 1980s when I (and my siblings) literally jumped with joy whenever Prakash Padukone (yeap that's right, that would be Deepika Padukone's dad allright - sighhhh...isn't it sad how great achievers grow old to become "someone's dad or mom" :) ) defeated Misbun Sidek, Malaysia's top badminton player at that time.

Errrr..traitors you think? :) Nahhh...we loved (and still love) Malaysia all the same - just that we have a bit more love for the land where our roots began :) It's an unexplainable yearning you know (especially so in my case)...an unquenchable desire to lap up as much of India whenever I could :) Like it's some kind of long-lost connection that is crying out to be rekindled. Must be the unexplainable reason why we still refer to ourselves as Indians first, Malaysians second...:)

One such mark my father imprinted in me was my love for Perunthalaivar Kamaraj - a love that never really stopped growing. I am one who goes around telling people that I have no regrets in life - but in reality. there is one...that I had not lived during this man's era to have touched his feet and seen in person a LIVING GOD...

For the uninitiated (those living outside India, that is)...

Kamaraj Kumarasami, better known as K. Kamaraj (15 July 1903 – 2 October 1975) was an Indian politician widely considered to be the only kingmaker in Indian politics, and known for his honesty, integrity and simplicity. He was involved in the Indian independence movement and was a close ally of Jawaharlal Nehru, the first Prime Minister of India. He was instrumental in bringing to power two Prime Ministers, Lal Bahadur Shastri in 1964 and Indira Gandhi in 1966. He was affectionately known as the Gandhi of the South. In Tamil Nadu, his home state, he is still hailed for facilitating the spread of education to millions of the rural poor by introducing free education and free mid-day meals scheme in schools for the first time in the whole world during his chiefministership in 1957.

(Paragraph above taken from wikipedia)

I am moved whenever I watch the scene below. Vaazhnthaa ippadi vaazhanum...:)

On The Seashore of Endless Worlds....

For the one who recently sailed into my life and restored a great many things in me - the love for Tagore's poems being one of them ...

gitanjali.mp3


On the seashore of endless worlds
children meet. The infinite sky is
motionless overhead and the restless
water is boisterous. On the seashore
of endless worlds the children meet
with shouts and dances.

They build their houses with sand
and they play with empty shells. With
withered leaves they weave their
boats and smilingly float them on the
vast deep. Children have their play on
the seashore of worlds.

They know not how to swim, they
know not how to cast nets. Pearl
Fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail
in their ships, while children gather
pebbles and scatter them again. They
seek not for hidden treasures, they
know not how to cast nets.

The sea surges up with laughter
and pale gleams the smile of the sea
beach. Death-dealing waves sing
meaningless ballads to the children,
even like a mother while rocking her
baby's cradle. The sea plays with
children, and pale gleams the smile of
the sea beach.

On the seashore of endless worlds
children meet. Tempest roams in the
pathless sky, ships get wrecked in
the trackless water, death is abroad
and children play. On the seashore of
endless worlds is the great meeting of
children.

(Gitanjali 60 - Tagore)

What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts - Khalil Gibran

What an awe-inspiring Saturday morning this turned out to be. Browsing through youtube, I came across this gem. To the person who created this, wherever you are, please accept my humble obeisance...


”

My soul is my friend who consoles me in misery and distress of life. He who does not befriend his soul is an enemy of humanity, and he who does not find human guidance within himself will perish desperately. Life emerges from within, and derives not from environs.

I came to say a word and I shall say it now. But if death prevents its uttering, it will be said tomorrow, for tomorrow never leaves a secret in the book of eternity.

I came to live in the glory of love and the light of beauty, which are the reflections of God. I am here living, and the people are unable to exile me from the domain of life for they know I will live in death. If they pluck my eyes I will hearken to the murmurs of love and the songs of beauty.

If they close my ears I will enjoy the touch of the breeze mixed with the incense of love and the fragrance of beauty.

If they place me in a vacuum, I will live together with my soul, the child of love and beauty.

I came here to be for all and with all, and what I do today in my solitude will be echoed by tomorrow to the people.

What I say now with one heart will be said tomorrow by many hearts

GIBRAN KHALIL GIBRAN

One of the Thagappan Swamis of the World...

As I look back at my life, I wonder if there was ever a time when I actually went the extra mile to make a difference in people's lives. Yeah, I could have helped a few people along the way in whatever ways I could, but I don't think that really counts as 'going the extra mile". So I must say I was deeply touched, and inspired when I recently came across the blog of a 20 year old young lady from Kenya who did just not stop at caring, but actually went a step further by making it one of her priorities in life.

Rebecca Alitsi from Kenya

Rebecca Alitsi is a 20-year old Human Resource student at Catholic University of Eastern Africa in Kenya with a big heart, and big dreams for girls from Kenya who face difficulties in pursuing their education. Imagine that - a 20 year old who is a student herself - empowering young girls living in slums to stay in school, and helping some with their school fees through the support of friends and donors.

I must say I felt rather selfish after learning about what Rebecca does for her people. Coming from a country where the standard of living is pretty decent, I must have easily spent thousands of ringgits in the past years on the least important of things. Besides donating to anyone who comes my way seeking help, I cannot say with a clear conscience that I had actually gone out of my way to reach out to any of the endless causes out there, unless approached.

I have heard about the concept of Thagappan Swami, where the child god Muruga is said to have taught His father, Lord Shiva, the meaning of the Om as Lord Shiva sat obediently at the feet of his son (ok, ok, I admit that the last bit about Lord Shiva's sitting position was inspired by a flashback of Gemini Ganesan sitting at the feet of a child star (Sri Devi? Prabhakaran?) in one of the Kandan-inspired movies :) What's life without a little drama, eh ). Anyway, I guess it's pretty much the same as the Wordsworth-inspired liner "The child is the father of man" (no, not Gemini's sitting position, but the concept of Thagappan Swami)

At some point of our lives, we do learn our lessons from people who are much younger than we are. I know I learned one of mine from Rebecca...

May the universe conspire to make Rebecca's sincere dreams come true.

Click here to visit Rebecca's blog, and do help in any way that you can.