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.