The Soul of Jose Feliciano...

Jose Feliciano was born blind to humble beginnings on September 10, 1945, in Lares, Puerto Rico. One of eleven boys, his love affair with music began at the age of three when he first accompanied his uncle on a tin cracker can. When he was five, his family immigrated to New York City. Young Jose learned to play the concertina at age six, using a handful of records as his teacher. At eight, he performed for his classmates , and at nine, performed at The Puerto Rican Theater in the Bronx. Venturing beyond the accordion, he taught himself to play the guitar with undaunted determination and again, with nothing but records as his teacher, practising for as many as 14 hours a day. Exposed to the rock-n-roll of the 50's, Jose was then inspired to sing.

I became acquainted with his music 8 years ago. I wonder if blindness intensifies one's ability to express oneself more passionately. Listening to Jose Feliciano always makes me wonder if what he cannot see through this eyes, he "sees" with his soul, which he then relays through his voice...

What I hear when he sings and plays his guitar is not music alone - it's the mesmerising language spoken by his soul...

FileFactory.com

On Counting our Blessings (while also caring for the world)...

It is not necessary that you leave the house. Remain at your table and listen. Do not even listen, only wait. Do not even wait, be wholly still and alone. The world will present itself to you for its unmasking, it can do no other, in ecstasy it will writhe at your feet.

Franz Kafka

I found the below from a back issue of ASIAN GEOGRAPHIC...

"Glue allows the kids to lose touch with reality; it numbs their sensation and this helps them to forget hunger and the pain of street life. It is an addiction, a 'brain food' they cannot live without."

The above words were accompanied by three pictures of children addicted to glue-sniffing from the streets of Siem Reap, Cambodia - two in the act, and one lying semi-consciously from the effects of the sniffing. I have heard and read of glue-sniffing many times before, but this was way too compelling for me to flip through as just another page I've read, and not reflect further on it.

Reflections, no matter how worldly one's intentions are, often point back to one's own situation. I am no exception.

I looked at those pictures, read those words again and again, and my mind diverted to the hullabaloo Malaysia went through recently - one during which harsh accusations of racism, inequality, injustice were the talk of almost every Malaysian Indian household.

Malaysian Indians claimed they were unfairly treated, "activitists" fasted for weeks (or was it days) in retaliation, some "activists" were imprisoned and yet won the general election from behind the bars, the world famous Thaipusam festival was boycotted by many Hindus (poor Lord Muruga, how powerless YOU became then as opposed to politics/politicians...YOU finally realised I hope that in the minds of Malaysians, the objective of Thaipusam wasn't YOU after all. If it had been so, would they have boycotted you just because some political figure was linked to your temple. Time to reflect eh, Muruga? ), creative blogs turned political, and every tom, dick and harry (probably would sound better as Samy, Ah Chong and Ali - this being a multi-racial setting and all) talked politics and injustice for the sake of talking politics and injustice (sense of belonging was grossly missing till then among the community, you see).

Indeed, a hullabaloo it was.

I have lived on this land for 39 years. Yeah, I have had my days of being overlooked over a less-capable native; and probably I did end up paying (without even knowing or being bothered) extra tax charges for the pizzas I had eaten over the years (for further details, ask any other Malaysian you know, and you will be generously fed (no pun intended) with info on the WE REFUSE TO EAT PIZZA AT PIZZA HUT issue), and yeah, probably a few temples were demolished at places where I had lived over the years...

But I look back at the article on children lying on streets high on glue because they have no food to eat...and I am trying, even as I am writing this line, to figure out a way in which I can claim - in all truthfulness - that I too, can relate to that.

Can any other Malaysian, for that matter...? When was the last time we saw our kids suffer to that extent? (I am talking about the general situation in Malaysia - a scenario brought about by the economic and political situation).

And yet, look at us...
(I am at a loss for words at this point)

NOTE : I am not a member of MIC (Malaysian Indian Congress), or any other political party in Malaysia. There is not a single "political bone" in me. Heck, I don't even vote...!

For more information on Cambodian/world street children, click here

G.R.O.S.S - An Overview

Susie Derkins is Calvin's mild-mannered, and polite classmate who values school and education. How in the world could anyone be all that, wonders Calvin, and so he tries his best to constantly tease, ridicule and annoy Susie.

The truth is - Calvin, in a funny sort of way, actually likes Susie. Hobbes too continually tries to seek attention from her, a fact which drives Calvin up the wall.

But that's beside the point. Calvin has a reputation to maintain, afterall - and a large part of it revolves around being the girl-hater that he believes he is. And so, it was with Susie's misery as the main objective that G.R.O.S.S. (Get Rid Of Slimy girlS), a secret club, was created by Calvin and Hobbes. That, and to exclude girls from the club should they decide to want to join (not that anyone wanted to, of course).

The headquarters of G.R.O.S.S. is based on a treehouse - where G.R.O.S.S.'s only members, Calvin and Hobbes meet to plot on the many ways to possibly make Susie's life miserable.

Now you may wonder why G.R.O.S.S. only has two members, and that too, only founding members. Well, the fact is getting into G.R.O.S.S. is no easy walk in the park!

Not when the password goes something like this...

Tigers are mean
Tigers are fierce
Tigers have teeth
And claws that pierce.
Tigers are great
They can't be beat
If I was a tiger
That would be neat!
Tigers are nimble
And light on their toes
My respect for tigers
Continually grows.
Tigers are perfect
The e-pit-o-me
Of good looks and grace
And quiet dignity!
Tigers are great
They're the toast of town
Life's always better
When a tiger's around!

If you think that's not all too impossible to remember, there's also the song you are required to sing at the end of each G.R.O.S.S. Meeting:

Attention! all rise! This meeting of G.R.O.S.S.
Is now called to order by the great grandiose
Dictator for life, the ruler supreme,
The fearless the brave, the held-high-in-esteem,
Calvin the Bold! Yes stand up and hail
His humbleness now! May his wisdom prevail!
Three cheers for first tiger and el presidente
Hobbes, the delight of all cognoscenti!
He's savvy! He has a prodigious IQ,
and lots of panache, as all tigers do!
In his fancy chapeau, he's a leader with taste!
May his orders be heeded and his views be embraced!
Oooh, G.R.O.S.S.,
The best club in the cosmos...

Being the club that means serious business that it is, minutes are prepared too. In fact, there's a web page for those who wish to know the going-ons of the meetings. Click on it and you will find this...

Calvin: See, Hobbes, I TOLD you someone's gonna visit this page. Now where's those minutes I had prepared for you?

Hobbes: Oh, the minutes? It's 12:15.

Calvin: No, no, no, you big dummy, THESE minutes! Do you think I gave you these pages for decoration?!?

Hobbes: Sorry. *A-he-hem!* The Official G.R.O.S.S. Minutes.

11:45: G.R.O.S.S. Meeting starts.

11:50: we discuss plans on how to annoy Susie, until Hobbes says something low and degrading.

11:52: Hobbes gets temporary demotion.

11:55: Fight for hours and hours straight, until we reach a conclusion.

Vincent van Gogh's Starry Night...

I have always enjoyed listening to Julio Iglesias's VINCENT, even during the times when I didn't have the luxury of enjoying music in anything other than its original audio form. I can't speak for others - but I have always found his rendition to be rather compelling, especially the passion with which he brings out the intensity of the story behind the song. When I watched the video much later, the beautiful picture I had in my mind, of the song, became somewhat "complete"...:)

Starry, starry night
Paint your palette blue and gray
Look out on a summer's day
With eyes that know the darkness in my soul

Shadows on the hills
Sketch the trees and the daffodils
Catch the breeze and the winter chills
In colors on the snowy linen land

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free

They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps, they'll listen now

Starry, starry night
Flaming flowers that brightly blaze
Swirling clouds in violet haze
Reflect in Vincent's eyes of china blue

Colors changing hue
Morning fields of amber grain
Weathered faces lined in pain
Are soothed beneath the artist's loving hand

Now I understand
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free

They would not listen, they did not know how
Perhaps, they'll listen now

For they could not love you
But still your love was true
And when no hope was left inside
On that starry, starry night

You took your life as lovers often do
But I could have told you, " Vincent
This world was never meant
For one as beautiful as you"

Starry, starry night
Portraits hung in empty halls
Frame less heads on nameless walls
With eyes that watch the world and can't forget

Like the strangers that you've met
The ragged men in ragged clothes
The silver thorn of bloody rose
Lie crushed and broken on the virgin snow

Now I think I know
What you tried to say to me
How you suffered for your sanity
How you tried to set them free

They would not listen, they're not listening still
Perhaps, they never will

My Longing Child Has Found Its Pacifier...

Whenever I find myself losing out to the longing child (please do not "literally" read my words) in me, I don't pretend to reach out to people who aren't there, who can't be there, and who don't want to be there.

Instead, I go to my corner with a book, and stuff into my ears my survival plug - my only other source of comfort besides writing. This survival plug had been programmed to play only that which the many beings that live within me want, and most importantly, need to hear.

The longing child only stops sobbing if it (my beings are genderless, you see) listens to the song below - one a friend so insightfully introduced me to some time back. Point to note - song only came into the picture (of my life) a few months ago.

Poor child of mine...how long it took for your song to arrive.
You have found yours...but the others...?

FileFactory.com

God - The Sadist & Masochist in One...

Of all the sadists in the world,
The worst kind
is the sadist who doubles as a masochist!

You know -
the type who is duty-bound to pain you,
And yet who goes to a corner,
and sheds tears for you when you are not watching.

Tears of empathy,
Yet not bereft of pain.
For the sadist doubling as the masochist,
Is but a part of you.
And knew even as HE made you.
That your pain would be HIS Pain.
That your tears HE must also cry.
That your life HE is answerable to.

O Greatest Sadist of All,
Can you stop that doubling act of yours!
The last thing I want in life,
Is to die...
With your pain on my soul!

Happy 134th Birthday, Robert Frost...

Robert Lee Frost.
Born March 26, 1874.
Passed away on January 29, 1963.

The poet of freedom - whose life of 88 years was filled with tragic joy. At times bittersweet, sometimes ironic, or simply marveling at his surroundings, one can also see autobiographical details in Frost’s works. His days were not devoid of tears, though some have thought he was unduly optimistic. His father died when he was ten. His first son, Eliot, died at four. His daughter, Marjorie, married and then died from a childbirth infection. He lived for 25 years after Mrs. Frost died. Five years after her death their other son, Caroli—“who had the seeds of genius in him”—destroyed himself. Another daughter was an invalid.

Robert Frost was not unacquainted with sorrow, but he never tried to be a conqueror of nature, nations, or God. He was a person of power. Instead of cursing God, he joked with him. By laughing at himself, he taught us how to trust. Somehow he had a way of ministering by awakening wisdom in us.

Some say his work is rural and leads folk not to seek to solve complex problems, but only to escape from social responsibility. Perhaps that word is something less than altogether fair. It is true that Robert Frost was neither radical nor conservative.

I never cared to be radical when young
For fear it would make me conservative when old.

Still, he may for all that have been true to life’s classic balance wheel. He was a realist who spoke of a star:

It asks of us a certain height,
So when at times the mob is swayed
To cany praise or blame too far,
We may choose something like a star
To stay our minds on and be staid.

Robert Frost’s poetry hides and reveals the classic motto of universal sanity and health: Never too much! His life shows forth a joyful secret: Love Life without reserve; and be not ashamed to be a swinger of birches.

He was not afraid to live. He was not afraid to die. He had a “lover’s quarrel with the world.”

NOTE : The above write-up is a collation of bits and pieces on Robert Frost found online.

The 'Greatest' Poet To Have Ever 'Walked' This Earth...:)

MATH

While lying on my back to make
An angel in the snow,
I saw a greenish craft appear!
A giant UFO!
A strange unearthly hum it made!
It hovered overhead!
And aliens were moving 'round
In view ports glowing red!
I tried to run for cover, but
A hook that they had low'r'd
Snagged me by my overcoat
And hoisted me aboard!
Even then, I tried to fight,
And though they numbered many,
I poked them in their compound eyes
And pulled on their antennae! It was no use!
They dragged me to a platform, tied me up,
And wired to my cranium
A fiendish suction cup!
They turned it on and current coursed
Across my cerebullum,
Coaxing from my brain tissue
The things I wouldn't tell 'em!
All the math I ever learned,
The numbers and equations,
Were mechanic'ly removed
In this brain-draining operation!
My escape was an adventure,
(I won't tell you what I did.)
Suffice to say, I cannot add,
So ask some other kid.


THE EVIL SANTA POEM

My hands were all shaky
My hands are all pale.
A letter from Santa
Had just arrived in the mail.
It was hand written,
In old fashioned ink pen
It was handsomely written
And dated Twelve-Ten.
"Dear Calvin," it said
"I'm writing because
This year I've repealed
My naughty/nice laws. So now I urge you:
Be vulgar and crude!
I like it when children
Are boorish and rude. Burp at the table!
Gargle your peas!
Never say 'Thank you,'
'Your Welcome,' Or
'Please.' Talk back to your mother!
Don't do what you're told!
Stick your tongue out
At your Dad if he scolds.
Drive everyone crazy!
I really don't care.
Act like a jerk
Anytime, Anywhere!
I'm changing the rules!
The Bad girls and boys
Will be, from now on,
The ones who get the toys! Good little kids make
Me sick, its no joke
Sincerely, signed Santa ...
And Then I awoke.
I hate being good
(Or trying to fake it).
Six days until Christmas
I don't think I'll make it.

I'm Not Confused, I'm Just Well-Mixed - ROBERT FROST

REVELATION

We make ourselves a place apart
Behind light words that tease and flout,
But oh, the agitated heart
Till someone really find us out.

'Tis pity if the case require
(Or so we say) that in the end
We speak the literal to inspire
The understanding of a friend.

But so with all, from babes that play
At hide-and-seek to God afar,
So all who hide too well away
Must speak and tell us where they are.

THE LOCKLESS DOOR

It went many years,
But at last came a knock,
And I though of the door
With no lock to lock.

I blew out the light,
I tip-toed the floor,
And raised both hands
In prayer to the door.

But the knock came again.
My window was wide;
I climbed on the sill
And descended outside.

Back over the sill
I bade a 'Come in'
To whatever the knock
At the door may have been.

So at a knock
I emptied my cage
To hide in the world
And alter with age.

When the Ordinary Becomes Extraordinary...

In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life: It Goes On - ROBERT FROST

Had Robert Frost been alive, he would be 134 come 26th March.

Hmmm...that doesn't sound like a remarkably realistic introduction, does it?:) But it is Robert Frost we are talking about here. Is an introduction necessary at all? :)

Anyway, I was reading Frost's poems and discovered some rather interesting ones that are not as commonly quoted as his other famous ones...thought I'd post some as part of my countdown-to-his-birthday-posts. :)

FIRE AND ICE

Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To know that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.


WHAT FIFTY SAID

When I was young my teachers were the old.
I gave up fire for form till I was cold.
I suffered like a metal being cast.
I went to school to age to learn the past.

Now I am old my teachers are the young.
What can't be molded must be cracked and sprung.
I strain at lessons fit to start a suture.
I go to school to youth to learn the future.

Aval Appadithaan...

Yes...I know... Sivachandran was playing the piano (and not the guitar) in the original clip :). But what can I do...there was no such widget available on this site I stumbled upon today (much to my delight) :)

I heard this song today after a long, long time. I believe it was Kannadhasan who wrote it (the movie is said to have 2 songwriters, the other being Gangai Amaran, thus the slight doubt) but on second thoughts, it has to be Kannadhasan who wrote the song! Between the two, I would not like to have it any other way! :)

Kannadhasan does have this magical ability to make me feel as though he wrote most of his reflective songs for me. LOL. Just kidding there. I am sure literally every other thamizhian in the world shares that sentiment. :)

Its soothing lyrics, coupled with the memories that came back to me of the movie, Aval Appadithaan, and the characterisation of its protagonist (Manju - Sri Priya), served as a reassuring diversion on a lazy evening on a holiday like this...when having extra time to idle away could make one's mind wander into one too many reflections :)

uravugal thodarkat...

I Go Weak At My Knees ...

I received this link below from someone recently, and listening to it sure did bring back delightful memories of the past; delightful despite the fears and insecurities that came along with them :). The song, I believe, was released when I was in my late teens - you know, that age when one's young, dreamy-eyed imagination soars into forbidden realms even without knowing what's forbidden, and what's not. :)

When I look at young girls nowadays, and see how openly they get to deal with the sensitive phases of their lives, I marvel at how time changes the views and perceptions of their elders - the same people who, two decades ago, had a long list of taboos that dictated their lives, and whose "restricted vocabulary" mainly revolved around one word - love.

Coming back to the song - yeah, it was one of the very few that had the power to transport me to a world I knew I wasn't supposed (or allowed) to be in then. Beautiful lyrics cleverly combined with a melody that can make one go weak at the knees - age and maturity notwithstanding :)

And I couldn't resist adding the lyrics together with the video - just too tempting to resist :)

kodiyilae malligappoo manakkudhae maanae
edukkavaa thodukkavaa thavikkiraen naanae
parikkach chollith thoondudhae pavazhamallith thoattam
nerunga vidavillaiyae nenjulkullak koochcham

kodiyilae malligappoo manakkudhae maanae
kodukkavaa thadukkavaa thudikkiraen naanae

manasu thadumaarum adhu nenachchaa niram maarum
mayakkam irundhaalum oru thayakkam thadai poadum
niththam niththam un nenappu nenjukkuzhi kaayum
maadu rendu paadhai rendu vandi engae saerum

poththi vechchaa anbu illae sollipputtaa vambu illae
sollaththaanae thembu illae inba thunbam yaaraal

parakkum dhisaiyaedhu indhap parava ariyaadhu
uravum theriyaadhu ulagam puriyaadhu
paaraiyilae poovalarndhu paarthavanga yaaru
anbu konda nenjaththukku aayisu nooru
kaalam varum vaelaiyilae kaaththiruppaen ponmayilae
thaedhi varum unmaiyilae saedhi solvaen kannaa

Love Whispers That Do Not Seem To End....

Have you ever allowed BLISS to run through your every nerve?
Have you ever allowed it to soar within you...
As if it were a stream that started out of nowhere -
But was now flowing within you in uncontrollable directions?

Tingling under your skin,
Sending nervous little flutters,
Tickling you into a frenzy,
Making you twitter incredulously in giddy excitement.

And moments later...

Numbing you,
Blinding you,
Carrying you -
effortlessly off the ground defying gravity and reality.
Until you -
In exalted lightness,
In uncontainable intoxication -
Enter the world of momentary oblivion...

It all happened a while ago,
As I was sitting in my favourite little corner,
Attempting to restrain myself within the mundane circle of work deadlines.
Absent-mindedly plugging into my ears -
that which has the magical ability to create an instant tug of war in me
With realities of work pulling at one end,
and passion for words on the other.

That was when Bharathi sent his sparks into me...
Immobilising me into an oblivious state -
In which I could only blankly stare into space,
Inhaling his divine love whispers -
as if they were then my very breath of life.

Suttum Vizhi Chudarthaan - he began
Here, the kiss meant for that cheek of yours which is mine, and mine only to begin with.
Thus saying, he left...

Leaving me -
Floating hither and thither
like an intoxicated spirit...
the kiss still tingling away on my cheek,
his love whispers blowing endless little shivers of ecstasy into my perplexed ears...

Seeking Answers In The Absence of Thoughts...

A colleague read what I had posted yesterday and innocently asked in her email to me, "Am I included in that list of friends you were going to reduce to ashes with your fury...?" I couldn't help feeling bad for a split second there, though I laughed it off as I replied her mail. I assured her that the poem was merely reflective of the burst of energy I had felt during the few minutes that I wrote it. It had to be released - and the poem was an outlet. And no - I had no intention of opening my "invisible third eye" to scorch anyone - not even those who infuriated me, let alone friends :).

I suppose, after all these years, I am finally learning to live in the now. It just so happened that the now during which I wrote that poem was the now that most people would never ever relate to, or view as remotely rational :).

But that's me - a woman of manifold emotions. Hardly the rational sort...

It's not been an easy journey thus far, I must admit. A journey of celebrating oneself - of the person within - hardly ever is. Not if you co-exist with people who always expect something more than what you could ever give.

This is a world filled mostly with people who do not know how to separate the real and the unreal. People who insist on you being the same at all times - without having the depth to see that we all don roles in lives in order to merely subsist. And that one role may not even show the smallest sign of being related to another - because that's how a role should be. It's like you step into a costume, act your role, slip out of it, and move on to the next costume. The costume may vary, but the "you" within that costume remains as you - the one who is true to the soul within you...that you live to celebrate.

How else can one continue living without losing one's originality, and eventually sanity? The option would of course be to immerse yourself in the role that when you slip out and move on, you cannot but carry with you traces of that role (even unknown to you) onto to your next one. A trace of this accumulates to that, and the one thereafter...until you one day become a little of each - but never really who you are within.

In my attempt to not lose the real me, I have lost the many unreal elements that surround my life. I don't view them as being unreal because they are any less important than I am. They are unreal to me simply because they rob me of the reality that I am. So, yeah...in the process of celebrating myself, I may be seen as snubbing the world. But that's really a view that's beyond me to offer an explanation to. All said and done, I know I don my roles well - to the best way that I know how - ensuring that the various groups dependent on my many roles are not deprived in any way of receiving what's rightfully theirs.

What I cannot offer is - more.

Yeah - that may sound as selfish as selfishness can ever be. But to me it just reads as being real. Being who I am within. Being one who is not less her self.

Selflessness is an overstated sentiment, as all extremities are. It's sad how people lose a part of who they are in the name of selflessness. I am not a saint to deny that the "I" in me isn't important to me. I am not concerned about how selflessness can offer me a better life in my next birth. I care not for what I cannot see as real. I shall live my next life when it comes - in the next life.

Spare me the spiritual rigmarole of "putting others above you". It's not for the creative soul that I am. I was never a fan of the once (upon a time) famous Ally McBeal, but I distinctly remember what the character Ally would say to her ex-lover when he asks why is it that only her (Ally's) problems matter - "Because they are mine"

What the society has made us to believe as selfless is hardly ever so. A true selfless person is he who lets go without even having to let it all go. To flow with life and to be in tune with the universe is what selflessness is all about - for you then live life as it takes you - without any concern for where the self goes and where it ends up in.

That's selflessness for you.

The above views are purely my own - they are not posted here to impose them on anyone. This blog is an outlet for the madwoman in me to ramble on without thinking - for I believe in the absence of thoughts comes answers.

I am merely seeking those answers - not consciously offering them to anyone. :)

Now, that's another "Ally McBeal" for you...LOL.

l Alone Am Real...

NOTE : The use of Goddess Kali's image above with the poem was a subconscious choice made with no malicious motive. Please do not attempt to create a direct connection between the two - there is none.

An "Open Poem" to Bharathi...

My dear Bharathi,
You probably would have exclaimed in aghast,
Had you been alive today,
In the lingo that we use these days...
The nerve of this woman!

I too wondered -
what gave me the nerve
to even try and read your thoughts -
and translate them into a language,
that would never do justice...
to the beauty of Thamizh that you lived and breathed.

But Bharathi -
as unreservedly as I call you by that name
without the appropriateness that you are often accorded with,
that's how as candidly I felt your thoughts in me.
It was as if during that moment when I pondered over your poem,
we both spoke one and the same language...
Only yours sounded Thamizh, and mine English.

So you see Bharathi -
I was merely recording your thoughts
Into a language you did not care to "speak" in then.
Not that it is any greater than the one you loved - it is not.
But I needed to read and feel you, Bharathi,
And I saw no other way of doing so,
Except to re-read and re-feel you in the only way that I know...
Do forgive me if I have flawed in doing so.

And I beg you to bless me -
Like how a mother would her child despite her (the child's) flaws.
For I believe I stand before you today...
As the child who had probably crossed set boundaries.

But a loving and doting mother, are you not...
And surely, accept me you will,
...won't you Bharathi?


Ninnai Charanadainthen in English (as I felt it to be...)

I surrender unto you, dear Kannamma
I surrender unto you

I, who yearn for riches, prestige and fame - that
I be spared from the jaws of misery,
(I surrender unto you, dear Kannamma)

Fear and cowardice that reside within my heart - that
They are killed and rooted out of me,
(I surrender unto you, dear Kannamma)

That my worries and self-preoccupation be ended, and instead - that
I become contained through selfless acts
(I surrender unto you, dear Kannamma)

There is no more sorrow in me, no weariness, no drawbacks - that
Virtues be made to flourish in the name of love,
(I surrender unto you, dear Kannamma)

I know not the good from the bad - in you I trust, so
Make the goodness in me prevail, and the evil driven away!
(I surrender unto you, dear Kannamma)

நின்னை சரணடைந்தேன் - கண்ணம்மா!
நின்னை சரணடைந்தேன்

பொண்ணை உயர்வைப் புகழை விரும்பிடும்
என்னை கவலைகள் தின்ன தகாதென்று (நின்னை)

மிடிமையும் அச்சமும் மேவியென் நெஞ்சில்
குடிமை புகுந்தனே, கொன்றவை பொக்கென்று (நின்னை)

தன்செய லெண்ணித் தவிப்பது தீர்திங்கு
நின்செயல் செய்து, நிறைவு பெரும்வனம் (நின்னை)

துன்பம் மிநிஇல்லை, சோர்வில்லை, தோற்பில்லை
அன்பு நெறியில் அரண்கள் வளர்ந்திட (நின்னை)

நல்லது தீயது நாமறி வோம்,
நல்லது நாட்டுக! தீமையை ஓட்டுக! (நின்னை)

Grief...

I saw Grief drinking a cup of sorrow

I called out,
“It tastes sweet, does it not? ”

Grief answered;
“Oh, you’ve caught me and ruined my business. How can I sell sorrow, when you know it’s a blessing?

Jalaluddin Rumi (1207-1273)

Am I There Within You, O Green One...?

Lessons From The Humble Garden...

Nature often teaches us life's greatest lessons. I learnt a few over the past week.

• What's true today may not be so tomorrow.
• It's important to be more aware of our surroundings - not just as something you watch and admire from afar, but as something you literally come into physical contact with.
• People must not be classified. Human beings are way too complex to fall under classifications.
• For every 5 annoying parts of a person, there would be at least 1 pleasant one. Turn a blind eye over the 5, and the 6th will get us going.

Yeah, nature taught me all that. I have no inkling how - but it did.

Grandness that has been near me for the past year, but which I only really noticed today

This tree, with its amazing "regrowth" in the past week, is a "teacher" in its own right

And yet, to keep us grounded to the realities of life, this too exists in the same surroundings

Little Lamb, Who Made Thee...?

I attended a school carnival last Saturday, and managed to take a few shots (especially of these lovelies) before my camera's battery died out on me...

Wani, May Li, Shoba
I know those are not your names,
I gave them to you anyway,
No, not because I take names lightly,
Because you girls were too beautiful to go unnamed.

Only a while ago did I realise,
That the three of you were of 3 different races.
When I first saw you girls through the lens of my camera,
I did not see your races, or your colours,
I only saw the lucidity of your eyes.

And in those lovely eyes I saw,
The blooming of divine innocence.
The anticipation of endless tomorrows.
The hopes of boundless delights.
The many mountains you knew you could move.

But now, as I look at your faces,
(which would bring out the natural motherly instincts in anyone)
All I see flashed in my mind’s eye,
Are the unborn children I conceived and birthed,
In the world of imaginary motherhood that I sometimes slip into.

My dear Wani, May Li, Shoba,
Whoever you are, and whatever your real names are,
Keep that light in your eyes shining as bright as ever,
Keep believing that the endless tomorrows are yours to live,
Above all, keep that innocence dancing on your lovely little faces.

Calvin & I...

Perhaps there is a little Calvin in me, afterall :). O what the heck! THERE'S A WHOLE LOT OF CALVIN IN ME. There, I've said it! :)

Tweaking Twigs...

I love twigs.

I think they’re the most beautiful part of a tree/plant. I love them in all their forms, and at all times. The ones that lie at my feet whenever I go for my morning walks (and which later end up on the dashboard of my car), ones that often give me painful scratches on my arm whenever I park my car too close to them in a corner lot of my office carpark (which is surrounded by plants of all sorts), and that which I find still attached to trees in all their splendour :)

Though I must admit – I do practise a little favouritism where twigs are concerned - I have a weakness for the dark, coffee-brown-coloured ones :)

Reading Walt Whitman At An Ungodly Hour...

...results in a sweeping madness that envelops me, the reader, and forces me to post all these right away, for reasons I know nothing of. Has Uncle Walt entered my mind and soul...? (this being the ungodly hour afterall)

I stand corrected.
How could The Madman re-enter that which he never exited in the first place...?


AN EXCERPT - SONG OF MYSELF (PART 2)

The past and present wilt - I have fill'd them, emptied them.
And proceed to fill my next fold of the future.

Listener up there! What have you to confide to me?
Look in my face while I snuff the sidle of evening,
(Talk honestly, no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer)

Do I contradict myself?
Very well then I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes)

I concentrate toward them that are nigh, I wait on the door-slab.

Who has done his day's work? Who will soonest be through with his supper?
Who wishes to walk with me?

Will you speak before I am gone? Will you prove already too late?


FULL OF LIFE NOW

Full of life now, compact, visible,
I, forty years old the eighty-third year of the States,
To one a century hence or any number of centuries hence,
To you yet unborn these, seeking you.

When you read these I that was visible am become invisible,
Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me,
Fancying how happy you were if I could be with you and become your comrade;
Be it as if I were with you. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.)


ARE YOU THE NEW PERSON DRAWN TO ME?

Are you the new person drawn toward me?
To begin with take warning, I am surely far different from what you suppose;
Do you suppose you will find in me your ideal?
Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover?
Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction?
Do you think I am trusty and faithful?
Do you see no further than this facade, this smooth and tolerant manner of me?
Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground toward a real heroic man?
Have you no thought O dreamer that it may be all maya, illusion?


O ME! O LIFE!

O me! O life! of the questions of these recurring,
Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill'd with the foolish,
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew'd,
Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,
Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,

The question,
O me! so sad, recurring - What good amid these, O me, O life?

Answer.
That you are here - that life exists, and identity,
That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.


STRONGER LESSONS

Have you learn'd lessons only of those who admired you, and were tender with you, and stood aside for you?
Have you not learn'd great lessons from those who reject you, and brace themselves against you?
Or who treat you with contempt,or dispute the passage with you?


LINGERING LAST DROPS

And whence and why come you?
We know not whence, (was the answer,)
We only know that we drift here with the rest,
That we linger'd and lagg'd - but were wafted at last, and are now here,
To make the passing shower's concluding drops.


GOOD-BYE MY FANCY (I)

Good-bye my fancy - (I had a word to say,
But 'tis not quite the time - The best of any man's word or say,
Is when its proper place arrives - and for its meaning,
I keep mine till the last.)


GOOD-BYE MY FANCY (II)

Good-bye my Fancy!
Farewell dear mate, dear love!
I'm going away, I know not where,
Or to what fortune, or whether I may ever see you again,
So Good-bye my Fancy.
Now for my last - let me look back a moment;
The slower fainter ticking of the clock is in me,
Exit, nightfall, and soon the heart-thud stopping.
Long have we lived, joy'd, caress'd together;
Delightful!--now separation - Good-bye my Fancy.
Yet let me not be too hasty,
Long indeed have we lived, slept, filter'd, become really blended into one;
Then if we die we die together, (yes, we'll remain one,)
If we go anywhere we'll go together to meet what happens,
May-be we'll be better off and blither, and learn something,
May-be it is yourself now really ushering me to the true songs, (who knows?)
May-be it is you the mortal knob really undoing, turning - so now finally,
Good-bye - and hail! my Fancy.

What Stranger Miracles Are There...?

I wonder if I am becoming obsessed with photography because it offers me a much easier world than writing. In the midst of all that wondering, I find my mind wandering to wonder if...I wonder too much! Go figure...

The twigs on a tree at my workplace that was sprouting with shoots just two days ago...enticed me towards them yet once again this evening. What a magnificent sight it was! Just last week, we thought its' end had come. And that thought made us sigh - why, we can't even save our trees, let alone people! And what do you know - being the insightful tree that it was, it decided that it was not going to make us heave another sigh of frustration...:)

...no, sir, not the people who love me enough to watch me in admiration day in day out...I wouldn't let those poor souls down. What would they look out to every morning while stirring their hot coffee if I decide to die? What would soothe them whenever they felt claustrophobic inside their rooms and came out for a breath of fresh air? And how would they live without me when I am obviously the apple of their eyes - not a day passes when they don't watch me in awe and pride because they are the few in town who have me to call their own.

I wouldn't let those poor souls down. I'll survive...if not for me, for those souls out there who think the world of me...

...and with those thoughts within its every branch, twig, leaf, roots...our dear old tree decided that it was not going to die. Bless its good old soul.

Watching their "tree friend's" fighting spirit made the fellow inhabitants of the garden rejoice like never before. Ahh..the joy of living together...

Some reached out to offer their congratulations to their tree friend...

Some stood in awe (complete with outstretched petals) at their friend's strong will to go on...

And yet some - with overflowing tears of joy - showered all those who came their way...

The Universe Speaks...

There are a few websites that I keep going back to - some for reasons I know clearly, and yet some, almost subconsciously, that I can't even figure out why. But visit them regularly I do - just like how one would visit their non-virtual, real friends to keep in touch.

Here's an excerpt from a site I visit regularly whenever I am in my "fully-conscious" state :) where the Universe "speaks" (yeap, I said it) to you everyday...

Please excuse me while I deviate a bit. It just occurred to me that I know someone who's really well connected to the "Universe", a KEY player who can really get things done - POWERFUL would be an understatement. This is the kind of person we'd all like to have on our team, a person who can get virtually ANYTHING done once their mind is made up, and definitely the kind of person (if you'd care to listen to them) who could help you answer your toughest questions, and who could even get you going living the life of your dreams. I'm not sure if they've written any books or made any recordings that you could get a hold of... but that doesn't matter, you know what they say, "it's not WHAT you know, but WHO you know" (what a ridiculous concept, but just this once it's true). This person goes by many names, but, well, it's you. Yeah, I'm talking about you. Just thought I'd help hook you up with a BEING OF LIGHT who's touched many lives. Good "luck", and tallyho!

Friends from a Garden Speak...

Look at me, the unopened bud,
Standing singularly in my colourless state,
Amidst all that richness around me.
Bloom I will not to merely fit in.
And so, I choose to remain firmly shut –
Undaunted by what the naked eye sees as big and beautiful.

But in me too lies a little prayer –
that I am soon plucked by someone, anyone.
Even while I stand in this form -
unopened, singular and colourless.
So that even as I wither away -
I remain to the naked eye the bud that I now am.

Shoots sprouting from twigs - ever seen them?

Bowing towards earth in humble obeisance :)

Celebrating Michael Jackson & the NOWs of our Lives...

I was listening to a Michael Jackson collection this morning as I was driving to work. And, in it was Ben, a song he recorded when he was about 14. I have heard it many times before, and have always been moved by the divine innocence and sweetness of his 14-year old voice.

But today, it somehow created a deeper impact on me, and made me ponder on a great many things that our lives revolve around...

I remember the “series of monosyllabic retorts” that took place between me and my CEO when I suggested that we used MJ’s Man in the Mirror as the background music for an upcoming presentation. To his rather exhaustive list of accusatory nouns for MJ, I found myself responding with a limited one – GENIUS. That was all I kept saying till he (my CEO) gave up in exhaustion (of his list, and of arguing with his most persistent yet monosyllabically-limited subordinate). That was all I said because because that’s what I have always believed in, and seen MJ as – right from the time when he was this megastar who swept 8 Grammy awards in 1984, and I, the admiring teenager who watched in amazement at his sheer genius of a voice and dance moves.

And this morning as I heard his voice once again, I wondered why do we, as human beings, often fail miserably when it comes to dividing our experiences into a series of nows.

Lost me there, eh? :) Stay with me, and I will try and get the message across, somehow :).

How often do we find ourselves replacing a view we had of someone or something – one we had religiously held on to for years – just because of one negative incident about that person or thing that we come to know about? And yet, how many times have we been saddened when the one mistake we ourselves make overshadows the 10 good things that we probably had done before that. The question is – as saddened as we often become of our own situations – do we give others an equally fair share of sensitivity when we are no longer the one wallowing in self-pity?

One blackmark is all a person needs (unless he is a close friend or a loved one) for us to put the “give the dog a bad name and hang him” maxim to practice. All else he had done that we probably raved over before gets erased in an instant – just like that. (Great advertising people we'd make, won't we - being so effective at "branding" things around us :) ).

Isn't that a little sad - this state of our human mind?

Emily Dickinson, the reclusive American poet, once said “Forever is composed of nows”. Which brings me to my earlier statement about dividing our experiences into a series of nows.

I wonder if we have the maturity to divide our lives into nows and live each one of them in its absolute singularity, unswayed by all that has happened, or will happen outside its circle. Will we have the sensibility to celebrate each now (even the flawed ones, and not let them cringe into shame, and eventually disappear into exile?)

Our lives hardly ever remain the same – experiences vary even for the most predictable of people – are we then going to demean one experience in comparison to another? Should it not be given the respect it deserves – having been a "a part" of our lives at some point of time? Even if it had been a nasty experience, surely there must have been some good that came out of it. There must be. There always is.

And so, I don’t think I'm ever going to stop loving that part of Michael Jackson that many of us raved over just about two decades ago. Not even if he is slammed with another lawsuit. Not even if he decides to get himself any more bleached that he already is. Not even when he decides to get a further reconstructive surgery done on his face - bringing him one step closer to the skeletal look that he has already almost achieved.

Micheal Jackson, to me, will always remain the 14 year old who sang a song for a pet rat with powerful emotions of love that spoke a language of its own through his voice. And at other times, as the one who moonwalked his way 24 years ago into a magical, attack-proof world that I had created for him in my life.

Wacko Jacko he may be to many, but a genius he remains to me – as monosyllabically boring as that may sound.


Ben (A song written for a 1972 movie about a young boy who befriends a rat)

Ben, the two of us need look no more
We've both found what we were looking for
With a friend to call my own
I'll never be alone
And you, my friend will see
You've got a friend in me.

Ben, you're always running here and there
You feel you're not wanted anywhere
If you ever look behind
And don't like what you find
There's something you should know
You've got a place to go
I used to say "I and me" now it's "us" now it's "we".

Ben, most people would turn you away
I don't listen to a word they say
They don't see you as I do
I wish they would try to
I'm sure they'd think again
If they had a friend like Ben.