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.