A Thought Provoking Read...

(The article below appeared in a local daily today).

A MAN sat at a metro station in Washington DC and started to play the violin; it was a cold January morning. He played six Bach pieces for about 45 minutes. During that time, since it was rush hour, it was calculated that thousands of people went through the station, most of them on their way to work.

Three minutes went by and a middle aged man noticed there was musician playing. He slowed his pace and stopped for a few seconds and then hurried up to meet his schedule.

A minute later, the violinist received his first dollar tip: a woman threw the money in the till and continued to walk.

A few minutes later, someone leaned against the wall to listen to him, but the man looked at his watch and started to walk again. Clearly he was late for work.

The one who paid the most attention was a three-year-old boy. His mother tagged him along, but the kid stopped to look at the violinist. Finally the mother pushed hard and the child continued to walk, turning his head all the time.

This action was repeated by several other children. All the parents, without exception, forced them to move on.

In the 45 minutes the musician played, only six people stopped and stayed for a while. About 20 gave him money but continued to walk at their normal pace. He collected US$32 (RM112). When he finished playing and silence took over, no one noticed it. No one applauded, nor was there any recognition.

No one knew this but the violinist was Joshua Bell, one of the best musicians in the world. He played one of the most intricate pieces ever written with a violin worth US$3.5mil (RM12.25mil).

Two days before his playing in the subway, Joshua Bell sold out at a theatre in Boston and the seats average US$100 (RM350).

This is a real story. Joshua Bell playing incognito in the metro station was organised by the Washington Post as part of an social experiment about perception, taste and priorities of people.

The outlines were: in a commonplace environment at an inappropriate hour: Do we perceive beauty? Do we stop to appreciate it? Do we recognise the talent in an unexpected context?

One of the possible conclusions from this experience could be:

If we do not have a moment to stop and listen to one of the best musicians in the world playing the best music ever written, how many other things are we missing?

வார்த்தைகள்...

Arrogance Loses Out to Grace...

I can't help but think that Padmini's effortless grace makes Vyjayanthimala's moves appear a tad too crass in this dance video. While it's true that the latter's role in the movie Vanjikohtai Vaaliban called for royal arrogance, she could have done more justice to the dance than allow that arrogance to permeate her physical moves. Even an evil woman must have some grace surely...especially when she is dancing...

The Best of The Worst...

I have a soft spot for all of Sivaji's movies...but Baga Pirivinai remains one of my hot favourites for its simple storyline, the remarkable acting of 4 of tamizh cinema's greatest actors - Sivaji Ganesan, T.S. Balaiya, S.V. Suppiah, M.R. Radha, and (this may come as a surprise) Saroja Devi's subtle beauty and sensitive acting. She has never been my type of actress, but this is one movie where you cannot but love her humble, village damsel character.

I am not one of those who "brand" actors based on the many lousy roles that they play in their acting careers...I am the sort who appreciates one as a good actor based on his/her ability to act, even if he/she was able to display that ability only in one or two movies. Give a dog a bad name and hang him is not my style.

And so, yes, I do love Saroja Devi's acting in this movie...though she did, in her later years, turn into a barbie doll of an actress. On a similar note, I do also like Vijayakanth for his better movies (eg. Chinna Goundar) much as I hate his present "bullet-proof" image. And yeap...the same goes for the 3-inch-makeup and 5-layer-bright-red-lipstick-donning Ramarajan for his natural portrayal of a karagattam artiste in Karagaattakaran. :)

So there... sue me...:)

The Pygmalion Effect...

In George Bernard Shaw's play Pygmalion, Eliza Doolittle says to Professor Higgins' friend Pickering:-

"You see, really and truly, apart from the things anyone can pick up (the dressing and the proper way of speaking and so on), the difference between a lady and a flower girl is not how she behaves, but how she's treated. I shall always be a flower girl to Professor Higgins, because he always treats me as a flower girl, and always will, but I know I can be a lady to you because you always treat me as a lady, and always will."

Faith is the deciding factor...

Yesterday I watched a small bird, flying VERY fast, disappear into the canopy of an oak tree. So dense were its leaves, that it was impossible to see what happened next, though I can tell you it remained inside.

I wondered about how the little bird found its opening through the leaves at such a speed, and then manage to gently alight its fragile body on the branch it chose to land, all within a FRACTION of a second. Not to mention the impossible to imagine flying maneuvers required, the banking, the curling, the vertical and horizontal stabilizations, the deceleration and landing.

Memory? Calculation? Not in that tiny brain. Instinct? Maybe, but how does instinct know which way the branches of a tree have grown, when no two are the same?

That little bird JUST KNEW. It knew...in spite of NOT being able to SEE HOW things would work out... that if (and only if) it stayed the course, THE DETAILS would be taken care of... that an opening would appear and a twig be found. In fact, had she slowed down ENOUGH to carefully and logically inspect the tree first, the prudent thing to do, she would have fallen to the ground.

Kind of like us reaching our goals. Neither memory, nor calculating, nor instincts are the deciding factors, but faith.

The above piece was written by Mike Dooley aka The Universe (taken from www.inspirationpeak.com)

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.