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.