Freedom Of Thoughts!

Eureka!

2011-09-18T18:23:00.001+05:30

Self love rockzzz more than Thala and Thalapathi put together.

No, nothing much. I have earlier wondered here how one can “fall out of love” and idealistically declared “If you fell out may be you never fell in, love that is.” “Who are you to comment on the divine quotient of love?” You could ask. I am a curious cat is all ye need to know.

Now, shall we get back to the title of this post? Yes. Imagine a guy who has just fallen in love. He gushes about his gal, her paranormal beauty, artificial intelligence and hypnotic character. We all know the grundnorm, that nobody is perfect. May we make a hypothesis here that his perception is fundamentally flawed? But try telling him, he will denigrate you and your family members using words targeting their er, reproductive organs. You thought he was a mad man then, didn’t you? Hold it right there.

Fast forward. I am not mentioning the duration of time for it has to be calculated on a case by case basis. Now our guy groans like the genie inside the lamp. He doesn’t talk about his lady love anymore. He rants. The sweet love stories sound incredibly ridiculous to him. This fellow advises a lot about the erroneous decision of falling in love and/or marrying. Separating his drunken speech from the cuss words, we can summarize his current opinion on his gal in three words “She is obnoxious.” Now you think, how can opinions change so quickly or how can someone take so long to formulate this opinion or just what the heck? But there is consistency in your thoughts, where you think, he is definitely a mad man. I digressed?

We have been already enlightened by the theory that love is a result of some chemical salsa. But you all protested ferociously then, saying love is not merely a body thing, it is also a mind thing, and all that. Yes, folks, you were right. (Finally, I am coming to the point) Mind plays tricks. No, not the maaya theory. Even better.

PARATOXIC DISTORTION – where by one develops strange perceptions about others based on fantasy. In fact this skewed perception is the basis of the horrendous chemicals’ kuthu dance. This eventually leads us into parallel stereotyping of people in our subconscious mind even as we are looking at them. If the general definition of ‘instincts’ are anything to go by, our brain acts like a magician and pulls out a stereotyped rabbit from similar other pre-classified rabbits.

Stretch this theory a bit more - this is why most of the pro-love cum pro-kabi kushi kabhi gam mob secretly hope to fall in love with partners who belong to the same caste, religion as theirs. Why go so far, this is why class mates and close friends fall in love easily. There is a certain amount of familiarity and cozy stereotyping coupled with paratoxic distortion which makes us come out with terms such as “perfect couple,” “soul mates” etc. And, orthodox lot, this is why arranged marriages work. (and fail miserably, in some cases) Of course there are exceptions. You see some minds are willing to break the grounds of the known. Adventurous love, indeed.

So, what was the eureka about? Well, I have just justified the cause of certain jerkiness and laziness in the name of love. Peace.

Naught

2011-09-18T00:48:00.001+05:30

And my life is a blank sheet again,

Only this time it is pitch dark shade and not starch white,

The art of your scribble has been washed away,

By the night’s loud, long, pearly tears,

From plain to empty to the void of nothingness,

Vaccum! here I come,

Let us see who is more of a naught.

Radha and Kanha - A new beginning (cont.)

2011-06-04T19:57:00.001+05:30

“Well, I am not sure. In your Ramavatar, I mean.”

“Go on.”

“You and your army of monkeys had to cross the ocean to rescue me and had decided to build the Sethu bridge.”

“Ahem, to rescue Sita, my wife.”

“Oh. Yes, Sita, Rama’s wife. You remember throwing in the rocks and stones into the sea in that regard?”

“Yeah…only that they sunk immediately.”

“And Hanuman and Jambavaan came up with a simple plan. They wrote your name then, “Raam” on the rocks and threw it in. Presto, they floated.”

“So?”

“Raama naama or the name of the lord had more power than the lord himself. Likewise, the phenomenon of love is more powerful than what really exists between the couple.”

“Really?” Kanha asked weakly.

Radha bit her lips, regretting ruining a pleasant conversation, as usual.

“So, I will find you, no matter what.”

“Ok then, pack to get to Earth.”

“Done unpacking.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Radhika, come here amma, Kundu uncle wants to see your pretty face!" coaxed her mother.

Radhika alias Radhi, a mercurual Gemini, born and brought up in Mylapore, ambled across the hall. You wouldn't call her a princess or a goddess, but was she cute-looking. Definitely inelegant, but try not falling for her smug charm.

"Here I am." She announced.

"Now, Radhika, I am your Dad's friend, would you sing for me?"

"Dad's friends are not my friends."

"Who said so? I hear you sing like a cuckoo."

"Cuckoo whistles uncle, I am an ordinary singer."

Radhika's Mother had always been irritated by this kind of honest behaviour from her daughter. What was she trying to prove? Kundu Uncle was very determined though.

"Sing for me di Radhi!"

"What? How can you call me di? Even my dad has not used it on me, do you know?"

Radhika's mother swept her 4 year old daughter from the floor and ran inside the bedroom. She came back to the hall in minutes.

"Sorry Sir, she is quite sensitive. And her attitude has always been like that."

(To be contd.)

Radha and Kanha - Earthly Love

2011-05-19T22:52:00.005+05:30

Prelude, Disclaimer : My take on the life of a couple - Radha & Kanha. I am retaining my license to twist the mythology, with no intention whatsoever to hurt your religious sentiments. In fact, I am not even going into their magical powers. You might know their story, but the interpretation is solely mine, which renders this work a piece of fiction. And yes, the story is revealed in series.

Radha & Kanha – A new beginning

Radha and Kanha were sitting on the swing in their heavenly looking manimandapam. With two childhood friends turned lovers like these couple, one would expect a constant chatter and noise. That was not to be.

Radha is an elegant, girlish and intelligent woman. She rested her head on Kanha’s broad shoulders, the shoulders which bore the weight of the 14 worlds. 'My Atlas,' she thought to herself. Kanha sat beside her, looking at the sky, soaking in on the beauty of the creation, his’ or not, he couldn’t care much.

If one could pull out the thoughts of the duo in a pensive, it would resemble a clear stream of water reflecting their partner’s face. They were quite proud of that image, their partner engulfing their mind like the cloud engulfs the Moon. What one would do well to remember is that, the king of the night sky is the Moon, with all his consorts and cloud is only playing its part. This interpretation seemed to nullify all the sanctity that Radha has been holding in all her life.

Interrupting the steady static, Radha burst forth, gently, “Kanhaa, I want to be born on earth.”

Kanha, smiling at her replied “We have once, and you do know what it means to go back there, don’t you, Radhe?

Radhe, that is the name that does her in. It was like a kiss on the lips, one doesn’t indulge in talking after that, after one’s tryst with perfection. Radha paused, and continued.

“I know that it is a curse. For once, I want to go there as a boon or a gift, sort of”

“And?”

“You know, I don’t want to be an avatar. I want to be born in a family, gain foothold in my life as myself and then fall in love with you and take it from there.”

“Is that not what you did, already?”

“No, I don’t remember my life without you, nobody does, in fact.”

“Oh. But you are pretty sure, you want me in your life, after all?”

“Yes.”

“Very well, then, granted. Is there anything else?”

“I don’t want to retain memories from my life as Radha.”

Kanha realized her intentions, finally and was overjoyed. He wanted to hear it from her, though.

“How do you propose to find me, amidst the human sea?”

Radha blushed, realizing his intentions. “This man I have fallen for!,” She mused.

“Do you remember building a dam, in your previous birth, Kanha?” Radha asked.

“Penultimate birth, you mean.” Kanha corrected her.

(To be contd.)

Lost Love

2011-02-18T19:03:00.003+05:30

When something is lost,

Something is.

When everything is lost,

Nothing is.

Sleep being death,

Wake is the resurrection;

Love being myth,

Life is the consolation.

Tiring is the word,

Patience is the way;

Heart acts the sword,

Mind remains gay.

Untangle the tangles,

My love, oh moon;

I offer broken bangles,

Salty tears and a burst balloon,

As a token of my love,

Lost, as it may be

Still precious, pure as dove

Let it come back to me.

Torturous ol’ hope!

Keep yourself away;

Enough of being a dope,

And going astray.

Understand learn and live

Un-understand, unlearn and kill

All recorded thoughts, only to dive

Into the void ocean and sail – to say,

When something is lost,

Something is.

When everything is lost,

Nothing is.

Veena bites dust - marital woes of a brahmin gal

2011-01-16T20:17:00.006+05:30

I shall clarify the title first before hitting on anything fancy. The author is NOT opposed to marriage. Why is it touted as woes? Anything can be frustrating when it is stuffed on you. Why Brahmin? Now, don’t you think I’m being casteist. This is one such caste which apparently GIVES more freedom to its women and repents it anyway. (Ok, the sentence formation is bad) Why gal? Don’t even tell me that there are men in this world who are pushed into the field of marriage, if at all they are pushed, that is in the outward direction what with the women these days setting a 1 Lakh (per month) + 3 BHK lower limit slab for their prospective grooms. If the last sentence irked you, I know that you are a male, or a female with a son with a salary less than the slab set. If you are an unmarried female, you know that it is an amazing tactic cleverly planned by some rich, intelligent female ancestor of yours, which delayed her marital drama for a considerable period of time.

Now, to the perils of society where male-domination has reached the saturation-point. I have interacted with women from various castes, upper, lower and middle (Societal classification, not the author’s) The first and the last actually suffer more when it comes to marriages. When it comes to the rich and spoilt, you know, most don’t mind. Marriage is a business transaction. But with the lower strata people, the story takes a grave turn. On most occasions they are the first graduates of their community. If you inquire them more, more often than not they like what is being done to them. They love being the asses, when the village wants to marry it off to please the rain God. They like to be used up and lead. They gossip a lot, but there are hardly any cases of divorce. Either they are unaware of such a concept or they can’t come to terms with it. Conclusion, the real victims are the middle class folks. The more conservative they are, the worse it gets.

You compare it with your own life. The riches, material and intellectual have been there for the taking. Next to religion, academics has been your foremost and often made the only priority in life. You are taught to sing and dance and paint and stitch and chant. You are given a free pass to select your favourite course in the most famous/expensive college, irrespective of it being located a couple of continents away. Why not, your great grandfather was a postgraduate himself. You are brought up to be one step ahead of everyone in your class/group/society. You have this freedom of speech which in my opinion is not something all your peers enjoy. Importantly, your gender doesn’t attract discrimination as long as you are a daughter or sister.

Suddenly you hit 21. I meant the age. Your planetary state becomes more important than your state of happiness. Your yellowed horoscopes are taken plenty of photocopies of and mailed/distributed randomly. If only Bhagath Singh was so helped by your parents, you think the whole of India would have known how to make bombs. Your traditional-looking photographs smile dumbly in all the matrimonial sites. When you argue that you are not up to marriage, a pause, now, your parents rue their destiny. They quote ancient Sanskrit scholars and the revered Manu whom you either don’t care for or think is a misogynist cum male chauvinist.

They wonder why they LET you study so much and earn so so much. They blame their planetary states and think they have sinned a lot in their previous births. They subtly hint that you should not fall in love by saying things like “We have brought you up as a good daughter;” “We have trust in your inherent capacity forcibly built by us to not fall in love;” “The God we trust in will never let you drift and make you marry a monkey, oops, man.” They promise to filter the prospective grooms and let you zero in on the final first choice ISI-ed Brahmin boy doing trikala sandhyavandanam and earning a few millions, so that you get to feel that you selected the guy and not them. Hail democracy.

They help you build and intellect with so much love, affection and diligence. When you run the trailer of its development, they are scared and emotionally blackmail you. Retirement, parent’s duty, societal pressure, woman’s obnoxious shelf life and what not. Funny enough, your mother was a rebel herself, but she has compromised on her cause and come a long way. Why? Finally you are enlightened about the ultimate truth of life – “A woman is born to nurture a family and rear children.” You could have stopped studying at 8th standard, for all I know.

நல்லதோர் வீணைசெய்தே - அதை

நலங்கெடப் புழுதியில் எறிவதுண்டோ?

சொல்லடி, சிவசக்தி! - என்னை

சுடர்மிகும் அறிவுடன் படைத்துவிட்டாய்,

வல்லமை தாராயோ, இந்த

மாநிலம் பயனுற வாழ்வதற்கே?

Falling out of love?

2010-11-26T15:18:00.008+05:30

This is an era of infidelity. Earlier we thought it was an alien concept, one discussed in shady movies with shadier names. Then it was considered to be a behavior patented by people who have not had the best of upbringings. Finally, we see it everywhere.

People who vehemently support “arranged marriages” blame love for it. It does make you giggle, eh? Ok, what they mean by this, as I understand, is that, those who fall in love prior to marriage/s are more likely to be infidels. Fair enough. But then, what is infidelity? Rather, where is the germ of infidelity supposed to reside, in the mind or the body? If it were in the mind, marrying X when in love with Y amounts to infidelity. If it is the latter, need I even say?

You may think that life is all rosy for a couple in love who duly marry each other, with or without parents’ support/blessing, after n years of courtship, understanding and constant periods of muted struggle. Shockingly, it is not the case. Why? As easily as a man or a woman falls in love, they fall out of love.

Well, may be not so easily or quickly. It does seem like a slow death. Being married, in a way pressurizes them to keep the spark of love alive, somehow, I used to think. But the mere sight at the entrance of Family Courts is dejecting. Uppu peradha vishayathukku oru sandai, adukku oru divorce. Being “only in love” makes the closing ceremony spectacularly uncomplicated to snap, couples say after a comprehensive-break-up. How is being in love any different from being married, as far as the ones who are concerned?

For all the sermons on moral depravity, mental maturity and mummifying love’s eternal sanctity, I don’t find the problem resting with these - whether it is an arranged marriage or not, or there is an act of infidelity involved or not. The issue is stark. Gone are the days where we could claim, “once in love, always in love” (with the same person, i.e) proudly. We are falling out of love, surely and slowly. Like a friend once quipped, “I don’t feel loved the way I should be.” Who is to be blamed here? The one who doesn’t love or appears so, or the one who feels unloved or imagines so? All of us are the products of great expectations. So I say, these are difficult times. Guard yourselves or run amok.

Stepping into the third year...

2010-11-15T13:33:00.005+05:30

If only my dreams were transcribed, they might take the form of Bhavna. My third year with this lovely lady has not been as eloquent as I would have loved it to be. Thanks, Bhavna for being graceful even in your silence. I have so much to learn from and through you.

To mark this occasion, I have collected all my attempts at writing poetry/poetic verses. 'Poetica' as I call it, unimaginatively, is a dedication to myself. W00t!

Open publication - Free publishing - More poetry

The Serpent and the rope

2010-09-30T23:30:00.004+05:30

Once I dreamt of a land of serpents,

Coughing venom and spitting fire,

Stupefied and scared, I sought the Lord Satan,

“Say my child, why so serious?” He asked,

Encouraged by his soothing tone I said “Lord, save me from the serpents!”

“Serpents…what serpents?” He quizzed puzzled,

“The one I see every night when I’m not with thee” I replied,

“Oh, they are just black ropes! Sweet dreams now…” He cut me off,

And, what magic, ropes indeed they were!

Days gave birth to months and years,

I was considered the bravest man on earth,

One who can never be afraid, even of poisonous reptiles,

I smiled to myself thinking those are blasted fools;

The speculation never stopped, as to why I could never be frightened

I looked at my little daughter’s face and laughed at her innocence,

Thinking even she would learn the ropes of the ropes before these ghouls;

The moment I shall never be able to understand came,

My daughter was struck by a vermin’s flame,

The ending gasps of her life is still in my eyes,

I cried out aloud, “Do ropes kill people, oh skies?”

A wise man came from nowhere

Reminding me of the Lord Divine I see everywhere,

I asked, “What do you think, about the confusion?”

He answered “An illusion can never substitute an illusion.”

IMPATIENCE

2010-07-19T01:27:00.006+05:30

…and my life demands that. I cannot believe that patience is a virtue. Why should anyone bear or take any or everything that life unravels to them? If moving on is all that life is ,why is there a concept of love or faith? If drifting like a log on the river is the only way to the abode of peace, why does the mind crave for companionship? Why should there be passion, or even fashion?

If patience is meant for people, I haven’t yet found a person deserving my absolute patience, and I believe most of us never. Momentary life; false patience might not last. The stock keeps running me out, and I don’t see the reason to fill it up. Guess people might blame me for being too ambitious, over-confident and silly. When they think I am on my toes, always, ready to run, I smirk at their ignorance. Why run, when I can fly, dear friend? I fly, tiny world. At times, like a migratory bird, swamping across the marshes, measuring the oceans with my silky wings. Sometimes, like a rainbow feathered peacock, half way across the earth or a jump and a hop within my territory. Maybe I give the impression of being rank-certain or a damned failure. Well, if you care for some truth, I am smug, I think way too high about myself.

I like being able to rush through life. It comes from the ability to smell death beneath my eyelashes. I am determined not to let death take away my life. The only and the best way is to risk risking. I have figured out that patience brews and stokes the weakening emotions in a person. I would rather be and do than wait, just for that.

It is better for me to feed the thousand thoughts in me scrupulously, reaping the fruits of the one idea that managed to grow past my skull. I hate doing two things at a time, only because I can’t do ten thousand. In fact that makes me a pseudo-genius or even a Miss. Ravana. I have given the freedom to question myself incessantly and observe prolonged silence too. This way, I have the choice of criticizing or grieving over a thought, oh, anything in place of just enduring, I must confess. I always take the decisions, I don’t see the need to adhere verbatim. This makes me critically contradictory; in fact I am just holding on to the pole called consistent impatience.

I don’t know why people do this. I don’t know why what they do gets to me. Why would anybody looking at a sea or sky think it is so vast, so deep, so beautiful, so endless and consider themselves a speck from nothingness? I thought this piece of rubbish is propagated only by religious troops, who want to place God above nature and nature above man and so on and so forth. But I am terribly mistaken. This is a slow poison spreading wide. A channelized muse revealed to me that, all this is the byproduct of patience. It is the passivity of the sea and sky, or even the earth that draws people to it. “Behold, thou shalt rule the world” seems to be their order. Hold on, I could do with just living, remains mine.

But there exists a single reason why I shall reserve a few drops of my patience for. It is for those who have tried to teach me the art of patience by keeping me waiting. Not out of respect to their ability to discover my capacity, but just as a way of experimenting with life. I shall be patient, impatiently, and let you know the pangs of impatience, patiently. Good luck, you patients, die easy.

Much ado about something

2010-05-24T23:01:00.005+05:30

There should be a reason why certain songs capture our imagination, more than others. Broadly speaking, it is either the music or the lyrics, rarely both combined. There is a pattern followed when we like certain lyrics and the patterns, sometimes are set by our genders.

When the 50 seconds-long, haunting prelude burst into a specks of firelets in “Usure pogudhe,” my doubts were confirmed. A man, pursuing an already committed woman, exhibits his agony through words and music. The music here, is the sound of his breath, the sound of water hitting the bottomless pit of the stomach. The lyrics, ah. As usual, the Raavanan that he is wants her in the primitive way. I kept listening, hoping for an iota of consideration of her character, intellect and integrity, and it was not to be found. Then, I realized, that is the reality. Without offending the men clan, that is what a man perceives as “love,” and that cannot be deemed disgusting. This justifies why most men fall in love at first sight and women refuse to acknowledge that this “hormonal attraction” was ever felt by them and/or can be deemed “love.” Maybe this basic biological difference is what makes women fussy about the way they look to others and not to themselves. Best example would be the way how women let the men be the final judge of their clothes despite not sharing his taste. If you insist on some lyrical example “Hatoon see chuna re, surila badan mora…” (My melodious body be touched by thee!)She knows her USP with men, and well, he plays into her hands!

All I observe is that, women can see love and sex as two different ends not necessarily the means to one another. This is, not to say that women are kids and have their minds closed to sex. It is just that women, regardless of how conservative they are or otherwise find love sexy than sex, as love, which men do. On an afterthought, the above statement makes gals seem very innocent and loving than they actually are. So, rephrasing it, women enjoy being protected and pampered than exploited physically, in general. None of the above statements are absolute and nor are they far from truth. Biologically, men have been created with the sole purpose of disseminating the seeds of life, and women to remain the fertile grounds. The reason why the concept of “One woman, one man” came about has its roots in the biological make of women. Being blessed with the requisite conditions to create life for just about one day in her month, it became imperative that only one man should deal with her through out her life, so as to aid her complete their bio-task.So, it does make sense for a man to have or think in terms of many female partners and women to remain loyal to a man, at least physically. This explains why Sita should remain Sita, but Rama can become a Krishna and still be worshipped as God.

Now, Raavan wants her when Sita already is in love with Ram. He justifies his cause saying “onnu rendu thappi pogum ozhukkathula” meaning his love might not be conventional. What is more intriguing is that he knows she can bring him sorrow, but still can’t help himself in anyway. Hormones working overtime or eternal love? Am sure Ram had similar thoughts running in head, only difference being Sita fell for him. So, if Ram is out of picture, Raavan can metamorphose into Ram? Or is it like this, all our men are just Raavans coated with Raamar-green tinge?

All of what is discussed makes one fact very stark, men and women are not quite made of the same stuff, and deifintely the hormones governing these are not the same, therefore the world can sustain itself without changing much. Why bother then, let it flow, as it is.

Sailing mind

2010-04-14T13:22:00.002+05:30

The below mentioned poetry is in contrast to the previous post of the blog.

Catch it at Sailing Minds

Confabulations

2010-03-17T01:08:00.004+05:30

Redacted life. Ornate string of odes reduced to monotonous chick lits. Between magical and black-magical, the only difference is the perceived darkness. Rethinking is not quite the same as re-feeling, I observe. Like finding that the oar you held on is only the creation of your mind to manage the tempest in the heart. Or like realizing the oar is the stimulant of such tempest. Sounds like the Kashmir problem. Just like terrorism, love, hatred…imagination has no religion. Well, imagination has nothing at all anyway. Laughing at the silliness of it all. Strange world, which laughs in utter agony and sheds happy tears, what next, angry hugs?

Wisps of smoke emanate thrusting thousand knives into one single fact. Emotions are mortal, know them, kill them. Reason? Anything to avoid slow, poisoned death. This is why every day passes with a note of sleeping never to wake up. But then, every night is filled with dreams of life. Like a shady artist painting his thoughts on a shabby canvas, this crazy human self goes on thinking and feeling, sure it is self obsessed. Sudden shudders, may be thoughts are just illusions. It is fine, to let everything go, I guess. Let everyDAMNthing go. Who cares, none. Ultimately, wants, needs, desires, dreams, ambitions et al are best looking only in the process of achieving them, not ever after. Smiles, gloriousness is just a blink away.Fabulous. Confabulous.

P.S: If you do not understand, skip it right away, no compulsion. Ah yes, no explanations too. Thanks, if you have read it, highly appreciate your effort!:)

"C" word

2010-02-27T15:24:00.001+05:30

Taking life the way it comes…does it mean you should be willing to wittingly compromise at every juncture in your life with no regrets whatsoever?

B.E.A.U.T.I.F.U.L.

Vinnaithandi Varuvaya - Facts, fiction and awesome music!

2010-01-13T00:59:00.008+05:30

Guy meets gal – Omana Penne

Guy. Gal. All he knows is that she is a beautiful Mallu lass. Imagine, chimes + bright yellow light combination. He loses his heart, and she becomes his ‘Oh Manap PeNNe.’ (Oh! Woman in/of my heart) Or is it, Oh MaNap peN? (Oh bride) Either way, is there a better raga to express beauty other than Mohanam? (meaning beauty again) Falling to the cliché trap (set by the Tamils?) of naming any Malayaali girl at sight as Omana, he starts off a soothing number, lucky lady, she has the overtly talented Benny Dayal giving back up voice to her man and an equally talented Nadaswara Vidhwaan continuing. The song ends in a carol-esque mood. Divine love?

Guy woos gal - Hosanna

The girl probably has no idea that she broke a guy’s heart by her mere presence, and he gears up to present his ‘other heart’ for her to break. True love, folks. Guy rants, goes insane, gets her mobile no. and couldn’t go beyond hello OO helloooOO and helloOOOoo. Turns out the girl has some ENT problem, she says ‘Hosanna’ and ‘Ooooo’ in response, in Suzanne’s style. The guy, Vijayprakash singing for him, is relentless in his approach, he changes scale and proposes his everlasting love to Miss. Mallu.

Gals are gals – Kannukkul kannai

As the custom demands, our gal doesn’t say ‘I love you’ back. But still lets him get close to her and kiss! I mean, what is the boy’s problem, he has his share of fun, could he not be satisfied with that? He demands love and sings ‘kannukkul kannai.’ No, Harris Jeyraj did not tune this song, it is ARR, check out the violin piece in the beginning, Thank you.

‘Yes’, atlast – Anbil Avan

She finally says the magical three words. They, along with Chinmayi and Deva, talk about their marital life, discuss retirement plans, encourage people to fall in love, et al. All with the amazing Mridangam background. Anbil avan. He thinks the song has a ‘boom boom’ (boys) feel to it, she thinks she has listened to the song in some discotheque, but couldn’t recollect the exact tune, thaam thakka? (Thirumala), Oru nanban irundal? (E20U18). Guy is irritated at such an insult, and unleashes a truth ‘love is lost in marriages’ and leaves the scene, abruptly.

Pleads pardon - Mannippaya

She goes weak in love, wants him to take her back, and literally melts like ice on fire, begging him to forgive her. Though she starts off like 'Woh Albeli' (Zubeida), she lets him ignore it with her honey-tone. She thinks he has left her forever and curses herself for hurting him. Hello fella, are you even listening? One female out here, by the name Shreya Ghoshal is synchronizing a classical tune with Raja’s earthy touch for you, and you would not listen? Manippaya?? Nah. He has no idea of listening, he will have A.R.Rahman with his healing voice sing, in an accent of his own (kalaignanay haa-aneen), and end it all with the best ‘kural’ out of the 1330. Pardon granted to the both the sides, of course.

D-day - Aaromale

It is the day of their marriage. Imagine a lush green mountain spreading its wings with a private waterfall to its left. Add a restless sea for the ‘hush’ effect. Spine chilling southern breeze passes by. Wafts of floral fragrance entice. Sunrays behave like moonbeams. It’s cloudy, it’s ‘twilighty.’ Earth has a heavenly atmosphere. Blues? That is only the tune. Like a saxophone blessed with sweet sounding words, someone calls out, Aaromaaleeeee! They hold hands and smile in unison; they forget that the song is entirely in Malayalam. Alphonse, take a bow.

Lived happily, ever after – Vinnaiththandi varuvaya

We see the guy and the gal becoming, a man and woman, finally. Montage shots of their life together. Happiness, fun, pleasure, love. Synonyms? As they run around in the town with their kids, a man in the streets croons a number in Broadway musical style. Karthik lends his vocals.

Oh yes, the couple thanks Thamarai for her lyrical input, but are not 100% satisfied, though. They think they discovered their love through music, and have a plan to build a temple for A.R.Rahman, any supporters?

Writing for deadlines

2010-01-06T01:03:00.010+05:30

ToS (shortly, Thoughts On Sale) is my matrimonial hut, but Bhavna will remain my maternal homestead (I remember calling her "my daughter")

The reason why I call my blog that is stark enough, I have no rules here. Nobody has ever dictated terms here. I publish a post as and when it pleases me.

The reason why I mentioned my e-mag (oh yeah there is a wonderful teamwork behind it, but I feel a surge of possessiveness gag my throat when I say "my ToS") here is because, I like the terms and conditions it brings along.

If Bhavna is all poise and grace, true to her maternal reputation, ToS is like a new husband who is very demanding in his love. And if you are wondering why ToS is a “he”, I have a simple answer, ' too techie and indecisive.'

Unlike her, he can be a headache. Forcing to bond with "his clan", making me choose between his mother and mine, posing multivariate rational and irrational restrictions, getting jealous insanely, and what not.

But hey, I chose him….Over I have no clue how many suitors (Ok, I am just making that up). All of what he is doing is a part of the invisible nuptial agreement between us. In fact, he pushes me to be at my feminine best, and I love it.

I know…you are still wondering about the relevance of the title.

I am a firm believer of the fact that one can’t have an appointment with creativity. However, if you cannot be creative at your sweet will, does it not become just another labored act which has no connection whatsoever with art or creativity? I mean, when you have a painfully twisted reason not to write, than to write simply, just for the love of words, I think it is funny.

What is the sudden strike amongst writers that “writing for deadlines is no writing” all about? Beyond a point, it is plain farce. As farcical as “love culminating in marriage is no love” (Na, no reference to live-in relationships – recollect “September maadham from Alaipayuthe)

We knew when we married that we are going to meet each other daily and share our routines, amidst regular sessions of fresh love. Suddenly, just the thought of looking at the same face daily gets boring? And you blame your love/marriage for that??

My God. We live with the knowledge of our death-lines, (only place where I can’t say deadline and mean the future, I guess) What does it do, kill our present?

I think the problem is not with the deadlines, it is with the passion to write. When you have the passion ebbing out, you can’t phrase a sentence to save your momma. On a different note, writing to save your momma is as much a deadline as any other. Let’s face it, nobody in the entire history of humanity has ever been “too busy” to do something they have committed to, including turning their brain-stove on to let a creative spark fly, and cook up. This is what it comes down to, love and commitment, nothing more or less.

At times, when people say they have lost their love, I cannot but help my mind by asking – Did you find it at all? In your self?

With regards,

Bhargavi,

The dumb one, who earnestly and proudly thinks she has emptied all her sense of creativity every single time she publishes any sentence anywhere possible.

UPDATE : Thanks Dipak , for the impetus.

Raining sea

2009-12-08T18:01:00.006+05:30

I was wondering if you are the Sun in my day or the Moon in my night. Only then did I realize that you are my sky, the endless and endearing. You think I am all excited to bid good-bye to you and reach the shore with an excitement, boundless. I am all agitated to leave your side and die a noiseless death when I reach the other end.

Tumbling and grumbling I make my way back unto you to know that you were never there. I have never owned you to let go of you, though you own every molecule of mine. You complete yourself and have no needs. I have known no other need but to be completed by you. I beg, borrow, dance and dig, but you keep moving on. Sailing merrily, flowing from one end to another, flashing a lightning smile or a thunderous laughter occasionally.

I assume that the remnant clouds have a message for me, one with an ink of my ilk, transparent and cold. Not this time though, you leave me bellowing and brawling, and then I smile in silence. You reply in silence, you know no other language. I wait, impatiently.

Patience has its rewards, they say. My time comes, finally. You take me in an aerial route. I vaporize into nothingness in the pleasure of thy love and perspire at your soft caress. You grin. You find me too transparent, too cold and too saline. I say that I need your opaque sweetness of warmth. You think that would make me vanish. If not being is the only way to be with you, I say that I am only too glad to.

You are convinced that, that is not me. You think you don’t deserve me anymore. ‘Life has to move on’ you quip, for that is all you know. You plan the day; you plan the journey, which would be our last journey together, my funeral. ‘Your rebirth’, you correct me. You carry me all the way to my place, not once complaining about my weight. I muster courage to smile at you, for you give me no choice. I see that you were waiting for this moment to come, where I realize your love for me. You let me down. You let me drip. You let me drop. I suddenly realize my lightness in motion, gravity, is it? You shout back, ‘I exchanged my purity for your salinity.’ I shudder and blush, in all seven colors. As I land into the sea again, I can’t help but say that, I am still saline, and I do need you, every moment in my life. We are seeing each other, once again.I wished you would take me unto you, once again, for a lifetime. You say love has a reason and a season. Views differ.

Inamorato

2009-11-03T20:18:00.005+05:30

‘I think I should tell him this’ Mathruka said suddenly, without opening her eyes.

‘No.’ replied Tanya, understanding the head and tail of it instantaneously.

‘No, Tanya, you do not understand this, I know he is in love, I’m too sure of it!’

‘Oh, I didn’t know there were confirmatory tests, what are they anyway?’

‘I saw his eyes shining…they were too brilliant that I was blinded that very instant.’

‘Cut the crap. You know that I love him. Do you happen to see that supernatural light in my eyes too?’

‘You should be asking him that.’

‘Sure you can say that. Admit it, you want to square it off, act great, don’t you?’

Mathruka laughed a careless laughter. ‘Seriously, you overrate me.’

‘No. You are making his life a living hell already. But the madman that he is, he thinks it is a blessing. What you say now will shatter him into pieces, and mind you, a person in love is made of glass, no mending possible, ever.’

‘Like I care. I repeat it, I know for sure that he is crazily in love with me, and would love irrespective of whatever I have said before, or will say. But, I am not phony enough, what do you say?’

‘Explain.’

‘The incident that lead to the moment? Sure. Just that it is nothing much for a person who did not see what it really was. I had asked him for some water. I wasn’t exactly dying, but needed it anyway. I didn’t even ask him that, he looked at me checking out the shops and was off in a moment. He was back in a flash, and that is no exaggeration. Now, you know that I’m not touchy about love. I never believed in stuff which ranted that love gives you power. They are wrong. Love gives enormous power. It makes one extraordinary from a nobody. You cannot go higher up without paying for it, doesn’t make any sense to me. ‘

‘Shut up, you are gasping.’ Tanya said amidst tears.

‘Now, take me to his room.’

‘What? You mean he is in this hospital? What?

‘Don’t worry, he is alive, fractures in legs.'

‘How did you manage to kill yourself Mathruka? What is this insanity all about?’

‘I did say, I saw the light and was blinded.’ (Gentle smile) ‘Now, Tanya, take these moronic stuff off my body, I want to say this once to him – ‘I don’t love you, Vishwas!’

She knows me...

2009-10-22T09:43:00.004+05:30

It has been three years since I fell in love with her. I remember the moment I met her, wearing a salwar of milk white and olive green, gleaming happily. She instantly stuck to my life, became a part of my thought process, echoed in every living memory. I gathered courage to meet her eyes and started talking to her. It was hard in the beginning. I had so much to communicate, but would not know where to start nor where to end. She kept her patience.

She waited until my thoughts took the form of words and pegged me on to talk further. I presented her a black cum blue salwar as a token of my love, she took it with an embarrassed smile. She introduced me to her friends. Ah, her people…were they all different! She has an amazing world full of strangers that you typically find in core literature...solid individuals. They shared their lives to me, in bits and chunks. We became joyful people who bartered only thoughts and nothing else. She was not complaining.

She welcomed my newfound freedom of thoughts. I got into a job, the infamous practice where you slog for money and at rare times, justice. I could not attend to her as I earlier did. I kept missing dates, cancelled the short meet ups, at times even stopped thinking about her. Nevertheless, whenever I came to her, I was hers, all hers. She knows that I do not come to please her nor do I talk to her because I have to. I do, because I want and need to, no other reason. It has been a bond beyond words and descriptions. She still has not slipped in a word that I am neglecting her. She knows that I love her with all my might and time. Thanks, Bhavna, for your unconditional love.

Lilly's wails

2009-09-12T12:34:00.002+05:30

Oh my lovely moon,
Doused as you are now,
Deserting me of my light,
Far away in a land of dunes,
Accompanied by a lone flute,
With its holed up body,
Silence closing in calculatedly
Like an anticipated death,
A gentle choke of wreath-like fragrance,
Time walking against the moon’s gravity,
Egging itself to still slower down.

Oh my lovely moon,
Your beam reeks of indifference,
Playing with my likes and dislikes,
Compromising with life,
Living the compromises,
Pruning my wings,
To reach your heights,
Heart it shatters
And resumes its knelling
With no pace nor space
Cowering in the corner of a circle.

Oh my lovely moon,
Mean as you always were,
Floating winds to bring a wave of
Sharp malice and her shrewd allies,
Leaving me tearless,
In an arid land of acidic rain,
Where flowers bloom in black,
Where the insanity of winds,
Topple the banyan and peepal,
But fail to lift the deep rooted
Despair from the mind of people.

Oh my lovely moon,
Dare not neglect me any longer,
My dryness will find its drop
Of nectar in His empyrean touch,
Gushing forth like a freed bubble,
Spreading forth its worn out wings,
Exhibiting the mirth of life long slavery,
Masking and revealing my self randomly,
I shall not share you His wet sight,
To anyone and sprout inside
Little flowers dripping with honey.

Rain Memory

2009-08-13T23:16:00.015+05:30

There is something pretty about rainy days. Like the romantic incense of the wet jasmine, like the earthy fragrance giving a sense of completion , like the virginity of the water-soaked streets, like the galloping sound of the rain dollops, like the shirt sticking to the back, like anything hot going well with the tongue…it does fill all the senses. On a hard day everything mentioned above can be quite life-taxingly annoying. I am not sure what this rain is doing to me, though.

I remember my first outing in the rains; Dad had lifted me up to his shoulders. He does it quite often, but it was something special on that rainy day. I thought I caught him in two minds. One on hand, he wanted me to enjoy this strange sprinkling from the sky that got me out of his control, on the other, he was afraid I would catch flu. ‘Is it an angel taking bath?’ I had asked my dad in euphoric amazement, he had smiled back. He had tried to convince me to drink the ‘masala tea’ in the corner shop. I had refused it, calling it jaundiced milk, and embarrassed the ‘tea master’ to such extent that he stopped making those yellowed, spiced and watered milk. My dad had chuckled with an unexplained pride. I had blinked in surprise.

The next striking memory is that of the ‘adventure night’. It was a time when 7.00 p.m was considered night and 10.00 o’clock was midnight. My friends and I, 5 girls and 3 boys to be exact, were coming back from the Stadium after a hectic ‘sports day’ celebration. Soot stained faces, unkempt hair, eyes shining, rejoicing the victory over some old rival, we decided to walk down to our homes. The scorching Sun who looked straight down at us when we were being fried during the relay races and long ques for high-jump and long-jump had suddenly absconded into oblivion. We certainly did not mind it. Then it started drizzling. We were hooting to start with, singing all the rain songs we have ever heard in our life, including ‘Rain rain, go away’ which was of course, silly. Nevertheless, the rain-god was not listening to it. The showers intensified, and coupled with loud thunders and sword-like lightnings. This alarmed us. We realized we had spent all the money in the gol-gappas and kulfi-ice creams, and had no money for the bus charge. The guys took the charge almost heroically. ‘We can walk, no problem’, declared the eldest. Two girls to one boy was the hand-clasping, safety measure ratio we could afford. That means the third guy would be left with the 5^th girl. You knew it before, it was me. Neither of us knew who was shier. Somehow, the 2:1 ratio of the rest went unnoticed and I was teased all through my high school for holding hands with the older boy. I wonder where he is now...

School whizzed past in front of my eyes, the college days were glorious. It used to rain everyday then. We used to jokingly call our college as London just for that reason. The shyness and gawkiness from the school days has vanished. Holding hands with men did not symbolize ‘crush’, ‘love’ or anything remotely close to that. It was just holding hands, simply. A sign of togetherness… friendship, at the most. On an educational tour to the nearby hill station, we purposely left our raincoats back at our hostels, so that we could get to our rooms drenched. Our plan worked, it rained heavily. We lost our way in the woods, though. Anti-climax? Not yet, we were badly ragged by a group of drunken locals. And I, familiar with the local language, couldn’t hold my tongue and had started retorting to it, and got an earful back. Luckily, for us, the patrol car had been roaming around and we were dropped back without further incidents to cope with. What a night it was!

Then, the day of my marriage. Nobody foresaw a heavy rainfall on such a clear May morning. It was not even the monsoon time. It had rained cats and dogs on the fateful day. All the flower arrangements at the hall entrance had gone waste. The crowd that we had expected did not turn up. It looked like a birthday party at home. His parents, mine, and the people who had stayed in the hall overnight were the only witnesses. The black clouds, the dullness it spread in the faces around, the piling waste of food cooked for the people, the well-picked clothes going unnoticed because of the lack of audience did irritate me. Add to that, the thought of adopting his home as mine, the climate seemed cruel. I had to be torn apart from my Mother, literally. I had hugged her and cried for almost 15 minutes that even my Mom was shocked to know that I loved her so much. Who but me knew that all I had wanted was a shoulder to cry on...and it did not really matter whose it was.

I hated him at the first sight. I had married the man I can never love, I had assumed. Am I glad that it was a wrong assumption! It was the rain again. For all the innumerable times I had been out in the rain, I have never even sneezed once. There I was, bedridden, eyes sunken, looking every bit like a soggy Pomeranian pup, cuddling in his arm more for the warmth of his affection than anything else, because of the rain-special outing the previous evening. What a pleasure it is, to be loved! Rain is a catalyst for romance, I must admit. Though I learned soon that he did not share my love for rain, I came to know that he tried his best to love. The long bus rides on rainy days were the highlights. Then it became bike rides, and eventually car drives. They were good too. He was a fan of instrumental music and played it during those magical journeys much to my utter delight. At times, we would stop by the beach and gaze at the hues of blues and the pinks of the twilight, letting the time fly by and the tide roll by in their own course. I even remember catching a dewy rainbow on a pleasant evening.

And, another new member was ready to join our voyage. The day my daughter was born, is still etched in my memory. It is not unusual, you may think, but it is. That is right, it rained like hell. There are some problems in life, which you cannot get over with easily. Labor pain comes under that category, I think. The roads were flooded; we needed to sail through, literally. Our car engine was gone, and the only option left was going by an auto-rickshaw. I had called out every other God’s name I had come across in my life, none seem to hear me out. It was terrible, I tell you, extremely terrible. He had called up everybody he could think of, but, who would respond to a challenge from the mother nature? Finally, a kind auto-wala had turned up, possibly taking pity of my screams and all. We were just in time to the nursing home, and yes, all was well, as I had hoped for.

The cycle of life repeated for good. My daughter is happily married now. Him and I, were back as couple. It was a repeat of the honeymoon days. Dripping of raindrops, profusions of liquid love through the battered veins…heavenly. But life does not stay the same for long, it is said. It is cent percent true. He had to leave me permanently. There was a cloud burst on his final day on earth. The deluge was symbolic, like a eulogy to everything he has been to me.

These days, when I walk alone in the rain, I think of everything that rain has given and taken away from me. Raindrops go misty and turn into water vapor at times, and at other, they weep with a composed smile, like me. The rain memories, stay in my mind, un-evaporated and uncondensed.

Tears of joy

2009-07-04T00:59:00.004+05:30

Let the world wear itself out in wars,
And the sky sink into the sea,
Let the world wake up with peace,
And the sky sail across the sea,
For my life hath given me,
The most beauteous of all gifts,
A smile filling the chasms
Of solitude in me,
A smile filling the miles
Of paths un-tread,
A smile filled with tears,
Of joy and love.

The secret crave of the mind,
Is answered not with words eloquent,
But with a language patented by eyes,
Through years and years of static penance.

And when the God himself appears,
The eyes falter with insane love,
Passion and anger her two sides,
They vanish at his very sight,
Silenced, light and lady-like,
She puts her head down,
And turns into bridal red,
Shedding down her serene whites,
And the tears, they all wait for their turn,
Hanging at the edge,
Holding on to her clothes dearly,
Some too eager, pushing back others in the line,
Fighting like warriors in the way,
To die, To cleanse themselves,
Drop by drop,
For Him, for her,
Washing His feet with her rain,
Spontaneous hot tears of hers,
For a gift she had preserved,
To preserve, to be deserved.

I thank her for her gesture,
For thanking Him
Can become monotonous and vain,
She flutters like a butterfly,
That makes Him smile;
Ending her lifelong penance in the banks of water,
She dies in her arched coffin
And freezes that second in her memory,
To remember in her next birth,
And the last drop of tears of my moon,
Dies in His muddied dimples,
To live again, with Him.

Reality?

2009-06-09T18:50:00.012+05:30

It was one of those hazy days. Neither warm, nor pleasantly cold. It was a murky day sans any hope of rains. I tried to fix my eyes on the half opened window, wishing something would wade through it to keep my interests alive. My room suddenly started smelling of wet sand. I let the aroma invade my mind and closed my eyes in a momentary bliss. Just then I saw two little palms outstretched, pointing towards me. I peeped to get a clear view of the person involved. A little boy, aged anywhere between 2 and 22 years. I chose the number 4, randomly.

‘What’s he doing here at my window?’ I had no clue. I knew there was none at the vicinity and continued looking at my assumed-4-year-old boy. ‘Could he be an angel?’ I wondered. He seemed to wear a black dress. I call it a black dress, for I couldn’t make out what he was wearing, a pant-shirt? Tee-shirt? Kurta? Whatever. Kid in black, that’s all for the fashion details. He seemed to look at me with an exothermic intensity, intentionally. His eye balls exhumed fire bubbles, and for all I could see, he wasn’t angry, nor did he look feverish. An inexplicable chill ran through my spine as I tried matching his steely, ripping apart look with a sincere look of my own. Moments passed away without much drama. Or the drama was too conceited in its imagined reality. I was appalled, maybe he wasn’t even looking at me, he seemed to look at everything around me, though his eyeballs were steadfastly fixed on mine. I turned back to check if someone else was looking. I think I will regret that second for another lifetime. I didn’t enjoy the ethereal connection between me and him being snapped by my untold insecurities. When I gathered enough courage to gape at him, he was smiling at me, without moving his lips. It was one of those biological wonders, I told to myself. The demeanor remained calm, his eyes didn’t expand in excitement, I didn’t find a pearl set flashing at me, yet the smile was on. I thought I was smiling at him, hoping he would find it too. There wasn’t any apparent recognition.

The silence was back on his face, it looked too natural to be meant as an ornament, yet I saw it glittering across his face. Ah, the face, of my tiny black wonder, spoke of ruggedness, of untold agony, of veiled kindness, and above all, the unmistakable joy of living through all the rubbish and rare gems, that life has to offer. His casual, relaxed presence calmed my throbbing nerves. The derisive, mocking smile disarmed me completely. His surroundings seemed melting unto him. He looked like he had a control over everything beneath and beyond. He appeared a paragon of everything explained and unexplained. Like there was nothing more to be said, done or felt when he was present.

The palms were no longer outstretched; I knew I had to get to him and cease his arms. The eyes had no invitation for me to join him, but I knew I was meant to make one out of it and embrace the little one with all the love I can muster. I couldn’t move an inch. He was holding me with his enormous power, one that of his mind. He wouldn’t move forward either, it was like the power balanced at the centre in a game of ‘tug of war’. Everything stayed in abeyance, the night, the day, the joy and the pain. I waited for the war to begin; I waited till the war ended.

I was bathed in a river of light, and felt like I was heading to the infinitely vast ocean of ecstasy. The distance was no more a distance; we had come too close to each other without any physical effort. I wanted the vision to continue forever, but reality had something else in store for me. I shrugged off the vision, I shrugged off the reality. And the absurdity of it struck me, ‘how can one shrug off reality?’ My clock chimed thrice, announcing the start of a new day. I woke up and checked my cell phone, it read, ‘Happy Birthday Miss.No-more-a-teenager gal!’ I convinced myself that it was only a ‘birthday dream’ and carefully closed my bedroom window. I couldn’t help thinking, ‘Did this happen for real?’

Fake

2009-05-28T20:23:00.007+05:30

The smell of petrol was never that invigorating to him. Sweaty clothes were comfortable. He could fill and refill the tanks of another 10 customers now. All with a pleasant smile. Ishwar felt relieved that day, almost happy. He would be able to do some justice to his overtly cherished post, of fatherhood. Babloo, his 6 year old son, has been busy demanding one toy after another these days. Last week it was a balloon, not a toy exactly, another plaything that cost him a lot, all right. ‘Only 10 bucks huh?’ the gentleman in the black sedan had asked with a smirk to the balloonwala. Ishwar couldn’t bear his son’s face shrink like a punctured balloon then. He had made up his mind to get atleast two of those only-10-bucks-balloon for his one and only son that very moment. And today, he would get Rs. 1000/- increment, so that makes his salary Rs.3500/- now.

‘Why Ishwar, stop gaping and better fill the tank, lest our boss scraps your increment this month!’ shouted his colleague from another end, checking the air pressure of a worn out two-wheeler. Ishwar smiled a cheerfully guilty smile. 'It’s my day', he thought.

There whizzed past a black sedan, and Lo! the very same only-10-bucks-this-balloon gentleman. Divine coincidence, thought Ishwar.

‘How many litres, Sir? Asked Ishwar.

‘For 1000 bucks’ replied the man.

‘My increment money’ Ishwar couldn’t help thinking.

The tank seemed half full already. At Rs. 703.25/-, the metre stopped abruptly, indicating that the tank was too full for another drop of anything.

'Sir...' Ishwar pointed to the metre to the man in black sedan and handed over the bill.

Twitching his lips in impatience, the man took out a new Rs.1000/- note from his suit pocket.

Ishwar rummaged for the exact change, while the man triggered his engine to life.

‘Change is yours.’ He bellowed as he left the bunk in a flash.

That makes it Rs.1300 almost, Ishwar clasped his hands in utter delight! He stood last in line like a naughty school child, to get his salary for the month. The line grew thinner, there was just one more person before him.

‘Who received this Rs.1000/- note today?’ the boss asked suddenly.

‘It’s me’ replied Ishwar proudly.

His boss tore the note in 4 pieces and threw it in the dustbin behind his chair. Ishwar was shocked for words.

‘Boss…’

‘It’s a fake note Ishwar, be careful the next time. And I take the amount from your salary.’ Said the boss.

Ishwar stood silently, looking at his happiness getting crushed below the wheels of some black sedan.

Emergence

2009-05-06T19:51:00.005+05:30

It was the first time she was holding my hands.She kept kissing my hands relentlessly. It should make me feel dizzy in sheer thrill. It didn’t. I felt the certain numbness of her touch all over my body. It was a rubber existence, fragile and flexing. I told to myself that I should not keep looking at her act, that I can’t stand it anymore. I wanted her to break free and run amuck. I realized what it was in moments, it hurt me, but I had to take it, that’s all was the option at my disposal. The moonlit dashboard of my car bore my wedding invitation. The moon, the breeze blowing across, the woman kneeled down at the man’s feet. This is just another scene from a classy movie.

It would be a normal filmy scene if only it was her wedding invitation. One can give the usual gender specific comment, ‘women are cheaters, can’t be trusted.’ I wished she said something as insipid as that about the men clan or me. She will not. She didn’t even offer a wry smile to me. She smiled at my simply, plainly as ever. Her eyes radiated the joy inside, as usual. It scared me. I was reminded of the plethora of ‘storm after calm’ stories I have read and seen about women.

These women…each one is a mystery and no two of them are alike. Men are lost, always. What made me fall in love with her? I have no clue. She is one of the most beautiful, bright people around in the world. Just one in many. She has this unbreakable barrier between her and the world, I had imagined. In fact it was a firewall within herself. The entry into her forte was natural, slow, evolving by every passing minute. What made her fall in love with me? ‘I’m in love, can’t you see?’ she would reply.

She saw this coming. She always knew this. That I was rich enough, to be sold for my family’s debts. That I will not run away from it. That we were made for each other as the cliché goes, but never meant to be together. That it was all going to end because it never began. That I would let her go, for she was the only one I had owned. I did not want that to happen. It was the most selfish acts I have done. And in a flash it would be sans me, self less. I was going to drop her at her hostel, she would get inside without turning back. I knew she was mentally prepared for that.

Planning and preparing are a girl’s biggest assets, I observed. Why would anyone condition herself for so much torture? I had asked once. She smiled back and said ‘If one wants something from life, there is nothing like torture.’ I didn’t reply. Now I had to talk. Give a short and sweet farewell note. It can’t be sweet, just a short ‘bye’. I had nothing to say, so hadn’t she.

She didn’t bother to get up. She kept her lips pressed to my hand like she wanted to let the impressions fossilized.

‘Ananya, I love you.’ It was my first time.

I felt the strained drops of her tears running down my palms. My invitation was moon burnt. I drove my car out of this world’s sight.

Restless

2009-04-20T03:49:00.006+05:30

It is all Crepuscular. This wide life, a wild life. Sanctuary of minute enormities. Gloomy, happily thus. Shadows keep growing darker and darker until there are no shadows. Just the Cimmerian shade, leading to a state of total eclipse. It was seclusion then, isolation, open admission of a cluttered conviction inside. It is privacy now, of a never confessed, sealed surrender. Full moon, is fuller, new moon, newer. It’s a thirst of an oyster, bubble permanence, illusory love. Murkiness is an excuse, to keep the chuckles safe, like how death is an excuse for a wreath. One for the other, the other for the one, One in everyway...er, which one anyway?

Faint resemblances of a past similarity, the hidden illumination in a firefly. Distinct reality of a future reunion, the sun setting the day. Impatient waves, pushing, on and on, never being pushed to where she wanted to. Back to the horizon, starting the push ups and push ons, never down, or off. Bruised blues giving way to nervy greens, just to be taken over by colorless nothingness. Fingers, foot soldiers of the mental battle, rescuing the victims of the peace. Like a single leaf tormenting against a storm, peace less, yet peaceful in pieces. A passing ray of light, across the sparkling dark eyes, veiled expressions, grueling grimaces. Food for a million odes, of a sleepless dreamer.

Chimes from the altar of beauty, resonating the silence. Understanding pauses exchanged, for free, priceless all. Winds blowing across, hurricanes inside, let out in the form of stifled sighs. Vibrating the titillating thuds, of a living heart. Drop like breezes, satiating, and hard hitting. The rainy sky, clear and blacked out. Some remnant clouds, gently drifting along, in their matrimonial march, to find the strongest shoulder to pour out. Nightfall, of rains…rather, rainfall of nights. One drop to give the life, the other to take it away. Patient. Restless.

Of ache and indifference (c)

2009-03-20T00:28:00.006+05:30

Do you know what it is to ache to see someone for what seems like an eternity and then look at the other side indifferently?

The ache is in seeing, not the method of sight.

Full moon nights, New moon nights!

The madness, the peace...

Yes, it's not about the method of sight.

She hides her face, to see that ache on your face...

When she shows her smile, a sly smile, hardly there, but there,

You feign indifference, for you smile too...

Once the smile has been acknowledged, what else can be there,

Other than indifference?

Na...

She wanted it, He obliged,

He turned up, She couldn't take the enormity of/f it,

He smiled, She cringed,

He didn't disturb her, She was fidgety,

Indifference,

Face off,

Ache,

Acknowledgement of Love,

Smiles.

How silly the ache seems, once indifference sets in; How far away indifference seemed, when ache was present?

How the smile balances it all!

A smile sets so many things straight....

Chuckles at the thought of an assumed, straight faced smile. Shrugs.

Acknowledgement: Moon, Marina, shapeless snickers, Leona Lewis's Keep Bleeding, typo, blank mail.

யார் நீ?

2009-03-20T00:16:00.005+05:30

என் நிஜங்களை சமாளிக்க
உன் நிழல்,
கடவுளா இல்லை காதலா?

தலைவலி

2009-03-19T23:55:00.007+05:30

என் மூளைக்குள் சொட்டுச் சொட்டாகப்
பொழியும் துளியிலா அடைமழை,
தலைவலி.

Tear drops on my veena...

2009-03-12T23:05:00.002+05:30

Pardon me for my inadequacies, with words. I have no clue why I have been crying relentlessly from that moment...But, I am. Smile is no more a reaction to me, it's a part of my face, so no question of wearing a smile. I always do smile. But people find out. It is tough to explain. Who are we? Virtual friends. Aren't all relationships in this world virtual? So, what exactly makes us the best of the virtual friends. Hmmm, nothing. We are not the 'best' friends, 'close' friends, or even the cheesiest of the lot 'hi-bye' friends. No, never been indispensable to one another, one has never 'needed' the other. Why am I crying for you then? Ah, why are there so many adjectives before such a beautiful, all encompassing word? I have digressed. We are 'Sachin fanatics' friends. The ones who couldn't wait to send the mother of all cliches to each other...'Thala rocks' with a million smilies tagging along. Sometimes it becomes 'Sachu sachu sachu', 'sach is life', 'anything for sachu', all of them, just like that. I remember your question vividly 'Hey, what would you do if you see Sachu and ARR in person?', In all earnesty I had replied ' I might faint, it's too much for me to take, if I ever get up I might manage to ask 'epdi ipdi?' (how do you do this?/ how are you like this?)', 'Same here' you had then replied. I think you went to the extent of saying 'I can die now, I have watched God live' after his Chepauk ton last year. Why would you do that?

We wanted to do IAS, start our own 'lok paritran', give our beloved Bharath matha a facelift with our youth and passion. You would admire me for the advocate that I am and envy me for that, and then later say that lawyers have simply too much to remember in the same breath, almost. Ah, you would cringe noting that I keep reading some book all the time, 'don't you ever take time out of your schedule and enjoy?' should be the most oft repeated question of yours. 'To each his own', I might slip in. Hmmm. Weren't you a fan of this blog just because it is complicated, incomprehensible and abstract? Whatever.

You had asked me to show my pictures, did I oblige? I certainly didn't ask you back. I don't even know how you look, I am to be blamed. You asked me out quite a number of times, everytime in the most friendliest way possible. I procrastinated every single time, am sorry. Now, I am there in the lobby of the hospital were I heard you were lying the CCU, clinically dead, wanting to see you... the face behind all the passion, desires and dreams. You are procrastinating too. Come back, my friend. I am still fighting tears. There is no point. I am no phoenix. My tears wouldn't help you. Neither is it helping me. I hope and pray for you Shriku. (I wouldn't mind if you come back and laugh on my face for all that I have written, this is getting too strange and spooky even for me to comprehend) It's ok, it'll all be.

Song : Hari tuma haro jan ki pir - rendered by Bharath Ratna M.S.Subalakshmi

Inside my bag...

2009-03-06T01:21:00.001+05:30

... there are a few blank sheets waiting to be written upon, some with specific instructions in them, a book or two, black pen, blue pen, marker pen, comb with strands of hair entwined like a slither of serpents, safety pins for safety (!), lip balms, lots of tickets, each journey having its own tale to narrate, crushed chocolate wrappers, a black umbrella which wouldn't come out on rainy evenings, cell pouch,Sony Ericcson charger, sachets of sacred ash and vermillion, preserved leaves, flowers, Picture of Lord Ganesha smiling, mint strips, used and unused tissues, loose cash, some change, brown wallet, my business card with his signature scribbled across at its back side casually, a silver coin with some diety's image in it, broken zip locks, a little shell sac, winded up emotions, fresh thoughts, loads of memories, Sun, Moon, dew drops, me, you, him, her and 100 posts.

My Lord! (Arziyaan translated - My way)

2009-03-02T23:04:00.007+05:30

All obligations, mine

Written over my face…

What would I ask thou?

Thou percievest all by thyself.

Scissures and fissures,

All over my forehead,

Do emend my destiny;

At your portal,

I bow, I wither, I cease…

Do emend my destiny!

Anybody who comes

To thy doorstep,

And bows his head,

Drunk in ecstasy, he seems,

In trance he dances

He who brings in thirst,

Takes home the brimming river!

In an aura of rain,

Drenched, He swims out!

Ah, the fragrance it comes,

And I digressed, lost,

It was a silky illusion,

And I grow exhausted, tired.

When your boulevard comes,

The truth is rendered visible!

The fragrance doth rest in me,

Thou introduceth that to me!

To break and shatter,

I know for sure,

Or to begin

Thou worthy laudation…

Let me remain praying,

I shall not leave now,

If you ignore me now,

I shall never recover!

With my raised head,

How many things have I wanted?

How many dreams,

How many strives?

And when you come face-to-face,

I couldn't bear your sight

In the moment that I lowered my head,

What have I not achieved!

My love is home, my love is home...

Oh, my Lord!!

Updated: The above poetry is the translated (read disfigured) version of the Hindi-Urdu song "Arziyaan-maula mere maula" in the movie Delhi-6, penned by Prasoon Joshi, music set by A.R.Rahman and crooned with life by Javed Ali & Kailash Kher. Bliss is the word.

Arziyaan:

Arziyan saari main,
Chehre pe likh ke laaya hu,
Tum se kya maangu main,
Tum khud hi samajh lo,
Ya maula.. maula maula..
Mere maula..maula…
Maula maula maula mere maula,
Maula maula maula mere maula...

Darare darare hain maathe pe maula,
Marammat muqadaar ki kar do maula;
Tere darr pe jhuka hu, mita hu bana hu,
Marammat muqadaar ki kar do maula,

Jo bhi tere darr aaya, jhukne jo sar aaya,
Mastiyaan piye sab ko,jhoomta nazar aaya
Pyaas leke aaya tha dariyaa wo bhar laaya,
Noor ki baarish mein bheegta sa tarr aaya...(Maula)

Oh,ek khushbu aati thi,
Main bhatakta jaatha tha,
Reshmi si maaya thi,
Aur main thakthaa jaatha tha,
Jab teri gali aaya, sach tabhi nazar aaya s
Mujh mein hi woh khushbu thi,
Jisse tune milwaya, (Maula)
Toot ke bikharna mujhko zarur aatha hai,
Ya ibaadat wala shahur aatha hai,
Sajde mein rehne do, ab kahin naa jaunga,
Ab jo tumne thukraya to sanwar naa paaunga,
(Maula)

Sar utha ke maine to kitni khwahishein ki thi,
Kitne khwab dekhe the, kitni koshishein ki thi,
Jab tu rubaroo aaya, nazre naa mila paaya,
Sar jhuka ke ek pal mein maine kya nahi paaya (Maula)

Mora piya ghar aaya, mora piya ghar aaya (Maula)

Salud,
Bhargavi.

Music Milliionaire

2009-02-26T23:02:00.004+05:30

So, Oscars got A.R.Rahman. Being a hardcore Rahmaniac from God-knows-when, surprises never surprise me. He has always taught us to perceive higher things in life; those which make the lesser mortals feel giddy. He has helped us dream of brighter colors, those which were considered garish by the blinded rats among us. He has given us hope, spread the cheer and most importantly instigated us to love ourselves more passionately than ever (Ah, above all, his humbleness has really touched and elevated us all. May be am exaggerating it all too much, as usual, but I do know he deserves this and more. I have always wondered how some men always manage to use the right words at the right time, like everything that they utter deserves to be inscribed in golden letters. I am left wondering....There are three quotes that stood out in ARR's Oscar speech which I would endeavor to touch upon here. (The perfect diplomat in him chose to speak in three languages viz., Tamizh, his mothertongue, Hindi, the most widely spoken language in India, English, the currency language. Of course he is much more fluent and comfortable in a universal language called Music.)

“All my life I had two options, either to take love or hatred. I chose love, and that's why I'm here.” (Or something to that effect)

How really true. Life has always been about making the right choices, and there is a choice beyond rich career, worthy spouse and good contacts, that is the life itself. Coming from a man who had to earn his bread and butter from 9, the choice must have been the lynchpin of everything that he is now.

"Mere maa mere paas hai" (My mother is with me)

Mother. The world in a word. The word that binds the entire world. The word is attributed to love in its most tangible form than the individual herself. This shows that he exudes the very love which he thinks he has chosen to adapt as the way of his life. This further shows that he is perfectly secure in this wobbly journey of life.

"Ella pugazhum iraivaunukke" (May all glory be to the Almighty)

God. Everything that's heroic in man, and has love in it can be called divine. And as it is time and again professed, service to humanity is service to the divine entity. Why should one grapple himself with truck loads of pride and at times deterring ego? Channelize it all through God and you get a perfectly filtered, edible, happiness and confidence. So this man has managed to get his philosophy across by using such simple, normal terms. I can only gape at him. To Mr. ARR, his superlative music, his soulful voice, and his calming smile, from all of us in me – Rehna tu, hai jaisa tu! (P.S.-I Love You Sirrr!!)(P.P.S.-He speaks in my mothertongue, do you even know what it means?!)

One Love

2009-02-13T21:16:00.002+05:30

I do not know which state of being I have enjoyed the most. Is it the dry, dreary, longing for water, beaming green and yellow, sunny state? Or is it the pale, calm, cold, bald and empty, white, foggy state? I confess. I love both. When someone takes everything that comes their way, they are termed weak and compromising. I disagree. I am strong, egoistic, faithful to my principles. I am a part of the nature. I am nature, natural. One of the facts that people fail to admit, recognize that nature never defies nature. It's simple! I see no point in being partisan. I am disinterested. Lo! Do not misinterpret it for uninterested. In reality, am over interested. I want more. Yet, am satisfied at every step, at every moment of stillness. I cherish every moment with equal fervor. I am either a hedonist or a masochist. Dou you see that, essentially there is no difference between them? Both of them seek what they 'think' as pleasure and are on a constant look out for a way to get out of what they perceive as pain. There again, pleasure and pain are basically one and the same. As long as one perceives either of the two emotions, one is still grounded to earth, like me, literally.

You might ask me, 'O ranting green lady, do you not have any search? No goals?' Indeed, I do have my search, but no goals. No, I am not trying to sound like a conundrum that I am not. Rooted as I am to myself, my soil, I cannot imagine nor conceive a thought of a goal, a destination, however unnecessary it is. I will not tie myself to a goal and filter my areas of search. I like to move, without motives, for being able to move, and to move in itself, has reached the status of need. When the need surmounts in importance, there is no need for reason. How contradictory! My need, is my reason. It's that simple. There is depth in my search, an inward glance, in the nature of introspection. There is pride in my search, an upward glance, in the nature of exaltation. Exaltation must remind you of Love. 'Do you have no lover?' you ask. Lovers you mean? Many. The mushrooms, the grasses, the dewdrops, the breezy winds, the insects, the birds, and the river that flows by...I love them all. But there is just one I Love. I see that capital letters do not help the cause and you see no difference in it. Perfect. Neither do I, in a way.

Oh yeah, my lover....In the thickets of my greens and browns, do you notice the faintest stint of plush red? He is the sky .Enveloping my environment, painting my life blue, crying on my behalf, Ideal lover, aint He? Love at first sight, they say, to me it is love at every sight. I have been loving him since, since eternity was an eternity away. Still, my love is fresh. Am still the girl of eighteen, the anxious, first time lover, the one who has definitely, gradually, and willingly lost her sense of control. It is not apprehension. What in the world can I fear when he is still up there? Untouched, detached, and strangely attached to everything and everybody. It is not the fear of rejection. It is the fear of acceptance. A few years ago, had you accused me of fearing rejection, I might have felt insulted, like you had questioned my integrity, my love for Him. Now, I won’t. Not only because my man is too greatly patient and benevolent to reject, the fact remains that my integrity and my love have never been offered at his feet for him to have a chance to reject. My love for him was always there, it was taken to be granted and never granted to be taken. May be you will understand it, if I called it one side love. Do you?

But love is never one sided. Nothing can be two, without there being a concept of one and vice versa. This way, I have to eat my own words. I am a conundrum, a puzzle. But so are you, him, her, all of us. We are all puzzles with too many missing pieces. And we have to find the missing ones to solve our puzzles, our life. He happened to complete my puzzle, my life. My other lovers were the pieces in edges, smoothening the rough terrains. He, was the central piece, key to my dark mystery. I am not belittling others' contribution, simply glorifying His'. That's all a lover does, for she knows no other way. When I accepted him as 'the' piece, I let him look at my life, my completeness. Now you know why nothing can be one way.

'Are you justifying?' No, I am simply stating, for love, is never justified. In fact, love is never willing to justify anyway. As, in, I never chose the sky as my lover. Neither did He, or has He? That's why it's special. It's like gravity, you can fake defiance, deny falling over, you would still be pulled inside. That's why the bromide, "falling" in love. I might differ from you there. One rises in love, it is an uphill emotion, always with bated breath, one peak conquered revealing the other, all the lowly emotions vanquished, it is pristine, unalloyed. 'Have you ever let him know of these?' I can but smile. It's usual. He knows.

Bhargavi,
20/1/2009.

Open Sesame!

2009-02-12T01:19:00.000+05:30

As a person who never gets bored admiring everything around me, I have never been short of inspiration at any point of time in my life. But there are things that warrant admiration at every sight of it. My college is one such unceasing wonderland to me. Right from the imposing gates to the "red fort", it was all love at the first sight. I remember my first day at the college vividly, when I reached there about 1.30 hours before the scheduled time. Hurried steps, excited minds, muted sighs and mumbled 'Hi's, it was the beginning of a scintillating journey for me, and continues to be one.

It's a different home coming for me. More on the lines of 'piya ghar jaana'. You know you are to spend a good part of your life here and like it happens in most people's life, it's something you never expected in spite of prior knowledge. Oh yeah, nothing is fool proof, you are fooled and proven about your status time and again. That, is what my college taught me, Life. Conspiracy, controversy, contradictions, colors, cacophony, conditionality, condonation, craze, caches, cliches, callousness, calm...everything. It has helped me perceive th human aspect in humanity. It's tough to explain, but I reiterate this college has given me everything I always had and never will have. Simply, everything.

It's almost like a pursuit for the pleasure of love, there is nothing concretely substantial that you can gain, other than the actual thought of it. I can equate my sojourn in the college with some kind of spiritual exercise. With love and God, something unique happens. Reason comes third, while Need and Faith occupy the first position unanimously. The need, for knowledge if not wisdom, the faith over myself, if not my particular choice indeed drives me sane and insane alternatively. I particularly loathe the sane moments, where my conscience maintains an utter silence over my actions. Indifference, cursory, disregardful reactions...how much I hate it all, how much I live for it! When someone offers so much in return of so little, what do you generally say? 'Thanks, I love you.' What would you do if you are denied access to that someone citing some arcane reason? "Uh, I miss you.' That's all am saying, looking at the closed doors of my esteemed institution. 'You are missed sorely.'

Moon on fire

2008-12-25T13:51:00.006+05:30

Primitive spark of light,
A firefly in the sanctum of darkness,
My silent tears,
Serving as the toiling oil,
Growing in spirits,
Kindling the embers of truth,
And the passions of youth,
Multiplying sexually,
With every touch of it,
On every living soul,
Propagating it's genre,
Like a missionary and his religion.

Fire's child being fire,
She spread the warmth around her,
Face aglow with virgin charm,
Inheriting her father's sinew,
She shone brilliantly within me,
Detonating one emotion after another,
Sparkling with a radiant smile,
A red-heat smile setting my minds ablaze,
Intense splendour reflecting through my eyes,
Feverish thoughts, fervent thoughts,
Spark no more a spark,
She grew inside me,
An ocean of fire within,
Golden waves washing all the sins;
A forest fire within,
And I burn with the greens,
Blasting off the black,
Refusing to reduce to ashes,
For mine is not a prostration towards the brown earth,
It's a penance towards the blue sky;

I bask in my brightness,
I incite my own strength,
I become what I think,
I become the Sun,
I am the Sun!
My Sun, to my Moon.
I become what I seek,
I become the truth,
I am the truth!
Irrefutable, iridescent, important,
Unquestionable truth,
Solar & Lunar truth,
My truth, to my Life,
My love.

The weeks that went by...

2008-12-13T22:40:00.007+05:30

...have been fun, funny.

*You enter your home, a lizard takes refuge on your skin, a couple of eels float by, snakes are they? you brave the slushy knee deep water to find your prized Oxford dictionary face down in the water. Feels like heaven. Of course, if you manage to rescue Gods, you'd have fixed a birth in one.

*You push the days to give birth to nights and wish the night never comes too. Life must be something as worse as this in refugee camps, methinks.

*Too busy with the deluge around, and inside me, perhaps, I woke up late for the Mumbai blasts. And my nightmares continue.

*I repeat this line at home, every night before you could hit the sack, run your hands over your body...you in one piece? Say, OK. Check if the people around you are in their original condition. Yes? Sleep well. Repeat it tomorrow, if it ever comes.

*Dear Mr. Terrorist, a lady I know lost her life falling down from a staircase which had just about four steps, and another who died because of renal failure, and ... Am trying to say 'teeny' to you guys(making faces/ shouting 'Vivi' for the uninitiated.) You are not the only ones who are involved in destruction. Hold on, you people competing with the nature? Great, one of you, promise to marry me, please?

*And for the nth time, am a law student, yeah, classmate of the rowdies,a rowdy myself, engaged in sowing communal differences among students, who's extremely impressed by her postponed exam time table. Anything else? Thanks for the love.

*On a positive note, if there's one thing that unites us all in the world, it's got to be tragedies. Wonder if people understand the language of joy, but sure we all understand the hieroglyphic script of pain. Let's go mute for sometime, and deaf too. Too much of noise all around. Can I have silence? Some music with it? Or a free hug, jiya-to-jiya, with a genuine smile? Please.

With him, Him, enough is not enough.

High at Low, er, Law...

2008-11-20T14:14:00.012+05:30

Das Recht. Law is essentially an ideal, albeit a flawed one. Where Ideal is a whole, Law has many holes. I vividly remember instances from my childhood when I wouldn’t take an ‘unfair decision’ in a game or a deceitful opponent. In fact, kids wouldn’t play with me saying she’s so strict and adamant about sticking to the rules and regulations. I was this argumentative Indian. And that’s all I wanted to be and had the guts to say ‘I will grow up to be a lawyer.’ Ever the idealist who would fight for rights and injustice(read in games, quarrels, relationships), strong words(irreverent) and convictional (snob!), and people would quip, ‘someday you’ll be a lawyer’. Expedient, needful, holistic justice, for all!! Oh heavens!

I confess, like many other little ones out there, I wanted to be an Army officer, shoot down a couple of those cruel Pakistanis and then die a death of valor. Vanity! Then, suddenly I realized hatred can never be nipped by hatred. Then, I relegated myself to I.P.S, then I.A.S, and then finally, it was to be B.A.B.L. The fact that I was regularly appreciated or scoffed for being ‘lawyerly’ by the ones close and the rest, helped me stick to my love with more passion. It was a passion, a dream, a hope, to be a part of land which is just and fair to all. Being quick to faults is common, but assisting in finding the remedy, to me, sounded noble. The thought that I would be paid to learn., that nothing human would be alien to me, that I will remain a student of life forever, that I can read anything and everything under the Sun and all of it would be academic in its own sense, sounded interesting and worth pursuing. Indeed.

How an almost 200 in Bio and Math in 12^Th class, ended up in the long arms of law is quite an unbelievable tale, so I leave it at that. So, the best, the Law, chose me. Holy Father of equity and justice! Wasn’t I ecstatic? But what followed it wasn’t a fairy tale, honestly.

Almost the first thing that I learnt when I entered my Law college was that, people were not here by choice, it was their last ditch option, they couldn’t get into Engineering, of course that means Medicine was out of question, so Law. Cheap, professional course. Some, made the previous sentence come alive, without the comma in between. It was a heart break. Add to this, the next worst revelation, Law and justice are not always synonyms. I felt jilted. And the wretched standards of my college (Now showing in all Indian News Channels) didn’t help my cause. It was a blind world and nobody could perceive colors. Absolute lack of reason and sanity. Lousy professors (ones who passed out from my own college, of course there are exceptions there again), bored/ jobless/ un-academic/ disoriented class mates, (I am a part of such a clan, accepted) politically motivated anti-social elements (they can’t be Students, right?), flirts, idiots and third rated-half human Godzilla…er! The only place in Chennai where there is no Law is our very own Dr. Ambedkar Govt. Law College. But that, doesn’t mean I have lost my religion.

I agree, that, each individual is accountable for his action. Trust me, we are not in Utopia. We call it vanishing point of Jurisprudence in legal terms. Where there is no need of law. There again, we might still need the Contractual and Personal Laws. For half the world knows no love but the laws that governs it. Imagine a lawless society, brutality and violence everywhere, lack of fairness, utter chaos and total disaster. It is notorious to judge the entire society of lawyers looking at few who ‘cash in’ on the troubled times. There is more truth to it, than it has ever come to the fore. Law is your public conscience. Generator, Operator and Destroyer-God, is not that Law?

It’s not that Law is in anyway an impediment to freedom, it’s a means to that. In a way they are these diametrically opposite lovers. Law is to set men free, and for that men have to set the law free, from the middlemen. And those middlemen, are not lawyers. It’s high time the general public stopped looking at us like we are perpetual criminals or family-shattering-wedges and accept that we are professional fighters. We don’t deal only with rapists and dacoits, we can also deal with you. It’s no boasting if I say, you can’t move a piece of land without a lawyer’s cacography in it.

And ah, that brings me to the eternally tormenting view, that lawyers are verbose. Prolixity is one of those heinous crimes that muggles (Pardon me) have come to detest in Advocates. There are subtle and deep reasons to that, one the inherent and general complexity of the subject matter, the other a natural urge to use guarded and cautious language. Words are never ‘mere air’ for a lawyer, and we know their inexorable and indisputable power, and thus, can never ever take them for granted. And yeah, we must write in order that we just cannot be misconstrued, so the circumlocution, overuse of words. Further, when am speaking on some one else’s behalf there is a human tendency to pepper it with higher words and prove his cause right. Rightful exaggeration is allowed. On another note, may be, the verbose people just happened to be lawyers, as in couldn't it have been a mere coincidence?

Next, is a cliché. Lawyers are liars. Can you give me a break? We are no hypocrites, at least, not professionally thus. Individuals can be hypocrites, chances. Imagination is a part of every profession (unless you don’t love what you do) and we are allowed our brand of ‘poetic justice’, as long as it’s in the light of justice, equity and good conscience. It’s a professional ethic not to let our clients down, and now tell me, who’s the offender? Criminal law rightfully punishes the abettors more than the actual one who commits the crime. At the end of the day, it’s the mindset of the individual who decides to fabricate the case and deviate the Court’s attention. That’s not a ‘lawyer’s thing’. So, don’t ever think you’re paying a compliment to a lawyer by calling him/her a liar. It’s blasphemy.

And this last paragraph is for the good souls who ask if I would bail them out of abyss if they commit any crime. Good laws not put into use by a useless lawyer might be an inconvenience, bad laws in a skilled lawyer’s kitty can be an issue, but such inexcusable notions about law and lawyers by half witted clients IS a crime. Law, for one, doesn’t breed criminals. The act of assigning a lawyer to represent an accused is only to accentuate the principles of natural justice which says ‘No man shall be condemned unheard.’ Makes sense? That’s law. Whether you use Law as a defiance or an offence is your pardon my expression, goddamn choice. Dreary, dry, no humor, curious, probing, but with all due respect to the clichés it attracts, Law is a peace lover. A social doctor, engineer, carpenter, cobbler, sculptor, police, teacher, bosom friend, seer. A woman, who believes in bringing joy through balance, we call her Lady Justice just for that. Whether you want her as your mother or a call girl depends on YOU. She awaits us all with a generous heart and silky soft palms. Therefore, anytime, anywhere you see that benevolent Lady disrobed, gagged, blindfolded, muted, and deafened, tortured to death, save her anyway, for yourself. That can be a ‘lawyerly’ thing to do. Honest and purity of thoughts, after all can never be justiceable by law. Hmmm. Fiat Justitia!

Recovery

2008-11-15T18:17:00.003+05:30

A tear drop,
Advertising an agony,
Softening the tension,
Straightening the crumpled thoughts;
The irregular folds of mind,
Can ever be smoothened?

Warm drops of wishes,
One of each size,
Each one priceless,
Carrying bigger dreams,
Chasing wider horizons,
Steering bitter notions away,
Sowing the seeds of love,
Urging the Sun to smile broad,
Cajoling clouds to shower often,
Cheering the first violets of hope!

Oh, violets of hope,
Witnessing a stampede
Can become your routine,
Make friends with the legs,
Fingers that pick on you,
Are only warriors of peace,
Armed with some ignorance,
And all the arrogance of youth!

Be a phoenix dear violet,
Beam at the brutality,
Do not stoop low,
Stop wilting;

If you have to weep,
Shed renewing droplets
Of timely dews,
Let them be bubbles of mercy,
A chain of serenity,
A serenade of unsung odes,
Claiming unspoken eloquence,
Helping us recover,
Healing some wounded hearts,
Filling with your power;
The ballad of a broken faith,
Rings inside my mind’s ear,
Is that your caressing voice, Mother?

Attachment

2008-11-13T03:16:00.004+05:30

My world, my country, my school, my college, my office, my people, and my life (In no particular order.) This is all what I have been thinking as selfishness. Patriotism, love or ego, you may give it any name, it is selfishness in all its glory and gore. Whatever be your choice, you seek selfishness, you seek suffering. It's a free gift, a by product or rather, an integrated chip in the selfish-needs-chip. Forget a high tension war or a dead parent, even a lost cricket match or a misplaced worn out ring hurts, at times, doesn't it? Why it's my team, they represent a part of me, that never existed and chances that it would never. And the ring, has a story, or a lack of such fuss, making it worth remembering and saving, it doesn't mean that it's usable, alright.

I will deal with a less misinterpreted and much more exhaustive word to explain the syndrome, attachment. Getting rid of wants is not as impervious as getting rid of attachments. For attachments are impossible to let go. It follows us everywhere, like our shadows, even in the pitch darkness, which takes it one bit closer and yeah, darker. For wants are full of expectations and attachments, full of burning hopes. Now what a weapon this hope is! It is capable of manipulating reality into er, reality, if you get the drift. Nobody lives with hopelessness, they die. Living without attachment thus, is practically a impracticable. Just like nobody is truly independent, nobody is truly detached. You can detach the self from the world, but never the world from the self. Oh well, unless you are in an isolated island. But now you know, that one small writer like me is actually thinking and writing about you, and even if you are just as unaware as before, you are attached to me there. What's more amusing is that, once you are attached the most pettiest things get blown out of proportions. And in hearts of hearts, you don't think you are a hypocrite.

The more one is attached the less the doubts become. You are sure of yourself, you know what your object of attachment means to you, you just don't know why, and what's happening around. Now if I ever gave an impression that am trying to detach myself, am faking it. I am attached, congenitally. Born free, but chained by attachments. Scientifically, born free, with naval chords still hanging from the flesh of your tummy. What if its strangling your neck? (I meant it rhetorically, but couldn’t help saying, it’s a ‘thaali’, lass. )

Just to quantify it all, let us stick to relationships, events, and things. By the way, I have been beating the word to pulp without ever bothering to define it. Attachment, is the last significant memory of an interest. In a relationship, stronger the bond, weaker get the flaws, in fact they are glorified. And, when you are not attached so close, you don’t call it a flaw and move on. Things…the older they get, the worthier they become. There are some keepsakes we preserve, and erase the actual person from our memory. Strange.

Next, think of an event. Appy burthdye chu oo? It has a list of positive memories, people, food and gifts. You are possibly thinking the people who were close then were the best, and life was indeed life the last time a birthday was an ‘appy burthdye’. A disaster now, Tsunami? That’s tricky. Now what was just your life became our life and the world seemed smaller. Now, if you couldn’t think of an event, just in case, I am bothered. Are you muttering, ‘when was the last time the world wasn’t falling apart?’, I am scared, if that’s the word. That’s the one thing I have been fearing all my life, becoming indifferent to the level of being inhuman and insensitive. For, in the time of such horrors and tragedies, when life is getting uncertain by every passing minute, we don’t need indifference, all we need, is some change, and you are that, the difference. An Obama at a faraway Whitehouse has inspired a bunch of unrelated, laid back Indians, you see. Just that one is not enough in any case. But it can always start with one. ‘Mine’ is a stronger word than ‘ours’, simply because at times counting only on yourself is the only option, and what a necessity it is!

I better stay attached. Not that I want to be voted the next U.S. President or I want someone’s gratitude, and no, this is not a statement out of fear. I want to know where I am and why I am, and be what I am. For once I know am being chained to realize freedom. There are thousand ways I can die, but if I find myself one reason to live, am only too ready to pursue it and indeed fight for it. Suffer? Let me try getting out of the warp, and suffer in the process that sitting smug, helplessly. If a terrorist motivates himself to suffer, and dies fighting for his principles, thereby living in an odd sort of way, why not me? And between my chained palms, I enclose the space in its entirety, the space fills out of my little palms, peace my self, for this moment is at the core of eternity. Amen.

Irumbuth thottathile- ah mana

Irumbuth thotathile!

Malarum mottondru udhirak kandaal

Ularndhu podhalum murayo?

Valarum chittondru oonurgak kandal

Thalarndhum saadhalum murayo?

Malayum manidhan marugach chonnal

Alaiyagidume adhanal-Anbuk

Kalayam adhanai kanayay matri

Valaiyil vizhach cheyvome-vazhkai

Valayil vizhach cheyvome!

Hatred

2008-11-01T20:07:00.008+05:30

I hate loathe and detest,

The little leaves that your legs crush,
The trees that your shoulders brush,
The flowers that your fingers graze,
The breeze that touches your face,
Drops of rain against your cheeks,
The occasional twitches of joy,
Your shadows that adorn the earth,
The beams of light passing through your eyes,
The involuntary glances by
The people who deserve you,
The people who don't,
People, in all.

The bitterness lingers on,

I am pained by the streetlights,
That get to wink at you every evening,
And the papers you throw into a bin,
Kissing your hands again' n again,
The worship of waves at your feet,
A little pebble in your shoes,
Your home, the unmade beds,
The coffee mugs and the dried plates,
Each boasting of your touch,
Your presence, your feel, you...
I hate, loathe and detest...

I hold grudge with the Sun,

For it's your bosom friend,
I ignore the Moon for a fortnight,
For it's your cold company,
The stars are my foes,
They play with my woes,
Usual nonchalance notwithstanding,
I feel repulsion towards everybody,
Everything that's you,
Everything that's becoming of you,
And I slam the door of my heart,
Unbreakable locks at its entrance,
Shut tight, never to open,
I've taken nothing that's you,
With me, I take pleasure in it,

That's you; I drop my pleasures.

Some anger came with it,
That's you; I disowned them.
Excruciating ache stuck me,
That's you; Am painless now.
I feel light, easy and good,
I shouldn't smile like you,
I remind myself;
Now am alone,
I, me, myself,
No you, how does it look?
I have not known it for long now;
I rummage for the occult mirror,
It's your image in my visage,
I rub my eyes, your colors
Stick to my fingers, yours.

Broken pieces reflect,
Thousand you, and no me?
Aversion, none towards the glass,
But the object of its reflection,
Am just another version of you,
One of your zillion kaleidoscope images...
I hate, detest and loathe, my I?

Ship wreck

2008-10-20T22:47:00.003+05:30

I'm a ship,
In the waterless oceans,
Of Life,
No passengers to take in,
No goods to deliver,
No messages to carry,
No storms, no pirates,
No sea, only the sickness, May be;
Direction-less, Purpose-less,
More-less, Less-more,
I sail through,
Waves won't topple me,
The Sun won't gobble me,
The shores will remain silent,
The snails will move slow,
The Light houses, won't come,
I sail through...
Not in the hope of
Finding a land,
But in the hope of,
Landing in a find,
The search,
For my sea continues....

Epilogue-Second year in the web world for Bhavna. Thanks for the love, people. She loves you too.

Smile

2008-10-20T22:20:00.003+05:30

Smile,
Wherever you are,
Even if you are not there,
For me;
Smile for me,
Smile,
Not for my eyes,
Neither for my senses,
Nor for my presence,
But for your presence,
In me,
That I feel,
That, which makes me feel.

Let my eyes falter,
Cheat, deceive and drag,
Let the rainbows
Break the monotony of seven,
And be a colorful bridge,
To the heaven,
Let me be invisible,
To everything, but you,
Let everything else be you,
Let there be nothing, but you,
Go invisible!
Let me go blind,
Let me bind,
Let me not,
Let me,
No!
Smile,
Wherever you are.

Smile at the tree,
Don't think of me,
I shall think,
That it's for me;

Smile at the flower,
Never let me know,
I won't ask her,
The secret, 'how'?

Smile at the stars,
On a cloudy night,
Am out of sight,
So, not a plight.

Smile in your dreams,
Let the smirk exact itself,
Let the contortion stay for another jiffy,
If one can take offence from nowhere,
Why not some offer from everywhere?
Let me happily assume,
And let my life, resume.

Marina - My two cents

2008-09-28T22:44:00.012+05:30

‘Beyond the light house, the road has barricades in it, diverts to left, that is the way.’ Was code to be broken, I mean followed. Taking some time off in the beach is best recreation ever known to me. Re-creation of self, it is self explanatory.

As I got down at the ‘light house bus stop’, I was as clueless as ever about my destination. Trusted friend, sure, but trusting myself on matters of directions is foolhardy. The road was so long, that I had to compare it with the road to perdition, it sure is 'my journey’. I searched for the signs I was to notice to identify my destination. I was probably one of the few females who took to walk in such a street, It bore no traces of the high tech metro life the city boasts of…huts, thatched roofs, fishing nets, catamarans, boats…In fact it didn’t bear any semblance to the busy people plaza to be found around the Anna Square. Arrack place, if you want to call my destination it by some name. Why? Because they sell arrack at a cheap price there, simple. I crossed the fisher folk there, I was greeted by a bemused smirk, all for an instant. It vanished the next. ‘You here?-Yeah, here, I.’ I turned right and left like a thief caught red handed and finally decided to go straight. Take the plunge girl, that’s the instinct.

This is it. I knew it straight away. The place was almost empty but for a few passionate couples. They could’ve been brother-sisters, oh, fine. They seemed hurt at the sight of a female walking alone (alright the guy there was too loud!) I had to be politely indifferent. When I was at a touching distance to the waters, I didn’t know me. I forgot the necessity to be me, you or anybody else/ anything else for that matter.I lost the necessity of necessity. Kadalil vizhunden, Kaadhalil vizhunden! (Fell into to the ocean, fell in love) The expanse-less sea had so much to communicate with me. I felt my consciousness melting away to its subconscious self. The rest of the world was a blur, a mere haze, tarry! It is the steam, an illusion. There is so much illusion in reality and, what is infinitely beautiful is that there is so much reality in illusion. Given a choice what would you take? Hmm.

Sun was nowhere to be felt. I searched for him earnestly and felt him on the nape of my neck. ‘Aye you, can’t you keep yourself away for awhile?’ The intensity of His touch soared briefly and that is it,incognito. ‘ Good, you obliged.’ When a superior obliges to you, you know its out of part amusement and part affection and has nothing to do with the childish threats. I know, I know. I prepared to look guilty and dropped it simultaneously. It’s His indulgence. I only had the right to feel happy, perhaps proud, perhaps without His knowledge. Cheeky ways.

Have you listened to silence? I did. Listen now, to the story of the Sky and the Sea. The Sea was born at the horizon. So the Sky is His mother. Did the Sea just flow from the womb of the sky and fill the earth and space around it? Are the clouds flowing from one end to another, nothing but horizontal tidal waves? Who could the Sky be feeding with Her bosom milk but Her ever thirsty son of the soil?

At the dawn, when She wears an orange sari, he has to drape an orange robe, all saintly and holy. At the dusk, when She decides to switch to an ink blue skirt with silver thread work, He has to bear with His silver-blue costume. Matching matching!! What a compelling RMKV mother-son pair they are! So, have you noticed their striking resemblance to each other? Genes, they call it. Have you even looked into their dissimilarities? Mutatis mutandis. I heard a familiar Mother-son conversation.

Mom-I feed you with the purest of waters and you make it all saline and unusable!

Son-I came through you and not from you, read that somewhere? It’s my nature ma…Does my beloved mother not know about the rubies and emeralds in my vault? Has the kind lady forgotten the lives I bear? The fishes are not complaining, nor are my other friends, why should you?

M- What kind of a son are you?

S-Your dearest blue baby, eh? Hmm, this pearl necklace should go with your night gown, like it ma?

M-Noble son, I sowed the drop.

S-Pristine Mother, I bear the fruits.

And the conversation is never ending….Let us move on...

The sky has Her daughter-in-law in the sand, literally. Miss. Shore is His lover. Rather She loved him, and He was indifferent. Am getting bored with this concept already. What is this indifference all about? Whatever. Am only being a dumb female chauvinist. Coming back, ‘ I have my own cause for living, I enjoy my solitude, my life is too tedious and dynamic for you’ was His initial response at Her proposal. I, my, why? Selfishness, eh? Once even the calm, duty bound sea burst forth-Why do you cling to my crest and trough, Earthen beauty, why do you tail me, say now? She was calmer than Him in Her approach. ' You taught me to be ceaseless, my lover!' Tell me, who wouldn’t budge for such mad love? ' Oh well, the feminist in me is back. Mad. That is the word. What can one speak in the split second that this man chooses to visit Her wet land? ‘We speak love’, She replied cheerfully. I shook my head in disbelief. And man, what do you do to Her? ‘ I add layers of sand to her muddy dress.’ ‘Oh yeah, neat job.’ Wonder how and when this female noticed my sarcasm, She clung hard to my legs. ‘Do whatever’, I had nothing much to say. And by the time I had, my mouth tasted of salt and mud. Both of you planned to push me down is it, criminal conspiracy! I noted to myself. ‘Try arresting me’ challenged He, ‘ I will go with him to the Andaman jail,’ the faithful She. What on Oceans? I mean, you guys better keep romancing in Marina.

~Bhargavi,
05/08/2008.

Relationship Gag, er Tag...

2008-09-22T22:19:00.004+05:30

Tagged by Nithya (toot toot!)

1. If your lover betrayed you, what will your reaction be?

As in he broke MY trust, faith, hope and expectations? I gave him the right, so no qualms whatsoever. Silence will be my 'action' and if am forced to react- 'Thank you, my dearest.'

2. If you can have a dream to come true, what would it be?

Bring the song 'chinna chinna aasai' to life. 'Vennilavu thottu muthamida aasai, ennai indha bhoomi sutri vara aasai!!'

3. Whose butt would you like to kick?

I might look extremely foolish kicking mine, so, I would rather skip it.

4. What would you do with a billion dollars?

Firstly I would sing 'Putham pudhu bhoomi vendum...' Then get myself a spacious home, less furniture, a beautiful garden, fewer rooms with all kinds of books, music CDs, chocolates. Go on a world tour( hitchhiking all the way!) may be I should start with Kashmir first! And build a huge mansion to house people who have been left with the sky as their roof (I don't want it to be called an orphanage/old age home/destitute camp )

5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?

Unless I fall in love, is he/she my best friend?

6. Which is more blessed, loving someone or being loved by someone?

Either way it's pure selfishness, a basic need, blessedness.

7. How long do you intend to wait for someone you really love?

I don't intend to call it a 'wait'. I wont have the 'pause' button on, let the music 'play' anyway!

8. If the person you secretly like is already attached, what would you do?

Is this what one calls a love triangle? Sounds like a mathematical disaster to me.

9. If you like to act with someone, who will it be? your gf/bf or an actress/actor?

No question of acting with my real life friends. I should be happy learning some art from Russel Crowe, Aamir Khan, Nandita Das, Prakash Raj, Mohanlal, Tabu and our very own Kamal Hassan.

10. What takes you down the fastest?

Drugs. A mild dose can put me to sleep for hours.

11. How would you see yourself in ten years time?

In a mirror, with my two black eyes, Of course. (no specs/ lens I hope.)

12. What’s your fear?

Hurting others, however inadvertent it may be, singing on stage, losing my patience, forgetting the art of conversation, going jobless for days together, missing to miss people, feeling guilty about something I do willingly.

13. What kind of person do you think the person who tagged you is?

Word-a-thon! :)

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married but poor?

I would like to retain my 'single' mantle to enjoy my solitude, be rich enough for books and music always, be married to love and integrity, enjoy the poverty of inaction and incomptence.

15. What’s the first thing you do when you wake up?

Set my alarm for to ring after another 15 minutes.

16. Would you give all in a relationship?

I wont give up, atleast.

17. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously, who would you pick?

You mean with myself and another person?

18. Would you forgive and forget, no matter how horrible a thing someone has done?

I don't forget things and events in general. What's it about a horrible thing? I have been fortunate thus far then. O.K., I'll forgive, may be.

19.Do you prefer being single or having a relationship?

Single, in a relationship.

20. List 6 people to tag

I tag nobody, anybody who wishes to take up this one is welcome to do so!

One nights' gift

2008-09-08T00:41:00.000+05:30

Like an empty tin box,
That screams as a thunder falls,
There is, Emptiness within;
Never too close for a friendly hug,
Never too far for a miss you mail,
Tracked in and out, Lost tracks;
My heart it bellows helplessly,
No words to make out;
Only the muffled gasps,
Courtesy, the rustle of grasses,
And the muted sounds,
The silky winds;
A rhythmic cacophony,
Ebb and flow of thoughts,
Wants wane,
Needs evade,
Life exists,
Somewhere, Nowhere.

A concentrated haven,
A parallel world,
A synchronous wanderer,
The compressed silver cottons,
A giant jasmine space-hanging,
A pale beige fetish,
A puffed butter ball...

An uproar of the flame,
Vociferous, immutable, immortal,
Burning bright,
The power awakens,
Absolute power weakens absolutely,
Ah, how cheerfully one consigns to perdition!
The dreamiest, quietest, shadiest, most enchanting one...
The laughter is ensconced in every direction,
I smile back in contemptuous reverence.

Reflection of your black shadow,
Illuminates me to glory!
Am flattered by thy illusory love,
Reduced to golden dust by thy virtual touch,
Risen beyond the yonder with the painted reality,
Reality is just a dream away,huh?
My life is living again,
Hurtling in elliptical orbits,
Enclosed in the expanse less space, yours,
Wonder why?
For I know,
I own you more,
Than your velvet skin,
I own you more,
Than the winking diamonds,
I own you more,
Than your crimson lover,
I own you more,
Than your self,
I own your absence,
My one night's gift.

A leafless tree

2008-09-04T21:45:00.006+05:30

Spine erect,
Shoulder blades upright,
Smoothness concealed behind Her sturdy eyes,
Solemnity and Solitude personified,
Proposed her love to the mighty Sky,
Neither can She touch Him,
Nor will He bow down,
'When can I be yours?' She asks,
'Not yet" He says.

The North wind woos Her,
The Southern breeze scoffs at Her,
Sunburns by the eastern side,
And west is Her only respite.

Seasons change, climate changes,
Autumn takes her clothes away,
Her thoughts remain unchanged,
And the Love's rendered naked,
She doesn't cry for Him,
He cries for Her,
She smiles, for She got her reply,
Through His tears,
'I'm not a passing cloud' He says,
'Neither do I have a wooden heart' She says,
A leafless tree.

~Bhargavi.

(01/09/2008)

Just clouds...

2008-09-04T21:32:00.005+05:30

May be,

It were a wisp of smoke,

Or the white of your eye,

Or a flow of snow,

Or a feather of a dove,

Or a parade of phantoms,

Or a robe of an angel,

Or, just clouds.

Bhargavi

(29/08/2008)

Insecurity

2008-08-13T19:31:00.005+05:30

It is a feeling which beats Love in its all pervasiveness. Every move we make in life has invariably an invisible need to feel secure, cocooned. Why have you taken Engineering and not English Literature that you so loved? Security. Why not a Private job, but a Govt. job? Security. Why is your lover not your wife? Security!! Oh dear.

Insecurity has the power to tamper with the dearest of our ideals(!)
Is it really the need to feel secure or the need to not to feel insecure that makes us shun our desires? And how really is it possible for us not to do what we desire and still feel secure? What kind of security is that? It is like sitting in darkness because your favorite candle might melt.

A very chosen few know that the life may not go in our way, but we go in it’s way. No, I am not talking about fate. I shall maintain that I don’t really understand the concept. Life is like being out on a vast open space where you see an array of roads from which you can take your pick. And that is the first and last time you’re given a chance of choice. There is nothing like THE right/best road or the wrong/worst road. You are to walk on, whichever lane you chose to choose. Long walk, accept it, admit it. Feet might ache, unbearably. That really doesn’t mean your road is the longest route. Longest route to reach what? Death? Nay, mate. Like an algebra problem, there is nothing like a simple problem, each one of it is a problem, even when you have solved it.

You look around, find your friend jumping, singing a happy tune while you are wailing your way to misery, and curse your decision. But hey, did you stop over to check on your friend’s status when you were swinging while turning the previous corner? That’s life for you. Jus Naturale. Equality is everywhere, we fail to notice it and feel insecure. Au contraire, why do we need to feel secure 24*7*lifetime? That might make me feel un-Indian. Everything going at our orderly pace, people behaving in the way we want them to, every wish of ours coming true? That is American. My life would have lost its charm if every prayer of my lips were been responded duly, if every question were answered, if everything I wanted came into my possession. There is fun when I have to fight, even with the full knowledge of failure. The fact that I could be denied makes me hold my wishes more closer to me. The extent to which I might risk failing measures the passion for my love. I have tried, have been tried, in trying situations. That is the reason for my life, the means and end being the same. Nobody knows the end, but making a start is not a bad idea at all. Is not this what we mean when we say ‘ I’m living the life in my own way?’ enjoying everything, thinking beyond our circle of likes and dislikes…Seeking security in insecurity and uncertainty? Oh yes!

Live in, live out

2008-07-27T15:04:00.003+05:30

The first time I had the courage to look into his eyes and said 'I need to marry you...' , I was three months pregnant. I use the word courage to let you understand my reverence for the spirit I have loved for five full years, dreamed every other night of holding hands in a moonlit shore, and lived the dream every second of my life, through dreams, of course.

Reporting startling things to Rabi is like throwing a pebble in a deep blue Ocean. It doesn't make any difference to the Ocean, but the pebble drowns ineluctably, experiences salvation. There are times I wonder if it's the pebble which is perturbed at the thought of death. Rabi startles life with his own indifference, however vulnerable it makes him ultimately. There are times when I have urged him to react strongly, like how I do, and secretly wished that he never did. 'Chandra, you will repent it in a moment', he would mumble. Fair enough. But today I wanted him to show some emotion, take some action, for this involved my child, correction, our child.

Back in our graduation days, we were the under profile friends. I talk and he listens. ‘There's nothing unusual about it, girls are programmed to talk.’ He would observe. I will be forced to smile, for the one person who hasn't seen the moody, silent vegetable in me had to be him. ‘ Too feminine, too scary’-he would quip. The thought that some one found me feminine made me turn and look. Look, ah, I was bitten by the bug and promptly let him know in an impromptu way. There again, there was nothing startling about that, he dismissed it nonchalantly. If convincing myself about my stand was tough, convincing him that it was 'that' was tougher. Forget impressing, I couldn't even press my stand. What all I had to go through, it makes me chuckle. Feels like yesterday, the day he chose to understand me, the day we decided not to cage our relationship with ductile metals and agreed to live-in, simply.

What the devil was I thinking whilst I took that decision? I wanted to shout it out. His clear black eyes pierced mine, it was the usual bemused look that he always wears in my presence, the way a father looks at his daughter mess her dress up eating a chocolate brownie. His fingers did the usual trick, making the pen rotate between them like bees squirming back and forth in a bush, almost black magically. This was something I enjoyed him doing, the reason being I couldn’t get it. But tonight, I couldn't help wishing that he actually stopped it. My head seemed spinning between the fingers. 'Tch...' That was me, unconsciously. The black razor gel pen stopped in the mid air theatrically. I fell silent, instinctively. I expected him to goad me a bit, if not scoff, that's an impractical expectation, given it's him, I reminded myself.

'It's not for me, really...'

Almost a year back, on the day I mentioned about a while ago, it was me who had talked of not taking the topic 'marriage' any more in our life. He had smirked then. The smirk took it's position again, his eyes kept growing calmer.

'Stop talking like a drama actor', he said, in the tone we say 'hush!' when our favorite singer is on Television. I hoped to hear him pronounce my name, he wouldn't, expected I say!

'We are no man and wife. It makes my child an illegitimate one. He will be an outcast among his peers. And if it's a she, you know how it is. Either marry me, or let us get to some man less Island.' Oh, heavens, that wasn't bad! Felicitations, myself!!

’I would prefer a woman less Island, frankly.' he chided.

'Not until I'm alive! I am serious Rabi.'

'So am I.'

'Is there a rule that one should give back whatever the Society has given to him?'

'Why give back at all?'

'Meaning?'

'Why bother any which way?'

'You are repeating the mistake our elders did. Implementing their past, in our present and future. We have no business to experiment with our children's lives, even if they are ours.'

'Point taken, rope or ring?'

'You make it sound awful. Both!'

'Too feminine, too scary. When?'

'Now?' I jumped up.

'Huh, tomorrow, this is hardly the time to get married, even it's for the sake of your child. Nice drama, by the way.' His eyes laughed like a toddler even when the over all demeanor was of utmost insubordination.

'You.' I groaned.

‘I.’ He replied.

Artful Rascals

2008-07-19T18:03:00.014+05:30

I confess am not a child-lover. As in, not the one who goes ooh-aah at the site of a fetus/infant/toddler/ or any other minuscule, dwarfed homo sapien. But that doesn't mean that I don't like my child, that's an exception. Come on, am just another selfish human being on the earth, just that am being honest. In short am a plain guy, in case you missed the point.

Every mother thinks that her child is the best in the milky way. Every father wishes to think so, but you see there is a difference in the emotional quotients. Did I say there are exceptions. Of course. Like the other day I had been to my friends's place, where I was introducesd to his son, who can sing, act, dance, do karate, say 'A, B, C, D', '1, 2, 3, 4' -all at the tender age of 2.5!

'O.K now kutty, let's teach Uncle 'the seven days in a week'

Yeah, that's all I have to learn at 30+, humor me, kiddo.

'Gimme the Monoco biscuit packet, I will'

Here you go!

'Not now, you say it properly, you get it'

Civil contract?

'First biscuit, then this'

Caveat emptor has worked!!

'O.K, you little devil, it's there behind the tumbler stand, take it, now, go on'

Better!

'Sunday, Friday, Saturday.'

How nice....

'Sunday, MONDAY, HMM!! Next is??

You dunno?

'Right, Sunday, Monday, Saturday.'

It's still nice, I say!

'You, moron!!'

Whose son is he anyway?

No biscuits for you!

He's vanished already.

'Erm, may be he feels a bit shy, am a stranger you see.' I suggested to my dear friend.

Sighing, he continued, 'Yeah *grin*, we practiced it properly even the last night, he is flustered you know'

Huh, now am not a monster.

'Oh yeah? I mean, Oh, great, amusing'

'Thanks'

What is this showcasing of talents all about? Whatever.

My day had to be a little longer than this. Had to meet my interesting landlord. He had a 3 year old daughter, I know that you guessed it. Ah, girls are welcome any where eh? Looking like a fairy in her pretty white frock, she quietly entered the room. So, no drama here. Matured dad. Or so I assumed. Her highness headed to the almirah, like a cool cat. We started conversing...

'Sir, the roof is leaking'

'We will....Chuppi!!!'

'What of the broken window?'

'Look, I cant...don't take the ink pot now!!'

'Sir, the bricks that you have left in the terrace?'

'You mean....my sports magazines!!'

'Your white frock Chuppi!!' It's the fairy's mother.

'Will see you later sir' An act of kindness to either parties, fair enough?

'Come to my ohf...Gone!!

Oh, these children, and their stuck parents.

Tired, tortured, pampered, I entered my home.

'Appa!!' shouted my 4 year old.

Goodness gracious, what beauty!'

'Yes, bittu'

Father *la la la*

'10 Rupees'

Look at the grin, my pocket sized hobgoblin.

'But I gave you 10 bucks yesterday, where is it?'

You!!

'Here pa *shows the already blackened yellow cosco ball*

You made me proud, my son!

'Now, what is that you want? You have a bat already'

My Sachin Tendulkar!

'Chocolate pa, Dairy milk'

Damned spendthrift! How did you get all the math right?

'Please pa...' (One hand out stretched, a face that would make 'Sowcar' Janaki appear happier.)

Get the hero out of you, Man!

I take out a new Ten Rupees note, fold it vertically into two, like a bus conductor, and stretch my fingers. He smiles like a Cheshire cat and tries to snatch it (Like the yahoo smiling emoticon now!) I lift my hand above his reach and let the note dangle above his head. He jumps and jumps, for nearly 2 minutes. Gives up then, now all sullen. I try to coax him and pull him towards me, now the note in my palms. His face celebrates a mini Diwali, and he tries to grab it from me. I withdraw my hands just at the last moment. Sadism, is pleasure, aww! This is the limit, he feels, and tries to get out of the place immediately. I push the note in his tiny palms. He lets it drop. He wants to show that there is as much sense of dignity in a child, as there in an adult. I lift him with one hand. He doesn't act like a butterfly. He lets me hold him, but he will not get the money from me. Now, he is the hero. I tickle him, try to please him, beg him, say 'please please bittu' over and over. My wife hasn't put me in this situation, nor has my boss. This boy, I say, is an artful rascal. Then finally, after 10 funny minutes, he accepts the note from me with the grace of one doing a favor at his own risk. Now, it's the time for a Mother Teresa-like, this-is-how-I-live-my-life, for-others kinda smile. Of course.

Oh, these children, and their stuck parents.

Kangal irandal - Subramaniapuram

2008-07-06T23:17:00.009+05:30

This song has captured my imagination! We have had 'chinna kannan azhaikkiran' by IR, 'azhagana rakshasiye...' by ARR 'sudum nilavu sudadha sooriyan' from Vidyasagar and more recently 'kaadhal neruppin nadanam' by G.V.Prakashkumar, but I still can't get enough of Reethigowlai!! So James Vasanthan took pity (!) on me and composed this lovely retro-sounding 'rock'ing number for this movie called Subramaniapuram.I liked the tune crooned by Belly Raj and Deepa Mariam instantly, the lyrics grew on me. Thamarai has come up with simple, sweet lyrics, so sweet that there were hardly one or too matches when I had googled to get the lyrics. I thought I would do the honors (err...) and have reproduced the lyrics below (to the best of my auditory capabilities) Happy listening!

கண்கள் இரண்டால் உன் கண்கள் இரண்டால்

என்னைக் கட்டி இழுத்தாய் இழுத்தாய் போதாதென
சின்னச் சிரிப்பில் ஒரு கள்ளச் சிரிப்பில்
என்னைத் தள்ளி விட்டு தள்ளி விட்டு மூடி மறைத்தாய்

பேச எண்ணி சில நாள்
அருகில் வருவேன்
பின்பு பார்வை போதும் என நான்
நினைத்தே நகர்வேன் ஏமாற்றிக்

கண்கள் எழுதும் இரு கண்கள் எழுதும்
ஒரு வண்ணக் கவிதை காதல் தானா
ஒரு வார்த்தை இல்லையே இதில் ஓசை இல்லையே
இதை இருளிலும் படித்திட முடிகிறதே

சரணம் 1:
இரவும் அல்லாத, பகலும் அல்லாத,
பொழுதுகள் உன்னோடு கழியுமா?
தொடவும் கூடாத, படவும் கூடாத,
இடைவெளி அப்போது குறையுமா?

மடியினில் சாய்ந்திட துடிக்குதே
மறுபுறம் நாணமும் தடுக்குதே
இது வரை யாரிடமும் சொல்லாத கதை! (கண்கள்...)

சரணம் 2:
கரைகள் அண்டாத, காற்றும் தீண்டாத,
மனதுக்குள் எப்போது நுழைந்திட்டாய்?
உடலும் அல்லாத உருவம் கொள்ளாத
கடவுளைப் போல் வந்து கலந்திட்டாய்

உனையன்றி வேறொரு நினைவில்லை
இனி இந்த ஊனுயிர் எனதில்லை
தடையில்லை சாவிலுமே உன்னோடு வர (கண்கள்...)

For the tamizh challenged…

KangaL irandaal un kangaL irandaaL
Ennai-k- katti izhuthai podadhena
Chinna-ch-chirippil oru kaLLa chirippil
Ennai-th- ThaLLI vittu thaLLi vittu moodi maraithay

PEsa eNNi sila naaL
Arugil varuven
Pinbu paarvai podhum ena naan
Ninanithe nagarven emaatri-k-

KangaLezhudum iru kangaL ezhudum
Oru vaNNa kavidhai kaadhal dhaana
Oru varthai illaye idhil Osaiyillaye
Idhai iruLilum padithida mudigiradhe

Charanam 1:

Iravum alladha pagalum alladha
pozhudugal unnodu kazhiyuma?
Thodavum koodadha, padavum koodadha,
IdaiveLi appodhu kurayumaa?

Madiyinil saayndhida thudikkudhe
Marupuram naaNamum thadukkudhe
Idhu varai yaaridamum solladha kadhai

(KangaL...)

Charanam 2:

KaraigaL andaadha, kaatrum theendadha
Manadhirkul eppodhu nuzhaindhittaai?
Udalum alladha, uruvam koLLadha kadavuLai pOl vandhu kalandhittai

Unai andri vEroru ninavillai
Ini indha oon uyir enadhillai
Thadayillai saavilume unnOdu vara... (KangaL)

P.S: There is another song ‘theneeril snegidham’, in this movie, which has uber youthful lyrics and good rhythm, you might wanna check that out too!