குறுந்தொகை

தமிழ் is my mother tongue. My mother, grandmother and my aunts were more than mere patrons of this beautiful language. Some of them wrote poetry and prose; others were serious dramatists. Even today, I can listen to my aunt recite பாரதியார் பாடல்கள் for endless hours with a kind of passion that is infectious... and I am so glad that another aunt took to writing after retirement.

Back in school, I wish I had done better than just memorize these verses for marks and medals.

After an inspiring conversation with 2 friends on Facebook over 2 weeks ago, I finally borrowed this book by A.K.Ramanujan "Poems of Love and War" from the library yesterday. I have not kept it down since. (People who know me well know exactly how rare such occurrences are! )

Reading the originals on 'Project மதுரை' and the translations by Sir Ramanujan - I feel terrible about how little attention I paid to my தமிழ் ஆசிரியர் in school. While I feel very sad about being able to appreciate my mother tongue better with an English translation, I am sure this is better than not appreciating it at all. I'd recommend you give it a shot.

Find below a sampler:

What could my mother be
to yours? What kin is my father
to yours anyway? And how
did you and I meet ever?
But in love
Our hearts have mingled
Like red earth and pouring rain.


Please grab the book if you enjoy poetry - am sure you won't regret it! :)

Footnote

As of yesterday, I had set foot on the Western borders of India - Wagah border.
Thanks to a lovely wing, we danced to bhangra tunes as millions watched the guards shake hands across the gate with Pakistani soldiers.

As of today, I've also seen the South-East borders of India - at Dhanushkoti.
Thanks to a lovely family that decided not to disturb my photog adventure inbetween lengths of puja - I also have a picture for proof.




This blog - is to remind me that I have made an oath to myself that I shall visit the Eastern and Northern boundaries before am too old with responsibilities and stuff like that (read 30)

Binary World

"There are two types of people--those who come into a room and say, 'Well, here I am!' and those who come in and say, 'Ah, there you are.'"

--Frederick L Collins

Am not sure who is better or which one I am.... But its an interesting thought nevertheless!

and I ask again...

Where did you go?
I miss you so.
Seems like its been forever...
Since you were gone.

Come back home.

Schizophrenia

Sometimes life is like that, there is always an invisible truth… a hidden reality… open secrets and surreal situations. It works on a simple truth – “Your life is REAL. But so is mine”. They say, emotions have that in them - the ability to bring to life memories. Love; most of all.

I’ve read books. I see there is so much to describe when it comes to mundane routines or even a crime scene. And I can’t help but wonder how Love seems to be the only thing that’s understood without words. Without words.

**********

But we did speak. A little, every now and then. No one asked me as many questions as he did. I had company. No one listened without judging me inside. And I have to agree, its tough finding people like that these days. Many judge by cover, I judge too – ‘instincts’; they say.

May be not.

I stumble upon more questions as I even try to answer the very first. What made me take that extra step?

He listened with patience. I preferred to think, he was observing closely. Sometimes, I even felt his gaze wash my skin.

Reluctant Panic. Both were mine. A sinful combination.

Such things can’t be ignored.

And some people can’t be forgotten. They can’t be remembered either. They just exist in your life. May be as tucked away memories of hurt… Or whispers of something you imagined…

***********

Welcome to my world. Here, nothing is new. Nothing is old. Its got me, myself and I.

...of bandanas & bangles !

I’ve been listening to Delhi 6 on an endless loop for a day now..

Am not a Delhi vaasi, nor have I stayed there for a considerable length of time to call myself a Delhi-ite. Same with Bombay or Bangalore! But there is something about these 3 cities! The spirit – its energy and the maddening crowd with all its colors! Place with no definition, people with no fear.

Makes me wanna do one of those ‘Friends only’ trip back to Pilani for this song reminds me of infinite Delhi – Pilani journeys atop rusty buses amidst a million pieces of luggage, dust and stale food.

This day was spent remembering Delhi-Haat, Samchat, Connaught market, bandanas and bangles!!

IT WAS GOOD FUN!

Cold Gray Mornings

They say that there is light up ahead.... May be there is too little to be seen. Or may be... Am just blind.

Yes. I woke up to yet another cold and gray morning. I am left with empty visions of a world where silent whisperers scream into thin air. I suffer from memories of a time, so long ago. I miss simplicity. I fear those eyes... scornful eyes - dripping with contempt and disdain. I long for warmth. I run and hide behind invisible walls. I faint and fall off to wake up briefly before I hit the ground. Again.. my eyes open to a cold and gray morning.

... of neon lights and lonely streets

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

I know I want to write more than this title.

I know it every morning, when I wake up before the sun does. I say it to myself as I win over my alarm clock. I know it while I walk to work. I know it while I wait for my cup of cappuccino. I know it while I reply to one mail after another. I recall it while the coin trickles down the vending machine.

I see it in so many eyes. I feel it within.
This is the story... of neon lights and lonely streets.

A lil too short

There are so many things I wish to write about.

I could write about the silly stories one makes up in the wee hours of the morning, to break the monotony of silence.

Or may be about the tiny moment you want to steal between elevator levels to give an incomplete hug.

About sitting on the plane and looking into the infinite sky..

About driving real fast on your new car with the perfect gang of friends and let the loud music communicate.

About jamming sessions, about self tried recipes, about night outs, about unfinished books, power cuts and what not.

BUT no. I won’t.
I’ll let this empty space do the talking. For in my mind, it is in its most beautiful form,

Familiar Strangers

‘My Life is just a slow train Crawling up a hill’

Its just a short and simple equation, this thing that we call life. Isn’t it? Endless nights after countless mornings, all I do is walk around and observe. I tend to believe am the only one observing. But am being watched too. By who? or Why? Doesn’t really matter anymore. In a land of strangers, we are all alone together. The people I see, the eyes I meet, the voice I hear, the smiles that console; are not necessarily from people I’ve known for long. It just comes from the ones I see everyday. Most times I don’t even know their names. But we wait together for a common cause. At the bus stop. At the hotel counter. At ATMs. At a million other places.

It’s a comforting experience. The familiar face, and the expected smile.
Familiar Strangers.

Scenes from a Memory

Sometimes I wish I could just flip through the pages of my life. Skip through the ones bookmarked by tears and regrets. Relive moments when random co incidences cause a smile or two. I wished again. Today.

I used to like feeling unique. I liked to race with the rain line, I still like to cry when no one’s watching. I secretly enjoy the rhythm in everything around me.. like when the old lady walks to the beat on my ear plugs.

Oh! That reminds me. I also like times when am no different from the girl next door. The man with the head phones; the loner making a fashion statement !?!

Ah! How strangely similar we all are!

Misused mistakes.
Reluctant panic.
Convenient silence.
Period.

Checkmate

Last Night upon the stair,
I saw a man who wasn’t there.
He wasn’t there again today,
Oh! I wish to God he’d go away!

As a kid, there was plenty of innocence left for me to nurture. The big outside world with its people fighting to get a life was strangely fascinating. But little did I know, that more they grab of life, more are the pieces they lose of themselves. And with time I began to look at life a lot differently. My impressions were constantly molded by what I saw happen around me and in a way I grew from outside of it. Emotions made decisions, wants lost to practicality, and power redefined integrity.

My learning from all of this was a simple truth.

After a game, the king and the pawn are back inside the same box

Tranquil Sedation

What did you think when you told me, this was over?
Incessant quarrels to give us reasons forever…
Seasons of change seem to fool me! Hopeless desires.
Locked inside tranquil sedation. Gray and somber.


Give me, space to breathe.
Inside of me, make me free.
Love me, talk to me.
Make up some reasons, to be with me.


How many times have people said this to themselves?
Be beaten and also abandoned! Lonesome survivors.
Seeking the seamless treasons, that life leaves us.
Or blaming the loss and losers, for all their wises.


I will break free
Right now and be, the change to see.
Hear me, Fear me
Make up your mind n see through me.


Disclaimer: for those of you who wanna conclude that this post is about a 'guy-girl' relationship. It isn't! Think outside the box! :)