Concentric circles

When writing gets killed.

2011-09-23T08:37:00.002+05:30

This is unlike other deaths,
This is unlike other murders.
It is different in its privacy,
It is different in its agony.
And it is quite possible,
one doesnt know when it happens;
It is very much possible that it is let to die,
all alone.
After days, maybe even years, once would discover it,
its charred remains, its ash strewn across the floor.
What is left to do then, but to throw in the ganges,
or to bury it in earth?
Perhaps, after that, one would remember how it happened?
How words bubbled inside but refused to come out?
How the fingers twitched to write,
but thoughts sat adamantly chained to a chair?
How fear of ridicule and laughter overrode the love for words?
How court scenes at home ripped the soul of writing?
How in the name of love, it was killed, again and again,
and how magic and beauty, that which only writing can give,
was snatched in flippant fashion?
How it all came to end,
waiting for the angel who wouldn't come for another 12 years.

......

2011-07-08T18:42:00.000+05:30

There is a little world in my mind
It is closed. But of course.
With solid stones and a wailing wall,
With creepers around, and flowers above;
With a lone gate leading to limbo,
With windows here and there,
With love on and off;
A passerby might say it is weird,
A friend might think its worse,
But to me, like I said, it is mine own.

The country of Amnesia

2011-01-24T19:33:00.001+05:30

Places are not always real,
They have curtains weaved with illusions,
And screens made of dreams;
That is why you never believe them.
That is why your arms stretch ahead
And your eyes look beyond,
Hoping to find what lies behind, and beneath.

You will not be fooled,
Not by half-truths and empty promises
Not by religion or by fate;
You will stand your ground.
You will choose the narrow way
You will lift up your cross,
On the scapula that awaits.

Waiting also is an empty ground
Cracked, gapped, and mouth-open
Always ready,
Like a caged lion,
Like an orange traffic light.
Days from now you will realise it is reality,
The reality you've been wanting to know.

Of suffocation and blindness
Of helplessness and dead ends
Of mazes and lost keys
Of friendships that see the dust
Of love that’ll never see the light
Of life that will derail
Of a journey ending in the country of amnesia.

On becoming a man

2010-11-25T19:32:00.000+05:30

One day, I learnt the ways of the fairer sex
Followed them to the book,
Tied the ribbon, and cast down the eyes.
I understood how tables turned
And Eves, blamed for teasing.
I realised why eyebrows had to be pained
And needless smiles had to be removed
I forgave mockery, and told myself to blend in.
A lizard under the cot brought my father to rescue,
A bank account never existed;
The sun never saw the bicycle ride,
And the moon never saw the parapeting.
Lived the life of a woman caught between worlds,
Of a stranger caught between acquaintances.
There were commandments to keep,
Tenets to follow, but a mind to break.
There were voices to listen to,
Chains to lock, but freedom to walk.

It was the road less taken.
It led to a place few people lived in.
It was the journey of women becoming men.

Hypnotic men, with long hairs and ear studs,
With free talk and free thoughts,
With bicycle confidence and racing spirits,
With proactive love and tactical break-ups,
With worlds full of life, and worlds full of joy.
Reminding the impossibility of being one of them,
Reminding the impossibility of not being one of them.
Lizards now call me forth,
And fights help in survival.
Nights have become shorter,
And the grocery queues longer.
Loneliness is a lame compliant,
And reconciliation a useless game.
Tears are a luxury,
And the tougher heart a necessity.

To be in love is weakness,
To be not in love is strange;
To be a woman is a grave mistake.

And so,
To become a man is the only way to be.

Strange than a stranger.

2010-09-29T20:35:00.001+05:30

Hello stranger,

Welcome home; welcome to my world.

Do you remember?

(Although you must have forgotten now),

That this world was once yours too?

That this was the air you once breathed?

O you are saying you don’t remember?

Well, should I remind you then?

O but then why am I asking you?

(There I go again – asking)

Me and my silly questions, duh!

I’m always silly you’d say,

I’m always a little brat, you once said.

No, don’t get me wrong, I’m not complaining;

Huh, what’s that word again?

Reminiscing. Yes, that’s what I’m doing.

And in so doing, I’m also reminding you,

My dear stranger.

I once played with you;

We plucked fishes out of plants,

And sold it to each other.

We walked along muddy roads,

Counting our footsteps when we got bored.

We wore hats,

And laughed at each other.

Do you remember all these, my dear stranger?

Or should I be seem stranger still?

(Yes, I am asking again)

But don’t you worry,

I won’t ask what you don’t want me to;

Weirder still, I won’t even breathe that thought.

But breathing I will,

For the soul that still lives with me; within me.

Allow me though to ask you one thing;

Do you know me stranger?

Do you know me like the way you once claimed to?

Or should I trust when my heart says those were just claims?

Should I also believe the fights were reality and the love, a façade?

O but what am I talking!

I’m but a human being; I question like I know everything.

Duh, silly me again!

But then, there is something I know;

A something that says you have become strange than a stranger.

A Game of Dice.

2010-09-06T19:02:00.001+05:30

It was in the afternoons. Sundays, mostly.

A chess board was drawn on the cement floor.

Four sets of kai-es were given.

Two teams of two were formed. Two by two.

We played.

Malai and Pazham and Vettu–kuthu.

Sozhi sometimes chimed after beach shopping.

And other days, we borrowed Dhayapas.

But poorer days had tamarind seeds undressed on one side.

We played.

The chess board had four different homes

Each on every side.

A cauliflower. A croton. A semicircle. A square.

His dark fingers drew those. Creative.

We played.

No Victory has tasted yummier than this game’s;

And no failure more painful.

Siestas could wait.

Homework must wait.

We Played.

Bongu. We played bongu in dice.

Rules were broken occasionally.

And with a flickering smile, it was masked.

The losing team fought and cried.

But we still played.

One day, the game plan changed.

And we hadn’t known. Naïve.

No more fingers to draw houses.

No more chess boards on cement floors.

We couldn’t play anymore.

The dice got lost somewhere.

The rules got changed sometime.

The losing team fought and cried.

With no winning team to play bongu.

He had left without playing.

But I still stand to finish the game.

Without my true blood. Without my twin soul.

With enemies. With friends. With the two fused into one.

With pain that travels into the physical.

With no dice. With no teams.

I play.

Of traffic signals, friendships, and singlehood. Notes of a madwoman.

2010-08-17T18:03:00.002+05:30

Climbing a ladder resting on a wall. Beyond the wall there is a beautiful sunset waiting. What joy when reaching the top! Sitting with legs hanging on the other side. Hands resting on the parapet. Pages ruffle.

Animals understand pain: Yes, they do. And sometimes they do it much better than us human beings. Try crying when your dog is around. He will find his way to you. And in his own sweet little way won’t wag his tail (cause that means he is too happy), but rub his wet little snout on your knees. Rarely, he will even look deep into your eyes and understand your pain like no one else does. It is a rare moment, but is a beauty that’s worth the sadness.

Love from unexpected quarters: A delight, seriously. Just when you think and are convinced that the heavens have closed and the earth is gaping open to swallow, someone or something comes along. A tinker bell. A walk by the long crowded road. A hand at the small of your back. A long winding seamless conversation. Reunion. Re-love.

Friendships with women: Suddenly, the glory seems bleak. I wake up some morning and find myself standing alone looking at the horizon; I call out and I see my guy friends chugging along. A lesson on history and current affairs tells me a little about first priority husbands, PTA meetings, breakfast meals, and honeymoons. I go quiet. I miss those conversations, that comforting hand, and those meaningful rationales. But most of all, I miss her – the soul of a woman friend – a soul that mirrored my experience of being.

Singlehood: Funny business really. Sometimes, sometimes it feels like an elusive reality. Singlehood, I mean. No one is really really single are they? O I am sure there is a spectrum – single to all the way multiple. Like the gender construct; absolute to all the way relative; actual to all the way abstract.

Traffic signals and the public space: The public space holds some significant comfort. It is in the front of the mirror, and on the fluff of the pillow that you have to encounter yourself. But in the public space, and in the traffic signal, you can hardly find a hint of yourself. Headlights can glare and noises can explode, but you; you are lost in the sea of strangers. And it is such a comfortable couchy place to be. No one rummages your closet . No one knows your happiness or the secret behind your brilliant smile. And no one, absolutely no one, will postmortem your near-death experience.

Love comes to those who believe: Yes, in times of crisis, the best ones leave. If not then, they will eventually. And people in skull-like masks come in dreams and wake you up to reality. But I will believe; and I will wait here. I will wait right here by the well, by the parapet; looking out for my true blood and my best friend to come and hold me. ‘Cause it is when I believe I find hope. I find reason and rationale. It is when I believe, I realize that hope does not depend on what the others would do and become; but on you, and what you’d do and become.

And thus, the sun sets.

Wish.

2010-08-02T19:26:00.002+05:30

I did not wish on my wish day;
So I am keeping luck at bay.
Not anymore, cause today I think I should have my way.

I wish I can smell flowers again
I wish I didn't wake up every morning with flakes in my eyes
I wish my shoulders didn't ache from the load
I wish my skin glowed like it used to
I wish I didn't have walk this long road
I wish I didn't have to be the middle man
I wish my friend didn't leave me
I wish my true blood stayed by me
I wish my Hero never left.

But truly, truly
I wish I would just stop wishing;
and tell my little arrogant heart that the wish day was a bad day. A birthday.

Spirit World.

2010-07-23T12:50:00.004+05:30

I don't want the windows to be shut

And the shades drawn.

I want some sunlight, not a trickle but a river;

And I want a wooden floor, where I will lay talking to you.

Take me to that place where this happens in perfect peace;

Take me to that world where emotional interruptions have no place;

Take me to your spirit world.

I’m tired of waiting in traffic signals,

With headlights glaring into my eyes;

Taking me back to a time I badly want to bury

And sometimes don’t want to forget.

There, are memories only golden?

And sadness, only poignant and dignified?

Take me to your world.

I hear there is a spring.

A spring of crystal clear water to wash away all of myself;

And spread happiness to every friend on earth.

Will you take me there?

Violent quarrels and wet pillows wear me out.

Weak and heavy-laden with wisdom, is every morning.

Such things, I hear, the spring washes away.

Take me, will you? To your world?

Paint brushes and colors will be free for sure?

And I will paint for you the pictures of happiness.

Of a thousand birds free as the air.

Of a family quietly praying under a humble roof.

Of love that never hated. Of love that never hesitated.

If you don’t relent, I will stand here.

Until my bargain becomes profit.

Take me away, far away to your world.

Shopping trips and timeless pampering,

Running around and never stopping,

Seems worth giving up;

‘Cause I have been to that cave

Where plans are made and I have seen mine;

I have seen yours.

Take me please, to your world.

Where life, I hear, is about living

And not surviving.

One month.

2010-07-13T14:39:00.002+05:30

Coughs take on a different sound

And acidity never seemed this alarming.

An interest for physiology

Just turned into an unbridled fear.

Lines with knobs and devices with tubes…

Blood and spine and acids and fluid…

Weird incineration smells

Are no longer alien;

Shoveling mud and hammering nails

Are no longer of a different world.

Jasmines and roses are flowers

Of a higher calling;

Of what worth are my hair and hands

To that of a lovely cement grave?

To that of a tree shade and puppies?

Collar bones and a warm chest

Will never feel safe again;

The base voice in the choir

Will never be His’ again.

No more Budulls and Chinna ammus,

Or an enne da kanna;

No more ‘Daddy calling’ on my phone,

Or heated arguments over acidic foods.

No more tea in the evenings;

Or papers neatly folded in a wallet;

Or funny conical pants on the hanger

and a loud monophonic ring tone.

Far away are locked and secure nights,

And brighter newspaper mornings.

Only tearful 13ths with every month;

And questions. And acquitted love.

Afterlife.

2010-07-05T07:47:00.002+05:30

Some say it is a tunnel, a gate.
And some, a level. A paradise.
To me, it seems like a maze.
A haze. Without a full stop.

Somewhere in the middle I stand
Without hope, without a walking stick.
Immortals wouldn't understand
Why I stand there thinking of Him.

And of his stained teeth that sometimes shone
Of nicotine, of hope and unconditional love,
Or of the way his soles had holes
from long mid day walks and the bicycling years.

And of our radio and grass-mat beginnings
or our afternoon dice games.
Never ending summer trips and blade-sharpened pencils,
Of handmade angel wings and shoes from Bombay.

I think of Him. I think of His fingers.
Those unruly eyebrows and His arrogant little toe nail.
I will think of those forever.
And of the princess that I was on his bicycle's front seat.

Chair seats that His hands became,
Lullabies that His whistles were.
Egg curries and fluffy omlettes,
Pride that shone when He saw my work.

Wasn't there another way to teach responsibility?
Isn't there another time for unfairness?
Questions, I ask in utter vain to the divine puppeteer.
An Afterlife, I begin with silence and some tears.

Not wanting to wonder why the dog howled,
Or why the lives of others seem so splendid,
Or why the men carried away my life giver,
My dreams, and my Only Hero Ever.

Shedding.

2010-05-13T19:10:00.000+05:30

I am sitting with my legs crouched to myself
In front of me lay a long road…
And in darkness I have to free my legs and walk this road.
So I decide to walk.
I stand, and staggering, take my first step
A pain shoots thru my feet. It is winter.
I take more steps
More pain
And gingerly turn back
I know what I will see at the place I was sitting
Yet I turn. I have to.
And what I see doesn’t surprise me
I see myself.
Legs apart laying there like I was dead hours ago
I realise that I had just shed myself before starting to walk.

The Wing.

2010-05-10T12:31:00.001+05:30

It is a big house. A really huge one. And there is a wing; a wing that will take me to rooms, which I know are haunted. Haunted by many. The walls are white washed. The floors are unkempt. With French windows. On the top floor. The first time I went there I knew I will come again. Again. And again. Cause when I left, I knew my heart will yearn again.

The long well lit hall that will lead me to another room and after that a spiral staircase. And more and more open alleys. Down the staircase there will be another room. With a lonely camel who is haunted. The camel will call me. Fear will grip me. And I will run back up the staircase, and see the yellow house from the French window. And run more, until I reach the point when I can turn back and heave a sigh of relief. I just left the haunted wing. But I know I will go again. My heart will take me there. After all, I have already been there thrice.

Marudae.

2010-02-23T21:25:00.007+05:30

Kovil Kolam. The Madurai Meenakshi Amman Temple.

Nandi on the street. Completely oblivious to the chaos.

Shopping inside a temple. Hillari bullari adhu idhu everything u find here :)

Peacocks at Pasumalai. A small hill for marudae.

Marudae in all its glory.

The chapel with grape vines. At the Tamilnadu Theological Seminary. Love at second sight :)

The outdoor chapel at TTS. Love at first sight :) Wedding material.

The Balcony with kuthuvilaku :) A stay for the dreamer.

Experimentation. Fashion of the 80's. :)

Aaiyirathil Oruvan

2010-01-25T07:50:00.003+05:30

I’d say movies are like alcohol. Some come in the form of wine, perfect for a lovely quiet evening. Some are like beer, it takes a while to get into your system and stays for long until morning. And some more are like hard liquor, action-packed and techno-faced, it jets right into you even before you realize it. But very few are the ones you want to do a bottoms-up with and wish the bottle never never ran out. Aaiyirathil Oruvan (AO), the movie by Selvaraghavan, is one such bottle.

Of course there are many things people say; like it’s confusing and vulgar and violent, maybe even, stupid. But if the movie can keep the audience enthralled for two hours straight, without a wink, and without a yawn, then that’s probably the success of good commercial cinema. Any cinema. On that note, AO is a feast, complete with champagne and roasted lamb.

Yes, the director could have done away with a few things – like the orange colored jelly fish-like things, the brain graphic in the ‘gladiator’ scene, the desktop theme-like digital art scenery shots, and definitely Karthi’s sickening sexist dialogues. He could have also cut down on the typical tribal settings. But all the same he deserves credit for this courageous attempt at something the Tamil film industry would gladly thrash had it not been this big budgeted.

Reema, no doubt steals the show - she is brilliant in pretty much in everything that she does; and Karthi is like a hot-tangy dessert that run along the main course. Dripping with good looks and great acting, he manages to capture the hearts of love sick fans (yes, like me). Andrea has done well for herself; she’s subtle but not reserved, and is quite funny. Now having said that, ‘The Hindu’ review by Malathi Rangarajan is downright unfair. Karthi doesn’t play second fiddle to Reema, although I think it’s absolutely fine even if he does. Blimey, she put it two years of hard work too. And yes, the 'girls' are just fantastic. They are unconventional, intelligent, funny, strong, and for a refreshing change take up the lead roles. Hardly something you get in Indian Cinema.

Some of the scenes do remind you of Indiana Jones and The Da Vinci Code, but the originality of the director comes out strong. The ‘Nataraja’ scene had our eyes and jaws wide open, something that I haven’t experienced for a long long time in Tamil movies. However, apart from the excitement and the glamour of it all, is a theme that many filmmakers will avoid. Yet, Selvaraghavan delivers a scintillating show. And unlike how Malathi puts it, we did ‘understand’ the movie. It is the least a Tamil moviegoer is expected to do; leave alone a 'qualified' film critic.

A must watch! (And you’d better if you are a history buff and a mystery lover,and of course if Karthi is your hypothetical fiancee!)

Wander Lust Part III. Chidambaram --> Pichavaram. Photostream II

2009-12-31T12:17:00.013+05:30

The Chidambara Nataraja temple. Read some of the history here

Colour among stone.

Vacant lot behind the temple. Used as a urinal now, sadly.

The southern entrance through which Nadanar came to worship Shiva. Read the history here.

The closed entrance to the sanctum sanctorum.

At Pichavaram. A dense channeled waterway. Apparently a 'shooting' spot.

Shri, Hannah and Arul. The long walk that lead us to the beach.

Arul's 'fishy' find.

Black wet sand.

Shadows talking.

Me :)

Lecciones de la vida

2009-12-30T07:53:00.002+05:30

Love can be understood in ways other than just affection. For instance, going that extra mile.

It is ironical that masterpieces always happen out of intense pain.

It is relatively easy to control one's mind; all that one needs is a saw, a hammer, and some antiseptic.

Being a lonely child and carrying a heavy burden is probably the best investment for finishing first. And finishing fast.

One can avoid stress by closing one's ears, and eyes. The nose, the skin, and the tongue are relatively harmless.

Good humor, I've observed, always comes from a complex mind.

Asking to trust you is perhaps the hardest thing you'd ever ask of anyone.

I think life is intended to be a screw up. Either that, or we have messed it up big time.

Nobody is moral; 'cause it's evident that there's no such thing as morality.

Procreation is funny.

Hope, I'm finally convinced, is a bad thing.

Wanderlust Part III - Chidambaram --> Pichavaram (Photostream I)

2009-12-29T14:33:00.014+05:30

Window Peeper!! Shri, on our bus ride to Chidambaram.

Lonely panam maram on our way to Pichavaram. The bus ride cost us 6 rupees.

The thatha! He was folding Murunga Keerai in the towel and then wrapping it around his head as a turban. Talk about our plastic shopping bags ;)

Pichavaram! The mighty expanse; the sea, the backwaters and the mangroves. Love and romance at first sight!

All of Us :) Me taking phone to capture the roots!

Roots, roots, and more roots.

Nay, not dragon bone. But the beach was a treasure house for other things.

The giant sponge on the sea shore. Hannah's find :)

When those days are here...

2009-12-14T07:13:00.003+05:30

It is of no one’s fault that those days come
All of sudden; out of the earth, underneath my feet.
They come as sullen clouds,
As thick blankets.
And cold I feel inside them;
They have long enveloping arms with questioning fingers.

When those days are here,
There is dawn and dusk and the dull noon.
All happening in successive precision,
But all seem the same to me.
‘Cause what I wait for is another strike;
Another blow that will bring chaos again.

When those days are here,
I see the little girls more often.
Giggling, and laughing, and touching each other,
They are in love I can see.
All of them, with heart full of happiness;
They live summer days and cozy winter nights.

Those days offer some doubts
Some despair, and some raw loneliness.
It is their specialty;
To be so abundant is their nature.
I can’t refuse, I don’t refuse;
‘Cause those days also offer what they don’t promise at first.

You can’t be that little girl, they will say
You can’t become someone, they will say
But what we can tell you
Is of truth that’s far above.
A sermon it might seem,
But behold we are here to make you believe.

Life is a game of misplaced love, they’ll begin,
Of insecurities and power profiles.
Make no mistake my child, they’ll harp,
Gallantry and bliss are illusions for the short-lived.
Happiness is of a pouch of gold coins
And power is of a plotting mind.
Love is of a platinum band,
And commitment is of a safe arrangement.
Honesty and altruism is entertainment,
And Santa is a carrot and a stick.
The skilled are to be exploited,
And the clever are to command.
Learn this well and learn this soon;
It is when you do,
We will cease to be painful days.
We are after all teaching days.

With this they leave;
But I in foolish hope never learn.
So those days, they’ll come again.

That Chit of a Man.

2009-12-02T15:08:00.002+05:30

I lost her a long time ago;

Months before, when she came home smiling

And went to bed without dinner.

I whispered to her in my dreams, asking,

If something had gone right in her life?

She answered not then;

And not in whispers.

A goddess that she is,

With arched eyebrows and a chiseled body,

With succulent dark skin and a translucent smile,

With a friendly gait and amber eyes;

She quickly became a mirror doll

Dancing to his tunes;

That Chit of a Man.

“Ain’t I ugly? Am I right for him?”

Round and round she turned

In front of the mirror;

Refusing to believe me when I said,

You’re right for yourself child;

You’re perfect in my eyes.

She gave me an absent-minded smile.

Listening to her thoughts

Long before she stopped voicing them

Was my lullaby every night;

Her opinion on the booker

And her pity for the pathetic Brahman

A relish every time it happens;

Until,

That chit of a man came along.

He gave her some time

Some advice, and some insecurity too;

Made her resign to embroidery

And child rearing;

And between her cross-stitches for his buttons,

And mashed potatoes for his lunch

She forgot her mind.

Last month when she came home

I saw her tired amber eyes,

Searching for some purpose

Some meaning

Amidst PTA meetings and lost socks;

Her mother that I am,

I failed in telling her

That there is life beyond her man.

When I tell her now,

She gives me the absent-minded smile.

This post was written for more than just one friend. And several Mothers of Daughters.

The Stranger by the Window

2009-11-19T20:12:00.002+05:30

Some weeks ago
A little girl came to me and said,
"Come with me; let me show you a spectacle!"
I blinked, but followed her
little knowing where she was leading me.

She brought me to a city market
full of noise and people and laughter
some cries and hugs and thugs.
There were babies crying,
lovers laughing at absurd looking shapeless mangoes,
and horns bellowing the arrival of an autumn sale.
Before I could wonder if this was the spectacle,
she lifted her arms to point at a window above us.

"There, can you see her?"
Where, I asked. There's none child!
"No, see there. I can see her.
She is standing by the window"
I could see none. I could see nothing.

The little girl grabbed my arm,
ran to a faraway stream;
heaving, we sat down.
With that, she began to tell me
the story of the window.
Of the stranger.

The stranger believed in love.
Unlike us, the little girl said.
She believed in life.
She believed in a world that gave freedom.
She believed in moderate complications.

Yet, when she lived,
Love was never enough.
Climbing hills and valleys,
sailing oceans and storms,
she found pockets of lust,
and some mirages of love.

She also found triumph,
in the eyes of the other;
in the sacrifice of the mother;
in the jailer of life.
but love, she found only in Narcissus.

Gossips and violence and words;
Run, run, far far away.
Prisons and smothers and blood;
Walk, walk, faster and faster.
Climb up the terrace;
Rush to the window;
look down, breathe in.
Be happy that life doesn't believe in the thing you do.
If it did, it would have your likewise fate.

A fate that makes logic stare at your face;
A fate that analyzes priorities.
What could be done if one cries?
What must be done if one cries?
Crying is effectual only with an audience;
a gullible, foolish audience.

She cried. The little girl, she cried.

The stranger died some years ago.
Of agony and pain and sickness.
Of beaten blues and blackened nails.
Prizes that came along with love;
rewards that came when she placed the other's need before hers.

But I disagreed. She died of a broken heart.

Why A Wednesday is a Bad Day!

2009-10-12T19:43:00.004+05:30

Agreed surprises happen now and then. And true, Bollywood may not be an exception to that. But A Wednesday, as I end up feeling, wasn’t of the lovely or the pleasant types. Original? Maybe, yes. To be taken seriously? Nay, probably not. Thanks to some remarkable directorial skills, the movie that was released last September has drawn quite a bit of critical acclaim. And with the release of Unnai Pol Oruvan, how could anyone miss out on Kamal Hassan’s ‘unique’ perspectives. Thus, purely because of peer pressure and perhaps from a stupid want to know how daring Bollywood can be, I sat to watch A Wednesday.

A movie of this genre is probably a sin. Maybe even criminal. See, it doesn’t make sense to heighten people’s expectations and then offer them something so mediocre that the crowd actually ends up believing they got what they expected. The ‘stupid’ common man probably gets convinced he is stupid. This is one thing about such ‘very’ ‘daring’ movies; they run the long difficult race, they fight the demons and the devils, they take you to the edge, and then, and then very simply drops you down. And then you are hanging on a rope, and maybe even in thin air, wondering what the hell was that all about. Think more, and you will understand that this is what these guys do; they play the safe game over and over again. They will go all the way till there, that crucial point, but before anyone can brew up a controversy they shall come running back; become pro-government, become anti-terror, become pro-police, pack those bags full of critical reviews and awards and box office money and nation-wide recognition, and then come rushing home.

On the other hand, the stupid common man, in addition to having lost his ticket money, is taught two very important things. One, that he is stupid and no amount of politicization can make him think for himself unless self-ordained teachers like Shah and Hassan take the dais, and two, that terrorism is the only answer to terrorism. Whether the common man agrees to what Shah and Hassan does in the movie is completely a different question. Nevertheless, he is told that he would most naturally do what they did, should he witness likewise blasts. In other words this is ALL that a common man can do; use ‘hi-tech technology’ to gang up with the police and the government to kill Gundas and terrorists. And no no, he can’t analyze why they became gundas, or how the government has acted and still can act as terrorists, or even why it is always the Muslim who is always scrutinized. The stupid common man has no choice but to ‘help’ the government or rather ‘teach’ the police how easy it is to simply ‘eliminate’ anti-social elements. Amen! Come all you stupid common people, lets all go bomb up ‘terrorists’; we can soon become a happy nation.

Hassan is perhaps a little way ahead than Shah; he mentions, I am told, that terrorism is the only way to combat terrorism. No, let me be more than just sarcastic. He is probably the best gift the Indian Government (State, central, current, former and future) has ever got. For the sake of those so many children who die everyday, for the sake of our dear Tamils who died in Srilanka, for the sake of millions who have given up on their dignity and lives, does this man even know what the heck he is talking about? Does he think the state governments, which clean ‘roach-infested’ houses do so in clean empty airports or uninhabited deserts? O probably the ones who died in their very houses when the bombs blew in Srilanka were nothing but dummies. To me, this strategy is nothing short of a convenient brahminical stand that does not deal with blood and shit and garbage and corpses in their daily lives. Isn’t it all so easy to say, ‘hey let me sit here, make a few phone calls, create some stop-gap sensationalism, bring in some media attention, and tell the world that bombing away is the only way out’? Besides why bring in the media when all that Shah and Hassan was just kill the guys? The whole thing could have still got accomplished without that twenty-something electric-baba reporter coming in. And come to think of it, why are such reporters always shown as pink-shirt wearing women who use their brains only as an occasional hobby? Not to mention that she also gets easily influenced, thanks to very her little politicization.

But among all these, what is most saddening about this movie is probably its perspective on terrorists who happen to be Muslims. I hear Hassan has done some patchwork by including a terrorist who has a Hindu name. Bravo? No, I think the real issue is not about who has what religion. It is really about understanding why it is always the minorities and the oppressed who take up arms, and as to why their existence is being threatened every time by the upper classes/upper castes/majorities. It is the bloody trend that needs to be observed and addressed. And it is NEVER a solution to kill the so called ‘noise-makers’. In short, what Hassan and Shah suggest is no way different from the Gujarat riots. In fact anything and everything can be justified as an effort to combat terrorism. If this stupid common man today can bomb those four terrorists because he can no longer see that nameless friend of his in the train next day, why cant that stupid common woman, probably a wife or sister or a family member of that terrorist, kill him later on? I mean, just because this common hi-tech brilliant guy bombed off four roaches, he should be praised? O damn, let me kill Mr. Gujarat and Mr. Orissa who let so many of them die in the riots; will I be lauded?

Probably, the only credit I can give to this movie is the fact that it brings to surface the power a common woman or man could have in this country. But of course it dwindles into nothing but empty drama in the course of it. The common man or woman for sure can do more, and better; O heavens, we aren’t as stupid as the movie wants us to be.

Broken Home.

2009-08-14T07:46:00.002+05:30

Hatred doesn't stay with the walls. It seeps down like the water from rainfall. Over the long haul of the wall surface, and down the floor, curling like a snake. It reaches the feet of the wall worshipers, finding ways through skin and pores, duly accomplishing what it came for.

It is not about broken windows and slammed doors. It is not about violent mornings and tearful nights. It is not even about pain and suffering. It is about that inevitable loneliness.

Are those words said to abuse? Is that violence caused with vengeance? Or is it all done in jolly good humor?

"Hallelujah! Hallelujah!"

Foreign words on alien ears. What might be nearer home are perhaps expletives; hurled in such abrasive fashion, duly signed with a smirk, and some laughter too.

A story follows another. Both equally powerful; equally opposite. One is about love and the other about hatred. One is about affection and care and bliss; the other is about revenge and strife and agony. But it must all be taken in jolly good humor. In one package, like your mind will convince you. Optimism is everywhere, isn't it? The Internet, the books, the friends. Take some of it, add some fake love, mix it with a spoonful of mall-celebrated-party-outgoing-happiness, beat it with some retail therapy and busy weekends, some career success too, and finally cover it with the nearest-available-music-healed-quick-fixed-mirage-normalcy; and there you have it - the life that God blessed you with. Take it, enjoy it. Live it!

All but that inevitable loneliness. Some hopelessness too. Some insecurities as well. Some doubts as add-ons.

But Sundays, don't forget to thank the divine for having given you a secure childhood; O and nothing like that child of your house-help who had no clothes and no books and no money. Poor poor. You are so blessed.

Perhaps its the sins. Lying and reading and knowing. Maybe its the thinking too. Perhaps.

Day after day; Night after night. The burden of familiarity; the commitment of birth.

The roads will keep winding. The rivers will keep flowing. And windows will keep breaking? And ears will keep hearing expletives? O hell, it will. 'Cause turn and look at the wall now, do you see hatred seeping?

You have to run! Far far away; and carry hope - the hatred must never reach you there.

Run. It's a broken home.

Sapience. And some madness.

2009-07-26T19:51:00.003+05:30

When you volunteer to carry guilt, people can be more than generous to give it all away!

If there's life beyond that one person, there's life beyond anything.

Nothing is more pathetic than having deadlines with housework.

If life was indeed a roller coaster, then why are we all so bored? Duh!

Quite strange how when one was a kid, loyalty, honesty, and goodness mattered. And now all that really works is diplomacy, and yes some tactics.

It's actually a joke when someone tells you that they can't live without you! Sapience should help you laugh that off.

Isn't it unfair that morality and spirituality is being defined by institutions that has no idea what you're heart or mind is made of?

Isn't it funny to exercise your democratic right in a country that is so adamantly hierarchical?

All that really matters today is a person's sexuality. If we even remotely accept that he/she is 'normal', all of space will crumble and shatter; angels will pour fire down and hold us guilty for letting such a proliferation of sin.

What is more infuriating than prayer requests for a girl's marriage? And asking God to better hurry up before she hits 26?

Somehow sins never mean castetistic marriages, accumulation of excess wealth, indifference to social issues, and domestic violence. Weird how it's always about that one thing we all are blessed with.

I am so damn sure the animals are having more fun than us.

Nothing is more sickening than seeing photographs of 20-something women on websites that claim to give them everlasting joy. Through marriage of course, in case you're wondering how!

Evolutionary studies must be made compulsory in schools. Madness talking!

Does one really know when exactly love happens? And does one really know what Love is?

The day you realize your stories, something beautiful begins. Perhaps that's what people call life :)

The weather is a nice boyfriend!

!!! Sapience. And some madness is good for life!

Reminding stories...

2009-07-19T22:28:00.005+05:30

Nothing is a story until the play is cast and the stage is set. The rolling begins. The dialogue ensue. And when the drama reveals, applause may or may not happen. But the stories remain. They are told, they are retold. Sometimes, they are forgotten. But most often, they are reminded. They are learnt from. They are understood to the detail. They are uncovered, dusted, and opened again. They then evoke you until you are left alone with them. The discourse begins; between you and the stories!

The freedom story. Not a new one. Hardly unconventional. Thanks to religion and family, freedom gets a certain definition. It’s better to accept than rebel. It’s better to introspect than defend. It’s better to cry than shout. ‘Cause victory really depends upon strength. And if you don’t have that strength, God help you. And God does, in the form of religion. The pulpit says, obey. The candle sticks demand submission. Abide. Hear. Give in. The rush to adorn goodness, the urgency to receive affirmation. If shouting doesn’t do it, crying will. If steeling doesn’t happen, breaking will follow. To realize one’s vulnerability and to accept what is taught as freedom. To reject the inner voice to that of evil. To start believing on one’s strength as folly. The freedom story is sad. It marks a long way ahead. It takes years and years to shirk off guilt; it takes decades to define freedom. It almost takes an era to finally arrive at your free-self.

The dependence story. This one needs miracles. Maybe some divine passion. No, definitely not a joke. Or a smirk. Perhaps this story is hardly understandable. But for the one who lived it through, it is worth a long life. It is worth a million chances to become self-reliant. To embrace independence; that inner strength. Reminds you of someone barging in. Reminds you of someone opening your shelves, pushing away your layered stuff, gathering your secrets, and having an opinion on everything. Reminds you of times when table bottoms offered solace. Of cringing legs and curling toes. Of tearful eyes and wet pillows. Of inner efforts none will understand. Of pain none will feel. Of strength none will know you had. ‘Cause the ones who read your story believe that you are weak. And that you’re only weak. This battle fights definitions; unfair accusations. With a desperate effort to go beyond. A desperate cry to fly.

The love story. Every bit magical. “Through the darkness and good times, I knew I'd make it through. And the world thought I had it all, but I was waiting for you”. Hush, its love! Like the pearls in a corn, like that of rain drops. Neatly set, bravely felt. Unfairly understood. Not even felt. Sensed to the best. Packaged by the world. Ripped apart by the same. Hung up phone calls. Unturned letters. Deeper dreams. Eyes that speak volumes. A million smiles; a thousand tears.
But, this story ends. It usually ends. Nevertheless, while it lasts, it feels like a lifetime.

The passion story. The heart is to blame. Maybe, even the mind. ‘Cause it’s almost a conspiracy between the two. Extremely un-understandable if there’s passion for several things. Highly unpardonable if you choose all those several things. But with gifting, there’s some direction. You can say the gifts lead you. You might even say that a certain force guides you. But this is a good story. A hopeful one. Might even be one’s life story.

The bedtime story. Reality. Nothing more, nothing less. Grandpa can go to sleep, ‘cause I have a real life to think about. I have a life to live. To run, to win. To fly!

And with that, the applause can begin!

"I Believe I Can Fly"

2009-07-17T10:58:00.001+05:30

I used to think that I could not go on
And life was nothing but an awful song
But now I know the meaning of true love
I'm leaning on the everlasting arms

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it

I believe I can fly
I believe I can touch the sky
I think about it every night and day
Spread my wings and fly away
I believe I can soar
I see me running through that open door
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly
I believe I can fly

See I was on the verge of breaking down
Sometimes silence can seem so loud
There are miracles in life I must achieve
But first I know it starts inside of me, oh

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it

Hey, cause I believe in me, oh

If I can see it, then I can do it
If I just believe it, there's nothing to it

Hey, if I just spread my wings
I can fly
I can fly
I can fly, hey
If I just spread my wings
I can fly

On being a sinner.

2009-06-24T07:22:00.003+05:30

Do you know what it means to be a sinner?
Do you know what it means to carry endless guilt,
at the pit of your stomach,
on the pillows of your sleep.
Do you know the dialogues?
the million conversations,
that happens before the touch of sacred scriptures;
before calling on the divine,
before sitting on the pews.
Do you know what it is to gaze?
watch the righteous' lives;
to see them prosper,
to see them love and die and live again?
Do you know what it means to live a dying life?
Do you know what it means to be a sinner?

The colors of sin is not of gold, or white, or green.
It is of ambiguity,
Of grey, of turquoise, of purple and pink.
Of contradiction.
Have you woken up with paradox in your eyes?
instead of love, which is that of you, the righteous?
Have you battled law, rules, and conventions?
spent nights crying, lived mornings in silence?
To feel your stomach churn at every good thought,
To catch the glimpse of that elusive joy.

Do you know what it feels like to have no one to pray to?
Do you know what havoc, questions can do?
by stepping into your quiet time,
by trespassing your most intimate spaces.
Have you known how bitter the forbidden fruit is?
Have you known that it takes more than temptation to taste it?
And no, not pride?

How would you know O righteous?
How would you answer me O sinless?
You wouldn't know of utter hopelessness,
You wouldn't know of difficult resilience.
You wouldn't know of strong, standing Jericho walls,
You wouldn't know of forbidden love.

But I know it all.
I am a sinner.
And I know what it means to live a dying life.
I know what it means to live for seconds and minutes.
I know what divine moments are, I know what answered prayers are.
I know what forgiveness is.
I know what rebellion is.
I know the questioning complex mind.
I, sometimes know who the divine is.

Wanderlust - Part II

2009-06-15T20:25:00.004+05:30

DevaKottai

(Thanks to my colleague's wedding!)

Devakottai Rasta!! A small station that had rough gravel and mud for a platform.

The temple, the pond and the early morning bath-ers!! The pond must have had atleast a hundred lotuses.

My friend's house. Devakottai was full of such huge houses. Couldn't help but think of Chennai's frugal matchboxes.

The Chettinad house in all its grandeur!! Complete with silver painted pillars and huge wooden coulmns.

Authentic Chettinad Breakfast. Nay, you won't find this anywhere else!!

Karupatti Aaapam!!

Vella Paniyaram!!

Kalyana Katcheri!!

Me! Trying to keep my eyes open!! :)

Cosmic Connection - Wanderlust Part I

2009-05-31T20:09:00.014+05:30

Puducherry!!!

Entertainment for our ECR ride. Showed a Tamil movie called Vaseegara. Very entertaining indeed; couldn't take our eyes off it!!

Pondicherry's bus terminus. Open public male toilet. I wish someone tells me why it has to be open. Leave alone the urinators, do they know how embarassing it is for the public who are forced to see and yes, smell?

Anklets on Lakshmi. The most adorable elephant I have ever seen. And yes, yes, she blessed me.

Shri and the sea. :)
The Promenade Beach! We found our way to the water through the sun soaked sharp rocks. Ended up getting drenched!

Steak with pepper sauce. At Le Club - India's most authentic French restaurant. We knew what it meant to get 'drunk' on food.

Now that's what I call good taste. Fabulous collection!!

Flowers among thorns. On our trail to a historical site.

Arikamedu - the place of Roman settlements 2000 years ago. This one is most probably the remains of a French Jesuit Mission house built during the 18th Century.

More ruins. Now inhabited by snakes and wild plants. And occasionally has children visitors.

Me. After a sumptous lunch and a happy heart!

Underground Resistance!

2009-05-26T12:39:00.002+05:30

I think all amma and appas attended a certain school before they had children.

Or better, they are still attending a secret school which teaches them how to deal with children.

Or even better, there is a secret resistance force that is helping them shout and talk and make faces at children (however grown up they are..)

How else can there be such astounding similarity in the words they use, in their expressions, in their actions and in absolutely everything that they do?

They have this universal hatred toward cell phones, SMS, friends, parties and dates!

They all hate the same things; they all love the same things!!

I am convinced.

It has to be an underground resistance force!

The Curious Case of My Intense Boredom!!

2009-05-23T20:25:00.005+05:30

If the world was a bit flatter, maybe there would have been an antidote for my boredom. Perhaps, if the days were brighter, things would have gotten better.

But neither happened. So here I am, bored and bugged with life! ( I know, not a very nice way to start a post. But hey, I am bored. So this is how I will sound.)

And No, not even the UPA coming to power is changing things.

What can possibly change this serious situation in my life?

May be I should just get marooned in a island with my dream man. But the island MUST have a toilet with a flush. And the aircraft/boat that got wrecked should have some fluffy beds. We can also add some peacock meat. (Yeah, Six days, seven nights. But Nay, not Harrison Ford. Perhaps George Clooney would be a better choice. O how I wish he is reading this!!)

Anyway, back to my boredom. Now, seriously speaking what do people look forward to in life? Especially the ones who are getting married or thinking of doing so. Won't they find things boring? Like cooking, cleaning, washing, getting a new life insurance policy, or a new sofa set, or a new table top 'tilt-able' wet-grinder, or even a new family car! Add the monthly provision list, the gas cylinder, the aavin milk card and the daily house help. Folding towels, scrubbing windows, wiping floors, PTA meetings, car wash, electricity bills and veterinary visits. Someone tell me, honestly, aren't these things downright boring??

O what happened to murder mysteries and extra/pre-marital eloping and stage dharnas and lonely planet escapades? O whoever stopped the green big-eyed aliens and blocked the doorway to Narnia and didn't let the fallen angel Seth to meet me and forgot to remind me that I am actually, the crown princess of Genovia? And yes, what the hell happened to getting marooned in between Makatae and Tahiti?

Either the movies have been lying a bit too much, or I have been extremely foolish to have aspired for a non-boring, extravagantly inspiring, explosively interesting, and a fabulously fantastic life!!

That's got to be it. Why else, I mean why else, am I so bored?? I almost feel cheated, u know. Like all my younger years, I so badly wanted to grow up. And here I am, all grown up, and not one UFO is in sight. O hell, not even a white ghost damn it! All that I can see is milk cards and long provision lists and car loans and pension retirement plans. Gosh, this is crazy! No wait, this is a nightmare!

I have decided to sue the movie guys. ( No don't laugh. I am serious.) U see, it is for their insatiable interests that they make such movies. And when innocent children like me (yeah yeah, loooooong time back) grow up on such a diet, it ends up cheating us. No, betraying us would be a better way of putting it. Now, that's definitely illegal. And yes, I am going to sue them.

But in the meantime, I have to deal with my boredom. No, don't ask me to watch movies again. I will not! Besides, thronging in Sathyam and Inox is getting to be, yes, boring.

So what else?

Ideas from the Internet:

Learn a new word in the dictionary - Sick! I hate learning new words.

Go shop for a really cool book - Tried and tested. Not working anymore!

Learn to peel a banana with your feet - Good one. Gonna try!

Phone your local government rep and see if you can convince him to have lunch with you - Wow!! I'll also improvise.

Shave your head - No way. I can perhaps shave someone else's head. Game anyone?

Dance around your living room naked - and get killed by my parents. Yeah, sure.

Play dress-up with all the clothes you have in your closet - Tried. Boring!!

Bring dog treats to the park and meet 25 new dogs - Yes, I like it!!

Find some crutches and pretend to have a broken leg - Nay, politically incorrect. But I dont know. Desperation can lead me to this.

Make faces at strangers to make them laugh - Super, super!

Flirt with people - Yup! I'll make that men. Intelligent men at that.

Any other ideas, anyone??

There's hope

2009-05-01T19:17:00.002+05:30

Miles to walk, miles to run.
Before I can lay my head to sleep.
Turning around at every instance
to spot the rainbow
to spot the raincloud
What journey I behold?
Which way I take?
Carving my pathways..
finding my trail..
Holding hands with myself
patting my own back.
A lonesome explorer
A content vagabond.
Friendships galore
Sibling glory
Love unlimited
An open heart.
Do I hear Shakira questioning God?
I join in, asking in tune.
Smaller steps, longer walks
only to realize that life goes on.
Why is bitch an expletive?
Is she the one who goes to war with a cat?
Isn't she the one who relents?
How important are choices.
How important are responses.
Middle of my long journey
I have looked back at my mistakes
my wrongs
my rights
the words i said
the people i met
the things i have seen
the lives i have lived.
And I encounter hope
Beyond all the pain,
and all the abuse,
and all the darkness,
there's light.
There's hope!

Where does my Love come from?

2009-04-18T14:15:00.002+05:30

Waiting for the night to end
Waiting for the dew to fall
Bringing with it some wisdom
Some hyssop and some holy water
To cleanse me
To answer me

O tell me, O tell me
Where is my love coming from?
Where does my love find its spring?
After all the wounds
After all the bloodshed
My God, Is it some kind of a miracle?

Don’t you see my love?
High up in the evening sky
Floating like the lonely red cloud
Full of tears, full of pain
Flying away
But coming again

O tell me, O tell me
Where is my love coming from?
Where does my love find its spring?
After all the wounds
After all the bloodshed
My God, Is it some kind of a miracle?

Mistakes that you did,
Sins that I committed,
Will it cure my love away?
Or make me a slave to pay?
I thirst
It’s finished

O tell me, O tell me
Where is my love coming from?
Where does my love find its spring?
After all the wounds
After all the bloodshed
My God, Is it some kind of a miracle?

No answers come to me
No questions need to be
The heart starts fluttering again
Wondering if hate will come again
I give up
I don’t run

O tell me, O tell me
Where is my love coming from?
Where does my love find its spring?
After all the wounds
After all the bloodshed
My God, Is it some kind of a miracle?

A whisper so muscular, so strong.

2008-12-19T12:27:00.002+05:30

Take a step ahead
It’s enough.
Be bold to be liberated.
Raise your voice until it spears the clouds of oppression.
Join your hands, become strong like the mountains.
Women of the nations, be assured of your strength,
Like the waves that roll in the sea.
Fight against the inner voice which tells you that you are a slave.
Shout to God, let him hear the voice of agony.
March forward towards the freedom of Canon.
Stamp on the backsliders
and go through,
Because the end is near, the victory is clear.
The Earth is ready to whisper towards
liberty, equality and unity.

- N. M. David Selvakumar, The Trinity Theological College.
Excerpt from 'Transforming Dalit Identity: Ancient Drum Beat, New Song' - A thesis by
Fiona Margaret Page Dalton, Victoria University of Wellington, Wellington, Aotearoa New Zealand

Rowthram, Alternative Thinking and My Last Weekend

2008-12-07T20:11:00.014+05:30

There's something beautiful about sitting together and discussing issues from an alternative perspective. It is almost magical. And everytime it happens, it touches one's heart so much that it simply leaves you breathless. There's so much energy, so much emotion, so much love...it's as though destiny is saying that you are different, that you are an alternative!

Last weekend I began what I had last left off three years ago. And it almost seems like a lifetime.

I still remember my first SCM camp. It happened in a place called DELTA in Kalpakam. The theme for the camp was actually quite simple. All that it did was introduce me to dalit issues;using simple models, and very straightforward teaching methods. And I had sat there, drinking in every word, every articulated thought and every silent moment; like as though I had unearthed some precious treasure.

I have an elder sister, who of course went to college much before I did. She was part of SCM as well, and she taught a million things beforehand. All I had to do was listen. Listen. Listen more. And when I came to SCM, I talked. I talked what I felt. I talked what I thought was right. And when people responded, it echoed within me. It was like I had grown up all my life to be here, to be with these people. To belong here, right here!

But all of this lasted for a maximum of only four years. I presented papers. I held discussions. I fell in and out of liking for people. Some of their energy was so astounding, it was almost contagious. And there were so many of them. Women Theologians. Dalit theologians. Environmentalists. Media activists. Social workers. Many! They were all alternative thinkers.

When I wrapped all of this to go to Singapore for my higher studies, I had no idea how much I was going to miss. I had no idea I was turning my back to what I treasured the most.

And last weekend I revived it. Only this time, I was no student.

I was on the other side. I had to choose the resource people. I had to design the itinerary. I had to do a million things before I could sit and see the speakers reveal their minds. To see the kids open their minds to the flow of knowledge. To see history (albeit a small scale one) repeat itself. And what pride fills my heart to see it all happen. Young ordinary women (Just like I was). Sitting there in those plastic chairs, with their sharp eyes and shrewd ears. With their absolutely lovely questioning minds!

Our camp had the theme, Media and Gender Justice. Very elementary indeed. And did I add simple? It was, it was. But that’s what made all the difference to the young women. The sessions aimed to shatter the most fundamental ideas, about media, gender and both.

There was this one speaker who spoke on alternative response and what constitutes it. According to him (and yes, yes according to me!) there are two requirements for alternative thinking to take shape in our minds. The more basic of the two is ANGER! Rowthram, he called it. What is anything of use without rowthram? What is alternative thinking if there’s no righteous anger within you?

The mainstream has no problems with the world of course. It is fine with it. It is absolutely OK with it. Dalit atrocities? “Happens!” Orissa killings? “What can we do about it?” Gujarat riots? “Arre yaar, the train bombers could’ve kept quite na?” Farmers’ and weavers’ suicide? “Sacrifices for the larger good…chalega!” Mumbai firing and media coverage? “Taj and Trident are National heritage of course”. Domestic violence? “Family bujiness!” Police encounters? “Law has its way…we can’t have problems with it.” “Life has to be enjoyed machi! Why make a big deal?” “This happens, that happens…What’s it to us man?” “Make peace folks, do argue for alien issues. It doesn’t even relate to us.” “Why be in India? It has reservation. Doesn’t even respect our brains!” “Caste is still ok when it comes to marriage.”

Rowthram is what you have when u are angered by all this. The anger that will propel you to action. The anger that will bring deliverance to the ostracized and the oppressed. The anger that made a million things happens in this country.

The second requirement of course is the channeling of this anger. It will have to give rise to critical thinking and later on to critical perspectives. Alternative thinking, we call it!

A fine mind well spoken speaker. Thanks :)

If someone asks me if I am a happy person today, this is what my answer will be.

If being happy means being indifferent to dalit atrocities and white chauvinism, if being happy means looking out of the window and seeing tall rise buildings and posh cafes while ignoring the unequal wages of the construction workers, if being happy means dining in rich restaurants and pretending to not see the child laborer, if being happy means saying no to reservations and still feeling like you have understood it all, then, No…I am certainly not happy!
But,
If being happy means having the hope that one day things in this world is going to change, if being happy means having the faith of ambedkar and shirin ebadi , if being happy means living a life where u realize it’s a hard struggle for the alternative thinker, if being happy means having the courage to follow the unusual dynamics of an alternative life, then, yes, I am certainly very very happy!

Irony No.1

2008-10-23T13:18:00.004+05:30

People want you to change. They bet on their lives that you are the one who's wrong. And by the time you change, by falling and getting up and falling again, they are bored with you. They have another huge set of problems with you. They want you to change again. But when you begin, you realise there's nothing of you that is left to make the changes. 'cause you didn't know when you changed, you actually died.

Them!

2008-10-13T16:43:00.004+05:30

I had no idea prayers could someday seem meaningless. No, not even a bit. I fully believed (even as a little girl), that my prayer, my prayer, if and when it is honest/sincere, will be heard. Will reach the heavens, will move mountains! And quite understandably, i assumed those prayers were going to be about me, my family, my friends and a few of those forlorn souls bracketed under the phrase, 'the poor, sick and the needy'. Nothing more, nothing less. Prayers were taught to me this way, prayers around me were said this way. Infact, prayers were benchmarked this way!

It starts off by adoring, then confessing, followed by thanking and eventually (but definitely) supplicating! And if time plays havoc, one ends up doing only the confessing and the supplicating part. Praising also happens. Many times. Many days. Like it must. Not like you want to. But the idea is, it is about You. You and Yours.

Today, it seemed meaningless. What will I tell my God? That I am happy and thankful I have a good job and a great life? Thankful that I'm one of 'chosen' few to be still alive? Happy that I have limbs and eyes and a government health insurance policy? Glad that I am not that little child in Orissa who got her face burnt?

What do i ask my God? A good house? A good marriage? A long life for my pets? What? Every word i utter seems foolish, seems meaningless. I feel like a no-gooder. I feel like I have not done anything. I feel useless.

I think I hear Him. I think I hear His tears. His tears for for the ones who are being massacared. For the ones who are being burnt and raped and killed. For the ones who are shamed for no reason. For everyone in Kandhamal.

And I think I am hearing Him for the first time. I didn't hear him during the 1984 Sikh riots. Or during Godhra. Or even when America bombed Iraq. Come to think of it, I guess all that I heard was just His reassurances for me, His promises of a comfortable life and more often than not, His exclusive blessings, just for me.

All I can pray today is for them. Everything else seems meaningless. Everything. My everyday auto/bus ride. A stain on my favorite shirt. A crush's smile. The dirty marsh that sticks to my pant. My accompolishments. My favorite friend's anger. The salary I earn every month. Everything.

In the face of Orissa, in the light of Godhra... Everything seem meaningless.

Even prayers. Except and ofcourse, when I pray for them. Them!

Disgust, Anger and Memories!

2008-08-09T18:55:00.009+05:30

I was perhaps introduced to this thing called general table manners/etiquette a little less than 15 years ago. When u eat together at the table (notice that it's not the floor) one has to comply to some rules. I actually found that quite interesting. Like say for example, the plates can be porcelain and the fork/spoon/knife can be steel, and yet no sounds should be made. Despite the fact that porcelain and steel on contact will create sounds. So basically one has to defy the laws of material behavior in order to keep up with the long list of table manners. Interesting! :)But isn't it generally accepted that one doesn't discuss offensive stuff? I mean, offensive can be/mean/imply a million things. And what one considers offensive may not really be so for the other. All agreed! Yet, isn't caste offensive enough? 'objectively' offensive enough?

"I'm a brahmin. So i don't get to eat 'non-veg' stuff".

My question is very simple. Can anyone say something like...

"I'm a Tamil pariah. So i eat meat. I eat beef".

Leave alone this being an embarrassment for the one who says it. Won't this be considered offensive for the others on the table?

Either I'm being absurd or there's something seriously wrong with the social understanding of table etiquette. If caste by itself is offensive and derogatory, why should only the brahmin caste be a feather in the cap? A proud label? And that too at the table? My, my!!

I have noticed this in off-table scenarios as well. Almost every brahmin that meet (except a select considerate few) makes sure that i know he/she/it is a brahmin. They do it in some way or the other.

"Well..I'm a Iyengar boy, u see.."

"O a Tam-Bram..no wonder."

"We come from very orthodox Brahmin family. So well.."

"I know, I know..We brahmins are like that."

And the most common/usual/celebrated acknowledgment...

"I'm a brahmin. So i don't eat non-veg." (Notice its non-veg. Not meat. 'cause veg is the standard. The reference.)

I wonder how these twice-born will react if every time the word 'brahmin' is uttered, a 'dalit' follows. Or better the words , pariyar, adivasi, bhangi, harijan, panchamas, etc. I really wonder. Even wish!

But its not silly, if that's what it appears to be. It's not. It's not just a name. It's more than just that. For one, it says that a brahmin can afford to, can dare to reveal/acknowledge his/her caste, while a dalit may not. 'Cause what a dalit will reveal is NOT proud enough. The roots are derogatory. The origin is disgusting.

Two, everytime a Dalit hears the word 'brahmin' and the I'm-proud-of-it nonsense, no good feelings about the person will rise. No thoughts to foster friendship. No inclination to start a relationship. What will (or perhaps what should) is disgust. Disgust of the current/past reality. Disgust towards the castetistic Vedas, disgust towards dalit atrocities, disgust towards caste Hindus/Christians/anyone, disgust towards anything and everything that is castetistic. Disgust!

What will arise is anger. The anger to fight, the anger to retaliate, the anger to rebel. The anger that drove dalits to adopt Christianity and Buddhism. The anger that propelled Ambedkar to become 'celebrated'. The anger that steered the dalit women to stand against the rape of those bloody upper caste men. Anger!

What, even the 'urban' dalit will remember is memories. Memories of 2000 years.

That disgust, I'm proud of!
That anger, I will have!
Those memories, I will keep!

Even at the table.

More Bodhi!!

2008-07-31T16:33:00.006+05:30

The equalizer of religions is not love. It's patriarchy!

When your loud, people don't hear.

A relationship doesn't survive on love. It does on tactics.

There's no joy like reading a book in a crowded bus.

Music helps when love doesn't.

Water heals.

Dogs are better than kids. They adapt much faster.

There's no rule that mangoes should only be yellow. It can be red, green and even blue.

Crushes are the only things that keep us going*

Conventions MUST be broken. They can't survive if we don't.

Email Prayers. I'm sure heaven is equipped now.

Have you noticed how relationships are like yo-yos? up-down, up-down!!

Formal shirts go so well with jeans.

*courtesy: Hannah

Truth no.1

2008-07-20T19:22:00.001+05:30

"To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket—safe, dark, motionless, airless—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable."-C.S.Lewis.

Waiting Titles...

2008-07-15T21:19:00.002+05:30

When the coffee cups break...

Illegal disliking...

Smoother shadows, blinding light.

Friends and formalities.

Long before he stopped lamenting...

Dire needs.

Me and chennai's cargo complex.

The derailment of Love...

Jaane tu, ringing bells and love.

My palm and my friend.

Writing, regrets and remorse.

Tears. More tears.

Points, Bang on. Ambiguity, bang on.

Love, life and the immune system.

Cotton balls are good for the ears...

Sonpoppadi. Kadalamuttai. Illathapalam.

Fear that drove away exams.

:):(:):(

Death

2008-07-10T15:01:00.000+05:30

Somehow I never find the time to write for myself. The thoughts are all there. It keeps coming. It keeps going. Words form. Emotions die. But I can feel my mind writing all the time. Yet, I wait. I wait for that urgency in me. I wait for the time when every thought of mine will culminate in words and sentences. I wait for the day when there’s nothing else I can do but just write. At this point, I need to write, I have to write. I must write to survive.

The other day while I was returning from work, I saw these two young men by the roadside. They were standing with their sonpoppadi puller carts and counting coins from a wooden box that’s usually fixed to the cart. When I looked at them, a surge of emotions passed through me. How young, how fragile they seemed. O they were no IT professionals, no software gurus, no big time money makers! They were just, people. It’s really sad that somehow, the unorganized sector in India despite its importance has lost all its value in the bigger picture. Free markets, corporate globalization, industrial growth are more familiar to the most of us. Even to me. I’d prefer to talk to someone about the US economy or perhaps renaissance art or maybe the latest best seller in Indian fiction. Why on earth would I want to remember my school days when I had yearned to see the sonpoppadi guy? Why would I want to find the reason for that very same yearning in me today, 10 years later? Why would I find out how sonpoppadi tastes so good, even today? It’s exactly this ‘why’ that breaks my heart. These people …cart pullers, candy makers, flower vendors, vegetable sellers, roadside launders, none of them figure in the bigger plan. When treaties are signed, when closures are made, when analysis is done, when mergers and acquisitions happen….they are not there. They don’t exist. They simply don’t. But when roads are widened, dams are built, buildings are demolished and their protests happen, they become a nuisance. They become thorns. Insects that need to be crushed under the heel, animals that need to be sacrificed for the larger good! The ‘unorganized’ sector, they are called!

Relationships! What does one do when they bitterly fail? The question of love has plagued me for very long time. As to what defines love and if at all one does define it, can that be right. Many things. But my questions are futile. Always. Sometimes, I don’t know what to do or even think. I just don’t think. Because thinking means a life that’s sorry and stupid. Thinking means that I have to see that betrayal is normal. My friend recently told me this: Expect relationships to fail. And I think that’s a statement I will carry to my grave. Expect relationships to fail. Because that’s what relationships do and become. They fail. They always fail. In everyway, with everyone, every time! And the more you work on it, the more they fail. The more important the person, the more likely that the relationship will fail! In the end, it will fail. Love will die. Love has to die. Because that’s the only way one can cry and weep and lose out on life.

Coffee. Conversations. English classes. Trust. Black pendants. Jute slippers. Art hut. Love. Secrets. Memories. Loneliness. Blood. Insect bite. Beach fights.

Death. It happens. To love. To people. To friendship. To life. To the unorganized sector.

nicknames

2008-04-22T11:38:00.002+05:30

Skeleta, color bali, kundu kalyanam, soopi, madha yaanai, pursu vaai, vella mudi, open-to-all, sottai, soda, vidadhu karupu, neanderthal man, goofy, kuppi, pakki, murungaka, bakai, velai, kulla bans, pambu, bandha party, buty, pulipu, canvas-shoe, kulla, mamty, viviparous, pimply, ambalai singam, change-the-room, kan alagan, nambu, nonjan, kattai, eli, eliar, TDH, poruki-panade,ramarajan, powerakka, turnip, kathrika, aiyangar-veetu-asingam, baba, pacha-molaga, kulla-kuppathoti, jannu, kathirupu, nalla-akka, 1.5, photocopy, kanadi, nut, nutcracker, eyebrows, ocm, anglo, blade, dabara, dhae-dhae, bucketu, bali, bhim-girl, crocodile, pencilu, bull-dozer....

wah wah...the human race and the names!!

Questions.

2008-04-10T17:16:00.010+05:30

Disclaimer: The following article is purposely satirical and doesn't have any resemblance to the current person that I am or the future person I will be. ;)

I have always had a lot of clever questions. I was born intelligent. Like, what is love? Or maybe, how does one love? Is love a verb? A noun? An adjective perhaps? And luck. What does it mean to be lucky? Who on earth (or heaven or hell) defines luck? And why on earth (only earth!) is spinach that bad to taste? But Popeye the sailor says it is the very source of all strength (Have u noticed how good stuff always tastes bad? And bad stuff always feels good?). I also had this question about the sky. Why does the sky have to seem like its some kind of an umbrella? And it doesn't even protect us from the rain. Cheater sky!

Once, there was this spiritless guest at my place. Those days when i was a smart child (but trust me, a lot of people can vouch for my smartness even now). I being the eternally spirit-filled child danced on the sofa when he sat on the other side. I even adviced him about good manners when he refused the coffee amma offerred. He smiled back and gave me this what-a-smart-child look. I felt wonderful. But as soon as he left, it didnt seem all that wonderful. Infact the atmosphere totally changed. I was shouted at for behaving badly. Bad behaviour. Ah, that was new word. So what i had exhibited was bad behaviour. What is this bad behaviour? And someone actually has an IUPAC sort of thing to define what is good and bad behaviour. Pretty good! But how was i to get access to this 'Official bad and good behaviour differentiation list' ? Certainly, the world can't refuse it to a sincere spirit-filled child.

My questions also included people. Not just behavioural patterns. Even when i was a little girl I was pretty observant enough to notice that people had different skin colours. They even had different skin textures. Loose, tight, soft, rough, freckled, supple, mild, oily, dry. But every time there was a skin cosmetic that was advertised, i saw this term called normal skin. So oily, dry, supple, etc are not normal? Ofcourse those were not! If those were, then are the cosmetic people lying? Surely they wouldn't. They are grown ups. Grown ups never never lie. This means apart from behavioural patterns, some special people also decide what is normal skin and what is abnormal skin. Wow!

Vegetables and fruits (like spinach) are also question attracting entities. Why are vegetables called vegetables? Aren't they fruits as well? It is like as though the plant worked and sweat all her life to bring forth only a vegetable. A vegetating, useless, unfruitful, vegetable. Why, are only fruits fruitful? But as much as i do fight for vegetables, they weren't exactly my favorite. And fruits were. But i sufferred from this rare fatal (blogger allows me to exaggerate) condition called as primary complex (PC). So i never could eat juicy/tasty fruits. I used to yearn and dream and desire for a tiny bite of that succulent juicy green grapes. What i was given however were the medicine smelling red banana, dry guava, apple and any vegetable resembling fruit. I had to wait for almost 10 years to claim my right of juicy-fruit eating. Now, was it because i loved fruits that i got PC? Or is it because i was denied fruits that i loved them so much? Was it predestination or free will? Like many questions, i never had an answer.

Around my adolescent years, i realised how animals can be influenced by social parameters. Have u seen dogs barking at rag pickers? Or even at someone who wears something shorter or scantier than what others usually wear. And why do monkeys (the ones in the city/town/any people infested areas) harass only women and children? I myself have lost a packet of framyons, salted peanuts and even a glass of badam milk. Why? This means animals mimick men and women who are patriarchal, class-ist and anti-anytypeofclothes-wearing-freedom. Imagine what else they could have learnt from us. The very thought is so scary. We are very influential, aren't we? Proud homosapien species.

O there was also this time when my questions were excessively about water. Water. The very word used to sound wonderfully therapeutic. The more i learnt about it the more i admired it. And i even discovered that Sir C.V. Raman thought the same. One of his essays, 'Water - the elixir of life' appeared in our english textbooks. This meant i had a good chance of winning the nobel. Amazing!

Currently however my questions are totally out the child-adolescent-age of innocence-league. I am asking stupid questions now.

Like,

What is love?

What is happiness?

Why disparity?

What is faith?

What is family?

Why hierarchy?

Are my theological interpretations right?

Are there any absolutes after all?

Why paradoxes?

Why only paradoxes?

Why death? What death?

Like i said i was intelligent. Was!

SMS thruths...

2008-03-25T08:14:00.003+05:30

N: I wish i could fast forward life. Just zoom through it all and arrive at its conclusion. would it be meaningless at the end of it all?

C: Yes and no. Depends. But then life has it's surprises and if one's game life will seem beautiful.

N: No matter what when i look at the bigger picture....i dont mean anything..no one does actually. Anyway how are u feeling?

C: Bad. Not worse...but not good either. Living life u see...i'm so sick of it. Wishing a million things.

N: Yeah, everyone's chasing the perfect guy, an ideal family, a fulfilling career, an utopia. In the end we are all fooled. Burn the romantic novels out there! Boycott the silly motivational books...I am but a fool. I'm sorry i am not doing anything to uplift your mood. I know i'm overly cynical. But i am empathasing with u. Blah.

C: Thanks...Really...i'd prefer it this way...

N: Am going to sleep now..Sweet dreams...but beware they may not come true...:):)

C: :)...Good night!

And i thought smiles happenned only when u are happy!!

Silence

2008-03-11T07:55:00.001+05:30

There's something about silence that is very comforting. Almost enlightening.

Bodhi-briksha

2008-02-27T09:16:00.011+05:30

Sometimes the smallest things in life cause the greatest damage.

When ur mother starts to offer you make-up tips, that's when u know getting married is going to require some hard work.

Once in a while, u should sleep for the whole day.

Once in a while, u should switch off your mobile phone.

Some people spend all their lives yearning for that something. And once they get it, they spend the rest of their lives saying they don't deserve it.

When the day begins, it is always better to sleep for an extra 10 minutes.

Eating creamy cheese should be made compulsory for everyone.

Irritating/annoying one's girlfriend must be made illegal.

Sad stories should be conveyed only in written format so that its easier to keep it out of your system.

When an hi-bye accquaintance calls you and wishes you on ur birthday, u know there will be another i-need-a-help phone call after that.

When it rains, its usually when u are wearing long white flowery skirt with a lacy rim.

When an aunty/uncle at the church is asking about your future, it is possible that there's someone who's future is being connected with yours.

When u are depressed clean your table or your purse or your room. It makes things much much better.

Drink water. Inhale lots of oxygen. It heals wounds.

Insecurity gives birth to condescending looks.

Once in a while, eat from a kai-yendhi bhavan.

Sometimes, girlfriends are the best medicine. and the best remedy.

A smile at the right time to the wrong person can change a lot of things.

Gossip is fun. But not when it is about you.

Weddings are fun. But not when it is yours.

Lift a slum child. If u can, kiss her/him. And if possible, photograph that moment. He/she will love it!

Never have phone calls in the night when u are with your family in your hometown. You can sure expect a volcano-tsumani hybrid the next morning.

Try wishing Good-morning to a cat. At times, they wish back!

Praying with your family helps you express/convey things which you can't otherwise.

Call only those teachers whom you truly love, on teacher's day. The rest deserve the indifference.

When you see your Bad boss walking by, you know a black cat is nothing.

Never, ever, spill secrets (any kind) to your immediate family members.

When someone unusually smiles a lot to u, u sure have messed up something!!

Write your diary/journal in Azerbaijani or swahili or makasar or potiguara. If u don't know, take classes. If there's no script, invent one.

Don't miss the chance to see a starry sky. The city lights will only get brighter as days go by.

Wish every time u blow the candle on ur birthday cake. U never know, it may be the last time people think you are special enough to be given a party.

Smile showing your teeth. Don't bother if it is crooked or broken. Smile.

Wearing make up is therapeutic. All the time.

Don't call your friends, sisters/brothers. Don't call your sisters/brothers, friends. It's a waste of words.

Some people listen to others only when they say things which are in tune with what they have planned.

When a long lost friend calls u, it can be only one thing. Wedding! Hers/his or that of someone u both know.

Cinderella got lucky not because she suffered all her teenage years but because she was pretty and lived in a patrichial world when men wanted only beauty in a woman.

I bet snow white had more fun with the dwarfs than that prince.

Have a pet. Not for u. But for him or her!

Fill your coffee cup upto the brim. You need all the caffeinne you can get.

Sometimes, sleep that happens during church sermons are the most restful.

Reading mills & boons makes one even sadder. Not because such rosy stuff doesn't happen to u but because such men are not easy to find.

Break rules once a year. It can pump some rare kind of energy into you!

Buy things from a street child. If you don't want what he/she sells, it's ok, get it anyway.

Step into a scientific research lab if you get the chance. The world's steering wheel is anchored there.

Wear strung white jasmine flowers on ur hair. It can do amazing things to ur looks.

Write when u are bored. It can do amazing things to ur mood.

Think all the time. It can do amazing things to your mind.

© Copyright 2008 Sudhanthira. :):)

Love!

2008-02-26T09:24:00.001+05:30

Love is being committed to God's best for the other person!!

Phew!! Has the hammer hit the nail?

Prayers..

2008-02-19T08:37:00.003+05:30

Loud petitions, huge cries, shouts of agony...

Prayer.

Prepared intercessions, written paragraphs, simple words...

Prayer.

Murmurs, whispers, muffled babble...

Prayer.

Tears, Groans, Fears

Prayer.

Silence!

Yet, prayer!

The problem with love.

2008-01-18T07:31:00.000+05:30

It has atleast been a week since i coined the title and i have been finding it so hard to translate my thoughts into words. I just didnt know how to begin, how to start criticising love. Maybe it is because of what the world has told me about love all this while. That Love is infallible. All the time. Everytime. Anytime. And i realise, the world has its way of saying something and doing an entirely different thing.

My religion, my family, my friends, everyone told me the same thing. Love. The know all and end all of everything. And sometimes, of everyone. But then, why? Why Love of all? Why not peace? How about hope? And grace? Maybe tolerance? O hell, what about freedom?

Sometimes i wonder if Love has been overrated. Over those evolutionary years when humans thought Love is pretty much a blanket that can cover up a few things? Or maybe something that they never could understand and hence made it supreme? Which leads me to wonder what Love really is. I am actually a little scared to define it. Or even describe it. Because if i define it i restrict it. And if i dont i let it so loose that anything can be called Love. Anything can be done in the name of Love. Anything. Everything.

There was a time, so long ago that it almost seem like ages to me, when i believed in this classification of love. Platonic, romantic, familial and agape. This kind distingushing does help in some way, like when i have to make people understand that there is nothing between me and him. That we are just friends. That what we have between the both of us is platonic love. But other than that it only pretty well succeeds in confusing me. Why on earth (or maybe in heaven) should Love be packaged like this? I mean, hasn't anyone out there, ever loved someone with a love that can't quite be described/defined? No one? Ever? Is light made of only particles? Don't we know that band spectrums exist?

Some years ago, i learnt something that i will never forget. I told myself, not bothering if it was the absolute, that Love is about letting go. And everytime i experience the opposite or meet someone who does, i say these very same words. Love is about letting go. And i can love someone so much i will have to not need that person. Because if it is my need, it becomes selfish. Or does it? And why should it not? In this world of I, me and myself why should only Love be selfless? And i know, lately, i am getthing stuck up in a maze of paradoxes. I am trying to laugh at it though at the end of the laughter answers dont come.

There are some in my life who understand love in a way so different from me. To them, it is about posessiveness, control, craze and affection. It is not about letting one go to do his/her thing. It is not about letting him/her have their personal space. It is not about freedom. It is about the lover and not the loved. It is about suffocation.

And i wonder if that's where my answer lies. Suffocation. Love that suffocates, Love that chokes the life out of another. And the pain. The pain that accompanies the loss. The pain that borders the deprivation. The wounds. The tears. The bruises. All of which that comes along with love. Love that does have that shape or sound or smell.

Love, an act of will, echoes another. An obligation wonders my mind.

That's probably the problem with Love.

The paradox. The tension.

????

2008-01-11T14:27:00.000+05:30

I dont know why i write.

I dont seem to know why i even articulate.

I dont know the answers for many questions.

Wish i can redo things.

Wish i can relive things.

Wish certain things never happenned or happen.

I am at a loss to know what truth is.

How i wish...

Love...

2007-11-30T14:12:00.000+05:30

A million smiles. Hidden tears. Love so intense. Love so deep.
Why does the world define the ways of love? Why do those eyes and ears tell us how love should be shown?

A love that runs into gullies... A love that crushes rocks.... A love that caresses leaves....
Love that is felt. Love that is thought. Love that surprises!

A passionate surge. A slow tune. A flash of those eyes. Air that swirls around oneself. Hair that sticks to the cheeks. Love that begins. Love that hurts. Love that liberates!

How can the world bound by space and time teach me love? How can the earth with its orbits and laws tell me how love should be felt? How can the human body clothed with skin and tied down by touch, define love? How can the mind imprisoned by perspective and principles understand love?

Why are relationships named? Why is love registered? Why is love shown? Why is love explained?

Does love need a pitcher? Does love shine only in a sky?

Love...not understood. Not even felt. Sensed to the best. Packaged by the world. Ripped apart by the same.

Hung up phone calls. Unreturned letters. Closed eyes. Deeper dreams. Musical nights.

Love.

Mother. Cousins. Relatives. Blood ties. Blood knots. Blood tangles. Blood clots!

Love.

Brushing of elbows. Eyes that speak volumes. Sparkling smiles. Itching lips.

Love.

A million smiles. Hidden tears.

kabhi kabhi...

2007-10-11T12:52:00.000+05:30

Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai
Ki jaise tujhko banaya gaya hai mere liye
Ki jaise tujhko banaya gaya hai mere liye
Tu abse pehle sitaaron mein bas rahi thi kahin
Tu abse pehle sitaaron mein bas rahi thi kahin
Tujhe zameen pe bulaya gaya hai mere liye
Tujhe zameen pe bulaya gaya hai mere liye

Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai
Ki ye badan ye nigaahein meri amaanat hain
Ki ye badan ye nigaahein meri amaanat hain
Ye gesuon ki ghani chhaon hain meri khatir
Ye honth aur ye baahein meri amaanat hain
Ye honth aur ye baahein meri amaanat hain

Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai
Ki jaise bajti hain shehnaaiyaan si raahon mein
Ki jaise bajti hain shehnaaiyaan si raahon mein
Suhaag raat hain ghoonghat utha raha hoon main
Suhaag raat hain ghoonghat utha raha hoon main
Simat rahi hai tu sharma ke apni baahon mein
Simat rahi hai tu sharma ke apni baahon mein

Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai
Ki jaise tu mujhe chaahegi umr bhar yoohin
Uthegi meri taraf pyaar ki nazar yoohin
Main jaanta hoon ki tu geir hai magar yoohin
Main jaanta hoon ki tu geir hai magar yoohin
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai
Kabhi kabhi mere dil mein khayaal aata hai

So in love with my Chennai!!

2007-10-10T08:03:00.000+05:30

Smell of love...of flowers...of sadness...

Creativity??

Water Journeys....

Summer sun and traffic....

Food for one, garbage for another...

Laughter..

Coffee...stones...and strings...

So divine...

2007-09-20T06:45:00.000+05:30

A day's hard work...
The small smile in your loved's one face...
A gentle breeze to wipe your tears...
A full meal...
A tiny handshake from small fingers...
A long conversation with your friend...
That look in his (or her) eyes...
The splash of cold water on a hot day...
A run on the beach sand...

The love that held him on the cross...
The love that holds you now...

Everything...So priceless, so divine!

I am thankful...

2007-09-07T14:49:00.000+05:30

However few they maybe....i am extremely thankful for these....

For that arabic food stall, that serves absolutely mouth-watering chicken shawarma and speciality rice every day for lunch...

For those phone calls from my parents, that remind me that there are some who think of me every day and every nite...

For Orkut that surprises me almost every week, with a friend from the past....

For those weekend fellowships, that keep me still rooted to my protestant theology...

For my church, that tells me i belong to a huge community of similar struggling souls...

For that public bus, that comes on time every morning...

For that sweet savoury smell that hits my nose everytime its rains, reminding me of home...

For my watch that sometimes tries to run fast...

For those callback phone cards that lets me have free talking time...

For people who sometimes look at me and give that approving smile...

For my guy friends who work up a good healthy anger in me and then laugh over it with me...

For my friend in india who updates me on the newest indian fiction...

For that only tamil channel here, that airs a detestable tamil serial and yet which pulls me, for the chennai roads and the autorickshaws it manages to capture on camera...

For that indian dinner i enjoy every night along with the sound of kids...

For that one friend who is with me in lab and who knows what i go through every day at work...

For little india that smells and sounds so much like chennai and lets me buy strung white jasmine for special days...

For hard lessons that i would have never learnt had i stayed in my cocoon...

For chemistry and catalysis that still has faith in me...

For the breeze that sometimes wipe my tears when my fingers fail...

For akka who inspite of me loves me all the same...

For God, my lord jesus, who is showing what he is to me and what i am to him...

My state of mind....

2007-08-28T14:25:00.000+05:30

http://beingfeminist.blogspot.com/2007/08/blog-post.html

Till death do us part....

2007-08-08T13:34:00.000+05:30

Shakes and creams

Coffee and conversations

Think and ink

Dinner and dance

Wine and dine

Fools and flowers

Cakes and bakes

Cup and saucer

Nuts and spices

Friends and mends

Needle and thread

Bikes and barrels

Full and fresh

Looks and laughter

Smell and touch

Groans and moans

Rides and roads

to be contd....

Darkness...

2007-07-25T08:57:00.000+05:30

I am fumbling. i cant see the rolls or the blinds. i cant step on the floor. the walls are helping me though. i move along threading my palms over the rough surface. I'm trying to find a latch. a latch that will help me open the door to freedom. but my hands are not finding them. The darkness is black. black and damp and suffocating. heavy heart. loose limbs.

And then out of nowwhere is that blinding light. a thread that becomes lighting. it is over there...afar...but can i reach it? to reach it i would have to let go of the walls. i would have to walk on the floor. i would have to move on to the other side. but how can i? the floor is full of confusion. full of snakes. full of sadness. the next step of mine could lead me into poison. into a ditch. into nothingness. but the questions remain only for a while. soon its darkness again. its black again.

i move. i am fumbling again.

i dare not open my eyes to the world. the world only has sadness to offer. riddles to solve. people to hurt. i dare not live.

Chennai and me!!!

2007-06-29T13:55:00.000+05:30

salted sundal
hindu newspaper
hot fragrant kaapi
sea sand
sultry sweat
traffic jam
garbage
kuvam canal
slippery roads
water lorries
autorickshaws
crowds
cineplex
thali meals
meat markets
tilting buses
dry dirty leaves
karuvadu
strung jasmine
kai yendhi bhavan
swirling paratha
hot rain
dusty roads
Kolzha sandai
platform shops
beach
laughter
street corners
tea shops
poti kadai
hot masal vadais
ripe bare water melon
groups
shouts
lunch boxes
phone calls
billboards
stray dogs
buffalos
movies

Fun!
Life!!!

Chennai,
My Chennai!!!

Where did all the life go??

2007-06-06T13:07:00.000+05:30

There are some who hate life. Who worry all the while, and cry at every opportunity. And there are some who take life as it comes. There are those who make life no matter where they are required to. They make it happen. They live with what is given. And there are also those who grab every chance and choice and make the most of what life offers.
But...there are some (nuts like me...) who make the right choices all their lives except one, except JUST one and end up living in regret and misery, for that ONE wrong choice.

Asking me what, huh? Well...let me tell u. Its no secret really! Infact I am sure some of you out there do really want to make the choice that i have made. I know a number of them who would die to be where I am. But well....wolves never get grapes and vadais always belong to the crow! So there I am....A young science freak, who assumed that the world was an easy place and that battles were always won. How naive, huh!

This brings me to a wider horizon. A search for the unknown....A mystery that i was to reveal...a project i was to finish....what an utterly, utterly, stupid thought! Whoever said research rocks! Research might probably rule...but trust me, dude....it NEVER, EVER rocks. But did anyone really say that research rocks? Or was it just me? The inner me, the naive inner soul.....I was self duped.....I was self wooed....into research....into scientific research! And I listened to myself, gave ear to my stupid foolish folly.

Today, i am looking at life! I mean LIFE, not the one i am living, but life...where people get up and breathe in fresh air and have breakfast and kiss their spouses and kids good bye before work and come back home for a nice meal and a relaxing bath and sweet dreams....that's the one i am talking about! And also the one during weekends...the simple deep slumber on saturday mornings, the time with pets, the times on the phone, the laughter at nights, the boredom in church, the fun in shopping.....u know, just that free mind. And the times when u can read newspapers and see movies! The Life where u dont have to go to sleep thinking why this reactant didnt give any product, if there could be another solvent that can do the magic, what is ur boss gonna say about that abstract u wrote or what is going to happen to you in the next 24hours. And ofcourse there's this boredom....this irritating depressing intense boredom, and this eternal feeling in your stomach that something is going to happen (u know like ur scholarship is going to stop...) and this shameless craving for free food!

Research did that to me....call me what u want...i am not bothered anyway! No offence, really! Its just that one tends to become like that. I have become numb to any comment from anyone, except ofcourse from that of my boss. But seriously....i do wonder how some of us (the research crowd) pull on with sweat shirts for weeks together and no food for days. And....ofcourse, this boredom! You may also call it fear! Or wait, maybe somekind of a mysterious non-research-mood. Or maybe this seemingly-eternal-lull-phase. I dont know....whatever! Its just that i have realised that my madenning days aren't very far...its almost there..i can see it...i can even feel it creeping on to me! Is it really over?? My life??? O God help me!

salted red meat!

2007-05-07T15:24:00.000+05:30

frothing anger

rusty feelings

boiling blood

angry lips

twitching toes

smooth sharpness

painful eyes

alien touch

unbruised live ego

prisoned frustration

salted red meat!

risks and relationships!

2007-04-30T09:17:00.000+05:30

"I can't understand what's happenning. its terrible. the entire air of it. the tears, the smiles, the look...the silence!" what could have brought her here? what could have done the damage? what could have made it seem like it is stupid? like its over? like its done with? Like its useless?

O maybe u should have stayed afloat a little more while! maybe you should have given the other the due. Maybe you should have quenched down the anger a little. Maybe u should have just let the things be the way it was. Maybe u should have just kept quite. Maybe...

but no....it wouldnt have really matterred. the rains would have come and washed away the soil. the winds would have blown anyway. the rivers would have flooded and the dams would have crashed. it would have ended in its own due course. u were just a little faster. A little early!

now, its quite. the after math is empty....almost peaceful...calm and composed. smiles and laughter! wish it began before the rain..before the sweet storm!

love...??!!!

2007-04-18T10:11:00.000+05:30

what does it mean to be in love???

what do people mean when they say they are in love??

what does falling in love really mean??

how does one fall in love???

and with who???

and why???

can one fall in love with just about anyone??

really???

has it begun when lips twitch and pulse race?

has it started when the tummy rolls over and a wave passes thru??

is it round the corner when messages remain in the inbox and chats in the mail box??

has it begun???

love. has it started????

or is it committment rather??? the determination to go that extra mile!

or maybe its got nothing do with attraction! maybe its just friendship!

or maybe its just trial and error! or simply its all about sex!

is love painful? is it happiness?? is it risky???

is it stupid, silly and crazy???

is it full of compromises and expectations?

or is it about space and individuality???

is it the same world over???

is it raw, basic and sexual???

is it sick to be in love???

is it stupid to be in love???

is love real??? or a bunch of lies that one keeps telling oneself????

i wish....i so much wish....to stop everything! to be in control! to release the bonds and the chains!

to let go..to be free....to be...to just be!!!!

life and its humor!

2007-04-12T15:32:00.000+05:30

how sad would it be, if u get up and realise that no matter how much u pray and rant, nothing much is going to change? or worse how sad would it be to realise that this is the truth?

nothing really accounts and reasons with reality! this is how things are and we humans have only succeeded in telling ourselves lies over lies. and how long more does one wait to know the truth? to see it, to touch it?

life is funny...and worse truly ironic!!

My God and my questions

2007-02-16T12:56:00.000+05:30

Lord, my God.

I need to ask you something. Many things actually! Infact i really must!

Why are some rich and why are some poor? Why are some lucky and why aren't some? Why this inequality?
When i ask this to my friends, they tell me i am not matured enough. They tell me i am not a good Christian. They tell me i have had no spiritual growth. So i am asking you. I am asking you this because i hardly get any answers. This way or that, we all need answers right? Or do i tell myself that my questions are too stupid for answers and hence keep quite about it? So in the end my questions become stupid and getting no answers seems ok. Right? So you better tell me about this, O lord!

Lord, there are some of them who get the best of every world. The globalised modern world and the spiritual world. Maybe i am a little presumptous. May be i am being jealous, i dont know. But the prosperity gospel they speak of, irritates me way too much. She is a good person, and no wonder she lives in a nice cottage by the riverside with cute kids and a nice husband. He is a child of God and that's why he enjoys all the 'benefits' that God is 'giving' him. For example, cars, vacation trips, a great marriage, a great house....things, you know! But Lord, Does this mean that the little 7-year old kid in a mumbai subway catering to her barabaric customers every night is bad? Does this mean that the commercial sex worker at chennai marina, slogging every night, is not good at heart? Is that child labourer who swirls paratha flour every day, in a local tea shop sinful? Does this mean that i am bad as well? Is suffering always a punishment lord? Is an unsuccesful life a result of my sins lord? And does a successful life always mean that i sit in an air conditioned cabin, with the others at my service? Does being at the 'top' mean one is 'successful?

Do u know O lord, that these people i am talking about, have money? You do know. You would know. They have lots of money. And did you know lord that these people are so intent in doing your 'will', that becoming citizens of the global village is a much higher priority? That being good homeworkers under a H1 visa is their convinced idea of God's will? That getting married and being good wives is the only will, God can have for women? That they believe singing songs with musical instruments is much more an effective worship than the sober, sweet, whispery words of an old woman with drooping skin? That they think if someone's life isn't going 'right', then it is got to be because he/she isnt following God's orders? And did you also know lord, that there are street children who do not get a meal a day? You would right? And i am hoping you would give me answers.

Lord, do my questions seem sarcastic? Do they seem mocking? Believe me lord, they aren't. I just need answers. I just need to know the truth. I need to know why some 'prosper' and some dont? and I want to know If you are really behind all this? And if you are...then i wish your love will also protect those little kids, the rape victims, the dalits, the refugees, the women who are beaten up, the children who are abused, the trans-sexuals who are looked at as curses to 'man'kind, the CSWs who are viewed as worms and the samaritan who says the humble prayer.

Waiting for answers

Me, your daughter!

Taking in....

2007-01-31T18:05:00.000+05:30

little pockets of wind blew across his cheeks,
they came in intervals,
but in a regular rhthym.
it was wind and he couldnt command,
just take in what was given.

like the other day at a house,
they were thinking as to what to give him,
cash or kind, they had pondered.
kind, they had decided;
and had given him some leftover pulli sadham.

or the other day when the rain fell,
and he bathed untill he caught a cold.
such things dont happen always,
and when it does,
it is better to take in what is given.

the soft wind kept blowing,
and he didnt bother to know when the stop would come.
it would end, he knew
why know it and be disappointed?
the cool air on his wounded cheeks felt nice.

the wounds were also like the rain.
except that he didnt want to take it in,
when it was given freely.
he fought back, but the blows only kept coming.
so he took it in, the mister had been generous.

the beach looked at him,
the waves kept coming.
were they mocking at him?
were they laughing at him?
he didnt take them in, he didnt like them.

he was content with the wind
that was touching his young supple cheeks.
he closed his eyes to darkness,
to a melody of his own.
sound of rushing waves and cool air on his skin.

the melody broke.
by pain. the pain was from his cheeks.
he turned to see it. see her.
her small tiny finger on his wounded cheeks.
it was causing pain.

and yet he wanted it.
wanted to take it in. her eyes.
it made the difference.
her tears. her lips that had been causing the wind.
he took it all in.

they moved away from the sea.
holding hands, walking towards their home.
the street had taken them in.
the other children had accepted them.
toddlers they were once. not now!
life, they had to take in!

the still small voice...

2006-11-15T15:51:00.000+05:30

My blood vessels are simply not giving way. my head's not alright. there's this involuntary jaw clatterring that's going on. my hands are so chill, i am sure my pen's ink is going to freeze. when did the air con go haywire? Or may be it is snowing outside. its gotta be. my blood...or whatever that's on the top of head feels like stone...its not circulating! and what's wrong with my intestines? it feels like there's some serious ball dance that's taking place inside my stomach. and my lovely long fingers (okie that's an exaggerration) is shaking! Did i say it was snowing outside? O yeah! sometimes it does snow in singapore! what the hell is happening to me?? Nothing much actually! i am simply going to present a big time seminar in another five minutes. and everything super/sub normal is taking place in and around me.

there's no other better proof to the theory of relativity than this. Believe me, the hot stove and the kissing girl thing is just nothing. the seminar presentations and the serious sick feeling that comes along with it! this is probably my umpteenth seminar. and yet its like a new viral strain every time. actually i am ok with the presenting...its like almost a divine energy is grabbing me when i move the laser pointer or click the mouse. infact i enjoy presenting. ok that is an exaggerration! but relatively speaking, yeah i do. but the pre-presentation crisis (PPC) is seriously crazy. it is at this time that i get some of those really weird thoughts. i suddenly want to stroll along the yellow autumn leaves in newyork. or maybe call up enrique and give him this blank call. or maybe throw this hard stone on my neighbour's glass window. what was that huh??

i am trying. i really do. people who write self-help books....and how-to-give-a-good-presentation kinda stuff...well...could you prescribe any tablets for what i just went through? take a deep breath....well...i did..infact i had to...i was going to die due to the lack of oxygen if didnt. and what else?? do yoga?? take a walk? 5mins before the presenation??? gosh, they got to be crazy! this PPC was incurable.

i prayed nevertheless....my god's voice was strong after all...."the Lord is with me. i will not be afraid. what can man do to me?" i loved it! Truly, divine energy!
my presentation did go well after all this PPC. and the questions that came out after that? seriously, there's got be a thrill in asking and answering questions. otherwise why would people want do it? what matters is at which end of the question you are present. this time i was at the wrong side! hmmm....years before i am not the right side! ha ha!

i really am thankful to my god! if for that still small voice....

effortless love....

2006-11-08T16:31:00.000+05:30

A discovery this morning!
Effortless love!

Tiny dew droplets that fall to the ground.
Rushing stream that curves against hard rocks.
Finger tips that brush that stubble of a beard.
Dancing legs on the busy highway.
Wet salivated smothers from the pet.
Little handshakes with small sandy hands.
Waterfalls.
Hurried touching of elbows.
Water that carress the floating leaf.
Laughter full and fresh.
Whispers small and curved.
Slippery algae on the rocks.
Tears.
Ice that melts on burning skin.
Foolish impossible thoughts.
Slippery falls.
Waves that never stop.
Life that always forces u to exist.

pain...

2006-11-01T18:40:00.000+05:30

there's no other worse pain in one's life than to realise that no matter how much you cry, nothing is going to change!

sadness!!

2006-10-27T16:07:00.000+05:30

pericardial press
uncontrolled tears
living hell
supple thoughts
unexpected moves
long dusty lane
autumn leaves
rusty skin
bored relations
spongy knife
killing love
lonely nights
friendly days
broken bridge
jericho wall
unheard echos
loud murmurs
alien love
friendly indifferrence
selfish love
soft cries
silver lines
fading lights
volatile love
fragrant euphemism
solitary sadness!!

I am cooking!!! really!!!!

2006-10-12T07:49:00.000+05:30

Cant believe it! my cooking! simply cannot....i remember me shaking my head vigourously and saying an absolute NO NO to cooking....no amount of cajoling from my mom could change me. i was so adamant..me? and cooking? o yuck i wouldnt! not at all, not me!
But look at me now...cooking...I AM COOKING....and the worst part....i like what i cook....i mean i really do enjoy eating it! but how can it? wasnt i supposed to be bad at it? questions questions....again....but i did...i really have started cooking and cooking good at that! truly, necessity is the mother of invention. i mean what else could be the reason??? i was like starving...and me the 'trying' anti-globalist was sick of chicken nuggets and pizzas. i needed food, real food.....rice....small white boiled grains that tastes like heaven when mutton curry is poured on it...that's what i am talking about...food! and i wanted it....i went crazy thinking about it....so i cooked...boiled rice...made hot chilly oily potatoes(i know, a bad substitute for mutton)....and ate....and man, did that taste good! but that was just the beginning of the expression of my culinary skills...soon came the sambar....the poriyal....the ready made masala chicken(to start with) and now....and now...full fledged grined masala chicken....prawns....gosh...i am so happy....finally i can eat all that i wanted....and the viola suprise...it tastes like my mother's .....okie not REALLY like hers....but atleast a close contender.....
i guess the reason is because i really like eating.....eating good stuff i mean...my taste buds are like so sensitive.....they work...always work over time. sometimes (read almost every time)..people never believe me when i tell them that i like food...that i love food....that i go crazy over it. they look at me all the way from top to bottom...and tell me,"you dont look so". okie ya, i am thin....but its not the quantity i am after(though sometimes) but the quality...the gravy, the colour, the smell, the taste, the texture, the meshy feel in the tongue, the crunchy bite in the teeth, the swirl of the organoleptic juices....i mean all of that....and the way the food actually melts down in your throat...whoa! what a feeling!!!
i wish...no i dont really wish...i just like wht's happenning..just wishing i get all the raw materials right...ha ha....waiting!!!

2006-09-29T13:38:00.000+05:30

look at her....that little girl. she is trying to explain history to the minister.

i am getting to like her so much. wonder what goes on in her mind. her other hand is folded, tense with fear. cameras all around...people all around. are they even listening to her? how hard would she have prepared for this tiny little speech....would have woken up early, her mother(??) plaiting her hair, powdered before jumping out of home....and then here they are...

wonder how she reacted when she saw this photograph, in the newspaper the next morning....would her family have gone around showing the paper to the neighbours? would she have become a star at school? imagine..you being known to the whole world...and a tiny little photograph can do the magic!!

ha...life is beautiful after all!!!

silver lines...

2006-09-15T08:20:00.002+05:30

you want to have the cake and eat it too?
"ofcourse! what else would i need the cake for?"

i am happy my love for others is contained in cups and doesnt flow as floods. i am happy i am in control.

its ironical how the people around you, want you to be loving and sacrificing and yet when it comes to them, its their 'inconvieniences' that matter so much. its as though they never get their turn. its as though they are the only ones in a relationship. its as though your smiles and tears arent real at all.

the haunted. the hunted.

sorry. i never knew you were hurt. sorry. i dint know i mattered.

what is love? love is real, i guess!

half-baked lessons

2006-08-31T16:10:00.000+05:30

23 yrs of life on this earth hasnt taught me much. or maybe i havent been that much of a good student. lessons i did learn but i am still learning a lot i guess. from happenings, from people, from relationships, from everything. but relationships seem to puzzle me the most. there was a time when i had thought that the mother and child share the world's most esteemed relationship and later i thought it should be between the married couple who are called to love someone who is not your own. but now i am rethinking. infact i am rethinking everything. what makes a relationship a relationship? why do i call someone my friend and the other a close friend and yet another my casual friend? why do i decide someone to be my life partner and yet believe that this person may not be my soulmate? why would i think my parents have the highest priority in my life while sometimes friends share my innermost secrets?

i should be going wrong somewhere, shouldnt i? someone should have set the criteria for anyone and everyone in your life, right? a friend needs to be this to be a friend and a sister needs to be this to be called one and the soulmate? O i guess this character suffers the most. u get to expect everything from this person. and when you dont get it, you are upset by the whole unfairness. like the way the sea shore expects that large wave to dash against it but then feels let down when seeing it die down into a ripple. does every person in your life really need to fulfill a certain criteria to be some one? who sets these conditions anyway?

from 23yrs of half-baked learning i guess its not the way it actually seems. there really are no ideal relationships. a person is a person and if you need to strike a relationship then you simply have to. i mean, you need not actually change yourself into what that person expects you to be. you merely have to be yourself. and if that person likes and you like him/her as well...then there you are....into a relationship!

i am also beginning to disbelieve the concept of soulmates. who is this soulmate? i wonder if he/she exists in my case. the problem with me is that i have my own criteria. and if, only if, this person satisfies these ones, would i even consider that person a close contender. ha...i am doing that again, aint i? whay cant i just accept people the way they are? why would i want that person to be this and to be that? o yeah, i need care, i need concern, i need attention, i need this, i need that! i am going crazy! really!

sometimes i wish i lived a very ordinary life. a simple life with simple expectations. maybe even an insect. ha ha...sometimes it seems a little funny....the very same people who gave you so much joy and satisfaction can cause you to feel inadequate. can make you feel like you are at fault for having expected so much from the relationship. and all because? i dont know. but maybe relationships are boring as well. they become a little boring over time, dont they? and suddenly they are not those divine connections any more. they are, you get to realise, that are not destined after all. maybe the best thing to do is not over do it. this relationship thing... i-have-met-the-ultimate-person-in-my-life thing....it doesnt work for long. you are just you and yourself at the end! you take in that this person cannot quite be everything you want him/her to be. and neither can you be the person he/she wants you to be. so finally what's what? i really dont know. i am really confused. being hurt is no longer as serious as it once seemed. yeah so if you are hurt, its because you expected too much. cut down your expectations, my dear! and all's well. just that there's no longer the you-and-me you once thought existed!

Forgotten tears....

2006-08-11T14:46:00.000+05:30

Last night, i cried myself to sleep. i couldnt help crying. i do remember books making me cry before. but this time it was different. A fine balance, by Rohinton mistry.

i read it because i wanted the know why the world liked him. i wanted to know why his creation was so special. and special it was, it had made me cry for almost a whole week. usually it was after dinner time. i would run to my bed (the haven of single life) and slump myself on the pillow, which i would postion just the right way. and then hurry to locate the page where i had left off last time. i loved those times. and thankfully i still can have more of those. but with a different book ofcourse. and a different response!

i wouldnt exactly appreciate this kind of writting. infact if not for its fame, i would not have preferred to immerse myself in such a writting style. things are very plainly said. and plainly understood. not even a tiny complication. not even a bit of poetry. just life, as it was! but this was life that made me cry. it wasnt just life. it was life as good as death.

Ishvar, Om, Maneck, Dina...the four main people of the book. they attain a happy life but for a very short while. and this was only time when i felt like smiling. i knew though, that the author was playing a game. soon it would dissolve and life would become death again. it did, except that it was brutal and sad and cruel. not the way i had expected it to.

the book is not about anything in particular i guess. infact i dont know what the author is actually trying to project. the sadness and the brutality is what that looms right in front of your eyes and soon it becomes hard to focus, after all my eyes wear becoming watery! but i am actually very grateful. it talks of dalit oppression with such honesty that it is hard to doubt it. it talks of poverty and beggary with such sadness, it makes me wonder why on earth did god create life and why the hell we are we living life.

it was way back, almost seems ages ago, when i was a little girl, that poverty and misery stuck me as life's greatest problems. i used cry to god day and night about the suffering that poverty brought on human kind. i used cry and cry and cry. but when i grew up, i dont know how, but my tears dried up. just like that! and my cheeks felt them last night, again! my forgotten tears! i cried, cried and cried. i prayed. for the Ishvars, for the Oms, for their mothers, sisters, the women....everyone. i cried for all of them. but i felt it difficult to cry for Maneck, or for Dina....or even for Om. i had my own problems with them. Maneck and Om leched....and their actions in the book, however hard mistry tries to project them as normal, was not! it simply made my blood boil. just like the times when i read the atrocities against dalits. just like the times when i pictured injustice in the name of governance. they were all the same to me!

a book that can make you think. a book i choose, not to laud but only recommend. a book that, if you are sensitive enuf, can make u cry!

Memories....

2006-08-03T08:30:00.000+05:30

i dont know why i am writting this. but i better. its important that i write this. its important that i relieve myself of this. i was thinking about this only a few days back. the memories...when i saw them they were hard and set..like wood that becomes stone after some years. these stones werent good ones. they were sharp and heavy. they looked like weapons. and i wanted to remove them from my system at once. it suddenly felt like a burden. loads that never seemd to belong to me. they looked alien. my memories...yet i felt i didnt have to carry them. i want to let them go.

i was born in a small town. it wasnt exactly a small town but small enough to be called small. we had to travel by train for atleast an hour to reach the city. we came to the city for fun. for the beach, the yearly shopping for christmas, the trade fair......and all of them only annual treats. i loved those trips. i waited for them all year...all month...all day.
we were a happy family of four. my mother worked and cooked, my father worked, my elder sister and i studied, striving hard to be better among the best. we lived a small happy life. atleast i did! and my parents had started small. there wasnt anything to be proud of except hardwork and determination. but what would a little girl know? it was only when i reached ten, i realised that i was not the princess people bowed at but a simple ordinary girl who needed to be ready to fight life.

we moved to the city when i was eleven. we were thrown out, my mother said! relatives werent exactly my favourite. i believed they hated us. i believed a lot of other things as well. and thus our journey began...with a fierce determination to sling mud on their faces, to 'show' them who we were, to 'prove' to them that we can excel without them.

my sister and i were admitted into an all-girls city school. the school had a rich heritage attached to it, my parents felt. the school had 'standard' my mother believed. i went into my 6th standard and my sister into her higher secondary. all appeared fine...untill the re-opening day...
the girls were different! the place was so different. the classrooms had everything and i could relate nothing to my old school. i stood there, a petrified, lip quivering girl, happy and at the same time, sad! the classes began but i had no note books or text books. i didnt know where the other girls had bought them. and they all sat peeping into their books. but i understood nothing!

geography was boring and maths was unreachable. i liked physics. chemistry was total shit! english was one thing that i adored. hindi was latin. history? hmm...i dont remember. and then...i flunked. the first time. and the next. and the next. quarterly, half yearly...dreadful! truly dreadful! but i was promoted to 7th standard....to hell. my 'gang' that i had in 6th, broke. none remained. and my flunking practice didnt stop. i was struggling. i didnt understand a bloody thing. maths became my killer. i hated it! and my teachers...well i wasnt used to them. they gave a different performance. they had a different audience. and i wasnt among the audience. every exam was like a war to me. and everytime i lose. infact i knew i would. because i never prepared for it. i had no armour, no sword, no sling or stone. i was weak, bored and worn out. my parents pressured me. i had to 'show' my relatives, remember? they wanted the best for me. they gave the best for me. they wanted the best from me. and i had nothing to give. 12 years. grown up enough. when girls start to talk about things other than studies. when blushes and secret smiles start to become normal.

i was growing up. and it wasnt sadness from studies that hit me below the belt. it was my schoolmates. this part of my memory is the sword. the sharp one, the long one. the weapon that draws blood in the most painful way.
i was not a city girl. i never was. i didnt know what being hep was. i didnt know talking in sober tones and smirking at people were normal. i didnt know that i was not hep. but ofcourse my girls were. somehow their pinafores were fashionable. their shoes were stylish. they had a different aura around them. they were simply different. all of them. they all spoke english. good english! i think i did as well. but i am not so sure. infact, i was never sure of myself. i didnt know what i liked. i didnt know what i was. who i was. but can the changing of places bring about so much a change? can a town and city be so different? i was a winner back there. i was a favourite in my church. people loved me at school. so why was this happening to me now? when and how did i become the laughing stock of my class? i was given nicknames i was later told, by a close friend. i was humiliated so many times.
was it my quick answering that played the whole thing? was it my face? my eyes? my what? my bloody what? i can even name the girls...all of them...my blood boils. christian, they called themselves. godly, they were known. but i used to wonder even then....how? how come? teasing, wild laughter, smirks and shrugs! the hell! i lived through that.

8th standard was a relief. my english teacher was like an angel to me...she was a godsend! she helped me with a lot of things. i didnt know i had so much potential in me untill she came along. she carved me out. not with hands. but with eyes and smiles. her tick marks were my pricest posessions, her appreciation my song till date. i was confident from then on. i worked harder...and smarter. i was being recognized and this time it was for the right reasons. 9th, 10th, higher secondary....i was never weak during these...yes a tease here and there...but i knew i had to give it back. and me giving it back made me 'bossy'. me speaking good english was because i was 'trying to ape the american accent'. i was a weirdo agreed, but my girls had made me weirder. i never realised what they they had done untill i was really grown. i was confident on the forefront. i was seen so. yet underneath there were voices that held me down. there were tears that made me frown. i would want to do something and then i would rememeber...uh uh...this is not for me, i would tell myself. why? i never wondered. i was always the dark one, the not so hep girl, the poor one who never could afford the luxury my city girls had.

what makes them do it? the bullying. why do they bully? why do they do this? their names still echo in my head. their expressions are still fresh in my memory. i can never forget them. they had made sure of that.

but today things are different. very very different! i am my own person. i know who i am. i know who i was. and i also know who they are. how can it be? years back the very same who seemed to destroy me, seem like harmless dust to me today. they can never do anything to me now. not any more. how i changed i donot know. but i am thankful for it. was it my parents who through everything mouthed healing words into my ears? was it my friends who held me close and told me that i do matter? or was it my sister, the one other soul who really knows what i am talking about? she would have gone through the same things as well. but i dont know how much and for how long.

i cant really blame those girls can i? those cultured christian girls. or those girls who were rich and knew that they were. they were young as well. they didnt know much either. but what made them do it? their money? the fact that they were hep? whatever that bloody thing means! i dont know why. would i have done it if i were in their place? i dont know.

i am feeling better now. words make a difference. weapons laid i can go to sleep! i wish these never happened to me. i wish i wasnt the narrator. but i guess i had to. otherwise why would i have become an alternative thinker today. why would i want to voice out for the oppressed and the ostracised. why would i be me!

what was she to do....

2006-07-17T17:40:00.000+05:30

The garlands hung low
The fragrance lifted high
His eyes next to hers
His elbow brushing hers
Laughter all around
What was she to do?
Smile and blush,
lower her eyes.

They told her to tip-toe in
They told her to be softer
He would be waiting they said
He would expect they said
Still laughter all around
What was she to do?
Move in, stride in,
quiten her heart beat.

He sat, a slick smile on his lips
Thick dark lips, teeth within
His eyes were hungry
His hands fidgeting
He will want her she knew
What was she to do?
Still smile, blush and walk towards him.

She could hear laughter outside
Not inside, not in her
Her heart beat grew louder
His hands moved nearer
Her lips quivered
What was she to do?
Give in, move aside and yet never let go.

The darkness loomed in
The pain started all over
Can skin feel this repulsive?
Can flesh be this cruel?
She lay still wishing it got over
What was she to do?
Prayed untill dawn, tried untill day.

O what was she to do?
Protest, shout, strike!
Over my dead body, her father had said.
She gave in. and look what she got.
Skin that enclothed hard flesh
Smiles that covered up the bruises.
Rape. Every day. Every night.
Silent, quiet rape!
Not bushes, not caves.
But a bed, a husband and smiles.
Yet, rape!

words....

2006-07-04T08:46:00.000+05:30

just a little more....
and the day will end.
thots will stop and desires would overtake.
dreams of home,
stolen moments of happiness.
how much more..
how long do i need to wait...
to realise my mistake..
to realise my fault...
to let go. to catch up.

life never stops...it goes on...
leaving me behind!

love, so hurting!

2006-07-04T08:28:00.000+05:30

strange but true! a week back i was overjoyed by foreign love and the very next week i am hit by hatred near home. wht makes people do this? wht makes friends (not the same ones from my last post!) do this? wht makes people turn and tell you," hey u know wht, u dont matter to me. i need to work things out. so stay away!" and u are like thunderstuck. after all those days..after all that u did...u are simply and sadly thunderstuck. u want to break the home, u want to tear apart everything you created, u want to shout and cry aloud, you want to cut and bleed, you want to just kill things, destroy it totally! such agony. such loneliness. and yet would u let go??? ya difficult days ahead! infact i can see i have made a mistake..a huge one for sure...yet life goes on...and its me who is got to change. not them. not the others. and i shall move on...not let go...silence , my partner, love, my own!

love, so unexpected!

2006-06-28T18:48:00.000+05:30

it was the day i was born 23 years back. and it dawned again, this 22nd june! my birthday! the first one i spent without the ones who matter to me! the first one i spent in a foreign land with foreign friends! the first one i spent without those warming hugs and sweet kisses! or was it? am i lying? true i am lying, but not literally though.
was a dark night and the phone calls at midnight woke me see the d-day! my first wish was from my friend sleeping next to me. exactly at 12 she shook hands and i was too sleepy to smile. and before i could lie back there was a voice shaking me up over the phone, "happy birthday dear!" all the way from new york! and then the one who gave birth to me....my chellam, many happy returns of the day! she sang the whole song for me. the one she always sang on my bday mornings. those days when i was a little girl jumping up and down for the cake and the chocolates. with the same voice that brings tears to my eyes and a smile across my lips. a liitle while later, my dear friend, my newest discovery, my treasure, a rare gem...wishing me...his call was awaited for long! early morning...brighter morning...noon...more calls from my motherland! love that never forgets! love that did forget!
the dark evening was the brightest! my 'foreign' friends and their suprise party. the cake, the planning, the t-shirt, the smiles, the love....the everything! i was so happy. in fact suprised....love that was so unexpected! what made them do it? what makes my 'foreign' friends love me, an equally foreign friend! i wonder what! i wonder why! i wish...this happens again! and next time i want to be the one to plan! to throw the suprise....

what if...

2006-06-12T13:23:00.000+05:30

it was a black black night and she was moving at a pace faster than normal. what she was hurrying for she didnt know, but something told her that it was not very safe to move at a slower pace. the speed would save her she thought. she kept turning back to check for alien shadows and softer footsteps. but heard none. and yet she maintained the pace. her palms were sweating against the leather of her bag and her slippers were slipping off from feet. a little more and there would be light, it would be home, she told herself. but her heartbeat kept up with her speed. what would happen if...if...she couldnt put it into words. she couldnt relate with the incident that she came across this morning in the newspaper. the body was mutilated at all the wrong places it said. the clothes torn and red lying at the roadside. the crying mother and the panicking siblings. what if ...what if...that happenned to her? what if she became news next morning? what if the alien shadows and the footsteps materialised? what if she replaced the body?
the night grew only darker and still there was a long way to go. her legs were beginning to ache. and then, "excuse me...may i know the time?" it was voice that exploded inside her. she turned to see and average built man who was carrying a slick smile.
"b..b...i dont know.." she managed and walked faster. infact she almost ran. after about five mins she turned to see if he was still there. he did and was standing leaning on to a cement pillar, smoking. i was lucky, she thought and ran towards her home.
her father was seated on the sofa watching the world cup. she quietly moved in and tried to sneak into her room.
"why so late? asha, i am asking you why so late?" her father barked.
"no papa, it got late i had some extra work."
"you are lying. i know what were you doing? a new boyfriend is it?"
"no papa, not at all. i was at work." she cried. she had to.
"i want you to come home early tommorrow. understand?"
"yes papa."
saying she moved in. her mother came to her and asked if anything happenned on her way. she told her. her mother's eyes grew dark and she came to sit next to her.
"asha you shouldnt have talked to him. and were u wearing your dupatta properly?"
"amma...i..."
"no asha..u should know and why are u coming late?"
"i had work amma."
"i know...you have no choice but to work. with a father like yours..."
"amma..next time i will be safe." saying she left to the bathroom. she was not sure about her dupatta. maybe that's why....
ha, she decided! tommorrow she would wear saree and then nothing would happen to her. and she shouldnt talk, yes! yes she shouldnt! she should ignore. that's what her school counseller had once said!

Reema woke up the day after to bright morning.
"akka did you see this?" her small sister came running to her with the newspaper.
"see... another rape case."
Reema took the paper to read the story of a girl named asha raped and left by the roadside, her saree torn and her body severely mutilated. the convict was still to be identified. reema couldnt help but imagine herself in the same state! what if...

madness

2006-06-08T17:06:00.000+05:30

i wonder what madness is... i wonder who is mad. who is not. i wish i was mad. i wish i died.

2006-05-19T08:03:00.000+05:30

what could be more beautiful?
chennai's dirty marina
the hot sultry air
the salty taste that lingers in my tongue after the channa
the expanse of the sea and the sky, that never ends
the waves that never stop
what could be more beautiful?
the small soft whispers in my bed over the phone
the loud laughs after a hilarious moment
the special look that only a special person deserves
the leg ache after a day's shopping in pondy bazaar
the smiles, the hugs and the kisses that would follow my arrival in chennai
what could be more beautiful?
yeah, what could be more beautiful than being home!

falling in what? love. aaarg!

2006-05-16T13:09:00.000+05:30

Is falling in love that easy? is it that quick? almost over within seconds. but committed for a lifetime. dont those who fall in love ever face problems? and dont they get fed up with it? expectations and stuff, there's so much to do and not to do, right? so why do people fall in love? and why do women of all, do that? an 'indian' love affair is so deidentifying of a woman. she would lose herself. her individuality would be in shreds. her priorites get imbalanced. and the guy? o the boyfriend? ha, he is the man of the two, isnt he? so obvoiusly, he would call the shots. but even if he doesnt theres not much reason to actually fall in love, is there? men! we are talking of men. indian men! ha then why, why, why? what makes women do this?
love seems to stem from some kind of urgency. an urgency to be secure, to be not so alone. to be not left out. to be part of the bigger crowd than the small chosen few. to understand the agonies of mothers and the laments of a wife. to be one with the thers. to feel normal.
so today if i donot really 'feel' like getting into a relationship would i be considered abnormal? would i become alone? an insecure brat? a crazy indian girl? do i need to force myself into a relationship to relate with others? for others to relate with me? do i need to change myself? would the married and the loved change me? would they?
and why is that the priorites change once anyone falls in love? friends become secondary, parents are like in antartica and your guy/girl? ha in your cozy little heart or maybe the head or maybe in the aura around you or maybe just everwhere. every bloody thing in your life surrounds this one guy/girl. why???? i really mean why????? your friends would feel bad, your parents would and ultimately u would, right? so why the hell do you put yourself through this? but wait a minute! am i missing something? all of these feeling bad people really do belong to the same married majority right? so they wouldnt feel bad. would they? ha they might.... a small tear in that lousy corner but only happy smiles for various reasons. so in any case the day will end on a happy note. but what abt losing your identity? women i mean? aaaarg! it blows my head off. this whole coy business. i want to stranggle those men who have this i-am-the-perfect-gentleman face. i wish they never exist!

who never stop....

2006-05-15T12:32:00.000+05:30

It has almost been 5months since i came to singapore for my higher studies. and i have noticed much in this small country. nice roads, organised traffic, well planned housing, safe life, peaceful sleep.....singapore does have a lot to offer. but of the many things that has impressed me, is the fact that i come home late. almost always. and safe at that. could i have even imagined something like this in india? would my parents have kept quite if i had returned home everyday at 11pm? or maybe even past midnight? would my 'brothers' in india have controlled their libidos despite seeing an indian girl walk all alone everyday, through the same street in the black night? would the cars be driven in the same speed and not slow down to offer a lift? would the night watch men put the animals inside them to sleep despite hearing soft footsteps of a girl walking towards her home? would they? would indian men do it? or am i asking too much?
indian men do have a reputation, dont they? i mean all of them. fathers, brothers, uncles, old men, young men, the 'happenning' college men, the small 'innocent' teenage boys, the quiet boy who sits in the class corner, the loner in the internet cafe, the groper in the bus stop, the lecher in the train, the jerker in the telephone booth, the molesting uncle, the lip kissing brother....so many of them. i wonder what kind of creatures grow inside them. is it about power? the power that they think they posess? the power to strangle a woman, the power to make her feel weak, the power to subdue her, the power to belittle her? power, eh? gimme a break!

it was a cool evening around 7pm. i get down from my bus and walk towards the food court nearby. i am walking through the footpath when i see these two indian men walking towards me. one is short and he is walking on to my right. he has his hands folded behind him. and the very moment i get near him, he jerks out his hand to touch my side. i move away, a practise i had learnt in india after years of 'experience'. i turn and shout 'idiot' but i am not so loud enough. i could see he had moved his hand back to the folded position. i couldnt believe that this was happenning. for god's sake i am in singapore. a place where rapists are canned, a place where men are not indian but simply men. men who move out of my way. a place where eve teasing is an alien word. a place where most of time, a woman can feel safe. and here i am for a moment feeling like as though i had returned to india. feeling like i am not so safe as i had once thought. that i will always be looked at as a weak indian woman who cant fight back, who cant do anything. who will be made to feel gulity because of the clothes she might be wearing or the look she might be having.

was i nine, ten? i dont know. i am not so sure. i was told that i had grown up. not by words but by hands, by eyes. that i had become woman. that because of this one lousy fact, i had to 'behave'. i had be alert, be in constant vigilance. i had cover, clothe and hide. i had to be flat, be unseen, be sand that never lets people notice.

"are you trying to attract men by fidgeting with that pallu of yours?"

"that's why you should never be on the roads at that hour."

"did you have eye contact?"

"please wear your dupatta properly! dupattas must serve its purpose!"

"O what? i didnt touch you. you are what, cleopatra?"

"hey look at that, skirts man, in college. ha so you can stare?"

"its because of these girls. they should know how to behave."

words that long became mundane. words that become normal. hands that touch breasts and crotch and butt. hands that fondle. hard ons that brush and press. eyes that stare and bare. what a life! 13years of constant fights and shouts on the way back and from home. i never did admire the bus ride. i never could. i had to be alert. be on guard. and never be myself.

today here i am, in singapore, happ enuf and yet not so. reputed indian men travel around. they wont stop. assholes never die, i guess. and i have left back friends who still live with them. those fucking bastards who never stop!

fears....

2006-05-10T19:31:00.000+05:30

life calls one to do so much. so much of struggles and responsibilities. i wonder why i have to go through so much. did i choose this? is this what i wanted to do all my life? ignorance is one problem, doubt yet another. a simple person will never realise his bliss. how lucky can one be. how lucky can i be? will this change? will something change? will i believe? how much can prayers help? how much would god help? what am i searching? what should i believe? wish i was someone else. wish things became better. wish i cried. wish someone took over. wish someone else was in control. i am scared. i wish i was dead.

ah smell smell everywhere....

2006-04-27T16:38:00.000+05:30

i do know that men are all the same. i mean 'Men', you know, the real men? but what i cant quite fanthom is their astonishing similarity in their body odour. could be any man, the builder in slippery feet and cemented shoes, that cool looking guy in casuals leaning on a pillar, or even that sensual silky excutive with a briefcase in one of his well manicured hands. they all stink! and i mean the oflactory sense of the word, stink! look at that, i meant smell at that. what do men do afterall to gain that universal smell that just blows one's mind, head, nose and everything that you posess, of the floor? literally that is! the other day i was just walking towards this ATM and a guy with this cool long hairstyle jumps up right in front of me. o i think that's smart enuf! he is pretty bouncy after all. and then ofcourse i queue up behind him. that's when it hits me. the smell! that same slimy sticky sweaty smell. and my eyes are like rolling over at the back of my head and iam beginning to almost faint. and that day in the lift....i rush in at a moment when a man cmes out. i soon close the door and rest my head on the wall, when this amazing(??) leftover odour of the man smotheres me. what is this? i cant believe this. seriously dont these smelly men know abt inventions like deos, body sprays or atleast body soaps? and what abt water? talk abt clean water! o how wonderful a place this world would be if such men really took bath in atleast some good clean water! o maybe they are too poor...or too lazy..or maybe they are ..i dont know...what are they doing? no bias....not one....this body odour of men i realise, is such an equalizer. u see, i find it never discriminates. it catches them all...and smothers all of us. me especially! and i cant bear it anymore. o somebody stop them...and save me....

Natural highs

2006-04-21T12:42:00.001+05:30

Natural Highs

1. Falling in love.

2. Laughing so hard your face hurts.

3. A hot shower.

4. No lines at the supermarket

5. A special glance.

6. Getting mail

7. Taking a drive on a pretty road.

8. Hearing your favorite song on the radio.

9. Lying in bed listening to the rain outside.

10. Hot towels fresh out of the dryer.

11. Finding the sweater you want is on sale for half price.

12. Chocolate milkshake. (or vanilla!) (or strawberry)

13. A long distance phone call.

14. A bubble bath.

15. Giggling.

16. A good conversation.

17 The beach

18. Finding a 20 note in your coat from last winter.

19. Laughing at yourself.

20. Midnight phone calls that last for hours.

21. Running through sprinklers.

22. Laughing for absolutely no reason at all.

23. Having someone tell you that you're beautiful.

24. Laughing at an inside joke.

25. Friends.

26. Accidentally overhearing someone say something nice about you.

27. Waking up and realizing you still have a few hours left to sleep.

28. Your first real love

29. Making new friends or spending time with old ones.

30. Playing with a new puppy.

31. Having someone play with your hair.

32. Sweet dreams.

33. Hot chocolate.

34. Road trips with friends.

35. Swinging on swings.

36. Wrapping presents under the Christmas tree while eating cookies
and drinking hot chocolate.

37. Song lyrics printed inside your new CD so you can sing alongwithout feeling stupid.

38. Going to a really good concert.

39. Making eye contact with a nice stranger

40.. Winning a really competitive game.

41. Making chocolate chip cookies.

42. Having your friends send you homemade cookies.

43. Spending time with close friends.

44. Seeing smiles and hearing laughter from your friends.

45. Holding hands with someone you care about.

46. Running into an old friend and realizing that some things (good or
Bad) never change.

47. Riding the best roller coasters over and over.

48. Watching the __expression on someone's face as they open
a much desired present from you.

50. Getting out of bed every morning and being grateful for another
Beautiful day.

Courtesy: Those email forwards that rush in to one's inbox.