When we travel, we capture images, words, thoughts, come across people, cultures, experience feelings of different kinds... and in the end reach a destination.
Here is an attempt at recording whatever we can in a journey through life..
Recently a news item that was splashed across in the media really set me thinking about God.! What should we look up to as god?. What is the purpose behind religion and why do we need temples, churches, mosques or other places of worship?. Obviously there are reasons why things happen, but it is often, in discovering those reasons and then by applying it in our lives, that we realize ourselves, know truth.
Since time immemorial, man has tried to appease divinity in order to get what he seeks. Man has often bribed, begged and even threatened the gods, so that his needs, desires and wishes are granted. I don't see that as too much of a crime or sin, but when a person gifts to a temple, a crown of 45 crore rupees, to me frankly, it really does not make sense, why ?. What does such a person wish or desire from his deed. Is he going to get retribution for all his sins, or is it in search of something even more everlasting like Salvation.
To me, religion was an invention, born out of necessity. As man as an animal evolved, he surely must have needed a society, then an hierarchy and then eventually as life moved on, there would have been an emotional emptiness, which some wise people at that time, decided could be overcome if life was to be lived in a particular pious way, in order for goodness to pervade across their human existence. In order for this goodness to be bound by some strict regulations, there required to be some faith in a super human or supernatural force that could punish you or reward you, based on how well you adhered to the regulations. In time, there would have evolved rituals and customs, in many ways akin to how wedding rituals and customs have evolved over the years. Sounds atheist, doesn't it ? But that wasn't my intention, I have belief in this invention. I believe that it's a great idea to maintain harmony and peace, but like every good idea, this one too needed right reform at the right times in order to satisfy whatever was the initial objective.
The truth is that every religion was a particularly good way of life and the method to live and also in essence the pathway to the truth, that ultimately what was important was goodness, selflessness, peace and harmony. Every religion in some way or the other teaches this. I am not an expert on all, but let me help explain with a rare spiritual moment of learning that I experienced. Around the year, many Hindu devotees make a pilgrimage to Sabarimala, in Kerala, in the south of India. I too went along with my father, carrying all my offerings for the Lord on my head, and climbed the sacred eighteen steps. As I reached the top and reached near the sanctum sanctorum, the first thing I saw was, "Tat Twamasi", which in sanskrit means "Thou Art that", which simply translates to what I strongly believe is that god is within us. I understood my tough journey to the top was symbolic of the steps I had to take in life to know this message. As I stood, taking the meaning in, my father led me through the temple. I asked him, where our offerings must be given. He said that whatever we brought was now considered the prasadamof the Lord and we that we take it back. I realized then that everything is with us only. Religion, places of worship, religious scriptures, rituals are all simply carried out in order for us to realize that ultimately it is our goodness, peace, harmony and service to humanity and the world in general that matters.
Now having said that, I don't want to negate any belief that anyone might have had. All the stories and mythology that we have heard maybe true. No arguments on that front, because my belief in those techniques is pretty solid. I call them techniques, because to me they are all moral science lessons ultimately which will keep our soul away from all kinds of bad thought and evil. My belief in god is that god is simply that powerful quantity of energy that we find everywhere in nature, in the rising of the sun, in the colours of the rainbow, in the songs of birds and the fury of storms. I often speak freely and have conversations with this powerful quantity of energy which resides in my mental space and conscience. I speak to it about every act of mine, argue about everything, debate about what is good , what is right and what is wrong.? To do what is right and correct in life, I realize that I need to talk only to myself, debate it out with my conscience and then take a decision. Sometimes I do wrong, but am always aware that I had been informed about what is right. Eventually to put things straight, it is my persistent belief in this powerful energy within myself which is to me, my belief in god, my god.
I therefore know that I do not require to adorn myself with a crown. I do not see any need to make any exorbitant gifts to places of worship in the name of god. The more temples I go to, the more stronger my belief seems to be getting. My prayers are to myself and to nature. Many tell me that I often seem to be lost in my own world. As far as I am concerned I'm simply a praying devotee.
In the months of May and June, Chennai is like a boiling pot. The sun is merciless in the way it disperses heat and everyone dives for cover, and at times with the help of watermelon, sugar cane juice, umbrellas the people thrive, but these only provide momentary relief, because it's like a constant frying pan, and a little cold juice is not often enough to beat the summer.
On these painfully warm days, when you start sweating as soon as you finish bathing, the evening air again brings some relief with some salty breeze from the Bay of Bengal, but again it's not entirely cool, so we the people have just got to live with it.
But man's needs are never few and some recreation is always on the cards, so what does a traditional, conservative city like Chennai do, many might wonder. Do we go to the sprawling Marina beach or the colourfully crowded Elliots beach. Do we go around the temples of Mylapore, churches of Santhome, the China Bazaars.. Well! we do all that, but mainly we shop.! And if there's something to buy, then there's only one place to do it. T.Nagar!
So that's where I was headed along with my mother, a veteran shopper on a surprisingly cloudy Saturday evening in the month of May. I wanted to buy a small gift for a friend's wedding, so we decided that we had to go to T.Nagar. There were no second thoughts. As we walked from the bus stand through Usman Road, the place seemed pretty much less crowded than usual. It was around 4:30 in the evening, so many had already made their purchases and left. Amidst the strange sweet smell of all the fruits and flowers that lined the sidewalk, we just kept walking gingerly, the vehicles often swerving alarmingly close.
And then there were the handbags, the purses, clips, rubber bands, of all possible colours, and then the inner wear shops and belts and toys and sweets, and again more sugar cane juice being constantly extracted. The houseflies swarming in for a lick, they just never stopped hovering. "There, come!", said my mother suddenly and I understood that we had to turn left.
And what a left that was.! It was like a huge river that was pouring into the sea suddenly. There were so many people around me so quickly, but for the huge river, the journey was not essentially easy. Because from the sea, seemed to rise huge waves of people again trying to come out and blocking your way. And there I was in the middle of it all, The left turn to Ranganathan Street was never really going to be easy. And then suddenly I realized that I was alone. I searched for my mother, and lo and behold, she had already tamed the current, as she evaded the watch sellers and lottery ticket sellers, the puddles on the road and the other shoppers and just kept zooming ahead. I struggled as she goaded me to come quickly, so sure footed with every next step.
Our aim was to reach Saravana Stores, the panacea for all shopaholics, because you just get almost everything under the hot chennai sun. As the cold sprayed air swept my face at it's entrance, I realized, I was still just flowing from this river of humanity into a huge pool by the side.
Once inside, we walked to the nearest sales boy and he directed us to the section, where I started by looking at small silver lamps, and quickly selected one. "That's it?", my mother asked. She was not satisfied. I realized i had made my decision too quickly and she was uncomfortable with that, and I watched on as she pointed out to another one and another one. Finally out of three we narrowed down to two and then the cheaper one. At last a purchase was made. She seemed more satisfied now. We wanted to get the item wrapped in gift paper, but no one seemed to be eager to help us there. After some amount of threatening and inquiry, I lost hope, not my mother and at long last we got a supervisor to get the job done. I somehow get easily irritated when the sales people don't really attend to our needs well. They do so, when they've no business though, or if the prices are really high. Opportunists.!, I thought. But when you come to think of it all of us are opportunists, we all have our own reasons for which we do things. We lead our own small lives in our own small worlds, and yet we are ever so unknowingly part of this larger world, when we come across people of all worlds and collide and share ideas in an human confluence. While these thoughts pervaded my mind, my mother nudged me ahead.
"What next ?", she asked. Before I could reply, she replied "You drink some juice.! Mine without sugar". We were about to go into the vegetable market near the Mambalam railway station at the end of Ranganathan Street. So there we sat and drank chikkoo shake and Moosambi juice respectively and then headed to the market, bought a few drumsticks, which went along with the more costlier goods from Saravana Stores, some more spring onions, beetroot, plantain etc. Two of the women vendors selling tomatoes were talking. "Who won the elections ?", one queried. "Yaar jeyicha namakku enna" ( How does that affect us), she replied, turning and smiling at me. I guess she was right. Because how does it really make any difference in their lives. No one really campaigns on ranganthan street. Here all were either customers or shopkeepers, all were equal and yet all had their own needs and reasons.
As we walked to the bus stand, I remembered all the times when we've come to T.Nagar as a family, ate at Geethanjali Restaurant, playing with my sister, and my mother endlessly looking at new things, and my father getting impatient and angry. Those were the times, even today it is always T.Nagar times, times when we come out of our own worlds and then become a part of a larger world. I knew that my mother was happy with the day. She has never needed more. Her dreams and aspirations have always been those few moments of togetherness and spending. As we neared the bus stand, she ran like a child, towards our bus to Madipakkam to grab a seat. I knew I was happy at heart, so I guess we're not all opportunists. We do feel happy for ourselves, our families and our world at times and at other moments, we have our own needs and our own lives. It's just that at times, we are less subtle about it.
As the bus neared home, she pointed to me a newly opened shop and told me, "You know what ?. We could have bought our things from here too". "Then why did you take me all the way to T.Nagar", I prepared to ask, but then I just smiled.
In the recent few days, we've witnessed, what can be termed as a rat race, for Mahatma Gandhi's memorabilia. It was so keenly taken up by the Indian Government and was well planned. They had to bring India's heritage back to India. It was a matter of pride, a matter of achievement as the elections near. No stone was to be left unturned.
. On the other side was James Otis, a collector of historical items, an auctioneer, who was going to auction off India's heritage. He had the audacity to dictate terms to the Indian Government, ask for budgetary increase in allocation for India's poor, as if India did not know to take care of it's poor.
. The main issue, was that Gandhi had to be brought back to India at any cost. Finally came Liquor Baron Vijay Mallya to the rescue. He brought home Gandhi's old sandals, round rimmed glasses, pocket watch, a bowl for 1.8 million dollars.
. Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi would have either laughed with sarcasm or turned in his grave with tears. There is a small message in the movie "Lage Raho Munnabhai", where Gandhi's character says, that all Gandhi's statues in the country must be demolished. A subtle message that, we have still not got over our obsession with mere symbols.
. There is a greater gift, a greater lesson, that gandhi gave us, the path of truth and non-violence, Satyagraha or the desire and struggle for seeking the truth. A non-violent means to achieve anything. In these times of terror, these much treasured gifts remain forgotten. In these times of economic depression, again gandhi's message of abstinence and simple lifestyle remains forgotten. He would have surely scoffed that his simple almost worthless belongings were being brought for such a huge amount of money.
. Truth, non-violence and simple living were all there before Gandhi as well. What was essentially an Indian epithet was transformed into a message for the world by this man, and yet today his country had to depend upon Vijay Mallya, a man who sold liquor all his life, to bring back Gandhi's heritage to India. What was essentially Gandhi's heritage, had however never left India in the first place.
. I personally have nothing against Vijay Mallya. I respect him in fact for the excellent businessman that he is, and the prosperity that he has brought. But I still cannot help sympathizing with Gandhi's plight.!
"Appu Ettan has done it again!", screamed Minnu. She came running and screaming all the way from the courtyard till the well at the southern most end of the house. She knew she would find Kuttan near the well. She was out of breath by the time she caught hold of Kuttan and shook him vigorously, disturbing his research of how millipedes react to hot water.
"Appu Ettan has done it again. He has performed another Magic Trick.! Come.!", she said and kept running back, screaming again at the top of her voice.
"Appu Ettaaaa.. Once More!, Kuttan is coming.".
As Kuttan walked slowly behind Minnu, his body seemed dull and tired. His eyes looked drowsy and his face covered in sweat from loitering around in the sun all afternoon, but his mind was restless. He was eager to see what trick appu had shown now, he could almost picture Dasamama's eyes beaming with appreciation in his mind. His mind was filled with jealousy. Appu, his first cousin, who had never been to the city, always had these tricks up his sleeve, which he was never able to do. He, himself was bright at school and could also recite a poem called "Ozymandias", by heart, but still he could not fell a mango like Appu did, or swim like him. Appu`s magic tricks were something he couldn't even dream about. He wished at least this time, he could figure out how the trick was done.
As expected all were present and Dasamama was praising Appu. "Come Kutta, look at Appu and learn something", he chided. Kuttan was about to respond, when Appu started to perform with his usual histrionics. He took a piece of white paper and wrote on it "100" with a red ball point pen. "It has to be red!. Otherwise the magic wont work", he proclaimed. He then took a match box and lit a match. "Careful!", cried Kuttan's mother. "It's ok. He can handle it", remarked Dasamama. Appu then burned the paper and dropped it on the floor and stood spreading his hands, as it burned completely. After it had fully turned to ash, he crushed it and took it in his fingers. He then applied the ash on his forearm and Lo' Behold the number "100" appeared on his forearm in black.!
While everyone clapped, "I also can do it!", shouted Kuttan. He had to prove it this time. He rushed into his room and took out the red ball point pen, he had brought and rushed back. "No!, you can't ", declared Appu. "Let him try. Let's see what he does", said Dasamama, a wicked look in his eyes. Kuttan quickly wrote "100", took the matchbox from Appu and lit a match. "Careful!", shouted Dasamama. He pretended to ignore and quickly set the paper to fire. He bent and looked at it, until it burned completely, then took the ash and applied it on his forearm with great gusto. His forearm was stained black, but where was the "100", he wondered. It was not there. Dasamama roared with laughter as his eyes brimmed with tears, from the pit of his stomach, his grief bubbled upwards and out came a sob.!
Only Gowri Chechi really took pity on him. "Come with me to my home. Let me get you some jackfruits". Kuttan loved jackfruit, and he loved gowri chechi and her home which was a stone's throw away from their own house. Gowri Chechi's grandmother and Amma's grandmother were sisters. Gowri chechi always told him nice stories and fed him with mangoes and jackfruits at her house.
"I hate Appu!, I hate Dasamama", remarked Kuttan, as they walked to the house, past the cowshed. Even Nandini, the cow seemed to be laughing at him, her mouth full of cud.
"Haa Haa.. We will beat them when we go back", consoled Gowri Chechi. Gowri Chechi's grandmother was reading the Ramayana at the porch, when they reached. It was already getting dark. "Is it Kuttan?", she tried to confirm through her weak eyes. Kuttan just rushed past to the dining hall. "Why are you so angry? What Happened?", he could hear her asking. Kuttan climbed on top of the rickety wooden bench, thinking about Appu's magic trick. "How does Appu do it?. It didn't work for me", he asked Gowri Chechi. Gowri Chechi came from the backyard with a plate full of jackfruit and set them in front of Kuttan. "That Appu!, He is always up to those stupid tricks. he does it with Onions.",
"Onions?". He looked at Gowri Chechi, with a questioning glance, his mouth full, and lips yellow with jackfruit pulp. "He writes the number with onion juice on his forearm, before he does that trick.". "Where can I get Onion juice?". Kuttan was already plotting in his mind. "I'll get you some", replied Gowri Chechi. She brought him some crushed onions from the kitchen. "Do I fill it in my ball point pen ?", he asked. "No Silly. Here I'll write it for you, and she took a small twig and wrote with it on Kuttan's forearm "100", while Kuttan licked clean the plate of cut jackfruits. "Wait now, I 'll get you some water to drink", she said and went to the kitchen and returned back, but Kuttan was not to be seen. "Where is Kuttan?", she asked her grandmother in the verandah. "He ran back home. The mad little boy", she said and chuckled as usual, with her fake teeth.
All were in the dining room, preparing to have snacks and tea, when Kuttan reached back home. Appu was not there. He must have gone to take bath in the pond. "Where were you? Where's Gowri?", scolded his mother, sticking out her head from the kitchen. "I will do the magic trick again!", he announced. "Amma, Kuttan is performing a magic", Minnu screamed again at the top of her voice. "Enough now, with your magic and stupid tricks. Take Bath, both of you and come have something to eat", his mother shouted back. "Amme, please..", he pleaded.
"It's ok!, Let us see him do it". A voice boomed. It was Dasamama. Appu stood beside him naughtily smiling. They had returned from their bath. Kuttan turned his face away from them and picked up a paper and held it aloft and took the ball point pen in his had. Just before he put pen to paper. "..and now you'll write 100, and then", dictated Appu. "No!. It is a bigger magic", he shouted back, and with his red ball point pen, calling out to all the gods in his mind, he wrote neatly on the paper. "200".
Minnu, brought him the matchbox. He quickly lit a match and set the paper on fire. "Aren't you all taking bath, tonight?", Kuttan's mother asked from the kitchen. "Wait Amme..", screamed back Minnu. The paper had burnt completely. He took the ash in his hands and applied it on his forearm, where Gowri Chechi had applied the onion juice. His forearm was again stained black, but this time, slowly he could make out in black the number on his forearm "100".
Everyone roared in laughter. Minnu kept shouting "Magic! magic!". But Kuttan's eyes were already clouding. He didn't stand there. He started to run. Behind him, he could hear Dasamama shouting, "Looks like you got only half of Appu's magic powers.!!". He could hear Appu laughing aloud too. "Kuttan come back! Where are you going now?", his mother was shouting. All their voices were slowly drowned as Minnu kept screaming, "Magic! magic! Kuttan did magic!".
But Kuttan did not stop. He kept running. He had to find Gowri Chechi!. *Ettan - Elder Brother. *Chechi - Elder Sister. *Dasamama - Dasan Uncle.
Two awards, which were granted to me by two wonderful people Starry and Hip Hop G'mom, both wonderfully honest and brilliant bloggers themselves.
I remember how I once read this post about Starry encountering a bobcat in her beautiful garden. The whole experience so fresh, and the innocence in her writing struck me deeply. Have always followed her blog since then. The honesty with which she has been talking about all her family, her own health, sharing all her joys and sorrows is truly remarkable. Thanks Starry, for this award.!
Hip Hop G'mom has the most refreshing blog around, with her little ditties about life, family, children, social conscience, the teaching profession, grand children and what not? She brings an experience of a lifetime in to her writing.!
Thank you, again for bestowing this award on me.
Having said that, this kind of recognition from my friends here, does tend to embarrass me. Am I worthy of all this, I often ask myself. I have not even been writing much in a long time. Have not really taken the time and effort to let the creative juices flowing. I hope I am able to write more and do justice to your impressions.!
I'm not awarding this to anyone right now. I'll keep it with me for a while. (Selfish me!). Honestly speaking, I have too many people out there, who I want to give it to.
In many villages in India, hardworking farmers reap all they have sown and have celebrated and are still celebrating their harvest.! In Tamilnadu, they call it Pongal festival, some call it Sankranthi, some call it Bihu, some call it Lohri, Whatever the name, whatever the customs, the fact is it is a celebration of the bounty that Mother Earth has given us. It is the beginning of a cycle, the renewed vigour of beginning work again, but not before all have partied enough.
It is the new year and we are looking forward to a lot of things, the whole world, looks forward to gaining prosperity, a clear path to what was the good times. Jobs are being done with, Markets crash and the world still needs to find a way to peace, a way in which both terror and war can be eradicated. Be it Mumbai, or be it Gaza , Palestine. Everywhere people are awaiting a new dawn, hope and peace of mind. Even as some celebrate, some suffer, and then vice-versa. Life is a cycle and with Time all pain heals. Nature and Time is the only discovered panacea that we know of.
Having said that, we know for sure that the future is not bleak. Nothing is impossible, It is just a myth awaiting demystification. Like the farmers who toiled on their fields, under the sun, ploughing hard against the ground which had dried up. Rains were always either less or too much. Whatever remained of Mother earth, was as solid as stone and yet they ploughed panting and huffing, both beast and man. There was work to be done and very little time.
Water was needed and more money to get the motor pumps running, the bullocks had to be fed. The manure had to be procured and all the government grants that had been announced when the vote-hungry rulers came to their homes were yet to yield them anything of worth. But still they struggled, sold whatever little jewels they had, took more money from Money lenders and put all they had into that small piece of earth, they owned. They knew they had to work hard, and pray to the lords, for that is all they could do. Evenings were spent massaging their bodies with oil, the pain in their knees and limbs simply unbearable, but they knew that one good night's sleep would be enough. Some, weak at heart took their own lives, some fled to the cities and either begged or merely survived, but some remained.
Then finally the rains came, it poured and poured, for many a blessing, for many a curse, because the rains caused floods, and elsewhere the clouds had passed on. So eventually very few survived, the survival of the fittest and the most blessed. It was these blessed few, who raised the food and livestock for a billion of their brethren. Their struggle is no less severe and no less traumatic than what the world has gone through everywhere, the previous year. Yet they persisted to survive, to nourish and to provide, like Mother Earth herself.
So today when they celebrate in the villages, each one of those farmers know that they have to get ready for their next struggle. All this might sound like out of a Premchand Novel. However it is as close to reality as possible. Let us hope and pray that their struggles becomes easier and lesser, but let us also get inspired as we look up to that thin Indian Farmer as he rejoices this glorious harvest season. Let us believe in the mercy of nature and the ability of time to heal all and rejuvenate.
For us, for our families, for all countrymen, for the world's population at large, let us persist, no matter what. To survive, to nourish and to provide, no matter what the sacrifice.
A Happy and prosperous new year 2009 to All.
I've taken a resolution to try to keep posting in here. For the nth time, now I'll be making a new beginning. That's so cliched! I know.!. I love cliches.
Wet with dew, scented earth, swept clean With tender shoots and gentle touch The horizon lightens up, in a line so lean From pure earth, life is born as such.
To the pores and holes, the wealth pours The wealth of rice has risen everywhere At equal distance and definite in fours Like nature's symmetry painted fair
Across the seeds of first delight Flashing, they come the swift lines Every wealth, within it's boundary right, Like light and sun and all that defines.
With wealth and limits set right Colours; they come, of blessed joy From the cocoon to the butterfly From pure earth, the new baby coy.
Flowers set to bloom, and birds fly Deities descend and tease her more But she, looks at her mirror and then the sky Is she the mother of nature or lore?
Before the descent, the blooms shall fade Birds shall die, and seek solace in her reign In the hungry stomachs of red ants, as they raid But the sun shall rise and give birth again
Dedicated to that beautiful practice of drawing kolams, the beautiful patterns and the untiring hands which create them.!
Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard Are sweeter: therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
John Keats could not have been more right!. Art as such is beautiful, be it in the form of literature, music, painting or cinema, there is a certain beauty to it, and that cannot be denied. But when a truly imaginative mind explores a piece of art, tying loose ends, painting pictures out of the dark and unknown, horizons are expanded and a myriad of colours arise like a new rainbow discovered hiding, in what was initially a simple cloud. The beauty of art is metaphorically enhanced so much in it's interpretation.
And such examples have been many indeed.! In that sense, take poetry, their rhyming and simple lyrical quality lends them a beauty, but it is when different minds absorb different things, different meanings and evoking different emotions altogether, that a few words of poetry become so surreal and heavenly. So then take the case of an epic, like Mahabharatha, which is simply speaking a story of sibling rivalry and war, but how much of further analysis storytelling, painting and other art forms it has spurned!.
Raja Ravi Varma, wondered how Shakuntala would have looked like, and then gifted us the most beautiful paintings, that seem so heavenly and out of the world even today. So many philosophers, over a great long period of time, added to and carved, a beautiful piece, the Bhagavad Gita, which beyond being about religion, gives simple facts that lend meaning to life. Like life itself, art begets art.
Recently read "After Kurukshetra", by Mahaswetha Devi, a great author, a fiery social activist and a wonderful woman. She elegantly crafts three stories, with the Mahabharatha in the backdrop, looking at it from angles, in ways, we have never looked at conventionally. What was the common man doing at that time.? How did they react to the war? What is right and what is wrong.? Was kunti's abandoning of Karna, her only mistake. Why did she not acknowledge him later.? Is that correct from today's standpoint, so then were moral values not at part then.?
While Mahabharatha remains the backdrop, she crafts three beautiful stories set upon it's fringes, which analyzes issues like social inequality, widow remarriage and freedom of women in a subtle, beautiful manner, and the irony is that through the eyes of the characters she creates, we look at the characters, we had known to be symbolic of righteousness and then realize how successfully, they have been painted gray. The irony is that in many ways we then realize that when it comes to politics and class differences, things are not much different even today. Talking about irony, wasn't Mahaswetha Devi also the person, who created that beautiful character of Shanichari in the short story, Rudaali. A woman who suffers from grief all her life, and ultimately when shedding tears becomes her profession, her tears have no grief in them. Was Shanichari, her interpretation of Kunti.? A question again, probably which will get an answer in another work of art, when someone, later looks at the works of Mahaswetha Devi in 'that' unique way.
There are questions, which arise in our mind, only when an interpretation initiates us to ask them. To look at a piece of art, from angles we've never thought about, is an exercise that really adds layers to our understanding of any work of art.
When Literature, poetry and paintings vibrate with the sheer energy inherited from one source of inspiration, can visual and aural arts like music and dance be far behind. Take for instance, Shobhana's dance drama, Maya Raavan, which also happens to sketch the romantic, scholar and poet in Ravana, the villain of the piece, Ramayana.
In that sense, nature itself is a work of art. Daffodils were there much before Wordsworth was born. When M.T.Vasudevan Nair scripts a tale like vyshali, or when keats crafts untold stories from a grecian urn or on looking into Illiad and Odyssey, we know that in the end, there's only more art, more beauty, more interpretation and more life.
Tags are like a spark, in our other wise slow blogging lives. You get running for some time, take some rest and then there comes along a tag with a spark from wetspark and you get going. Reminds me of the spark plug in our old Bajaj scooter.! Mathew, inquisitive that you are, you want me to divulge 8 secrets of my otherwise highly confidential life, so here goes eight highly guarded secrets. :-)
8 things, I am passionate about. * Books of all kinds, whether I get to read them all or not. at least seeing them decked up on the shelf gives me a feeling of pride - My only savings so far.! * My family. My ideal family would have been a cross between the Addams Family in Cartoon Network and the one in Little Miss Sunshine, but I'm more than happy with what the dear lord gave. Love you.! * My Country, Like they say, MeraBharatMahaan. * Writing - I still remember the smile on my teacher's face, when someone showed her a poem I wrote. From then, it has just continued. Having said that, I'm passionate about blogging itself. It changed my life for me. * Nature - Green landscapes, Lucid clear blue water and the pure music of the breeze. What can I say, it inspires me. * Music - I love all kinds of music, mostly melodies, old romantic ballads. I get queer faces at me, when I sway sitting in my cube, listening to music. They think I'm mad.! I sure am.! * Society - Does that make sense..? I am passionate about at least working to eradicate one social evil. Don't know which one, probably Female Foeticide. * Cinema - I love films. Watching them, as well as the finer nuances of film making. Be it our very own Padmarajan, Maniratnam, Adoor or be it, Alfred Hitchcock, Tarantino, or the genius of Satyajit Ray. They all make my day. 8 things I want to do before I die. * Write and publish a book. What I will write about, I do not know, but write I must.! * Travel to the Himalayas and stand alone on a high peak and spread my hands and simply freeze that moment.. Ah..! Bliss! * Build a beautiful naalukettu house. Now this, I know for sure is tough! * Ride a bike properly. I know you will say WHAT?! but it isn't that easy for me. I've already failed once in the license test. It's a long drawn battle down there. * Have a wild pet, probably a big boa constrictor. * Sing, in front of a real audience for once. I'm tired of bathroom singing. I could have, but there is a big stage fear to overcome. Gives me the creeps even now. * Teach in a small school, somewhere in remote Wayanad. * Go to varanasi and spend some days in deep retrospect of life.! Grow a beard and dissolve into the confluence of life, nature and people. 8 things I say often * "What to do? Life's like that." - Some thing I claim to have invented. To be patented.! * I call up some one after a long time and they enquire what I'm doing. If it's in malayalam it is "Jeevichupovunnu"(Just living) , if in tamil, it's ethopoguthu.(Somewhat going on). * "Not Interested" - All banks upon earth, know my mobile number, and they wont rest until I take at least one credit card.! (*&^%$$@(!!!! * "Sheri" - means simply ok. * Great! - good or excellent, is not enough these days.. Life, simply has to be "Great!" * "Hello!" - Graham Bell's mistake. * Grre.. Hmprrh! - Ever since I saw The Incredible Hulk! * "Hi" - It's amazing how this two letter word has taken by storm.!
8 Books I last read. * "My Childhood Days" - Memoirs of Satyajit Ray. * After Kurukshetra - By Mahashweta Devi. * 5 Indian Masters. * The Penguin Book of Indian Railway Stories - Still reading. * The Last Mughal - By William Dalrymple. * A Readers' Digest * Outlook * Unheard Voices - Stories of Forgotten Lives by Harsh mander.
8 Songs I could listen to over and over again Now this is where 8 becomes too small a number.. :). So I'll keep two each for the four languages I know. * Tharalitharaavilmayangiyo.. sooryamanasam * Devasabhaathalam Classic of RaveendranMaashu * Narumugaye - Classic from movie Iruvar. Beautiful use of Sangam Literature and lilting music from Rahman. * En Vanile from Johnny * GhananGhanan - The arrival of rain celebrated with joy. Classic from Lagaan * Ae Mere WatanKeLogon - by LataMangeshkar ( Nightingale of India), she sings not only with her sweetest voice, but the most sincere passion and emotion. Great! - There I used it again. * Heal the World - A Beautiful Song, from Michael Jackson. I'm a great fan! (Strictly professional!) * When you believe! - When Mariah Carey and Whitney Houston croon so elegantly, there are miracles and you believe..! Amazing!
8 people I think should do this tag
* Alex - Alex!, In the middle of your philosophy, take a break! :) * Starry - Long time Starry..! Get back !! * Sreejith - My namesake friend.! you've been too busy lately. take this One! * Dwarak - Because I know you've never done a tag before.! * Shankari - In the middle of those wonderful stories, let's get to know you too..! * Chitra - In the middle of train journeys, children and mobiles, do a tag too..! * Jac - In the middle of your ever-exciting travels, how about a tag..? * Vinay - In the middle of your poetry, let's get to know you too.!
So the spark plug, sputtered, coughed, then sprang to life. The scooter travelled for a while, before it realized no one had boarded. I was lying on the sand.!
Why is there blood everywhere On this long winding road.? O' towering son of Kabul, Wherein goes this treacherous road?
This road will take us to peace, my friend But when are these blood stains washed, I ask Pensive and grim, someday there will be peace he says. amidst the workers at their task.
Someday, safe will be our women, they will live Someday, happy will be our children, they will live Someday, rested we shall all be, we will live Live, we all shall, and doves will fly.
Insha'Allah, may your words come true, but. No buts, Someday for the homeless, castles there will be for the hungry, all delicacies and all free Yes!, I say the city will be built as you see
For the homeless, castles there will be, Every brick as strong as a painful memory. For the hungry, all heavenly delicacies, Eating while they talk of those old miseries.
Insha'Allah, Someday, may there peace, be.! Insha'Allah, Someday, may there peace, be.!
In remembrance of all those who lost their lives, while taking valiant efforts to bring peace to the land of Afghanistan. We salute you.
Name: Srijith Unni Home: Chennai, Tamilnadu, India About Me: I am an human being who is learning about other human beings, the world, Life and it`s intrinsic complexities.. I am a person searching for answers. A soul which needs to leave an imprint, so that i may visit my blog again in my next birth. See my complete profile
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