I have a private life and a very private mind. And an even more private home!
My doors are closed to random strangers. People come into my house only through invitation. Most of the events in my life are ‘need to know’ to general, public acquaintances. But who are close to my heart, who can understand me, are always welcome.
Nevertheless, I have let a tiny window from my living room open. I have it thrown open more for convenience than for anything else. Through that I can look at the world below, and the world can look back in. But their view is very limited unlike mine. And the few snippets that I get to see are all, I feel, very detailed and so publicly personal. I wonder at that, that how some people can bare all and let unknown folks know so much about them; intentionally or otherwise; does harm or not. I’m seldom nosy. I rarely am interested in affairs of other people, unless I’m personally informed. I sit by my window just to pass time seeing the world go by. But sometimes even insignificant things make you wonder, and here’s one thing thats been frying my brain for a few days.
People come and go in the walks of life. So my view is deliberately different every time I chance to look at it. By habit, I can see some patterns too. Some come, talk, and talk less and less. Some come, talk, and continue talking. Some come, talk marvel, and then leave forever. Some come, marvel, talk much, leave and come back to talk more. I can understand the fist category where I think I can fit myself into, when viewed from any other open window. But I have never understood the rest of them. Especially the last!
It rarely happens. It breaks the pattern (either you leave or you stay). It’s a huge distraction. It creates a sort of an atmosphere where they were seemingly missed. It’s difficult to not be interested in what they have to say, now that they have abstained and are back with more vigor. Relevance or the lack thereof stops to matter. Left to the chance that they might say something interesting gives a hope and reason for the doors to remain open. That and prior inclinations.
They completely poach your heart with all their talks and laughs and their silliness. They make you believe that that’s their life. Their happy smiles make you want to see more. They make you jealous that you are not part of it. Their popularity makes you wonder why your restrict yourselves. Unintentional obsession develops.
They fry your head. You make an image of what they are based on what they show you. You try and get yourselves convinced that is what is true and perfect. You will think you know everything that’s happening with them. You get angry when you think others can also get a glimpse of what they show. Confusion reigns!
I say, Idiot Poacher, why need to come back?
Disclaimer: Italics from Wild Child.
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Thursday, April 28, 2011
A beautiful way to ask...
Putham pudhu malarae, en aasai sollava?
Pothi vaithu maraithen, en bashai sollava ?
Idhayam thirandhu ketkiren, ennadhaan tharuvai paarkiren
Nenjukkullae ennanamo ninaithen,
Nitham nitham karpanaigal valarthen, thavithen
Sella kili ennai kulipika vendum,
Sellai thalaipil thuvatida vendum
Kallu silai poola nee nirka vendum
Kangal paarthu thalai vaara vendum
Nee vandhu elai pooda vendum
Naan vandhu parimaara vendum
En imai un vizhi mooda vendum
Iruvarum oru suram paada vendum
Unnil ennai thedavendum
Kanni undhan madi saaya vendum
Kamban varigal nee solla vendum
Unnai katti kondu thoonga vendum
Undhan viral thalai koodida vendum
Kaioodu idham kaana vendum
Kanneeril kulir kaaya vendum
Udatukum udatukum dhooram vendum
Uyirukul uyir sendru seera vendum
Thaayai saeyai maara vendum
Pothi vaithu maraithen, en bashai sollava ?
Idhayam thirandhu ketkiren, ennadhaan tharuvai paarkiren
Nenjukkullae ennanamo ninaithen,
Nitham nitham karpanaigal valarthen, thavithen
Sella kili ennai kulipika vendum,
Sellai thalaipil thuvatida vendum
Kallu silai poola nee nirka vendum
Kangal paarthu thalai vaara vendum
Nee vandhu elai pooda vendum
Naan vandhu parimaara vendum
En imai un vizhi mooda vendum
Iruvarum oru suram paada vendum
Unnil ennai thedavendum
Kanni undhan madi saaya vendum
Kamban varigal nee solla vendum
Unnai katti kondu thoonga vendum
Undhan viral thalai koodida vendum
Kaioodu idham kaana vendum
Kanneeril kulir kaaya vendum
Udatukum udatukum dhooram vendum
Uyirukul uyir sendru seera vendum
Thaayai saeyai maara vendum
Wednesday, April 27, 2011
No Dues.
Routine is effectively disturbed. No predictability about tomorrow.
And that is scary.
The calendar is empty. Table ornaments are packed to be taken home. Passes and accesses are surrendered, stamped and cleared - ‘No Dues’. Farewell speeches are given. Advices are taken. Lunch and gifts exchanged. Clichéd mails are sent out. A final goodbye, a last sweeping look and I will be done. Relieved of all responsibilities!
And I’m lost. Burdened with doubts and fear!
May be I’m not recognizing the randomness of my life in its true spirit. The sense of suspense and variety is what many ache for in their normal, scheduled and so according to them a boring life. I did too. When day after day, the same rhythm, the same duties, the same monotony wore me down. Now that I have choice, variety and suspense of the unknown tomorrow, instead of being thrilled I’m suddenly feeling as if I have no stability; that I have no direction, no balance. There seems no method in the madness. I guess the residual feelings for the accustomed way of life is getting in the way and disturbing me. Acknowledged! But I should also be realizing the value of the change, the range of other opportunities and such, for the gift that it is. Yes. I should and I’m going to try.
At first dreams seem impossible, then improbable, then inevitable. So is change illa?
Next, I have all the time in the world. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it.
I think the first thing I’m going to put the “all the time in the world” to use is to list the things that I’m going to miss.
• First and foremost, coffee. Hot and refreshing all around the clock. Just have to ask, one kaapi.
• Second most important thing, the hour long drive. It’s an effective alone time. Enake enaka. There is something alluring in the dull and monotonous almost thalatugira motion of the vehicle, the warm air and noise blowing in from the rolled down windows, the view zooming past, random thoughts and mindless FM music.
• Friends. Just ping or buzz and you can see them. They are there to pick you up when things are rough. Sometimes you don’t even have to ask. They’ll know.
• Companionship. I’m listing this as a separate thing because it means so much to me. The ups and down are treated alike, things are taken in the passing in a somewhat ‘who cares’ detached sense etc...All good things.
• Special-ness of weekend. The anticipation starts first thing on Monday mornings. AH! The sweet relief of weekends.
• Breakfast. That’s one thing that’s really going to get cut now that I have no routine.
• Identity. In the current society, when what I do amounts to who I’m, this serves as my identity, a label to my success. Now I’m going to ‘just be a....’
• Dependability. It’s a common thing in my household to hear me say, ‘Let me check with my office folks on this. At least one of them might have an idea’, for just about anything from tax debates to baby colic’s.
• Tabs on the new fashion. Won’t elaborate!!
• Diversion. Actually it works either ways. From domestics to there and from there to domestics. If one gets too much I can escape into the other. Time apart to puts things in perspective. Thank God for days and nights and work and play.
• Adjusting temperaments. It’s actually a good thing, a survival thing. The chance to meet and work alongside people of different personalities helps you to become a good judge of character. Helps and necessitates keeping temper (for that, any emotion) in check. (And my Mother’s favorite ‘Anga solara vellaiya mugam sulikaama seiyara, inga yean edhirkara?’ sometimes makes sense, and sometimes makes me want to say ‘Well I have no choice there. Here at least you hear of it’. Somehow I never tell her that. Why to destroy her illusion that I’m adangifying somewhere at least?)
• General public awareness. I think that’s common to every place with lots of people in scene.
• Developing new interests. With avenues and interested folks available, this is sure significant thing. I have personally benefited significantly from this.
There are of course other blahs, like career, growth, financial independence, woman freedom, ‘wasting your education’. All those aside, these are the humble things that I’m going to miss a lot.
That’s all I can think of. If you can come up with anything besides ‘Office gossip’ please leave a message/comment.
So whatever, it’s a major change tomorrow. Hope indha naal iniya naalaga iruka and days that follow too.
And that is scary.
The calendar is empty. Table ornaments are packed to be taken home. Passes and accesses are surrendered, stamped and cleared - ‘No Dues’. Farewell speeches are given. Advices are taken. Lunch and gifts exchanged. Clichéd mails are sent out. A final goodbye, a last sweeping look and I will be done. Relieved of all responsibilities!
And I’m lost. Burdened with doubts and fear!
May be I’m not recognizing the randomness of my life in its true spirit. The sense of suspense and variety is what many ache for in their normal, scheduled and so according to them a boring life. I did too. When day after day, the same rhythm, the same duties, the same monotony wore me down. Now that I have choice, variety and suspense of the unknown tomorrow, instead of being thrilled I’m suddenly feeling as if I have no stability; that I have no direction, no balance. There seems no method in the madness. I guess the residual feelings for the accustomed way of life is getting in the way and disturbing me. Acknowledged! But I should also be realizing the value of the change, the range of other opportunities and such, for the gift that it is. Yes. I should and I’m going to try.
At first dreams seem impossible, then improbable, then inevitable. So is change illa?
Next, I have all the time in the world. I have no idea what I’m going to do with it.
I think the first thing I’m going to put the “all the time in the world” to use is to list the things that I’m going to miss.
• First and foremost, coffee. Hot and refreshing all around the clock. Just have to ask, one kaapi.
• Second most important thing, the hour long drive. It’s an effective alone time. Enake enaka. There is something alluring in the dull and monotonous almost thalatugira motion of the vehicle, the warm air and noise blowing in from the rolled down windows, the view zooming past, random thoughts and mindless FM music.
• Friends. Just ping or buzz and you can see them. They are there to pick you up when things are rough. Sometimes you don’t even have to ask. They’ll know.
• Companionship. I’m listing this as a separate thing because it means so much to me. The ups and down are treated alike, things are taken in the passing in a somewhat ‘who cares’ detached sense etc...All good things.
• Special-ness of weekend. The anticipation starts first thing on Monday mornings. AH! The sweet relief of weekends.
• Breakfast. That’s one thing that’s really going to get cut now that I have no routine.
• Identity. In the current society, when what I do amounts to who I’m, this serves as my identity, a label to my success. Now I’m going to ‘just be a....’
• Dependability. It’s a common thing in my household to hear me say, ‘Let me check with my office folks on this. At least one of them might have an idea’, for just about anything from tax debates to baby colic’s.
• Tabs on the new fashion. Won’t elaborate!!
• Diversion. Actually it works either ways. From domestics to there and from there to domestics. If one gets too much I can escape into the other. Time apart to puts things in perspective. Thank God for days and nights and work and play.
• Adjusting temperaments. It’s actually a good thing, a survival thing. The chance to meet and work alongside people of different personalities helps you to become a good judge of character. Helps and necessitates keeping temper (for that, any emotion) in check. (And my Mother’s favorite ‘Anga solara vellaiya mugam sulikaama seiyara, inga yean edhirkara?’ sometimes makes sense, and sometimes makes me want to say ‘Well I have no choice there. Here at least you hear of it’. Somehow I never tell her that. Why to destroy her illusion that I’m adangifying somewhere at least?)
• General public awareness. I think that’s common to every place with lots of people in scene.
• Developing new interests. With avenues and interested folks available, this is sure significant thing. I have personally benefited significantly from this.
There are of course other blahs, like career, growth, financial independence, woman freedom, ‘wasting your education’. All those aside, these are the humble things that I’m going to miss a lot.
That’s all I can think of. If you can come up with anything besides ‘Office gossip’ please leave a message/comment.
So whatever, it’s a major change tomorrow. Hope indha naal iniya naalaga iruka and days that follow too.
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
Can you feel the undertones?
There is a ‘She’. Of course, there has to be one. Then wouldn’t there be a ‘He’. You bet!
So let’s drop in and then drop our eaves in the middle of their conversation that goes,
***
He looked at her accusingly and said, ‘Just asking. Huh! Too many cross questions.’
She replied mockingly, ‘I’m getting better at this. I learned it from the Master’
‘Now, who is that? If you mean me, I don’t evade’ he answered smiling.
‘If that’s not what you do, then we need a new word to describe what you are doing’ she said.
‘Never. I will never agree. Tell me one instance where I have evaded’ he argued.
She sighed. ‘This counts as one! So anyways… are you going to tell me or not?’ she asked.
‘What do you want me to tell?’ he asked slightly belligerent.
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him sharply and said ‘You know what I’m asking and you know that I won’t let you have any peace unless you answer me. So tell me you will change? Tell me you will at least make an effort to change.’
‘You know what I’m going to say’ he stalled. When she didn’t bother to lower her gaze, he tried again and said, ‘I don’t have much choice now. It’s too late’.
She didn’t seem to relent, ‘Don’t you want to change? Do you like it?’
He changed tactics and continued tauntingly, ‘I won’t (stop) until I’m asked to. I really don’t see a reason why I need to.’
‘Now who is going to ask you that?’ she asked in an indignant voice.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ he teased.
She threw him a dirty look and said, ‘I would. I have. I am.’
‘I thought you didn’t mean it’ he smirked.
She pleaded ‘Oh! But I do. I mean it. Please, for my sake? Try?’
He smiled more broadly, ‘Why?’
‘How can you justify the torture the body and mind is put through?’ she asked.
‘Maybe it’s not torture, maybe its pleasure’ he answered mischievously.
‘I don’t know…It’s all very wrong’ she concluded irritated.
He just winked at her, smiling broadly ‘How?’
She said imploringly ‘You seem to take odd pleasure in making me plead.’
‘Yen mayakatha theethu vechu manichirumaaaa’ he sang, waving his arms wide open.
'Don't'. She rolled her eyes and hissed ‘Little seriousness, please?’
Though evidently enjoying, he sobered a little and replied, ‘Very much. There is really no need to change. It’s not taboo still. In all fairness, you know, it has become more common than you think and it’s not such a big deal.’ to which she immediately said, ‘It is a big deal. It’s illegal, unethical and probably dangerous. It’s against nature’.
He pretended to cross off on his fingers ‘It’s not illegal when you are an adult, consenting and knowing. It’s not dangerous, when it’s done in the way it’s supposed to be done. Unethical says who?’
She noticed that he had ignored that last part of her argument but she didn’t want to press. She thought for a moment and said, ‘I don’t know. I feel bad about it.’
‘From ‘very wrong’ to ‘feels bad’, quite a drastic change there!’ he teased again.
She immediately replied, ‘No I still feel its all wrong. And it does feel bad’
He was quiet for a second and then continued, ‘So explain it to me. Why do you think it is wrong? Is it because of some stupid social construct? Morality? Why would you not accept me and my ways if that’s my chosen path, preference, choice or however the hell you want to call it? Wouldn’t you try to understand that maybe I do what I do because I may have no other option? Do you have any idea of how much pain and regret I might carry?’
Evidently confused at the sudden first-person usage, she said ‘Err… you as in ‘you’?’
‘Hypothetically speaking!’ he finished with a smile.
She considered the many questions and deciding to play along, replied, ‘First of, you say you are okay with all this and that you knowingly chose this. But would you be so cool when it happens to someone else you love. Someone who has a choice and yet they are like this? Would you embrace them into this way of life? Secondly, like you ask, I will try to understand your situation. I will. Let’s say, even pretend that, I’m okay with what you do. That’s not much, is it? I’m just one person. You need to realize that the society is not entirely made of people like me.’ She continued in a slightly higher tone to cut across his intent to interrupt ‘Don’t tell me you don’t care about what the society thinks. You care. At least that much I know for sure. You care enough to want their approval of your normality. You care enough to be low-key of what you do. You want them to see you beyond the aberration.’
He harshly interjected ‘Then you don’t know anything’.
She looked offended but took advantage of momentary silence and continued, ‘No, I know and understand more. Ok, leave aside society. You have a responsibility. To yourself, to your body, to your family and friends who care about your well being; you are inducing an imbalance and unnaturalness into your life and into the others. So whatever you say, however you argue, I feel it is wrong. Don’t say you are careful and controlled. Once or twice are as bad as any number. Whatever pain and agony you may face in life, or however heart-wrenching a flash-back you may have, doesn’t justify the need. I wouldn’t hear of it. If that’s the last thing I do, I will definitely do something to stop you from going down that path and destroying your life over it.
He hissed ‘Don’t you think I know all that. Don’t you think that I have argued with myself with all of what you just said?’
She did not reply. All the “I” usage was confusing. Though hypothetical, it was difficult, to pointedly say ‘you’. After few minutes, their orders were delivered and they finished eating in near silence, broaching only on less controversial and almost harmless topics. When they had paid their bills and stepped outside into the rainy street, he said, ‘Ok. I was thinking of what you said in there. I think I see your point.’
She smiled a little and waited for him to continue. ‘Yes! All that you said are true. I know too, that drugs are wrong. Society or morality or ethics or unnaturalness aside, it is just plain stupid and unnecessary. But I designed my character to be an addict to spin out lots of stories around that. It has nothing to do with me. I promise! I'm not even in the slightest inclined toward it. But as I said before, now it’s too late to change it. I’m almost close to completion.’
She shook her head. ‘I won’t have drugs and substance abuse in your book. I don't want it in the way you have it. You are almost glorifying its use and extolling its effect. But as a writer of your caliber, you are morally obligated to some extent without sacrificing your literary license. People read your books. You have a say, you have some influence. Some people read books for fun and some read too much into it. If your character should perform some extra ordinary feet after getting high, if he comes across as a “cool dude” just because he snorts, someone might want to do that. You shouldn’t impart that idea on people, intentionally or otherwise. I wouldn’t want anyone to read your book and comment on it. I wouldn’t be able to bear that kind of criticism of you. You are way too important to me for me to just stand aside and to let you be judged harshly, if I can help it.’
She faltered. She has said too much. And before he could react she continued, ‘You know what I mean… what I’m trying to say is… you know… I mean….’
He simply said ‘I know what you mean. I always do’
***
Looks like he is saying too much too!
Did he promise to change the story? Did he really? Was she okay with the change?
What happened to the two of them?
All this we couldn’t find. The rain’s too loud.
But were you confused as we were in the middle of all the argument?
P.S: ‘Usure pogudhey’ is a ‘Whattya song’ category. The lyrics, the tune, Karthick’s exceptionally seductive voice when he sings that line – Sweetness!
So let’s drop in and then drop our eaves in the middle of their conversation that goes,
***
He looked at her accusingly and said, ‘Just asking. Huh! Too many cross questions.’
She replied mockingly, ‘I’m getting better at this. I learned it from the Master’
‘Now, who is that? If you mean me, I don’t evade’ he answered smiling.
‘If that’s not what you do, then we need a new word to describe what you are doing’ she said.
‘Never. I will never agree. Tell me one instance where I have evaded’ he argued.
She sighed. ‘This counts as one! So anyways… are you going to tell me or not?’ she asked.
‘What do you want me to tell?’ he asked slightly belligerent.
She narrowed her eyes and looked at him sharply and said ‘You know what I’m asking and you know that I won’t let you have any peace unless you answer me. So tell me you will change? Tell me you will at least make an effort to change.’
‘You know what I’m going to say’ he stalled. When she didn’t bother to lower her gaze, he tried again and said, ‘I don’t have much choice now. It’s too late’.
She didn’t seem to relent, ‘Don’t you want to change? Do you like it?’
He changed tactics and continued tauntingly, ‘I won’t (stop) until I’m asked to. I really don’t see a reason why I need to.’
‘Now who is going to ask you that?’ she asked in an indignant voice.
‘Wouldn’t you?’ he teased.
She threw him a dirty look and said, ‘I would. I have. I am.’
‘I thought you didn’t mean it’ he smirked.
She pleaded ‘Oh! But I do. I mean it. Please, for my sake? Try?’
He smiled more broadly, ‘Why?’
‘How can you justify the torture the body and mind is put through?’ she asked.
‘Maybe it’s not torture, maybe its pleasure’ he answered mischievously.
‘I don’t know…It’s all very wrong’ she concluded irritated.
He just winked at her, smiling broadly ‘How?’
She said imploringly ‘You seem to take odd pleasure in making me plead.’
‘Yen mayakatha theethu vechu manichirumaaaa’ he sang, waving his arms wide open.
'Don't'. She rolled her eyes and hissed ‘Little seriousness, please?’
Though evidently enjoying, he sobered a little and replied, ‘Very much. There is really no need to change. It’s not taboo still. In all fairness, you know, it has become more common than you think and it’s not such a big deal.’ to which she immediately said, ‘It is a big deal. It’s illegal, unethical and probably dangerous. It’s against nature’.
He pretended to cross off on his fingers ‘It’s not illegal when you are an adult, consenting and knowing. It’s not dangerous, when it’s done in the way it’s supposed to be done. Unethical says who?’
She noticed that he had ignored that last part of her argument but she didn’t want to press. She thought for a moment and said, ‘I don’t know. I feel bad about it.’
‘From ‘very wrong’ to ‘feels bad’, quite a drastic change there!’ he teased again.
She immediately replied, ‘No I still feel its all wrong. And it does feel bad’
He was quiet for a second and then continued, ‘So explain it to me. Why do you think it is wrong? Is it because of some stupid social construct? Morality? Why would you not accept me and my ways if that’s my chosen path, preference, choice or however the hell you want to call it? Wouldn’t you try to understand that maybe I do what I do because I may have no other option? Do you have any idea of how much pain and regret I might carry?’
Evidently confused at the sudden first-person usage, she said ‘Err… you as in ‘you’?’
‘Hypothetically speaking!’ he finished with a smile.
She considered the many questions and deciding to play along, replied, ‘First of, you say you are okay with all this and that you knowingly chose this. But would you be so cool when it happens to someone else you love. Someone who has a choice and yet they are like this? Would you embrace them into this way of life? Secondly, like you ask, I will try to understand your situation. I will. Let’s say, even pretend that, I’m okay with what you do. That’s not much, is it? I’m just one person. You need to realize that the society is not entirely made of people like me.’ She continued in a slightly higher tone to cut across his intent to interrupt ‘Don’t tell me you don’t care about what the society thinks. You care. At least that much I know for sure. You care enough to want their approval of your normality. You care enough to be low-key of what you do. You want them to see you beyond the aberration.’
He harshly interjected ‘Then you don’t know anything’.
She looked offended but took advantage of momentary silence and continued, ‘No, I know and understand more. Ok, leave aside society. You have a responsibility. To yourself, to your body, to your family and friends who care about your well being; you are inducing an imbalance and unnaturalness into your life and into the others. So whatever you say, however you argue, I feel it is wrong. Don’t say you are careful and controlled. Once or twice are as bad as any number. Whatever pain and agony you may face in life, or however heart-wrenching a flash-back you may have, doesn’t justify the need. I wouldn’t hear of it. If that’s the last thing I do, I will definitely do something to stop you from going down that path and destroying your life over it.
He hissed ‘Don’t you think I know all that. Don’t you think that I have argued with myself with all of what you just said?’
She did not reply. All the “I” usage was confusing. Though hypothetical, it was difficult, to pointedly say ‘you’. After few minutes, their orders were delivered and they finished eating in near silence, broaching only on less controversial and almost harmless topics. When they had paid their bills and stepped outside into the rainy street, he said, ‘Ok. I was thinking of what you said in there. I think I see your point.’
She smiled a little and waited for him to continue. ‘Yes! All that you said are true. I know too, that drugs are wrong. Society or morality or ethics or unnaturalness aside, it is just plain stupid and unnecessary. But I designed my character to be an addict to spin out lots of stories around that. It has nothing to do with me. I promise! I'm not even in the slightest inclined toward it. But as I said before, now it’s too late to change it. I’m almost close to completion.’
She shook her head. ‘I won’t have drugs and substance abuse in your book. I don't want it in the way you have it. You are almost glorifying its use and extolling its effect. But as a writer of your caliber, you are morally obligated to some extent without sacrificing your literary license. People read your books. You have a say, you have some influence. Some people read books for fun and some read too much into it. If your character should perform some extra ordinary feet after getting high, if he comes across as a “cool dude” just because he snorts, someone might want to do that. You shouldn’t impart that idea on people, intentionally or otherwise. I wouldn’t want anyone to read your book and comment on it. I wouldn’t be able to bear that kind of criticism of you. You are way too important to me for me to just stand aside and to let you be judged harshly, if I can help it.’
She faltered. She has said too much. And before he could react she continued, ‘You know what I mean… what I’m trying to say is… you know… I mean….’
He simply said ‘I know what you mean. I always do’
***
Looks like he is saying too much too!
Did he promise to change the story? Did he really? Was she okay with the change?
What happened to the two of them?
All this we couldn’t find. The rain’s too loud.
But were you confused as we were in the middle of all the argument?
P.S: ‘Usure pogudhey’ is a ‘Whattya song’ category. The lyrics, the tune, Karthick’s exceptionally seductive voice when he sings that line – Sweetness!
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Life is really unfair.
How else can I see these?
• When I enter the house my baby looks beyond me to check if my father is behind me and then run into his open arms ignoring mine
• That my baby shouts gleefully ‘Appa appa’ when she sees Surya on TV or a magazine cover
• That she says ‘Thaaatha’ more than she says any other word
• That she wants to sleep in her ‘Paataa’s’ lap every other afternoon
• Saves her special dance for her ‘Chitha’
• That she finds my make-up skills inadequate and dabs her face with more powder on her own
• That she sends more SMS than me
• That she is a ‘Dahling’ and ‘Vaalu’ at the same time to everyone
• That she thinks her body and her dress are the place for art
• That she cries and brings the house down on being fed but thinks chalks and my lipstick are okay foods
• When I’m rushing to leave for work, her insane tantrum to comb my hair
• That she thinks that my washed and ironed dupatta is a prop for playing ‘bhuuu’
• Her demands at midnight to hear ‘Yellow….yellow’ rhyme and train sounds or to wear her ‘Spiderman’ shoe inside house for dancing.
• That my mother most of the time starts to call my baby but ends up calling out her younger son's name due to long habit (sometimes even I do this)
Sigh!
But who cares about these things when you are holding your life in your hands?
I don’t even remember all this when the baby calls out “Ammei” from across the room and come running to me when she is scared of ‘rummmbu’ (ant), happy because her favorite song is on TV, cranky, hungry, in ‘doo’ mode with someone, to get me a unasked sombhu full of water with everyone else chasing her, to do the pithukuli dance routines, to keep safe her stolen ‘mammam’s, to show and complain about her ‘vooa’, to play any weird laada-mooda games of our own invention or just suma. When I have her snuggly tucked on my chest and hear her slow breathing and have her milky sweet breath on my neck and face, I feel safe. I feel life to be so unfair in an entirely different way. Can you understand that?
To quote another blogger “A day as a mother is worth a million as a rock star”.
I agree.Touch wood!
• When I enter the house my baby looks beyond me to check if my father is behind me and then run into his open arms ignoring mine
• That my baby shouts gleefully ‘Appa appa’ when she sees Surya on TV or a magazine cover
• That she says ‘Thaaatha’ more than she says any other word
• That she wants to sleep in her ‘Paataa’s’ lap every other afternoon
• Saves her special dance for her ‘Chitha’
• That she finds my make-up skills inadequate and dabs her face with more powder on her own
• That she sends more SMS than me
• That she is a ‘Dahling’ and ‘Vaalu’ at the same time to everyone
• That she thinks her body and her dress are the place for art
• That she cries and brings the house down on being fed but thinks chalks and my lipstick are okay foods
• When I’m rushing to leave for work, her insane tantrum to comb my hair
• That she thinks that my washed and ironed dupatta is a prop for playing ‘bhuuu’
• Her demands at midnight to hear ‘Yellow….yellow’ rhyme and train sounds or to wear her ‘Spiderman’ shoe inside house for dancing.
• That my mother most of the time starts to call my baby but ends up calling out her younger son's name due to long habit (sometimes even I do this)
Sigh!
But who cares about these things when you are holding your life in your hands?
I don’t even remember all this when the baby calls out “Ammei” from across the room and come running to me when she is scared of ‘rummmbu’ (ant), happy because her favorite song is on TV, cranky, hungry, in ‘doo’ mode with someone, to get me a unasked sombhu full of water with everyone else chasing her, to do the pithukuli dance routines, to keep safe her stolen ‘mammam’s, to show and complain about her ‘vooa’, to play any weird laada-mooda games of our own invention or just suma. When I have her snuggly tucked on my chest and hear her slow breathing and have her milky sweet breath on my neck and face, I feel safe. I feel life to be so unfair in an entirely different way. Can you understand that?
To quote another blogger “A day as a mother is worth a million as a rock star”.
I agree.Touch wood!
Saturday, April 23, 2011
Last weekend…
Yes. This is the last ‘real’ weekend for the current season.
Here after all days are going to be working days!
Another end!
For another new beginning? Hopefully so!
Here after all days are going to be working days!
Another end!
For another new beginning? Hopefully so!
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
In my every breath there is you.
Of course, you would know this by no means can be an exhaustive list, but these are the few that popped into my mind as I started typing this.
• My Mom’s “Drink your coffee hot. Would probably help relieve your headaches”, every time when my morning coffee goes cold untouched.
• AJB’s “You would be a fool to not ask for help when you need or to not accept it when you are given” every time when I’m shy and apprehensive to seek help when I’m desperately needing it.
• My Father’s “This too shall pass” every time when I feel down and depressed or even too happy.
• Evangeline’s “My opinions are not that important that I need to share them all the time” every time when I have no choice but to bite my tongue to hold back any retort or argument.
• Mrs. Hr’s simple “Hang on!” every time when I … never mind!
• MiRaman’s “Perception of truth is the only truth now” every time when I want to give a shout out, thann nilai vilakkam, and to set records straight.
• Aparna’s timely and crucial baby advice, every time I cradle my baby in my arms without hurting my back and stitches.
• My Bro’s “You think they too taking about us” every time when I liberally comment on/about everyone and then want a ladder down my ego.
• Kotti’s “Remember how you started and where you came from” every time when I want to stay in touch with my roots.
• An Id... friend’s "Now your Home is where your ....n is" every time when I waver in my priorities between different places and people.
• One of my cousin’s “You think you know everything, but you don’t know anything really” every time when I want to humble down.
• Draiker’s “You set a high standard” every time when I think I deserve to be praised, irrespective of whether I receive the compliments or not.
• My 6th grade tamizh teacher’s “ngap pol valai” advice every time when I need the motivation to adjust or adapt.
• My grandma’s kind yet strict “kozhandai than mukkiyam… adhuku aprom than mathadellam” every time when I’m torn between watching a movie and playing pretend for the 100th time of that day.
• My FIL’s "Babies outgrow the need for us very soon. You will miss it before you fully realize the sweetness" every time when I'm dealing with late-night unreasonable clingings or thooki demands.
• A cousin's status and belief "Life is 10% of what happens to me, and 90% of how I react to it"
• A Haryani Loki’s strangely kind act of placing his overcoat as a cushion in my head/ back rest of my seat, in the dirty, smelly bus traveling in that sorry excuse of a road of the Pilani-Delhi route, every time when my head bumps on my seat.
• My grandfather’s quirky folklore saying “All right nu sonnanam English kaaran. Adhan sari nu sonnanam Thamizh kaaran” every time when I just want to agree to something just to shut the other person up.
• My BIL’s “If someone is doing something for you, whether you’ve asked them or not, let them be” every time when I want to comment or correct something someone is doing for my sake.
• ....'s “You look nice, no matter what” every time when I want reassurance about my looks.
• Sister Agneta’s “If you want, you can get all that. Seek unto God” every time when I really need Super help to take a step forward.
• My own quote and my search "Going forward is a direction. Being happy where you are, with what you have is the destination"
Many such significant words, many other trivial actions… but they all are staying with me for a reason. The context of the actual conversation is long forgotten, but some words you have said, I still remember, because, to me, it’s not so much what’s said, just not what’s done, but everything to do with how it makes me feel.
And these made me feel better. You made me feel good. You gave me a sense of direction. You gave me hope. Sometimes you gave me all. Sometimes you gave me one, the one I needed the most. You have made me a better person.
So my dears, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know it’s such an incomplete and deficient word. But that’s all I have got.
• My Mom’s “Drink your coffee hot. Would probably help relieve your headaches”, every time when my morning coffee goes cold untouched.
• AJB’s “You would be a fool to not ask for help when you need or to not accept it when you are given” every time when I’m shy and apprehensive to seek help when I’m desperately needing it.
• My Father’s “This too shall pass” every time when I feel down and depressed or even too happy.
• Evangeline’s “My opinions are not that important that I need to share them all the time” every time when I have no choice but to bite my tongue to hold back any retort or argument.
• Mrs. Hr’s simple “Hang on!” every time when I … never mind!
• MiRaman’s “Perception of truth is the only truth now” every time when I want to give a shout out, thann nilai vilakkam, and to set records straight.
• Aparna’s timely and crucial baby advice, every time I cradle my baby in my arms without hurting my back and stitches.
• My Bro’s “You think they too taking about us” every time when I liberally comment on/about everyone and then want a ladder down my ego.
• Kotti’s “Remember how you started and where you came from” every time when I want to stay in touch with my roots.
• An Id... friend’s "Now your Home is where your ....n is" every time when I waver in my priorities between different places and people.
• One of my cousin’s “You think you know everything, but you don’t know anything really” every time when I want to humble down.
• Draiker’s “You set a high standard” every time when I think I deserve to be praised, irrespective of whether I receive the compliments or not.
• My 6th grade tamizh teacher’s “ngap pol valai” advice every time when I need the motivation to adjust or adapt.
• My grandma’s kind yet strict “kozhandai than mukkiyam… adhuku aprom than mathadellam” every time when I’m torn between watching a movie and playing pretend for the 100th time of that day.
• My FIL’s "Babies outgrow the need for us very soon. You will miss it before you fully realize the sweetness" every time when I'm dealing with late-night unreasonable clingings or thooki demands.
• A cousin's status and belief "Life is 10% of what happens to me, and 90% of how I react to it"
• A Haryani Loki’s strangely kind act of placing his overcoat as a cushion in my head/ back rest of my seat, in the dirty, smelly bus traveling in that sorry excuse of a road of the Pilani-Delhi route, every time when my head bumps on my seat.
• My grandfather’s quirky folklore saying “All right nu sonnanam English kaaran. Adhan sari nu sonnanam Thamizh kaaran” every time when I just want to agree to something just to shut the other person up.
• My BIL’s “If someone is doing something for you, whether you’ve asked them or not, let them be” every time when I want to comment or correct something someone is doing for my sake.
• ....'s “You look nice, no matter what” every time when I want reassurance about my looks.
• Sister Agneta’s “If you want, you can get all that. Seek unto God” every time when I really need Super help to take a step forward.
• My own quote and my search "Going forward is a direction. Being happy where you are, with what you have is the destination"
Many such significant words, many other trivial actions… but they all are staying with me for a reason. The context of the actual conversation is long forgotten, but some words you have said, I still remember, because, to me, it’s not so much what’s said, just not what’s done, but everything to do with how it makes me feel.
And these made me feel better. You made me feel good. You gave me a sense of direction. You gave me hope. Sometimes you gave me all. Sometimes you gave me one, the one I needed the most. You have made me a better person.
So my dears, I thank you from the bottom of my heart. I know it’s such an incomplete and deficient word. But that’s all I have got.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
Magic of the written words!
I’m a self-professed Harry Potter fan. If you don’t already know, read here and here.
For me, the excitement of reading a Potter book has not lessened with time. I feel good after reading them. I enjoy the prevalent sub-textual humor, the simple style of writing, easy flow of events. Even now whenever I peruse my copy of one of the seven books I feel how I felt the first time - transported to that enchanted world, with all its charms, Quidditch and even Dementors. The book has become the light read in-between heavy ones; the go-to thing in case I have trouble writing and I’m struggling to get a coherent flow. It’s my ‘safe’ book.
But, the time I was first introduced to Potter was when I was going through a rough patch, the first and worst of my life. I was graduating. That stage of life with pre-defined end dates was coming to an end. What lay ahead was extension of one week into many. Friends were drifting apart. The world outside of school was scary. Professional life looked hellishly dull. I was not sure how I would survive in that ‘real’ world. No where I looked I found solace. Couldn’t blame my friends, as they had their own fears and worries to battle! Couldn’t blame the family, for frankly most of them did not care! And the few who did care, tried their best to comfort. Maybe because I was not ready for accepting help, yet, their words did nothing much to assuage the mixture of feelings, pulsing through me, of guilt, fear, boredom, the ‘where am I?’, the prospect of not seeing some people forever etc... I desperately needed a diversion; a hide-out. A place where I could go for few minutes or hours to forget my trouble and be happy; a place where someone else was directing the proceeding instead of me holding the helm; a place where I had no control, but, in a twisted way have more control than it could be possible in my actual life. The Harry Potter books were a God-send, in that sense. It effectively provided the much sought after get-away. As I had said before, Harry seemed more real to me than some of my friends. It gave me lots of things to think about and tried and helped put few things in perspective. What I failed to realize from the words of my well-wishers, I realized when I was reading the words on those pages. Of loyalty, friendship, the power of our choices, the strength to face the unknown, the fact that life goes on etc. The book spoke to me in a new level that I came to subliminally understand its relevance to me. I came to see my world to be interesting too, even without the presence of Thestrals and Wands and Bertie’s every flavor beans. There’s some magic here too.
Just so you know, I’m not saying that Harry Potter or for that matter Rowling is the one only capable of doing that. Any book worth its cost should be able to do that. But I was given Harry and I took it. Really, what I want to bring out was that I lost myself in the magical world of Harry when the world I was in was not very pleasant. The tapping on the third-brick-on-the-left behind the Leaky Cauldron not only opened up the pathway to Diagon Alley but also housed my refuge; the secret place where I escaped to, to escape the harshness of the realities. I’m not shy to confess that a book intended for ‘Young adult’ audience helped me through my difficult days. Frankly, now when I think back on the last few days of college life, I remember only the good times, for Harry guided me through it, figuratively. I think I have effectively repressed the mess that was the last Sem. One thing though: while writing this, I realise that though there will be poeple to support us in times of need, some experiences in life can only be fully understood if we live through it. And, only if we live through it! I believe college to be one such experience.And for the troublesome weaning from it I had the support of good books. Thankfully so! Anyways enough of psenti.
Seven years later, seven being the most magical of numbers, the story repeats.
Few days back, in February, I was mindlessly surfing the TV when I chanced upon Twilight, the movie. I watched it through and unbelievably, ended up liking it. Funny thing is during my stay in the US whenever I was lounging in the books section in Barnes and Noble, I happened to come across the white hands holding the apple, flashing at me from every direction. More than twice I had picked up the book to read the blurb. It said something about Vampires and ‘Welcome to Forks… Friendly Vampires to watch over you!’ Well, I didn’t care enough about the Vampires of all mythical creatures. The image I had of them was that they were filthy and nasty and foul and they drank blood. So I tried to save myself the hardship and never purchased the book. So you would understand my shock when I ended up liking the movie. I immediately wanted to read the book. Co-incidentally, a colleague had also watched the movie and when we were talking about it, she expressed that the book was much better than the movie and that it was the most romantic of all the books she had read. Piqued with interest and being the sucker for good romance, I searched the net and read the book that night. Twilight, the novel was really neat and I liked it. It was very simple and well written. The story kalam was different and so the situations were interestingly unique.
Soon I started downloading all the other books from the ‘saga’. I enjoyed ‘New Moon’ in few places but was bored of the excessive repetitive. Next, I read ‘Eclipse’. Both had parallels to my life in more ways than I can explain, than what I’m allowed to explain. So anyways, I wasn’t all hooked and such but I wanted to read further to know whatever happened to Bella and Edward. So I read the huge, monstrous Breaking Dawn. It was disturbing and frankly quite a drag. It had all the elements from the lived-happily-ever-after platter being gooey and mushy and cliched. Soon after I chanced upon the in-complete Midnight Sun, and I’m really glad that I did. It was good writing and quite a tricky one to achieve too. It was the next best thing to Twilight and I have to agree with a fan ‘The partial Sun did much to save the Twilight saga’s ass than all the last 3 put together’.
Well, Meyer has written a series of books that have become extremely famous, that has a huge fan-base, people crazily tattoo-ing lines from the story, fan-fiction’s as big as the novels themselves and she now writes ‘allied’ books for charity. From these books I have come to see Meyer to be clearly laging in engaging narrative style; adopting a much-abused and un-inventive plot; spinning out less complex and only mildly interesting situations some involving love, loss, grief and stuff that every other book is seemed to be made of. She is no Rowling and I really shouldn’t compare. What Meyer has given is over-night sensation while the other one has gone and given us an epic in true light.
Adhellam sari! Whatever happened to the ‘seven years later something happened’ story?
Yes. I’m getting to it. The point of all the rambling is, much like in the case of HP, I was attracted to a sensation 6 years after the frenzy began. Shame! Never on time, am I? So then, what’s new? I thought I could never obsess and read over anything the way I read Potter series and I never believed that I could feel close to how I felt in my undergrad end-days. But Twilight happened to be a close competitor, both for the reason and for the help. Why O why, what happened? Because again, after seven years, I found myself lonely, stranded, depressed, confused, and angry at being all that. Again, the stupid questions of “Where am I”s and “Am I doing the right thing”s and “Is it really worth it”s. I needed something to soothe the pain of separation. I needed company. A companion whom I can shamelessly get attached to without fearing stupid social constructs. A decent, respectable, yet no boundaries bared relationship. And Twilight, though more of a chance than choice, helped me. It diverted my mind to see things past the current pain. At least one thing I did right this time was to read the books in proper order.
Some people/things bring good luck, some misfortune. But only few bring peace. And books are one such. So as blaphemous as it may sound, I’m saying, what Harry did few years back, Twilight has done now.
After all that’s the essence of a book. Agreed?
P.S. 1: I have done away with the Brackets. Distracted still? :)
P.S. 2: If I have to add other books to The List, I would add ‘Swiss family Robinson’ and ‘Ponniyin Selvan’ and ‘Little Women’.
P.S. 3: Underneath all these babbles, I think the Twilight attraction is pretty much because of Robert Pattinson. Hotness!
For me, the excitement of reading a Potter book has not lessened with time. I feel good after reading them. I enjoy the prevalent sub-textual humor, the simple style of writing, easy flow of events. Even now whenever I peruse my copy of one of the seven books I feel how I felt the first time - transported to that enchanted world, with all its charms, Quidditch and even Dementors. The book has become the light read in-between heavy ones; the go-to thing in case I have trouble writing and I’m struggling to get a coherent flow. It’s my ‘safe’ book.
But, the time I was first introduced to Potter was when I was going through a rough patch, the first and worst of my life. I was graduating. That stage of life with pre-defined end dates was coming to an end. What lay ahead was extension of one week into many. Friends were drifting apart. The world outside of school was scary. Professional life looked hellishly dull. I was not sure how I would survive in that ‘real’ world. No where I looked I found solace. Couldn’t blame my friends, as they had their own fears and worries to battle! Couldn’t blame the family, for frankly most of them did not care! And the few who did care, tried their best to comfort. Maybe because I was not ready for accepting help, yet, their words did nothing much to assuage the mixture of feelings, pulsing through me, of guilt, fear, boredom, the ‘where am I?’, the prospect of not seeing some people forever etc... I desperately needed a diversion; a hide-out. A place where I could go for few minutes or hours to forget my trouble and be happy; a place where someone else was directing the proceeding instead of me holding the helm; a place where I had no control, but, in a twisted way have more control than it could be possible in my actual life. The Harry Potter books were a God-send, in that sense. It effectively provided the much sought after get-away. As I had said before, Harry seemed more real to me than some of my friends. It gave me lots of things to think about and tried and helped put few things in perspective. What I failed to realize from the words of my well-wishers, I realized when I was reading the words on those pages. Of loyalty, friendship, the power of our choices, the strength to face the unknown, the fact that life goes on etc. The book spoke to me in a new level that I came to subliminally understand its relevance to me. I came to see my world to be interesting too, even without the presence of Thestrals and Wands and Bertie’s every flavor beans. There’s some magic here too.
Just so you know, I’m not saying that Harry Potter or for that matter Rowling is the one only capable of doing that. Any book worth its cost should be able to do that. But I was given Harry and I took it. Really, what I want to bring out was that I lost myself in the magical world of Harry when the world I was in was not very pleasant. The tapping on the third-brick-on-the-left behind the Leaky Cauldron not only opened up the pathway to Diagon Alley but also housed my refuge; the secret place where I escaped to, to escape the harshness of the realities. I’m not shy to confess that a book intended for ‘Young adult’ audience helped me through my difficult days. Frankly, now when I think back on the last few days of college life, I remember only the good times, for Harry guided me through it, figuratively. I think I have effectively repressed the mess that was the last Sem. One thing though: while writing this, I realise that though there will be poeple to support us in times of need, some experiences in life can only be fully understood if we live through it. And, only if we live through it! I believe college to be one such experience.And for the troublesome weaning from it I had the support of good books. Thankfully so! Anyways enough of psenti.
Seven years later, seven being the most magical of numbers, the story repeats.
Few days back, in February, I was mindlessly surfing the TV when I chanced upon Twilight, the movie. I watched it through and unbelievably, ended up liking it. Funny thing is during my stay in the US whenever I was lounging in the books section in Barnes and Noble, I happened to come across the white hands holding the apple, flashing at me from every direction. More than twice I had picked up the book to read the blurb. It said something about Vampires and ‘Welcome to Forks… Friendly Vampires to watch over you!’ Well, I didn’t care enough about the Vampires of all mythical creatures. The image I had of them was that they were filthy and nasty and foul and they drank blood. So I tried to save myself the hardship and never purchased the book. So you would understand my shock when I ended up liking the movie. I immediately wanted to read the book. Co-incidentally, a colleague had also watched the movie and when we were talking about it, she expressed that the book was much better than the movie and that it was the most romantic of all the books she had read. Piqued with interest and being the sucker for good romance, I searched the net and read the book that night. Twilight, the novel was really neat and I liked it. It was very simple and well written. The story kalam was different and so the situations were interestingly unique.
Soon I started downloading all the other books from the ‘saga’. I enjoyed ‘New Moon’ in few places but was bored of the excessive repetitive. Next, I read ‘Eclipse’. Both had parallels to my life in more ways than I can explain, than what I’m allowed to explain. So anyways, I wasn’t all hooked and such but I wanted to read further to know whatever happened to Bella and Edward. So I read the huge, monstrous Breaking Dawn. It was disturbing and frankly quite a drag. It had all the elements from the lived-happily-ever-after platter being gooey and mushy and cliched. Soon after I chanced upon the in-complete Midnight Sun, and I’m really glad that I did. It was good writing and quite a tricky one to achieve too. It was the next best thing to Twilight and I have to agree with a fan ‘The partial Sun did much to save the Twilight saga’s ass than all the last 3 put together’.
Well, Meyer has written a series of books that have become extremely famous, that has a huge fan-base, people crazily tattoo-ing lines from the story, fan-fiction’s as big as the novels themselves and she now writes ‘allied’ books for charity. From these books I have come to see Meyer to be clearly laging in engaging narrative style; adopting a much-abused and un-inventive plot; spinning out less complex and only mildly interesting situations some involving love, loss, grief and stuff that every other book is seemed to be made of. She is no Rowling and I really shouldn’t compare. What Meyer has given is over-night sensation while the other one has gone and given us an epic in true light.
Adhellam sari! Whatever happened to the ‘seven years later something happened’ story?
Yes. I’m getting to it. The point of all the rambling is, much like in the case of HP, I was attracted to a sensation 6 years after the frenzy began. Shame! Never on time, am I? So then, what’s new? I thought I could never obsess and read over anything the way I read Potter series and I never believed that I could feel close to how I felt in my undergrad end-days. But Twilight happened to be a close competitor, both for the reason and for the help. Why O why, what happened? Because again, after seven years, I found myself lonely, stranded, depressed, confused, and angry at being all that. Again, the stupid questions of “Where am I”s and “Am I doing the right thing”s and “Is it really worth it”s. I needed something to soothe the pain of separation. I needed company. A companion whom I can shamelessly get attached to without fearing stupid social constructs. A decent, respectable, yet no boundaries bared relationship. And Twilight, though more of a chance than choice, helped me. It diverted my mind to see things past the current pain. At least one thing I did right this time was to read the books in proper order.
Some people/things bring good luck, some misfortune. But only few bring peace. And books are one such. So as blaphemous as it may sound, I’m saying, what Harry did few years back, Twilight has done now.
After all that’s the essence of a book. Agreed?
P.S. 1: I have done away with the Brackets. Distracted still? :)
P.S. 2: If I have to add other books to The List, I would add ‘Swiss family Robinson’ and ‘Ponniyin Selvan’ and ‘Little Women’.
P.S. 3: Underneath all these babbles, I think the Twilight attraction is pretty much because of Robert Pattinson. Hotness!
Saturday, April 16, 2011
How I met.. Part II
Time rolled on (like white smoke-rings coming from mosquito coils). I had settled well in my job. Had read the five books released until then few more times, followed every bit of news surrounding HP, read of the old time rituals and Witch-burnings and stuff, supported Ron and Hermione shippers, hated Cho Chang, watched the movies and found Daniel in the movies (first and fourth alone) to be very cute and marveled at how my image of what Harry would look was exactly the image of Daniel (though his eyes aren’t almond shaped). I became very good in book trivia though still was a bit rusty with the general trivia (Haven’t read the ‘other’ books like Fantastic Beasts etc and was also weak on fan-fiction). The HP interest (knowledge) literally put me on map the first ever time at work (well... they had a quiz... I had won... so... you know, it’s a long story). It created avenues to interact with lots of like minded people (fans, fanatics, maniacs, ... ). Interestingly that led me to becoming friends with two particularly awesome souls (of whom I have selfishly stopped speaking to one, since, well... the going got tough and I had to but let the tough get going... some day... one day I will make it up; the other ended up being my best-friend and is still).
So anyways... came 2005. My level of enthusiasm was too high that I took the initiative (ha...there’s a first...and probably the last) to order the book. But staying true to form I ‘deal’-ed with a bus-mate in sharing the book. The book was delivered on date and her sister, the addict in her family, started reading it. I must have made a million calls to her house to hear the updates and status of progress. (Wonder why, but after the 10000th time they stopped picking my calls.. Must have gotten them caller-id things?) Meanwhile, I was unable to deal with the tension. To keep face, I had to have read the book by the time I reached office premises on Monday morning. And it was already a day since the book was out. In the outside world, reviews were being published in papers (which of course were vehemently avoided); news coverage was extensive with footage of people crying over something (wooops, switch channels already). Since my family were (and still is. You should talk to my cousin. His Voldemort - Kamsan comparison is well ... grrr!) as much anti-wizardry as possible, I had no issues being isolated from the speculation, gossip and inadvertent plot reveals (that rag TOI, it seems, published the death of Dumbledore even before half the town woke up). Unlike in 2004, when I had no choice, when I was introduced to and caught on with the fever, in 2005 I chose not to be part of the fans-groups/ discussions until I had read the book and formed my own opinion on that installment (well... the real reason was to avoid having to chat with mushroom fans... you know, when it rains mushrooms pop only to die out later when the sun shines). Back to the story, that sister took forever to read and gave me the book 1.5 days after release (give it to me already)! I did not even say goodbye to that friend-sister. I just grabbed the book from her very carefully (should appreciate her, she hadn’t even creased a single page.. the book was as good as new), said some cursory things and ran to my room. She surprisingly did not seem to mind (Camaraderie, I say). All I remember of that evening when I got the book and the next day evening until I finished it (I don’t remember… Was Monday a holiday? Or was the book delivered on Friday?), was of me lying on the floor, with pillows under my chin and shin (actually knee, but for the rhyme), Mom providing the required symphonic interlude of scolding (more in the lines of english novel reading educated girls... world going bad...what else) and eyes burning red, visitors giving me up as a lost case. I had been completely unmindful of what I ate, what I spoke (a cousin’s wife later said that I had diligently answered all her questions in funny noises, until she finally gave up). And finally I was done. It had rained outside.I hadn't known.
Lots of discussions (of course with genuine fans; was overwhelmed by the intensity and knowledge of some fans) and lots and lots of analyses (both fun and informative) were followed by the indispensible speculation of what/how the next book would be. Plenty of fun stuff later, I put that magical world in the back of the mind (and the HP HBP t-shirt at the back of my closet) and tried to get on with life taking heart in the fact that there was still one more book left (and also in the fact that I have got 6 books to read once again and who knew what and where a speck of dust was hidden and which could resurface as a landmine. It was an interesting exercise to read books 1 to 5 immediately after completing book 6. Again, at the risk of sounding repetitive, I was amazed with the compelling story telling nature of Rowling.)
Even with all those going on, I got married. That’s to say I added one more member to the family who wanted nothing to do with Potter, the one who was as wisely knowledge-d as to ask if Lumos were a sweet. (He and my brother bonded big time over their common hatred of the "children’s" book. I think I don't really belong to my family. I fit in as fine as Calvin and if I had Hobbes read my shirt collar, no doubt he would have been right; I could have been bought from Sears.).
Change of heart, change of life, change of job, change of place later, it was finally 2007. That time around I really broke the tradition and actually pre-ordered the book (to be delivered to my home) well ahead in month of May. So you would think that I would have read the book suda suda. May be I had offended some Gods in breaking the tradition, but I chose June to get employed out-of-state. And we had to choose the exact same weekend of July 21, 2007 to shift houses to the new town. When? Yes, exactly a day before the book was delivered. What then, you ask? I got in touch with a small time addict, and "humbly requested" him to pick up the book delivered to my house, "offered" to let him to read it if he wished (gasp! will I never get to read the book first hand?) and then courier it to the new house address. Finally, after I got e-books mailed from different people from different places (I still have a very funny version of HP TDH), I got the book only after a week since its release. (Funny thing in an Enna thimir ? kinda way! My Manager’s teen-daughter had wanted to know if his project had anyone with remote interest in Harry Potter, to which he had replied "Yes there is this one ‘girl’. She is from India...Even still...").
So all in all this is how I met Harry for all the seven times.
I’m proud to be part of the Generation that saw Harry Potter live. I can’t imagine how excited I would be when in few years my daughter reads the book and asks me how it was when it was released. Maybe she would be thrilled. Maybe she wouldn’t understand. May be there would be some other book to take its place. Would there be any other book series that would have a protracted life span of 10 years and still have a loyal fan-base another few years later? (Personally this book managed to arrest my attention and manage to hold it for 4 years during its time and still continue to hold).
Time only will tell...
P.S: Is this positive and light enough Mr :)
Yes, I own all books of the series. Soft and hard~
No, I don’t like the movies.
Yes, I like Lord of the Rings - the movie. Books belong to the 'for-later'.
No, I won’t compare.
Yes. I’m glad I wrote this.
And no, I’m not done!
So anyways... came 2005. My level of enthusiasm was too high that I took the initiative (ha...there’s a first...and probably the last) to order the book. But staying true to form I ‘deal’-ed with a bus-mate in sharing the book. The book was delivered on date and her sister, the addict in her family, started reading it. I must have made a million calls to her house to hear the updates and status of progress. (Wonder why, but after the 10000th time they stopped picking my calls.. Must have gotten them caller-id things?) Meanwhile, I was unable to deal with the tension. To keep face, I had to have read the book by the time I reached office premises on Monday morning. And it was already a day since the book was out. In the outside world, reviews were being published in papers (which of course were vehemently avoided); news coverage was extensive with footage of people crying over something (wooops, switch channels already). Since my family were (and still is. You should talk to my cousin. His Voldemort - Kamsan comparison is well ... grrr!) as much anti-wizardry as possible, I had no issues being isolated from the speculation, gossip and inadvertent plot reveals (that rag TOI, it seems, published the death of Dumbledore even before half the town woke up). Unlike in 2004, when I had no choice, when I was introduced to and caught on with the fever, in 2005 I chose not to be part of the fans-groups/ discussions until I had read the book and formed my own opinion on that installment (well... the real reason was to avoid having to chat with mushroom fans... you know, when it rains mushrooms pop only to die out later when the sun shines). Back to the story, that sister took forever to read and gave me the book 1.5 days after release (give it to me already)! I did not even say goodbye to that friend-sister. I just grabbed the book from her very carefully (should appreciate her, she hadn’t even creased a single page.. the book was as good as new), said some cursory things and ran to my room. She surprisingly did not seem to mind (Camaraderie, I say). All I remember of that evening when I got the book and the next day evening until I finished it (I don’t remember… Was Monday a holiday? Or was the book delivered on Friday?), was of me lying on the floor, with pillows under my chin and shin (actually knee, but for the rhyme), Mom providing the required symphonic interlude of scolding (more in the lines of english novel reading educated girls... world going bad...what else) and eyes burning red, visitors giving me up as a lost case. I had been completely unmindful of what I ate, what I spoke (a cousin’s wife later said that I had diligently answered all her questions in funny noises, until she finally gave up). And finally I was done. It had rained outside.I hadn't known.
Lots of discussions (of course with genuine fans; was overwhelmed by the intensity and knowledge of some fans) and lots and lots of analyses (both fun and informative) were followed by the indispensible speculation of what/how the next book would be. Plenty of fun stuff later, I put that magical world in the back of the mind (and the HP HBP t-shirt at the back of my closet) and tried to get on with life taking heart in the fact that there was still one more book left (and also in the fact that I have got 6 books to read once again and who knew what and where a speck of dust was hidden and which could resurface as a landmine. It was an interesting exercise to read books 1 to 5 immediately after completing book 6. Again, at the risk of sounding repetitive, I was amazed with the compelling story telling nature of Rowling.)
Even with all those going on, I got married. That’s to say I added one more member to the family who wanted nothing to do with Potter, the one who was as wisely knowledge-d as to ask if Lumos were a sweet. (He and my brother bonded big time over their common hatred of the "children’s" book. I think I don't really belong to my family. I fit in as fine as Calvin and if I had Hobbes read my shirt collar, no doubt he would have been right; I could have been bought from Sears.).
Change of heart, change of life, change of job, change of place later, it was finally 2007. That time around I really broke the tradition and actually pre-ordered the book (to be delivered to my home) well ahead in month of May. So you would think that I would have read the book suda suda. May be I had offended some Gods in breaking the tradition, but I chose June to get employed out-of-state. And we had to choose the exact same weekend of July 21, 2007 to shift houses to the new town. When? Yes, exactly a day before the book was delivered. What then, you ask? I got in touch with a small time addict, and "humbly requested" him to pick up the book delivered to my house, "offered" to let him to read it if he wished (gasp! will I never get to read the book first hand?) and then courier it to the new house address. Finally, after I got e-books mailed from different people from different places (I still have a very funny version of HP TDH), I got the book only after a week since its release. (Funny thing in an Enna thimir ? kinda way! My Manager’s teen-daughter had wanted to know if his project had anyone with remote interest in Harry Potter, to which he had replied "Yes there is this one ‘girl’. She is from India...Even still...").
So all in all this is how I met Harry for all the seven times.
I’m proud to be part of the Generation that saw Harry Potter live. I can’t imagine how excited I would be when in few years my daughter reads the book and asks me how it was when it was released. Maybe she would be thrilled. Maybe she wouldn’t understand. May be there would be some other book to take its place. Would there be any other book series that would have a protracted life span of 10 years and still have a loyal fan-base another few years later? (Personally this book managed to arrest my attention and manage to hold it for 4 years during its time and still continue to hold).
Time only will tell...
P.S: Is this positive and light enough Mr :)
Yes, I own all books of the series. Soft and hard~
No, I don’t like the movies.
Yes, I like Lord of the Rings - the movie. Books belong to the 'for-later'.
No, I won’t compare.
Yes. I’m glad I wrote this.
And no, I’m not done!
Friday, April 15, 2011
How I met.. Part I
I was exhausted having “made a job”. After all the proverbial exultation over it has been duly done, I had nothing else to do. Well, I had classes but who cared about them anyways.
If you would have cared, please don’t read further. If you wouldn’t have, then, ‘Hi!'.
So.. yea! I remember it perfectly. The batch was broken. Half the friends from the pack were missing. The other few who weren’t in their final term were slogging with their CDCs. It was still January. It was still very cold. It was when I had developed frost-bite. Swollen ankles and feet bogged me down and I pretty much stayed in my room, except for occasional visit to the sidee's in the wing for the quintessential pass-time: movie watching and lacchas. Sloth was my first, middle and last name then. As it was, we were in general ODed on FRIENDS and there weren’t many movies that we hadn’t watched yet, that were released in our winter break. So there I was, that one night. After the last show-of-day of ‘Kal Ho Na Ho’ was done and the talkies were closed, after cribbing about how learning German was of no use to anyone and how as a sign of protest we should all attempt and fail in the next day’s exam, I came back to my room. I had two choices. Either work on the assignment for “Business Writing” or read some mindless novel. Being the stud I was, I promptly picked up the novel.
Interesting thing about how I landed that book. Previous day at dinner, I was asking everyone around if they had some book with them that was worth reading. I had never gone without having a novel handy. Otherwise I might slip and commit the crime of doing academic work. So anyways, one kindred soul said she had a book and she was willing to lend. I enquired again to make sure it was a novel and not some textbook. (One can’t be too sure. And it would not do well to my image if I borrowed a text book (horror of horrors) that too after I had “put” a job (much to my surprise and my family’s disbelief)). So once that vital information was exchanged, we both walked back (well, I limped a lot) to her room (it was at the fork of the H-wing). She gave me the book saying if she continued to have that book with her in the room she would guss all her studies and sit with it. Frankly, the book also looked liked it would like a break from being (ab)used. She said there was some magic, it was highly addictive and advised that I should set my pending affairs straight before I read it and got bitten by it. (Whoa! The book had radio-active spiders in between chapters or what?). After pretending as if I understood what she meant (while really pretending that I cared about what she thought) I read the blurb (the writing on the back of the book) on my walk to my room (a small walk back and a left). It was mildly interesting in that it was different.
And so, that night, I picked up the novel, hunted in the dark (irksome power outage) and flicked on my ‘emergency lamp’ (if this wasn’t an emergency then what was? Exams? ), lay in my bed to read the first chapter of ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’ and I almost fell asleep. It was 2004.
I woke up a little while later (thanks to the cold wailing winds). I tried to read the second chapter only to remember that I hadn’t completed the first. So went back to the start. It felt like I was reading a crossword puzzle book. A lot of things that were said made sense (in the second read) and a lot more did not. So I proceeded to the third chapter thinking that if I manage to read and understand anything better I would continue, else would give it up as a bad work and discard it to the obnoxious ‘for later’ pile. But that never happened.
I read the book in a continuous stretch; without any unnecessary breaks like attending college or having breakfast or visiting the loo. I was hooked. I read the book twice back-to-back before I rushed to that dear friend’s (now she is a dear, isn’t she?) and asked her if she had any of the three books mentioned in the list of things written by Rowling. She looked at me with that all-knowing welcome-to-the-club kind of look (which I instantly hated, of course!) before answering me in negative. I walked back very dejected remembering vaguely, from three years back, the image of the book in the hands of my department (the more interesting extra-curricular one) senior and recalled the feverish-ed look that she was wearing ( which I was so able to relate to). And that night, in the middle of it, a brilliant idea struck me (if it had been a movie I would have sat upright with a bright smile, said ‘no’ in a soft/hushed tone, with a brilliant BG score).
Next day, for the first time in my four years, I headed straight to the library which was touted as the (then) ‘biggest in Asia’. And what did I ask? Yes. Of course, “Were there any Harry Potter books available?” The librarian looked at me and pointed me to a PC, sporting a look which specifically said ‘Uh! What a waste’. I logged into the PC and what did I find? There are not four books that were published until then but five? And what else did I find? That all the books have been rented out! The second one was due the next day, so caught that hope like life and registered for the book. How in the world had I not known? Where was I all these years? I mean was I living with my head under the rocks and sands? I would have noticed the movies atleast...you would think! NO! It was (and is) such a shame to be not part of the frenzy.
Came back to the room and read the book once again, slowly. Harry started feeling more like a friend that many of my then friends. I had gotten as much from the 4th book as possible (At that time really I thought I did, you know). I was desperate for more information. More of anything else, I so wanted to find out why Harry was dreaming of flashing green lights and why the hell was Voldemort desperate to kill him. So I emailed everyone whose id I knew. All I had to do was wait! But within a week, the dears (are they now?) rose magnificently to the cause and I received the e-copy of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix. Since I did not own a PC then, I got my ex-roommate (and now my sidee) to lease me her Comp for few days. I read the book and initially thought that someone has changed and re-wrote the last chapter alone as a crude joke. Unbelievable, I had lost Sirius before even I got to know him properly. Tragic! Meanwhile, I had almost by-hearted the Goblet and have also read the library book of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. (This was one of the amazing books ever written in series kind. How many clues, how many plot twists? You can’t write a book such as the Chambers and then build stories further based on that. No, you can’t! So it amazes me how much deeply Rowling should have charted out the story line,in advance, to provide such vital clues in as early as the second of seven books). Again, by luck, I came across one battered copy of the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (which later turned out to be a stolen/ smuggled library book). Only thing that was pending to be known was the nadhi moolam (or is it rishi moolam?)
In a funny way, the last book I read was the first book in the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. So after watching Sirius die, and Cedric and Potters die, Voldemort re-birth etc, I came to know why and how Harry came to live with the Dursleys and how he reacted when he was told he was special. (Again was amazed at the skill of the author. She had almost mentioned Sirius in the passing, before he took significant form in the Third and Fifth books. Had she (like me) written the books in reverse to confidently and liberally provide crucial clues and peeks into the story?)
And thus, I found some meaning for my existence (‘naan indha manil prirandha palanai indre than adaindhen’) when I had finally read all the five books about one extra-ordinary wizard.
And then the wait began for Number: 6.
If you would have cared, please don’t read further. If you wouldn’t have, then, ‘Hi!'.
So.. yea! I remember it perfectly. The batch was broken. Half the friends from the pack were missing. The other few who weren’t in their final term were slogging with their CDCs. It was still January. It was still very cold. It was when I had developed frost-bite. Swollen ankles and feet bogged me down and I pretty much stayed in my room, except for occasional visit to the sidee's in the wing for the quintessential pass-time: movie watching and lacchas. Sloth was my first, middle and last name then. As it was, we were in general ODed on FRIENDS and there weren’t many movies that we hadn’t watched yet, that were released in our winter break. So there I was, that one night. After the last show-of-day of ‘Kal Ho Na Ho’ was done and the talkies were closed, after cribbing about how learning German was of no use to anyone and how as a sign of protest we should all attempt and fail in the next day’s exam, I came back to my room. I had two choices. Either work on the assignment for “Business Writing” or read some mindless novel. Being the stud I was, I promptly picked up the novel.
Interesting thing about how I landed that book. Previous day at dinner, I was asking everyone around if they had some book with them that was worth reading. I had never gone without having a novel handy. Otherwise I might slip and commit the crime of doing academic work. So anyways, one kindred soul said she had a book and she was willing to lend. I enquired again to make sure it was a novel and not some textbook. (One can’t be too sure. And it would not do well to my image if I borrowed a text book (horror of horrors) that too after I had “put” a job (much to my surprise and my family’s disbelief)). So once that vital information was exchanged, we both walked back (well, I limped a lot) to her room (it was at the fork of the H-wing). She gave me the book saying if she continued to have that book with her in the room she would guss all her studies and sit with it. Frankly, the book also looked liked it would like a break from being (ab)used. She said there was some magic, it was highly addictive and advised that I should set my pending affairs straight before I read it and got bitten by it. (Whoa! The book had radio-active spiders in between chapters or what?). After pretending as if I understood what she meant (while really pretending that I cared about what she thought) I read the blurb (the writing on the back of the book) on my walk to my room (a small walk back and a left). It was mildly interesting in that it was different.
And so, that night, I picked up the novel, hunted in the dark (irksome power outage) and flicked on my ‘emergency lamp’ (if this wasn’t an emergency then what was? Exams? ), lay in my bed to read the first chapter of ‘Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire’ and I almost fell asleep. It was 2004.
I woke up a little while later (thanks to the cold wailing winds). I tried to read the second chapter only to remember that I hadn’t completed the first. So went back to the start. It felt like I was reading a crossword puzzle book. A lot of things that were said made sense (in the second read) and a lot more did not. So I proceeded to the third chapter thinking that if I manage to read and understand anything better I would continue, else would give it up as a bad work and discard it to the obnoxious ‘for later’ pile. But that never happened.
I read the book in a continuous stretch; without any unnecessary breaks like attending college or having breakfast or visiting the loo. I was hooked. I read the book twice back-to-back before I rushed to that dear friend’s (now she is a dear, isn’t she?) and asked her if she had any of the three books mentioned in the list of things written by Rowling. She looked at me with that all-knowing welcome-to-the-club kind of look (which I instantly hated, of course!) before answering me in negative. I walked back very dejected remembering vaguely, from three years back, the image of the book in the hands of my department (the more interesting extra-curricular one) senior and recalled the feverish-ed look that she was wearing ( which I was so able to relate to). And that night, in the middle of it, a brilliant idea struck me (if it had been a movie I would have sat upright with a bright smile, said ‘no’ in a soft/hushed tone, with a brilliant BG score).
Next day, for the first time in my four years, I headed straight to the library which was touted as the (then) ‘biggest in Asia’. And what did I ask? Yes. Of course, “Were there any Harry Potter books available?” The librarian looked at me and pointed me to a PC, sporting a look which specifically said ‘Uh! What a waste’. I logged into the PC and what did I find? There are not four books that were published until then but five? And what else did I find? That all the books have been rented out! The second one was due the next day, so caught that hope like life and registered for the book. How in the world had I not known? Where was I all these years? I mean was I living with my head under the rocks and sands? I would have noticed the movies atleast...you would think! NO! It was (and is) such a shame to be not part of the frenzy.
Came back to the room and read the book once again, slowly. Harry started feeling more like a friend that many of my then friends. I had gotten as much from the 4th book as possible (At that time really I thought I did, you know). I was desperate for more information. More of anything else, I so wanted to find out why Harry was dreaming of flashing green lights and why the hell was Voldemort desperate to kill him. So I emailed everyone whose id I knew. All I had to do was wait! But within a week, the dears (are they now?) rose magnificently to the cause and I received the e-copy of Harry Potter and the Order of Phoenix. Since I did not own a PC then, I got my ex-roommate (and now my sidee) to lease me her Comp for few days. I read the book and initially thought that someone has changed and re-wrote the last chapter alone as a crude joke. Unbelievable, I had lost Sirius before even I got to know him properly. Tragic! Meanwhile, I had almost by-hearted the Goblet and have also read the library book of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets. (This was one of the amazing books ever written in series kind. How many clues, how many plot twists? You can’t write a book such as the Chambers and then build stories further based on that. No, you can’t! So it amazes me how much deeply Rowling should have charted out the story line,in advance, to provide such vital clues in as early as the second of seven books). Again, by luck, I came across one battered copy of the Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban (which later turned out to be a stolen/ smuggled library book). Only thing that was pending to be known was the nadhi moolam (or is it rishi moolam?)
In a funny way, the last book I read was the first book in the series, Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone. So after watching Sirius die, and Cedric and Potters die, Voldemort re-birth etc, I came to know why and how Harry came to live with the Dursleys and how he reacted when he was told he was special. (Again was amazed at the skill of the author. She had almost mentioned Sirius in the passing, before he took significant form in the Third and Fifth books. Had she (like me) written the books in reverse to confidently and liberally provide crucial clues and peeks into the story?)
And thus, I found some meaning for my existence (‘naan indha manil prirandha palanai indre than adaindhen’) when I had finally read all the five books about one extra-ordinary wizard.
And then the wait began for Number: 6.
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Soladha sollukum... Illadha vaarthaikum... edhedho arthangale
My friend once told me that I have a very sweet voice and she also confessed that, prior to meeting me in person, based on my voice alone she had a completely different image of how I would look. I did not know how to react to that! Should I be happy that I have a sweet voice or should I be offended that she felt my face wasn’t pretty for the voice?
But you see, if there is one thing that I’m personally very proud of myself is.... my voice.
Yea... yea.. I know, right! It’s something I’m born with and I have done nothing to hone or train it, so I can’t take credit for it. Yet, I take pride and that’s how vain I’m!
So anyways, that friend’s comment was not a singular instance. I have heard the same thing from few others too (not about the face though. I have never forgiven her for that :-)). Some other friends who are musically talented have also complimented that my voice is effortlessly and naturally very suited for singing seconds. They have urged me to take training (I believe to sing firsts). As I did not want to tamper with the God given gift (Ahem!) I never heeded to their kind advice.
I know all that and also am aware of the control I have over my voice. I can modulate the tone, the mood and the pitch to some extent and other such non-special, peripheral things. (I know, who couldn't.. right?)
All that is fine! But what use is a sweet voice when sometimes I have no power over what I say. More times than not, I think how I say it salvages what I say. I would like to believe that people are fooled by that. But if I have to be truthful to myself, no one is fooled but me. Instances when I have coated things in funny tones, it still has insulted people and has come back to bite me.
I'm also aware of this too, that sometimes I have utter lack of control over my emotions (and in turn, over the words I say) and I have never been happy about it. I have tried to change. I have tried to learn how not to say things (of which I’m going to regret later) when provoked or when simply in conversation. All in vain!
As it gets proven time and again that I don’t have the much required self control over what I say, I sometimes wish I just couldn’t and so wouldn’t (be able to say what I want). I wish for restraint not on thoughts but on the expression. So even though I’m incredibly proud of my voice, in some tense instances I wish I lack it one the whole.
Vaarthai Oomaiyaai vidumo..
Then I no longer need to struggle to “ignore” or “choose to consciously not comment”.
But you see, if there is one thing that I’m personally very proud of myself is.... my voice.
Yea... yea.. I know, right! It’s something I’m born with and I have done nothing to hone or train it, so I can’t take credit for it. Yet, I take pride and that’s how vain I’m!
So anyways, that friend’s comment was not a singular instance. I have heard the same thing from few others too (not about the face though. I have never forgiven her for that :-)). Some other friends who are musically talented have also complimented that my voice is effortlessly and naturally very suited for singing seconds. They have urged me to take training (I believe to sing firsts). As I did not want to tamper with the God given gift (Ahem!) I never heeded to their kind advice.
I know all that and also am aware of the control I have over my voice. I can modulate the tone, the mood and the pitch to some extent and other such non-special, peripheral things. (I know, who couldn't.. right?)
All that is fine! But what use is a sweet voice when sometimes I have no power over what I say. More times than not, I think how I say it salvages what I say. I would like to believe that people are fooled by that. But if I have to be truthful to myself, no one is fooled but me. Instances when I have coated things in funny tones, it still has insulted people and has come back to bite me.
I'm also aware of this too, that sometimes I have utter lack of control over my emotions (and in turn, over the words I say) and I have never been happy about it. I have tried to change. I have tried to learn how not to say things (of which I’m going to regret later) when provoked or when simply in conversation. All in vain!
As it gets proven time and again that I don’t have the much required self control over what I say, I sometimes wish I just couldn’t and so wouldn’t (be able to say what I want). I wish for restraint not on thoughts but on the expression. So even though I’m incredibly proud of my voice, in some tense instances I wish I lack it one the whole.
Vaarthai Oomaiyaai vidumo..
Then I no longer need to struggle to “ignore” or “choose to consciously not comment”.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
Question: Who is the Real Slim Shady?
Ludlum wrote about Webb, about how he is made to forget his identity and how he fights to win it back and sets his record straight. Although the story shifts very rapidly from the drama of forgotten identity to revenge etc, that memory loss is kind of scary, if applied to, in the context of real life.
Actually, in the Bourne series, even though Jason does not remember himself or anyone else who form his life, everyone who matter (somehow) seem to know who he was/is on some level.
That got me thinking. How would it be if the exact opposite of what happened to Jason happen to someone? That again is one of the most terrifying things.
Sujatha explores this in his ‘Nilungal Rajave’. Not unlike Jason, loss of the memory of self is almost forced on Raja. Raja’s real identity is over-laid by more powerful memory of some random stranger. Now, even within his own memory, he becomes/ thinks he is that stranger and not Raja. Being Raja in appearance, but knowing all that the stranger knows (which rightly the stranger can only know), Raja is suspected by police and family; And questions on his motives arise. Raja struggles to uncover his identity while dealing with rejection and neglect from the stranger’s family whom he believes to be his. (The Medical/Pharma parts of the story has strong semblance to Mind bend of Robin Cook).
So the question is - which of the two would be worse, being forgotten or forgetting?
What if, I wake up one morning and everyone I know, just like that, has forgotten me? What if, the life I have lived so far is farce and what I’m now, in the no-previous-memory state, is my real existence? What if, I remember who I’m clearly and account for my life until that point while not one soul seem to realize who I’m?
On the other hand, what if I don’t recollect who I’m while all people, supposedly in my life, seem to be the clues to solving the puzzle to unravel my own identity?
Personally, forgetting who I’m will be a welcome bliss when compared to being forgotten by everyone else.
I could even now be living someone else’s life believing it to be my own. But as long as I have (whom I can say as) my friends, my family , my enemies, who know me more than I know myself, this make-believe identity should appear more real, than the distant real-personality that which would seem so fake with no one to believe it.
Actually, in the Bourne series, even though Jason does not remember himself or anyone else who form his life, everyone who matter (somehow) seem to know who he was/is on some level.
That got me thinking. How would it be if the exact opposite of what happened to Jason happen to someone? That again is one of the most terrifying things.
Sujatha explores this in his ‘Nilungal Rajave’. Not unlike Jason, loss of the memory of self is almost forced on Raja. Raja’s real identity is over-laid by more powerful memory of some random stranger. Now, even within his own memory, he becomes/ thinks he is that stranger and not Raja. Being Raja in appearance, but knowing all that the stranger knows (which rightly the stranger can only know), Raja is suspected by police and family; And questions on his motives arise. Raja struggles to uncover his identity while dealing with rejection and neglect from the stranger’s family whom he believes to be his. (The Medical/Pharma parts of the story has strong semblance to Mind bend of Robin Cook).
So the question is - which of the two would be worse, being forgotten or forgetting?
What if, I wake up one morning and everyone I know, just like that, has forgotten me? What if, the life I have lived so far is farce and what I’m now, in the no-previous-memory state, is my real existence? What if, I remember who I’m clearly and account for my life until that point while not one soul seem to realize who I’m?
On the other hand, what if I don’t recollect who I’m while all people, supposedly in my life, seem to be the clues to solving the puzzle to unravel my own identity?
Personally, forgetting who I’m will be a welcome bliss when compared to being forgotten by everyone else.
I could even now be living someone else’s life believing it to be my own. But as long as I have (whom I can say as) my friends, my family , my enemies, who know me more than I know myself, this make-believe identity should appear more real, than the distant real-personality that which would seem so fake with no one to believe it.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Remembering that night.
I was pregnant.
I was bit along before I realized it even. The not-so-insignificant flutters in the stomach, the pronounced attunement to certain fragrances, the nearly pacing heartbeat and such were the indicators to the wondrous fact.
Yes, I was pregnant. Very much so with the excitement, the secrecy, the anticipation, expectation, imagination and all other emotion relevant –tions!
A mere chance meeting brought us together. It started as polite acquaintance and general hanging-outs along with mutual friends. But certain common interests brought attention on each other more. We grew comfortable. We talked sense and more nonsense. I always had a word and he always had a reply. It was around then that I started feeling funny in my stomach, every time when he looked, smiled at me, or teased me. I felt happy in his presence and I was always in wait for any opportunity to meet him, to talk to him. Few more weeks passed before I became conscious of the fact that I was exhibiting marked preference for him. Though he was formal and normal as was usual, I started fantasizing that the attraction would be reciprocated. If he felt any change in him, any change in me, he didn’t show it.
Break came in the form of me moving out of town for few months for work. Though the likeliness and feasibility of my wants confused me, that separation really helped put lots of things in perspective.
Almost towards the end of my tenure in the new place, Chance made us cross paths again, and he came into town for a few days.
We met for dinner on the day we were heading back home. I had imagined that meeting in a million different ways. But I forgot all that when I saw him waiting for me. I used to ache to see him but the acute relief on seeing him again was nearly painful and as powerful as the ache itself. Butterflies all over me, in me! On seeing me, he made a movement to get up, but mid-way appeared to change his mind. As I reached him he said ‘Hi’ in a preoccupied, musing tone and looked at me curiously. I too just stood there looking at him and somehow felt peaceful and calm. He made me sit near him and I was afraid he would hear my heart thumping erratically. I remembered that that was the first time I was alone with him in a long time. After a few moments of looking at me deeply, he smiled a little and slowly but simply said ‘Of course! Now I know I’m attracted to you. It feels good to be with you, talk to you. I don’t know if this feel good thing is love. But I really wish it is. I think it is’.
I did not know how to react. For one thing I was surprised that he felt the same way about me; second, I was shocked at the almost casual way he was expressing his interest; thirdly, I was floored at the simple yet profound and sincere expression in those words; and fourthly, well, I don’t remember ever getting that far. I was not sure of the expression on my face that day, but he seemed to have found something that made him smile a smug grin. He leaned over and said softly, ‘I love you!’ I would have agreed to anything even more clichéd or even less romantic. If I hadn’t had the sense to control the rush of excitement I felt, that which was making me weak in the knees, I would have swooned.
After the very special conversation on that night, he did not seem to indicate by means of action or words that we were in a relationship that was more than platonic friendship. As the saying goes, days rolled on to weeks and months. No special smile, no pampering, or lovey-dovey-mushy-ness. Nothing! It was as if we were the same, except that we weren’t. No promise of future, no stories of the past; the thing that mattered was we were together, dependably so. But it was confusing at times. Whenever I got the guts to voice it, half-way through my convoluted acquisition, he would wink at me and remark something, which, knowing as I knew him would be very caustic to put me in a reaction mode and yet at the same time be very funny to almost make me ignore. And I would be torn at what he was actually intending. No hand holdings, no cuddling, nothing further. Only solace was, ‘You know how I feel. Take care’ sms that he would send me everyday night that kept me going. All the while, the shameless belly residents were very hyper and high at those times when he was beside me, almost touching.
As it were like that, after a few months, one normal and boring day, we were zooming through the town in the ‘flying’ train. We were settled in the seats that offered the best view of the town below and also the symphony of movements inside. As per habit I was rambling on about my work anecdotes, plans for the later-that-day and all other sundry nonsense, when he suddenly held my left hand and turned it over and pressed lightly at the place where my ring-finger joined the palm. Tingling-ly electric! Abruptly I lost thread of what I was saying. The wretched butterflies were all strutting around lending me almost incoherent.
Very gently, in a voice very new to me, he asked ‘Can we be?’. Raising our entwined hands to signal between us he finished ‘Always?’
Mere minutes or hours could have passed and I wouldn’t have known. I had eyes for no one else. He waited patiently, never relaxing his hold on my finger.
Finally, now that I can, I put my cheeks on his shoulders, and asked inaudibly ‘Promise?’
He pressed our hands to his heart and said ‘Promise!’
Deliverance!
I was bit along before I realized it even. The not-so-insignificant flutters in the stomach, the pronounced attunement to certain fragrances, the nearly pacing heartbeat and such were the indicators to the wondrous fact.
Yes, I was pregnant. Very much so with the excitement, the secrecy, the anticipation, expectation, imagination and all other emotion relevant –tions!
A mere chance meeting brought us together. It started as polite acquaintance and general hanging-outs along with mutual friends. But certain common interests brought attention on each other more. We grew comfortable. We talked sense and more nonsense. I always had a word and he always had a reply. It was around then that I started feeling funny in my stomach, every time when he looked, smiled at me, or teased me. I felt happy in his presence and I was always in wait for any opportunity to meet him, to talk to him. Few more weeks passed before I became conscious of the fact that I was exhibiting marked preference for him. Though he was formal and normal as was usual, I started fantasizing that the attraction would be reciprocated. If he felt any change in him, any change in me, he didn’t show it.
Break came in the form of me moving out of town for few months for work. Though the likeliness and feasibility of my wants confused me, that separation really helped put lots of things in perspective.
Almost towards the end of my tenure in the new place, Chance made us cross paths again, and he came into town for a few days.
We met for dinner on the day we were heading back home. I had imagined that meeting in a million different ways. But I forgot all that when I saw him waiting for me. I used to ache to see him but the acute relief on seeing him again was nearly painful and as powerful as the ache itself. Butterflies all over me, in me! On seeing me, he made a movement to get up, but mid-way appeared to change his mind. As I reached him he said ‘Hi’ in a preoccupied, musing tone and looked at me curiously. I too just stood there looking at him and somehow felt peaceful and calm. He made me sit near him and I was afraid he would hear my heart thumping erratically. I remembered that that was the first time I was alone with him in a long time. After a few moments of looking at me deeply, he smiled a little and slowly but simply said ‘Of course! Now I know I’m attracted to you. It feels good to be with you, talk to you. I don’t know if this feel good thing is love. But I really wish it is. I think it is’.
I did not know how to react. For one thing I was surprised that he felt the same way about me; second, I was shocked at the almost casual way he was expressing his interest; thirdly, I was floored at the simple yet profound and sincere expression in those words; and fourthly, well, I don’t remember ever getting that far. I was not sure of the expression on my face that day, but he seemed to have found something that made him smile a smug grin. He leaned over and said softly, ‘I love you!’ I would have agreed to anything even more clichéd or even less romantic. If I hadn’t had the sense to control the rush of excitement I felt, that which was making me weak in the knees, I would have swooned.
After the very special conversation on that night, he did not seem to indicate by means of action or words that we were in a relationship that was more than platonic friendship. As the saying goes, days rolled on to weeks and months. No special smile, no pampering, or lovey-dovey-mushy-ness. Nothing! It was as if we were the same, except that we weren’t. No promise of future, no stories of the past; the thing that mattered was we were together, dependably so. But it was confusing at times. Whenever I got the guts to voice it, half-way through my convoluted acquisition, he would wink at me and remark something, which, knowing as I knew him would be very caustic to put me in a reaction mode and yet at the same time be very funny to almost make me ignore. And I would be torn at what he was actually intending. No hand holdings, no cuddling, nothing further. Only solace was, ‘You know how I feel. Take care’ sms that he would send me everyday night that kept me going. All the while, the shameless belly residents were very hyper and high at those times when he was beside me, almost touching.
As it were like that, after a few months, one normal and boring day, we were zooming through the town in the ‘flying’ train. We were settled in the seats that offered the best view of the town below and also the symphony of movements inside. As per habit I was rambling on about my work anecdotes, plans for the later-that-day and all other sundry nonsense, when he suddenly held my left hand and turned it over and pressed lightly at the place where my ring-finger joined the palm. Tingling-ly electric! Abruptly I lost thread of what I was saying. The wretched butterflies were all strutting around lending me almost incoherent.
Very gently, in a voice very new to me, he asked ‘Can we be?’. Raising our entwined hands to signal between us he finished ‘Always?’
Mere minutes or hours could have passed and I wouldn’t have known. I had eyes for no one else. He waited patiently, never relaxing his hold on my finger.
Finally, now that I can, I put my cheeks on his shoulders, and asked inaudibly ‘Promise?’
He pressed our hands to his heart and said ‘Promise!’
Deliverance!
They will notice when they want.
It’s a shame to talk without thinking twice.
It’s a bit shameful to talk as you think.
It’s even more shame to talk when no one wants to listen.
It’s shame of the worst kind to want others to wait for when you will talk, take notice of and appreciate it.
But above anything else you need fame to not bother about all this.
ஆளில்லா கரைகளில் கூட அலைகள் ஓய்வதில்லை
கேட்காத போதும் கூட காற்று இசைக்காமலில்லை
பாலைவனவெளிகளிலும் நிலவொளியில் மாற்றமில்லை
பேசாது போனாலும் உண்மை மறைவதில்லை
மதியாத போதும் உணர்வுகள் மறிப்பதில்லை
ஓர் ரசிகனுக்காக வேண்டி கனவுகள் நிற்பதில்லை
Death to auto-feeds and all its cousins!
People will listen if they want.
It’s a bit shameful to talk as you think.
It’s even more shame to talk when no one wants to listen.
It’s shame of the worst kind to want others to wait for when you will talk, take notice of and appreciate it.
But above anything else you need fame to not bother about all this.
ஆளில்லா கரைகளில் கூட அலைகள் ஓய்வதில்லை
கேட்காத போதும் கூட காற்று இசைக்காமலில்லை
பாலைவனவெளிகளிலும் நிலவொளியில் மாற்றமில்லை
பேசாது போனாலும் உண்மை மறைவதில்லை
மதியாத போதும் உணர்வுகள் மறிப்பதில்லை
ஓர் ரசிகனுக்காக வேண்டி கனவுகள் நிற்பதில்லை
Death to auto-feeds and all its cousins!
People will listen if they want.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
Write this on my Epitaph
I wish I were dim-witted to care what Others said of me. I wish I was a genius to care what Others thought of me. I wish I had means to be all that the Others wanted me to be. All and nothing! Yes. I would have broken. I would have gone mad. But I would have had a life that some Other accepted of. At least the Others would have been happy, if not me.
Successful in my own mortal ways, finally unmindful of the whispers of Other’s “could have been” and “should have been”, and, what I “would have been” if only I had been by them, I lay here still.
Successful in my own mortal ways, finally unmindful of the whispers of Other’s “could have been” and “should have been”, and, what I “would have been” if only I had been by them, I lay here still.
Saturday, April 2, 2011
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