"My personal brand of Heroin"

I had my seasonal flu shot yesterday. One of this "intramural" or "intradermal" thing, the one where the medicine is injected between the muscle, the one where the shot site is red and blotchy and slightly itchy for a few days till the swelling goes down. Now, I know better than to scratch. But if my forearm were to 'accidentally' hit something or somewhere then that's relief. You know!! At first its a casual bump here and there and then after a while it doesn't seem so random any more!!

I kinda get why people do drugs!

Can you draw that parallel between them??

En garde! Friend!

Sometimes rekindling a friendship takes a small "Hi". So simple yet it puts a happy curve to your day!

Today, it was indeed a wonderful surprise when someone I knew few years back pinged me on messenger to say 'Hi'. The chat went on for a few minutes and was only a polite catch-up on how things were in each other's life. Nothing more. But somehow at the end felt very happy that even after I closed the chat-window I had a smile on my face.

கேட்டு ரசித்த பாடல் ஒன்றை மீண்டும் இன்று ஞாபகம் தூண்ட ....

But....// ah but there has to be a but....so here goes.

....sometimes when you talk to/meet friends with whom you haven't had any contact for/in many months you feel like you really don't know the person. Since you shared a common past, they don't seem like they are complete strangers, but somehow they don't seem that close too. There is always a hesitation on what to say 'cause you doubt how it may get perceived. You realize that you didn't have the veil or thin boundary when you knew each other well. Now u are treading on softly. You rationalize that you both had most definitely grown apart and at least in most case have grown up and have seen life a bit. So you really don't know who they are except for your reminiscent and illusionary memories of the days together. Although you may feel the same warmth or anger or whatever you held for them before, you are not sure anymore, because you are not sure of whom you are holding it on for anymore.You doubt yourself and them. Ultimately you end up with, 'Do we really feel the same way about each other as before or are we holding on to the idea of who the friend really was?'.

You may seem a bit confused, well maybe, but I got you pegged as someone who has gone thru (or just has) more or less the same question, if you have read this so far.

Here's to old friends.

*clink*

You wanna toast too?


எண்ணமே சுமைகளாய் இதயமே பாரமாய்
எண்ணமே சுமைகளாய் இதயமே பாரமாய்
அந்த நாள் ஞாபகம் நெஞ்சிலே வந்ததே

சொல்லின் மௌனம்

சேர்ந்த காதல்
மணமாகி முடிகிறது.
சேராக் காதல்
கடவுச்சொல் ஆகிறது.
ஒருதலைக்காதல்
பிள்ளையின் பெயராக வாழ்கிறது.

In the background: This.

And one of my favorite Tamizh blogger - Sirumazhai - very beautifully says about this "Lump in throat" as

Bumping into your Long Lost Love could be the most painful thing ever and this BGM always pushes that exact pain down through your throat. As you watch this scene, Surya appears, walks in, Subbulakshmi turns at him, she walks down and he climbs up the stairs – and all this while Raja should have been counting the bars, 1,2,3,4.. and picks up naan unai neenga maattEn neenginaal thoonga maattEn sErndhadhE nam jeevanE puts it on a violin and that fits like a glove. Every musician should be a mathematician, I guess. And Raja is a great one at that. (Side note – Subbulakshmi casually and unknowingly underscores the blood relationship between Surya and Collector when she says, ‘eppadinnu therila, aana guNaththula niRaiya ungaLa mAdhiriyE irukkar’. And from there to, ‘Paththu thala raavaNan’. Sigh)

Performance anxiety.

Whenever I try to pose the imaginary pen on a this digital notepad, there is a huge ...uhh....mmm.... ahhh....

Oh my GOD..... I have been trying to finish that damn line for like 15 minutes now. I have re-checked my facebook page and refreshed the twitter pages of the people I'm following... and still nothing.

I always login to write about an interesting thought, but when I actually write it, it seems so contrived that the original is lost or very much maligned. It's like preparing so excellently in front of the mirror for the oratory and then going and just freeze on the stage.

This dearth for words... or is it dearth of words...... my goodness..... And if I had not back-spaced the words I had written until this word ...... word vomit..... broken lines.... unconnected thoughts....Oh...Arghhh!

Sigh!

I'm forgetting my english. please to help anybody??

Whatever...

Can't.... write.... anymore......(read HULK like)

Feel good spams

Lucky for me that someone or the other unfailingly mails me everyday with the glad news that I have millions pending in Inheritance and I can collect it today.

A pleasant news early in the morning.

To the love of the Phantom

Think of me, think of me fondly,
when we've said goodbye.
Remember me once in a while -
please promise me you'll try.
When you find that, once again, you long
to take your heart back and be free -
if you ever find a moment,
spare a thought for me

We never said our love was evergreen,
or as unchanging as the sea -
but if you can still remember
stop and think of me . . .

Think of all the things
we've shared and seen -
don't think about the way things
might have been . . .

Think of me, think of me waking,
silent and resigned.
Imagine me, trying too hard
to put you from my mind.
Recall those days
look back on all those times,
think of the things we'll never do -
there will never be a day,
when I won't think of you . . .

You may say:
   Can it be? Can it be ......?
   Bravo!
   Long ago, it seems so long ago
   How young and innocent we were...
   She may not remember me,
   but I remember her...

Flowers fades,
The fruits of summer fade,
They have their seasons, so did we
but please promise me, that sometimes
you will think of me!

- Edited from "Think of me" song from 'The Phantom of the Opera'

Permanence in view

Imagine a house hidden protectively against the scorching sun and highway noises and from where when you look out your patio you hear a babbling brook running through a few high and thick trees covered in moss and ferns creating a peaceful green canopy, housing song birds - big and tiny- chirping their soulful melody to the passing deer, and where bunny rabbits and hopping squirrels come a-calling for bread crumbs morning, noon and night.


You gotta love a house with a view.


My house too has a view. It overlooks the parking lot. Beyond which you can also see the high-inverted V ceiling of a nearby apartment block.

I love it.

It's ideal in the sense, that at the least no season affects it - rain or snow or sunshine, all the props are always there, so you can't miss it. It so unremarkable that you don't miss it.

Do you get what I'm saying?

The sweetest songs are those that telleth the saddest tales

These two poems, IMO, have a vague sense of similarity. Although both of them have the context of love and loss, the former rationalizes the loss and finds ways to acceptance while the latter expresses the bitter-sweetness of remembrance.

The first poem, by Emily Dickinson, sees the positivities of loss, but in two distinct ways. The first paragraph explains the loss of love in a simple positive way - 'Yes the drought is bad, but I once had the dew' - in essence the concept that to have had lost something means that that something was once had. And I say that's healthy because the order is 'destitute, but' and not the other way around. The second paragraph shifts focus to the eventuality of loss and thereby providing a higher meaning to 'something that once was' - 'The sea has its own limits and the boundary of land (sand), but without which there wouldn't be any sea too'

To lose thee – sweeter than to gain
All other hearts I knew.
‘Tis true the drought is destitute,
But then, I had the dew! 

The Caspian has its realms of sand,
Its other realm of sea.
Without the sterile perquisite,
No Caspian could be.

-Emily Dickinson

No explanation of this Sara Teasdale poem can capture the meaning that has been so simply expressed in the poem itself.

Stephen kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all. 

Stephen’s kiss was lost in jest,
Robin’s lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin’s eyes
Haunts me night and day. 

-Sara Teasdale

As I struggle to explain in so many words just my interpretation of the poems, I truly realize the might of poetry to express huge concept in fewer, sweeter words.

Keeping the faith

"You said to lean on your arm

 And I am leaning 

 You said to trust in your love 

 And I am trusting

 You said to call on your name

 And I am calling

 I'm stepping out on your word."

- Dr. Maya Angelou (Letters to my daughter)

Magic

என்னாச்சு!

என்னாசம்மா!

என்ன ஆச்சு மா! ஏம்மா ஆழாற?

டொப்ப ache-அ? தல வலிக்கர்தா? அப்பா திட்டினாளா? தாத்தா கிண்டல் பண்ணாரா? பாட்டி பேசலையா? நான் அடிச்சது பட்டுடுத்தா?

அழுகைய நிறுத்துமா!

அழுகைய நிறுத்து!

சமத்து.

தூக்கி.

தூக்கிமா.

Please தூக்கிமா.

உ ம் ம் ம் ம் ம் ம் ம் ம் ம் ம் ம் மா ஆ.

Now bhuu-bhuu gone.

See Mummy!

A perfect antidote to non-imaginary emotional hurts - A child's kiss.

Where have all the rum gone?

Where did it go so awfully wrong?

Can one mistake be the undoing of your whole life?

A decision taken without research, due care, knowing the good intentions could go sour, an apparent error in judgement, can it be the the trough from which you fear you wouldn't get up?

When you have wilfully opened your doors to the slow, careless and yet most times reckless and hurtful wind, and once inside when that wind turns to an egotistical arrogant howling storm, what would it take to push it out the door? Would it be even possible to shut the door entirely?

At a point when you can all but look back in time and not step back; At a point when you have to but move forward, cause time don't allow to stand still; At a point when you raise a thorny paw to take the next step hoping it would be into an abyss of sweet release and instead you trudge into a path which could lead to nothing but a bloody footprint after another, where do you draw strength to fight back and healand to say no?

It all comes to this..

ஒரு நாளில் வாழ்க்கை இங்கே எங்கும் ஓடி போகாது
மறு நாளும் வந்து விட்டால் துன்பம் தேயும் தொடராது
எத்தனை கோடி கண்ணீர் மண் மீது விழுந்திருக்கும்
அத்தனை கண்ட பின்னும் பூமி இங்கு பூ பூக்கும்

கருவாசல் விட்டு வந்த நாள் தொட்டு
ஒருவாசல் தேடியே விளையாட்டு...
கண் திறந்து பார்த்தால் பல கூத்து
கண்மூடி கொண்டால்......

போர் களத்தில் பிறந்து விட்டோம் வந்தவை போனவை வருத்தம் இல்லை
காற்றினிலே வாழ்கின்றோம் முட்களின் வலி ஒன்றும் மரணம் இல்லை
இரவினிலே நீ நடக்கையிலே உன் நிழலும் உன்னை விட்டு விலகி விடும்
நீ மட்டும் தான் இந்த உலகத்திலே உனக்கு துணை என்று விளங்கி விடும்
தீயோடு போகும் வரையில்,
தீராது இந்த தனிமை...
கரை வரும் நேரம் பார்த்து கப்பலில் காத்திருப்போம்
எரிமலை வந்தால் கூட ஏறி நின்று போர் தொடுப்போம்
ஓ ஹோ!
அந்த தெய்வ ரகசியம் புரிகிறதே
இங்கு எதுவும் நிலை இல்லை கரைகிறதே
மனம் வெட்ட வெளியிலே அலைகிறதே
அந்த கடவுளை கண்டால் ............

அது எனக்கு இது உனக்கு இதயங்கள் போடும் தனி கணக்கு
அவள் எனக்கு இவள் உனக்கு உடல்களும் போடும் புதிர் கணக்கு
உனக்கும் இல்லை இது எனக்கும் இல்லைபடைத்தவனே அதை எடுத்து கொள்வான்
நல்லவன் யார் கெட்டவன் யார் கடைசியில் அவனே முடிவு செய்வான்
பழி போடும் உலகம் இங்கே
பலியான உயிர்கள் எங்கே?
உலகத்தின் ஓரம் நின்று அத்தனையும் பார்த்திருப்போம்
நடப்பவை நாடகம் என்று நாமும் சேர்ந்து நடித்திருப்போம்
ஓ ஹோ!
பல முகங்கள் வேண்டும் சரி மாட்டி கொள்வோம்
பல திருப்பம் தெரியும் அதில் திரும்பி கொள்வோம்
கதை முடியும் போக்கில் அதை முடித்து கொள்வோம்
மறு பிறவி வேண்டுமா.......

Truer words have never been written.

Hits and misses...

I had nothing to write about. So I decided at the least I will try and revamp the look of the blog.

I visited many awesome websites and diligently went through huge lists of beautiful templates available for free download. I shortlisted a few designs that I liked the most. In the process of finalizing I realized that all of them were almost predictably the themes I would have chosen. Suddenly it hit me that I can change that. I have the choice today for doing that.

So today I have chosen a design that is more colorful, more fun than classy, more whimsical than dull and plain. But not too crazy. That's for another time children , that's for another boring day.

Anyhoo.. how do you like it?

If you do then that's a hit. A lone one. Now coming to the many misses...

- While fiddling with the widgets I inadvertently deleted my blog description. And the second blow is I don't have a backup and I don't fully remember it. If anyone have it or know it please to share.
- Need to edit my blogroll linklist
- I wanted to expand the width of the whole wrapper to fit the whole screen but with the same percentage for the main and the sidebar. I trialed and error-ed for a long time and gave up. Quick help any?
- I scrapped off the 'Linkwithin' widget. Now when I try to install it back the site complains that it has already helped me once and is adamantly not willing to do so again. Heh!

I leave you today with an all important announcement. Pensieve is soon going to introduce a new sister. Keep noticing the sidebar for more information.

My own personal form of "IF"

I'm so bored.

If only I don't set-in in a routine.... If only I have something to distract.... If only I have the discipline to concentrate on some thing.... If only I took up Yoga.... If only I have a ride to Yoga.... If only I can learn to drive.... If only I have someone to baby-sit while I learn.... If only I can afford that help.... If only I can work.... If only I'm not so bored.

Here below is another set of IF. Somehow this is exactly what I wish I were able to tell too. Somehow this is what I wanted to hear just about right now. Somehow this is exactly what I want believe. How come Kipling knew to pen all this, that which would make absolute sense to a simple bored girl, who is almost his age, but a century and some parts younger? Are things not much different now than it was then? If only we knew...

IF you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated, don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;

If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,

if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

A week like any other.

So...how have you been? Did you have a nice New year's?

Oh!I did. Thanks!

I welcomed the new year couched in the sofa while chatting and giggling with five of the most important people in my life, very very late into the night, which led to the once in a lifetime occurance of the 'dawn' of January-the-first-of-2012 to come a l'il late, around 9'o clock. (Note: The convoluted long-winding sentence rhymes in part. Dudn't it?. Yea? You are awesome. No? No... you have to read it right. Did you read it right?)

[Aside 1: There used to be a time when the New year came at an appropriate 6'0 clock on the first morning of the year, having slept at a regular 'like any other day' hour on the Eve. I can all but fondly hold on to the fading memory of - Suprabhatam on Air India mornings, with appa chill hands on the cheeks as a wake-up call, with filter coffee aroma filling the whole house, with amma's c'mon-get-ups! interlaced in her slogams, interludes of cookings and clangings, paati's 'what you do today you will do the whole year long' logic, wrestling with the brother for the extra blanket, muttering five-more-minutes which fooled no one.]

The first week of the new year too was as uneventful as that dawn. Although, I have few pithy (or not) things to record for my quintessential (ahem!) 'end of year discourse'. Visited and wished Sathyanarayana on the 1st, and, with like any other friend of mine, we parted with me saying/ hoping 'Please to remember me'. The next day I visited and enjoyed Sherlock Holmes. Weirdly I found Robert Downey Jr awesome and in some places handsome-r (Or was I more attuned to attractiveness because of the Law of attraction of Jude? Note to self: Don't attempt such 'wit and wordplay'. Ever). Got myself a new set of fragrance 'gift-set'. To spice up the sweetness and to wield variety, I now own Obsession, Escape, Eternity and something else. I forgot.

And then it got all chilly and windy outside and the holidays were over.... and so was the sunshine. What followed was the usual Relapse and Recovery and ... you know, ...the works.

But like Dumbledore says, 'That will do for now'.

One thing I found to work --- "No more expectation... no more sighs". Will it work for another week? That's something we have to wait and see.

So, until something interesting happen, or, until another week eventually winds down....Ciao!