whatchamacallit?

அடர்ந்த காடு. தனிமையில்,

துணைதேடி ஒரு பூமரம்.

பார்க்க வந்த ராஜன் வியந்தான்.

இது கலை! இது  காவியம்!

பலவாறு புகழ்ந்தான் .

மேலும் அழகாய் ஆக்க வியைந்தான்.

இலைகளின் சரசரப்பு இரைச்சலை வெறுத்தான்.

கிளைகள் ஆடம்பரம் எனக் களைந்தான்.

குளிர் நிழல் பொழுதுக்கும் தேவையில்லையே!

பொருளின்றி காயும் தண்டு  வீணென்று வெட்டினான்

“இதனால் நான் நானாக இல்லாமலே போவேனே!

இவ்வாறு புண்ணாக்கி இத்-தையல் தேவையா”?

கேட்ட மரத்திடம்: "ஒப்பற்று இருப்பாய்

நான் கலைஞன்,  நம்பு என வருத்தினான் !"

உயர்ந்து காற்றில் ஆடிய மரம்,

அமர்ந்து கதை பேசும் மேடை ஆனது.

கற்பனையா , மிகும்  காவியமா  என்று அறிஞர்கள்  விவாதிக்க

பேதமையே,வெறும்  சோதனையே  என்று  கிறுக்கர்கள்  கெஞ்சினார்கள்.

தன் விதி  நிலை  வெறுத்த  மரத்திடம்

ஒரு  பூச்செண்டு கொடுத்து;

"நான் என்ன செய்தேன், இன்னும்

உன்  வேர்  உன்னிடம் தானே  கேட்டான்"!

எதனால் ஏமாற்றம், எதற்குப்  பழி என்றான்!

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?

One more month has gone...

... and even still nothing seem to have changed a lot. Everything happens to be the same. The mornings and noons and nights are just as predictable as the unpredictability of the weather around here. Ever same, is the frustrating feeling when sitting in front of the compose pane to write of all the wonderful ideas that hit you while in the shower and wonder where all them have gone.

But whining is not going to help, would it? No. So what... I don't know.

I'm low with the tiredness of a receding fever and Migraine. So all things in charge are in charge of the other-half now. Including the toddler. So before she comes back complaining 'Appa mertita', which could be any minute now if not sooner given the way they get along a full whole minute, I will try to write something here, just as an assurance that 'All izz well'

What do I write about?

Do I want to say about the way I'm starting to feel about the Ms? That she is all of a sister when she expresses if she likes or dislikes my dresses (every time she says 'beetipul' or 'eeee' I melt a little)? That she is all of a mother when she just easily predicts my mood and matter-of-fact suggests 'Amma kochi' (which nearly shames me every time when I take my emotions out on her)? No. She is my anchor and I can't do any justice by telling about her in just a few words.

Do I want to say about the promise I make to myself about a certain thing that I want to try out? Can I own it that I'm weak and lack the needed will power to experiment my ideas instead of postponing to next week Monday? No. That's another secret and literally my life and its associated happiness is tied to it.

Do I want to say about the fact that I worry about things when all I need to do was to let silent for a minute and get on ahead. That by being so, I feel, even though I could not repair the wobbly floors, at least I can try and not make it wobble a lot more? No. I don't think I even understand what I want to do fully.

Do I want to bitch about the fact that I see the 'not-have's' and miss all the little things which shows how much I do have? No. I have said that a lot and I think I'm never going to get over that vice.

Do I want to confess to everyone that I keep this blog as a form of rebellion? That I desperately want to be able to write so that I can, well at least, write if not talk into deaf ears. No. They are unheard anyways.

Then what the hell do I say? I don't know. My head is starting to ache again.

For some reason I miss temples much during such tiredness. Mylapore and Thiruvahindrapuram of my childhood memories. Nothing like a bumpy bus/auto ride when you are tired and there's nothing much that sweet temple air and its music won't do to soothe the soreness of body and mind. Come home to amma for a nice hot milagu rasam and a good night sleep to the tingles of the bedroom wind-chimes. God.

I need a Harry Potter or Twilight equivalent, if you know what I mean.

No Emotions. Please!

If the world is ruled by head and has no heart, wonder, life would be easy-going? If there is nothing to feel, can I be happy?

Soul lesson!

I should learn to shut up!

Acch~

Amongst varied people - a man who looks down on you just because you don't speak the "national language"; another who complains to you that no one interacts and sits alone without interacting, especially with you; a person who ignores to take your inputs for the reason that you are younger and not male; a someone who talks to you only because you are well-known; an incorrigible who spreads that, the leadership and others value you and call you in on meetings because they are men and you are the only woman; some other who looks for small opportunities to put you down, to jump on the least of the mistakes to make fun of you; a damper to the fun, when a person, almost a stranger, says that you spend time smiling, laughing and basically having a good time, when you ought to remember you are married; a group of two who put you as a Vertex in their politics and games; a few to whom you are a nobody; one who sponges off of you only so long as to get what they want and act as if you are not a familiar face - occasionally, it is good to hear “Thank you!” and “I appreciate the work you are doing” in an otherwise bleak work day

It’s, always, good to be home.

I HATE dogs!

I hate them and I hate them really ardently. I also hate people who turn up their nose, when I say I don’t like dogs. Extra annoying thing is when they say, ‘Oh no! He is harmless’. What’s up with those people? It’s a DOG. I hate everything about those dogs right from the fact that they smell funny, their fangs/ dirty teeth, the saliva and that irritating growl. How ever clean and tidied up a dog may seem, the way the dog comes running to you and lick you over (and how ever friendly that might seem) how ever listening and caring that dog is, it is just a dog. A filthy animal, disgusting, annoying and scary. I don’t know how any sane person can relate to an animal. Well, I don’t mean the dogs harm, but CMON……

Chase to House

Borrowing words, 'Why are you yelling? You are frustrated! Listen, if you want my help, I’m here. If you just need to vent….. leave a message’

Nothing matters where everything is important...

...or is it the other way around. Anyways about today - I did not feel like doing anything. I was not up to sitting idle. I remembered wanting to upload songs in IPod. I realized I had a code deadline. I grumbled to make the decision on what to cook. I regretted having to decide what stocks to buy next. I cried hard when I was very happy. I remained restless when I became sad. I wanted to be in company. I plugged on my head-phones to drown out the conversations. I feared I’m reaching OCD. I planed to sign up for yoga. I wished my unused gym membership would get a full refund. I tried to paint my words sharp and bright. I pictured black and white. I felt very hungry. I despised the sight of food. I fell in and out of love, becoming aware of one, when the other happened. I had a nightmare involving ocean waves. I confessed I loved fall of waters deeply. I waited, searched, pled for some idea to strike, so that I had something to write about. My mind was filled with a whole bunch of scrap life. I wanted to love everyone the same way I perceived them to love me. I wanted to lie down and sleep. I felt like going to a party. I fought to remain silent. I think I said something, in my head or aloud, I couldn’t be sure.

I know what I want. I believe I know what I want. I would like to hold on to that thought, especially on days like these, when there is a constant struggle between wanting to do something and searching for that will to do the same thing. Is this a narcissistic deficiency to consciously give in to the pull of two dominant egos? I’m feeling nothing is worth-while in life, running the risk of sounding a tad like a nihilist. Maybe, I’m so! But that does not help me much. I want to erase everything and begin anew. Can I? More importantly, will I?

It might sting!

Is it taboo, to express concern over another’s excess caffeine or unhealthy food consumption? If one doesn’t mind telling million times to get through and make the other listen to their request for attention over the issue, does it show love or the ‘need to control’? Is the constant telling the problem, or matter of expressing is itself a problem? Is it prescribed that one should only remain calm, when witnessing another’s error of judgment in a matter of life and death? Is self hygiene not a must? And in those cases when it is missed, if reminding that, makes one arrogant and superior, then is it not unfair? When does the concern cross the line to become control? Since when did caring and over-powering get mixed up? Was it when indifference and ‘giving the needed space’ become synonymous? Is a slight variation from the state of ‘giving free rein’ directly take one to ‘dominance’? Where is the elusive harmony? If being flexible and accommodating makes ones a loser, then that is an obscene sense of sense. Even more offensive is mistaking control over concern. But the winner in this odious category would be the word-proof attitude – “Say all you want. Watch me pretend to listen and see me do what I feel like doing. You’d rather, save your breath”. When one craves for another to hold hands and enjoy the magical full moon view from the air plane, with no questions asked, but just soaking in the moment, is that a tall request? HOW does that fall into the bucket of ‘Don’t try to change me from the person I’m into someone I’m not’? YOU ARE EXPECTED TO CHANGE. ATLEAST MAKE AN EFFORT. How does prompting one to improve their quality of standard, for personality improvement, make them to feel claustrophobic? Does anything dictate that one should just witness the stagnation and be content with it, rather than to raise a voice and speak? If that’s so, then all beliefs and notions, about relationships, are passé! Then there would be no hope for growth and development, any further! Just passion would not sustain interest, through and through. Is it too much, to expect, from another, the same amount of crude concern, in all areas? Does demanding the same interest as expressed by one, from another, too much? Really, how much is too much? I don’t understand.