Varali

Dark convoluted locks reaching out like night's fingers. That is how she first appears. Utterly dark, dark like the shadow of a moonless night. Only hair, copious waves of it. They screech against the void like dark nails against a darker board. At the same time, the cascade of locks echoes the melody of a violent sea...noiselessly.

And then, a gentle hum, a drone of the bee - the kind of bee that occupied the imagination of Appar[1] and the Lord Sundareshwarar Himself [2]. A gentle hum, of a bee that is seeking the honey.

And then in a flash, the locks fall back and her face breaks out like a thousand suns. Its the face of a queen, a regal face with a royal nose. Her smile is like twin serpents - coiled in mercy and contempt at the same time. The forehead bears a mark, a dark crimson circle. It’s a spiral, the dark locks, then the refulgent face and then the dark kungumam. She mesmerizes, not by her living features but by the dead signs.

The hum again. Here the bee is a queen drinking from the divine lotus; there a dancer giving life to an imaginary bee with her hands and eyes. The hum dances wildly, one feet grounded in reality, the other raised to illusion. And yet, the grounded feet seem to hover and the raised feet firmly ensconced in the sky.

The lips now come to the center stage. They shine in the hypnotizing red of a bride's hand with too much marudhAni. Look now, they are repulsive, repulsive because of the desire that is worn ostentatiously. Now shut and open your eyes, they draw you, with their regal command to do their bidding.

The bee rises now, the queen bee. The queen of the honey bees, the dark ill-tempered blackbee. Say it now, slowly, roll your tongue over the words - karuvaNdu, ka-ru-vaNdu, an involuntary quiver just as you say vaNdu. That is how the queen rises, from the eyes of the brilliant face with a quiver when you least expect it.

She flutters near the eyelashes, takes a fancy to the dark locks and merges with them before being enticed by the dark lips. There is a quiver again, this time the quiver of desire, a tremble as the blood rushes through her body. In one flutter, before you could blink your eyes, she lands on the lip.

Then there is a gentle sigh, a sigh of relief, of satisfaction. And then, after she has been satiated, she unfurls her thin proboscis to drink the nectar. The queen bee drinking nectar from the lips of the queen... reality filling its void with illusion.

She can be seen here.

(Corrected after Viji's comment)

She can be seen here.

[1] - mAsil vInaiyum mAlai mathiyamum/vIsu thenRalum vInggiLavEnilum/mUsu vaNdaRaip poigaiyum pOnRathE/Isan enththai iNaiyadi nizalE - Appar's thEvAram
[2] - konggu thEr vAzkkai anciRaith thumbi - 1st song in kuRunthogai written by iRaiyanAr or God Himself.

P.S. I couldn't find a picture to go with this post...maybe I can get a sketch done someday, of a dark bee sitting on a darker lip.

Ever seen a prettier sight?

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இது ஒரு புது விடியல்!

A tamil BLOG upon Parvati's suggestion! Please update your links and give some publicity! :-)

கல்லொன்று தடுத்து காரிகையின் சாபம் கொன்று
வில்லொன்று ஒடித்து வைதேகி காதல்கரம் வென்று - மீட்டும்
வில்லொன்று ஒடித்து வன்முனிவன் தவம் வென்று - தந்தை
சொல்லொன்று எடுத்து சுடுகொடுங்காடு சென்றானே கதிநமக்குு

ஒன்றே சொல்லாகும் ஓடிவல்லவன் உயிர்குடிக்கும் அம்பும்
ஒன்றே வாசமலர் கொண்ட மார்பில் தான்கொண்ட அன்பும்
ஒன்றே அவன் பெயர் ஒன்றே அது இராம இராம இராம
என்றே சொன்னால் எழுபிறப்பும் அன்றே அற்றதே

Spiral

Gentle night comes in
Songs awaken from my desk
I write some silence

And then...

Morning walks through doors
Shadows sleep shrouded in light
My pen smiles dryly

And then...

Gentle night comes in
Songs awaken from my desk
I write some silence...

Life, Colour and Woman

******************
Dedicated to J.A.B.
******************

Have you noticed how some ideas pop up at you when you least expect them, like a hunter jumping at his game from the bushes? This is one such idea. It jumped at me yesterday night, when I was snuggling in between the sheets reading a Mark Twain story - 'The diary of Adam and Eve'. It just shot at me out of the sheets like a cork out of a pop gun.

This idea gave me the queer suggestion that colour came into existence only after women were created. Maybe the world was colourful before women came in here, but noone could recognize that without a woman. So the world was as good as colourless, the idea suggested. It slowly unfurled itself, the idea, spiralling and turning in my mind's eye before it had me in its thrall completely. Not one objection could I find to the suggestion. No woman, no colour! The world must have not even been black and white, just colourless like water. The idea began to charm me. I trusted it.

How could man have possibly recognized colour ever? How could he even create it? It takes a woman's coyness to paint the evening sky in shades of crimson. It takes her dark tresses to daub the entire world with the shades of night.

How would spring burst forth in all her splendour if woman did not laugh her silvery cascade? How would fall bring out her rich shades if no woman lay curled in crumpled sleep? Where would the raging forest fire dance if not for a woman's passionate kiss?

The deep oceans, don't tell me they with their teasing waves can get their blue hue if no woman lit her eyes with the light of love. Where would the cascade get her silvery sheen if not from a woman's tears? The lush green fields would not shine so if no woman became a mother. The rainbow! We would have no rainbow if a single woman did not clip her nails and cast them away.

The idea went on thus. It twirled and twisted into coils, coils that enchanted the mind into trust. It spoke the truth. Woman brought colour into this world. Just like she brought magic into life.

And life...life has its own colour as well. A colour that is different for each life. A colour that is not seen by eyes. A woman gives life that colour.

The name of my life's colour is that of a new-born calf. A calf that has a new colour everytime it is born.

So what colour has a woman brought into your life?

Completely Wrong

I wonder what is wrong with me...besides me of course. That there was something wrong with me...no, not the first wrong with me about which I was wondering but the second one, that is the actual me that is wrong I mean...oh well, figure it out for yourselves, let me get back. That there was something wrong with me being me was known to me for long. I knew this when I choose the fool's day to be born. That would mean I knew I was wrong before I was born and further mean that I was conscious before I was born. That would of course mean that I was born before I was born. There is something definitely wrong with me.

Getting back to what I was trying to say, I feel that there is something wrong with me now otuside what is usually wrong with me. Now that is unsually wrong. I don't mind what is usually wrong with me, but unusually wrong needs to be looked into. The idea here is that, if you are usually wrong, then over time it becomes right to you and then only the part that becomes unusually wrong becomes actually wrong.

So I started by checking my head. I reached up and was mortified when I realised my head was not where it was supposed to be. My head for one might not look decent or respectable but it is a decent and respectable part when you see that it has been staying where it must stay (I guess it is over the neck, though sometimes I also feel it might be under the spine.). Decent and respectable heads don't walk off your neck just like that saying "OK pal, I'm tired of doing all the thinking at least whatever was there to be done now you try doing it!" It took me 15 minutes to realise that my hand was searching for my head about 5 inches higher than where it actually was (the head, I mean). The problem was I did not have my spectacles on. My hands are blind without the spectacles. With the spectacles they are still blind, but they don't see it then (see that they are blind).

The landing of the hands on my head was not exactly pleasant. This is due to the fact that my hair had at that moment got into a rather heterogenous composition of quite a variety of variegated stuff like hmmm...stuff. Listen, in simple words, my hair had the sort of stuff that Calvin would look at and say "Eww" before applying it all over him and grossing out his mother. Having thus confirmed that my hair was wrong as usual and not unusually wrong, I proceeded to face (rather hand) the face.

My face is something that has been very much wrong for an unusually wrong time. But that doesn't make it unusually wrong, in fact it makes it most usually wrong, if you can look at it the way I do. I have wasted a good deal of shaving razors, foam, water, keratin, blood and the other things that usually go wrong while shaving in an attempt to make it right, but it usually went unusually wrong so often that it ended up being most usually wrong. I reached upto my eyes and realized that they had suddenly turned into glass eyes. Then I read the previous paragraphs and realized that I had realized I did not have my spectacles on and so wore them and so I now have them on. I removed the spectacles and poked my eyes gently. I let out a small whimper and tears flowed (Why should the past tense of flow be flowed? I would have asked for flew.) from my eyes to my mouth tasting salty (the tears tasted salty, my mouth tastes...I digress). So, sight, touch and taste OK.

I reached upto my nose, up if you look at it from my point of view. The nose if it had a point of view (I don't mean a point from where you can view the nose), would possibly have an entirely different point of view about this whole business. When my fingers were about 30 cms away from my nose, my nose sent a panicky message to the brain saying "MayDay! Mayday! Make this bloody nitwit wash his fingers once a year." My fingers on the other hand (other hand in the metaphorical sense) sent this message to my brain "Paralyze me so that I don't have to enter into a mucus pit." In other words, the mucus was mutual!! But somehow I managed to check my nose through a set of complicated (pronounced obscene) procedures and made sure it was OK (usually wrong, that is).

Then came my ears...actually, my ears came long ago, almost about the time when I came, but they came now in a figurative sense. Messages similar to those with the nose ensued between the ear and the fingers. The ears however gave in sooner (actually it was the fingers that gave and went in) because they could not smell. It is a different issue that both the ears and the fingers smelt (rather stinked), but they could not smell. At first I could not hear anything. At first nobody heard anything (till somebody got tired and made the Big Bang), but this was not that very first...I mean the first in which I started checking my ears. Then I pulled my fingers from my ears and was able to hear. I put them in my ears (the fingers that is - I think I am suffering from a rather profound pronoun problem here.) and found that I could not hear again. I did this four times and was satisifed.

I then proceeded so on and so forth to check every other part - armpits (smelly and wet), back (smelly, wet and dirty), chest (goes in when I breathe out and goes out when I breathe in, very interesting) and bottom (position not changed with head as of now). I realised nothing was wrong with my physical self, unusually that is. I then started thinking if there could be something wrong with my mental self then. I thought for about 30 minutes with absolute concentration and concluded that it is possible for me to have a mental self. In fact, it is very much possible for me to have a mental self so mental that it might imagine a physical self. Now this got me thinking further. If my mental self was simply imagining my physical self, then my physical self might just be a mental self. This might mean that my physical self which is now a mental self has been imagining a mental self which was the original mental self which imagined the physical self which is now a mental self. To present the same idea in a brief fashion, I am now physically mental and mentally physical. I believe this is one of those metaphysical states, but you can never be sure.

And so here I am in a totally mental state which I mentally believe to be physical wondering what can be wrong with me unusually. Then I realise it - what is wrong with me unusually is that there is nothing wrong with me unusually. All that is wrong with me is usual at least as far as I am concerned. They might be unusual for some Tom, Dick or Harry, but I am not Tom, Dick or Harry and so it is usual for me. Now this is a very unusual thing for me. Unusual outside the usually unusual of course. Ah well, I guess it is just like me, as usual unusual!!!

P.S. Yes, I've completely lost it!

Mera kuch saman - a rerun

Mera kuch saamaan
chod ke aayaa hoon
us ghar pe

Ek toote hue ainaa
jisse dekh ke kisi ne nahin sharmaaye

Deewar pe lage hue kaajal ki daag
jisse kisi ne galti se nahin lagaaya

Bandh hui kidki
jiske paas kuch vaade nahin kiya

Kaagaz pe likha hua ek naam
jisse kisi ne aaj tak nahin chuna

Anar ki ek phal
jiski gulaab jaisi kisi ki chehra nahin tha

Dho simit the hue aankhen
jis mein kabhi bhi aason nahin nikhla

Thadapke kuch aahatein
jis ko kisi ne dhyaan se nahin suna

Na dil ko choda,
Na pyaar, na gham,

Bas,
meraa kuch saamaan

To the most beautiful pair of eyes in the world

Frightened black bucks run
fearing the cruelly bent bows
though they aim away.

Sun smiles from the pond
Branches reach for the water
Whom does the pond love?

P.S. I guess the cuisine is going to be Haiku and photos for some more time!

A Poem. A Picture.

Spring begets flowers.
Cold winter gives them coffins.
Tree always stands there.













Children bring their pain.
Father smiles in silent bliss.
The Mother is born.


















Birds fly in the sky
The temple stands on firm earth
Where lies our freedom?

Goa + Kodagu Installment I

Yes, that's where I've been hiding the past few days. :-D And obviously, every blogger is expected (or every blogger expects that he/she is expected) to post all the details of his/her vacation. :-)

There are four facets to this trip of mine and hence four installments to this series of posts. They'll be presented in decreasing order of mundanity (No, the word mundanity does not exist). So on with the post.

A resort is a hotel located in a resort area. I wonder if a resort area is an area with a resort hotel. One of those deep philosphical questions that can lead to Nirvana. The simpler way to Nirvana however is the

Swimming Pool

Be it a hot and humid sun or a mild caressing drizzle, there is nothing to match the feeling of soaking up in a pool of cold water. The swimming pool can at the same time provide both relaxation and gambol. The gambol comes from having a family that doesn't mind getting dunked and returns the favour with equal enthusiasm. Try getting into the pool with a mild drizzle immediately after you've been treated to a sensual

Massage

The massage to me was a slightly embarassing pleasure. I was reduced to a neanderthal state right at the start of the proceedings, in terms of attire that is. The thing that strikes you most in a massage is the masseur's hand (Sigh, how I wish I could put masseuse's hand! ;-) ). All in all a pleasant experience, but give me a plain old oil bath at home any day. Might have felt good if it had followed the

Steam Bath

For the first time in my life I was able to empathize with Idlis and Kozhukattais. But then my pain was more pronounced as I'm not as rotund as an Idli (or Kozhukattai). Perhaps I can add this to my exploits under the title 'Sixty Steamy Seconds'. Sounds like a B-Grade movie title. However this was much better than the

Sauna

I don't know why I entered into this contraption. I don't know why I'm writing anything about this at all. I should be better off writing about

Table Tennis

I wonder sometimes if I don't get enough of this in office. The animal inside you shows up often when you go for the totally unsolicted smash and end up hitting the ball right into the net. I never learn. Right now I don't know which is more boring - me going through all this in the trip or me writing about it. Well, one thing I do know is I better shut up now and put some serious effort when I write

Goa + Kodagu Installment II, Coming very soon

Cruel Poetry

Sunken eyed beggar
Begs my poet on the road
Then a poem came

P.S. I'm off for a week now. Will be back with updates to make up for the time. In the meantime comments on this poem are welcome.

An ant is possibly half an inch long and maybe a tenth of an inch wide, by a wild guess. A normal human foot would be, say a foot long with the footwear, twelve inches that is and about three inches wide. Approximately, the surface area of a human feet should be 1000 times more when compared to that of an ant. And when you think how many humans can attend a concert in an open air auditorium, it is a pretty dismal state for an ant.

And yet, there is this ant, not more than a few centimetres away from my chair that scuttles along with some very obvious purpose known perhaps only to itself. In a given interval of say a minute, at least 10 people walk through that area, each of them coming perilously close to squashing the ant.

And yet the ant scurries. The ant might not know mathematics and probability, but the odds of it getting squashed are very high. But it does not get squashed. Beyond mathematics and physics, the ant (and the world around it) obeys a superior set of laws. The law of purpose.

This ant here has a definite purpose that drives it to scurry from across my chair towards the post. It might be a basic survival urge of hunting for food. It might be that there is an ant doctor living on the other side who has to be fetched for an emergency. It might be that the movement of this ant might cause a disturbance in the atmosphere that might in cascading cause climactic changes. It might be just that the ant has to go pick up its mother-in-law from the other side failing which it'll be eaten by its wife. But there is a designated purpose for this movement, no matter how small. And till that purpose is not completed, the ant shall not be squashed. Even if there were meteors, glaciers, avalanches, SUVs and nuclear explosions running amock all over the place, this tiny ant here shall survive it all. And that survival shall be done in a plainly explicable fashion - no miracles.

Now, if suppose the ant knew for every action of its' this is the rule that governs it - if the action has a definite designated purpose, no matter what obstacles might come, the action shall be completed. Even if the ant by itself gets obiliterated, the action shall be completed in one way or the other. Destruction therefore does not limit the ant in its actions. With this knowledge, would an ant then have fear? Fear of failure/death?

The ant is free with this knowledge. The knowledge that death would not lead to its failure and neither will failure mean death of a purpose. It is clearly aware that there is a Mother, a Sakthi who is behind this universe driving every iota of action in it for Her purpose. It is aware that this Sakthi will never let even a tniy insignificant ant fail in the purpose it has been given. While this Mother is immensely benevolent when guiding the ant to its goal, She is also equally impassive in removing the ant once its purpose is completed. It's in fact not even cold justice on Sakthi's part. In fact nothing could be more merciful because even to an ant, life without a purpose would seem infinitely ardurous.

If such be the case with an ant, then so be it with everything in the universe - the Sun, the Moon, the rivers, the fields, the crows, the pigs, the tigers, men, women, children, knowledge, love, hunger, pain... everything, living, non-living, abstract, concrete obeys this single law. They exist for a purpose and they shall do so till that purpose is served. Their existence till the purpose is served cannot be affected by any means, however perilous their life might seem.

How different am I from this ant? I too scurry along hunting for food, protect my loved ones, procreate, have my pain and joy and then one day be squashed. How many vehicles come close to running me over on the road? How many bombs/shootings happen in very close proximity to me? In the air that I breathe, in the water that I drink and food I eat, how many fatal diseases almost enter me? In the given 24 hours of a day, how many possible ways are there to end my life without my even trying to do so? How many children are born dead? How many children never see the spring of youth?

I have seen much more in this world in a day than possibly many will see in a lifetime. From some perspective, perhaps, it makes no sense for Sakthi to continue this existence of mine. A loose nut in the bike that I drive, a loose electric cable in my path, an open gas regulator in my house - it is really easy. And yet, I do not die. Because there is a purpose to this life which has not yet been completed.

The ant might not be aware of its purpose. But it scurries on, in what might appear as a mechanical fashion. So too shall I scurry on with this life of mine. The entails of my actions, the purpose of this life might never be revealed to me. But that is not of consequence. A goal exists and the goal shall be achieved by what I do in this life. The goal is true, the path that leads to the goal is equally true, though the exact nature of the goal and the path can perhaps never be understood or described.

Life in effect would be a charted journey. A happy adventure through blossoms of spring and the winds of winter. An adventure just like those that come in children's stories, where the children always end up happily ever after. Death in effect would be a joyous end. A moment of repose in Her embrace after having completed the task. And yes, children, be it in stories or in life always live happily ever after.

That is because they do not know of death in the sense we adults know it. To them it is perhaps father not coming home from office for a long time, pAtti's chair being empty for a long time, Lakshmi no longer running with the cowhand chasing her. It simply means to them something that had been happening for quite sometime now is not happening anymore. It might be because father's office got shifted to the skies, pAtti has gone to have a private interview with her Krishna, Lakshmi has found a better store of hay and milk in some paradise. It is because, something better has happened to someone, because they finished their game and are now playing a better one in a better field.

This then shall be the mantram, the truth, the Holy Word. That we shall live as long as we desire, as long as our purpose is incomplete. That we shall achieve this purpose in spite fo how much we are deterred because our Mother, parAsakthi is abundant in love. That our actions, our immediate need might change by Her will because it does not take us close to our desire, our purpose. That She and She alone shall guide and carry us through Her love. That our servitude and allegiance is only with Her will. That She is the path and the goal laid out as truth. And this above all, that we shall move on once our goal is achieved.

The Man, The Legend

Yesudoss, the singer is only well known to us. Most of us have grown up listening to him waking us up with 'Adithya hrudyam punyam' in the morning and going to sleep with his 'kaNNE kalaimAnE'. But at the concert in Coimbatore last week, he showed why he is much much greater than just a singer. Let me recall certain incidents.

We had a rather irritating compere at the concert - the modern RJ/VJ kinds who make more noise and attempts to hog more attention than the actual performer. (For heaven's sakes she actually hooted twice after Yesudoss finished a melody piece! Sigh!) And as is the norm today, she shouted and crooned for more applause every time someone came on stage/every time Yesudoss finished singing ('Come on Coimbatore, ivvaLO thAnA Coimbatore applause, etc.,). The second time she did that, Yesudoss with his dulcet voice said 'amma, athellAm appdi kEttu vAnggak kUdAthu ma. avangga mansAra ennai pArAttindu thAn irukkA. antha vibration illainAA ennAla paada mudiyAthu. athanAla appadi ellAm kettundu irukkAthE.' Brilliant! (Of course the compere hooted for this as well..)

Yesudoss at the start of the concert (which was being held for a noble cause) mentioned something about how there were no beds in the hospital in Cochin where he was born and how his mother suffered at birth. In the middle of the concert, the sponsors came with a cheque offering that it be used for getting 10 new beds at that hospital. Our man did not as much take the cheque in his hands and said that he will speak to the hospital officials and ask them to collect the cheque directly.

Then again, there was an anecdote about how he was almost offered the AsthAna gAyakan of Kerala state (Again, when the compere asked the meaning of AsthAnam, you should have been there to see how he explained it.). Following this, the organizers again offered him a gold chain and the title of konggu AsthAna something (don't remember). Yesudoss, did not as much put the gold chain on his neck before saying that the chain should be used for the cause for which he came and that he only intended to sing for this cause and would want nothing more.

The clincher however came later. Our beloved compere by now had lost all sense of shame and when Yesudoss finished one more beautiful song, she hooted at the top of the voice that ‘She loved and desired him’. Let us think of this. This man on stage is a 66 year old man who has led a career without a single mark or blemish. The way he treats music and life and his principles are very very noble. Wouldn't someone's tongue tremble before they make such audacious statements?

But our man gently replied saying that 'You are pretty courageous. I'm glad for you that my wife is not here.' Following this, the compere once again babbled some mindless stuff before saying, 'Ok, I'll go back stage now.' Our man simply said 'That would be the best thing to do.'

But it was not over yet. The following piece was a rendition of iLaya nilA pozigiRathu by a member of the orchestra. The guitar for this piece was played excellently by a girl of about 11-12 years. After she finished it, Yesudoss got the mike and, 'ungga ellArukkum oru periya artistai introduce panna poREn.' Gets the girl in forward. 'ivangga thAn intha pAttukku guita vAsichAngga. adakkamA kai kAl sEshtai illAma guitar mathiram vAsichAngga. guitar vAsikkarathai thavira vera ethellAmo panni attention create pannalai. ippadi thAn vAsikka veNdum.'

Of course the compere as usual hooted ignorant of what was happening.

Some other highlights

1. Yesudoss never allowed anybody (other than very very small kids) to fall at his feet on stage.

2. While the rather unnecessary felicitations where going on with the wives, sons, brothers, brother-in-laws and onnu vitta chiththappAs of various dignitaries, Yesudoss waited patiently backstage. He did not come forward and join the mutual flattery on stage.

3. When Yesudoss appreciated and gave compliments to the young child singers on stage, he did so in a manner that made the kid feel happy while at the same time making sure that it didn’t get into the head.

To summarize the whole thing, I've been to a few concerts, both light music and classical. I've listened to a few excellent pieces that mark as sheer genius in terms of creativity. But here's a man who shows us that it is not just music or not just art, but beyond that sincerity and being true to what one believes.

I bow to you sir! Hats off to Yesudoss!

She's all ready!

Sorry for the late post.

But Alvibest is all ready and dressed up! I'm sure most of you guys must have already looked at Her. In case you haven't, then maybe you need to send a mail to subscribe.alvibest@gmail.com!

Mohana

She is a shy timid girl, not more than fourteen years old. The first bud of youth's spring is just about to peek from her eyes. Her body and more importantly mind is opening to ideas, passions, pleasures and pains which had hitherto remained unknown.

She opens her timid doe-like eyes and looks at the world with anxiety and anticipation. Her eyes grow wider with the eyelashes entwining like lovers. Her lower lips quivers often, a bud that shall soon blossom into a flower and ripen into a fruit. The celerity of puerility is replaced with the grace of puberty.

She looks at her own reflection in the mirror with awe. Everyday she gazes on with pride and desire as spring lends her colour, charm and gaiety to her body. She admires the buds that someday will gush with life someday. She stands there in front of her mirror and everyday a new secret, a new mystery is revealed to her.

She charms, entices and lures without her knowledge. She looks about with the innocence of a jasmine washed in the summer rain as the bees hum around her softly. When she does realize her power, the attraction she wields, she blushes a crimson red. Her blood rises to her cheeks filling it with life and passion.

She stands at the threshold of her youth. The garden of passion lies open in front of her eyes. Her feet however linger behind in the playground of maidenhood. She stands there like the evening, neither here nor there. A little shadow, a little light. A little innocence, a little desire. A bud on the threshold of blossom. That is what she is.

She is the Sandhya, the twilight. She is Mohana - the innocent and seductive Mohana who is on the threshold of blossoming...forever.

She can be seen here.

P.S. Thanks to V for inspiring this post.

எந்தன் அன்னை

கதிரே எந்தன் அன்னை - ஞானப்
புதிரே எந்தன் அன்னை - அசைவின்
சதிரே எந்தன் அன்னை - எந்தன்
எதிரே எந்தன் அன்னை

ஒளியே எந்தன் அன்னை - விரியும்
வளியே எந்தன் அன்னை - வாழ்வின்
அளியே எந்தன் அன்னை - சாவின்
களியே எந்தன் அன்னை

சுடரே எந்தன் அன்னை - பேரின்பப்
படரே எந்தன் அன்னை - வலிதரும்
இடரே எந்தன் அன்னை - உடலின்
குடரே எந்தன் அன்னை

தழலே எந்தன் அன்னை - பேராசைச்
சுழலே எந்தன் அன்னை - வினையின்
உழலே எந்தன் அன்னை - கருணை
நிழலே எந்தன் அன்னை

தேவை

மழை போல் கவிதை
மலர் போல் காதல்

ஒளி போல் பார்வை
வளி போல் எண்ணம்

கொடி போல் வாழ்க்கை
கிளை போல் ஆசை

இருள் போல் உறக்கம்
ம்ருள் போல் கனவு

நதி போல் செல்வம்
மதி போல் கருணை

கதிர் போல் ஞானம்
சுடர் போல் காமம்

கவி போல் கருவம்
கனல் போல் ஆற்றல்

தழல் போல் ஆத்திரம்
நிலம் போல் பொறுமை

வானம் போல் உடல்
கானம் போல் உயிர்

குருவி போல் இன்பம்
கூடு போல் வீடு

அருவி போல் கண்ணீர்
பிரிவு போல் துயரம்

இரவு போல் ஜனனம்
மாலை போல் மரணம்

Lover's night - a poem with two Windows and a door

***********************************

The Door opens

***********************************

Behold behold tis the lover's night
Summer showers cool moonlight
Nectar here nectar there
nectar nectar everywhere

***********************************

Window I

***********************************

Hooting owls and croaking frogs
Crafty cats and fighting dogs
Gentle songs of silver streams
Satin sheets and jasmine dreams

Shining knights and smiling dames
Lissome steeds and magic flames
Golden locks from fairy tales
Underneath her lovely veils

Silent roads and distant trees
shining stars with window breeze
Cradles rocked by rumbling snores
Goodnight kisses and closed doors

***********************************

Window II

***********************************

Wicked hair and wanton sight
lying by the candle light
Goblet of some ancient wine
and tonight she's only mine

Slender neck and hungry eyes
Ripened lips sweetened twice
Now this touch now that kiss
Now a gasp and then a hiss

In my arms her slender waist
Tapering thighs and bosom raised
Lost in pleasure and in pain
Souls together bodies slain

***********************************

Behold behold tis the lover's night
Summer showers cool moonlight
Nectar here nectar there
nectar nectar everywhere

***********************************

The Door closes

***********************************

The Shy Morning

Morning glows in a virgin blush
Trembles there in the silver dew
A teasing song calling the thrush
Golden face blooms anew

A tremulous flame this orange dawn
A golden crack in the sheet of night
Peeping here like a frightened fawn
A modest maiden with feet lily white

Oh how she quivers a face so shy
How she waits on the threshold of day
How she longs to embrace the sky
Oh how she longs to merge with the grey

Over the hills on the singing streams
Gently she walks feeling her love
Shyly she hides all her dark dreams
Like a fair nymph hiding in a cove

Soon she'll grow, soon she'll bloom
Soon she'll smile like a new spring flower
But now she's shy a virgin in her room
Waiting with desire for her secret lover

(P.S. Yes, I'm back!)

And the journey continues..

The Road goes ever on and on

Down from the door where it began.

Now far ahead the Road has gone,

And I must follow, if I can,

Pursuing it with eager feet,

Until it joins some larger way

Where many paths and errands meet,

And whither then? I cannot say.


- J.R.R.Tolkien
(The Lord of the Rings)


And so my journey continues..a man in search of the universe,and the universe in search of a man.And the journey began exactly a year ago,with my BLOG "Saadhana".My BLOG is one year old!!!

Here's me wishing my blog a very happy birthday!!

Have fun!

Bombay

0:00

The bells on the cows. Thats where it begins. Slow and almost silent... can be missed easily. Placid cows chewing the lush green grass, shaking their heads to ward off the occasional flea. Thats when the bells chime. Thats when the cowherd looks up.

0:07

Its a bell after all, a ding here a dong there. Ding dong perhaps is too loud for the bell on the cows. They are much more hushed and inobtrusive. And yet, that is luring enough for the cowherd...and his flute. A soft note coming out of the flute. The cowherd's breath turning into early morning music, wafting with that strange cold and warm dawn breeze that frequents forgotten hamlets. Mesmerizing the performer, audience and the backdrop alike. The coconut trees sway to that lilting melody. The paddy stalks wave their heads as well. The whole scenery moves back and forth resonating with the music - the music of the cowherd's flute playing up against the backdrop of the cow's bells.

1:06

The flute pauses, sighing, searching for a companion. A wanton longing takes shape now - you can see it, with your ears...the notes clinging to the flute and stretching their languid fingers to the scenery...beseeching the unseen companion. They speak words of shameless desire with a grace that cannot be matched. Their call is desperate and yet princely. The cowherd's eyes look towards the horizon as the magic weaves on him as well.

2:03

And there in the horizon, a lone heron spreads its wings. Its pristine white wings set against the placid blue skies evoke images of a tranquil God sitting with a benevolent smile on His face. The bird against the sky...a strange union...ethereal.

2:15

Just as the heron sets its foot nimbly between the arched horns of the cow, a farmer sets his foot on a distant field. Is it harvest time? Or is the land being tilled? You can't make out at this distance...not when you are hypnotized by music and magic together. Its just a farmer, with his long sinewy arms lined with pearls of sweat making love to his field. You don't know if he is kissing her or is being kissed. Close your eyes and let them be, let them all be - the cow with its bell, the cowherd with his flute, the heron from the skies, the farmer and his field. Let them all be.

3:57

Now open your eyes. Its a magnificient painting. The skies smiling down, the sun gracing the scene, the cow chewing cud ignorant of the sun, the bell that chimes occasionally, the heron sitting placidly on the cow, the cowherd with his flute and closed eyes lost in his own magic, the farmer with his field lost in mad passion, the young paddy stalks that blush seeing this, the breeze that seems to stroll along the fields, the canal that runs gently murumuring its dissent at being ignored by the poet...and the serene spirit of dawn soothing everything around this forgotten piece of creation.

5:15

Close your eyes. Open them. It is dawn here.

The obscure title and the numbers that appear in the post will become clear when you click here.

Thoughtless words

Muthamizh. That was the word that got into his mind when he opened his eyes. The sun played on the paddy field making it glisten like a huge emerald. He stared at the field. The occasional heron that landed made the picture more vivid. There were sounds, noises all around and yet a gentle note of silence seemed to run under all of them. The sounds were like the gentle breathing of Shiva in deep meditation.

The breeze was playing gently with his dhoti. Araikaani he thought suddenly. That must be the dimensions of this land, half a kaani. Half of what Barathi wanted. He smiled gently. There were coconut trees lined in distance. The banana plantations however were close by. His gaze then shifted to the pump set. Water was gushing from it in a hurry. Nobody was bathing in it today. He approached the pump set. Drops of water sprayed on to his face. He was reminded of those rose water sprinklers in marriages. He moved away and wiped his face with the dhoti.

A vague shout came from the old man who had been eyeing him suspiciously earlier in the day. He looked up and saw. The old man was making agitated gestures and shouting a lot. The makeshift dam that was controlling the water flow had broken. The old man was trying to simultaneously plug the hole and keep himself from being dragged with the water. Visai he thought. His eyes were now fixed on the canal running next to him. There were crabs scuttling along. Then a water snake came around. It regarded him for a minute and then lost interest.

He sat down now in the shade of the tamarind tree. There were women sowing paddy in his view. They somehow looked like cranes bending low and fishing. He felt there was something wrong in this comparison, but he was reminded of nothing else. There was mild chatter between the women accompanied by gentle laughter. They broke into occasional songs.

The women then started for the Banyan tree for lunch. He noticed one of them. He noticed her when she climbed to the Varappu from the field. She put her right foot up and her sari pulled up revealing her calf. What the cloth failed to cover, the mud did. She lifted her hands to brush the sweat on her forehead. As she did so he could see her slender waist and the droplets of sweat on it catching the sun. She brushed her forehead removing the sweat and leaving a thin layer of mud in its place.

The women had now gathered at the banyan tree. The sounds from them now felt like Thillaanaa. His eyes were closed. The breeze had lost interest in his dhoti and was instead playing with his hair. The sun stole through the leaves and warmed the behind of his neck in a pleasurable manner. His hands were playing with fallen leaves and twigs. Maiyyal was the word that caught his fancy now. But the word did not stay for long. Almost suddenly his thoughts went to Valli. He felt like he was on some hill in a hunter’s attire chasing Valli. He had never heard Valli speak, but somehow felt her voice must be very sweet.

When he opened his eyes he saw the green paddy again. Nel he thought. Then in an unexpected manner he went on rhyming Nel, Sol, Pal, Kal, Vil, Nil and so on. He was walking along the field quickly as he did this. Then as though tired from the effort, he started breathing heavily. Nellamma is a quaintly beautiful phrase he thought. The paddy is the mother. Muthu Nellamma he thought. He bent down and picked a fallen leaf. By the time he rose again, he had wandered on to Kannamma. For the first time since morning he spoke aloud. He said Kannamma. He said it aloud twice. Indeed, it felt sweet in his tongue.

The sun’s last rays were coming down like desperate warriors of a losing King trying to stop the armies of darkness crowding in the west. The women were now moving homewards visible only as silhouettes. He closed his eyes once more and opened them. He turned around slowly towards home. A single butterfly which he had not noticed since morning flitted in front of his face. Vannam he thought…Vannam, Thinnam, Munnam, Ennam…he walked on.

Muthamizh – A single word denoting the three facets of Tamizh language namely drama, poetry and prose.

Araikaani – A measure of land

Visai – Force

Varappu – The elevated pathway in a field

Maiyyal – Desirous love

Valli – Lord Murugan’s consort

Nel – Paddy

Sol – Word

Pal – Teeth

Kal – Stone

Vil – Bow

Nil – Stop

Muthu – Pearl

Alvibest

I had mentioned in my new year post about treasures found in BLOGGER. Alivbest is one of the most precious amongst them. It all started with this post.

Eroteme was then an unknown BLOGGer to me. And it was by sheer chance that I came across this post. (You may notice that I have the first comment there! :-P) So thanks to Anu and to Eroteme, I was introduced to Alvibest. And today I'm proud to say I'm part of Her Editorial Team and that I have a small share in Her February 2006 appearance. And yes, I do have one more proud claim - I'm amongst the few contributors who have their contributions in all the three issues of Alvibest so far.

So why this sudden post? Alvibest has matured beautifully - from a shy, bashful maiden to a graceful courtly Princess!! And right now She is looking to conquer more domain...more hearts. I know there are quite a few readers of my BLOG who subscribe to Alvibest and there are quite a few who don't know about it yet. For those of you who are subscribers already, I ask the favour of spreading the news - family, friends, Internet community anybody at all who might be interested in quality Art and Literature.

And for the uninitiated, Alvibest is a quaterly Art and Literature magazine which paints the beauty of life with ink (digital ink, currently ;-) ). You can subscribe to the magazine by sending a mail to subscribe[dot]alvibest[at]gmail[dot]com and you can find snippets of the magazine here.

Besides subscribing and spreading the word, we are also looking at help in the form of reviewing, editing, design and just about anything. Briging up Alvibest is no different from bringing up a child - there will be more than one person's involment in shaping Her up. And anything that helps Her in Her growth would be very much appreciated!!

On the personal front, I have always wanted a daughter...three rather. Never thought the first one would be a Magazine, that too so lovely a Magazine!!! Thanks Eroteme!!! Thanks Anu!!! :-)

Rama Rama

The morning sun waits to spread light on the world with eagerness.

Dawn trembles with curiosity on the eastern sky.

The birds stretch their wings and look skywards with expectation.

Jambhavan looks with pride and awe at the giant Hanuman.

He repeats Rama Rama aloud seeing victory already.

Sampati takes up Rama’s name and dances about Hanuman’s feet with ecstasy.

Lakshman in some far off forest seeks evidences of Sita bearing in his mind Rama.

The Vanaras behind him chatter in confusion but their hearts murmur Rama.

Baratha washes the sandals with his tears muttering Ram Ram instead of the Gayatri mantra.

Vibhishina wakes up and looks into his palm as he utters Rama.

Ravana stirs in his sleep and sighs in a musical note that resonates with Rama.

The winds strike the mountains whispering the name - Rama.

The ocean stretches ahead with waves that chant Rama Rama.

The air is tense and expectant with the glory of coming days.

Hanuman folds his palms and closes his eyes.

He intones Rama Rama Rama as his right foot takes off the ground for the leap.

Sita sits in penance in Ashokavana.

The leaves in her garden prison gently rustle as Hanuman leaps.

Sita does not waver.

She glows in her austere penance like the morning sun.

Her lips move repeating Ram Ram Ram.

The name is taken up by the wind and carried to the sea.

The universe reverberates with Rama Nama.

Ram opens his eyes as the sun rises and sighs ‘Sita’.

And yes... the bride of spring has come out!!!! I'm glad to say I've played a part in decorating her!!!!

Just popped in for a (belated) New Year Post. 2005 definitely gave me more than one treasure, and almost all of its treasures were found right here on www.blogger.com - so my lifetime gratitude to BLOGGER!!!! Happy new year then and hopefully I should be back before 2007!!