Tuesday, December 28, 2010

Où je me trouve? - Une proposition philosophique avec les prépositions

Dans le silence qui est
Dans le vide
Dans le fleuve de la passion

Devant la vie
Derrière la mort
près de mes rêves
loin des autres misérables

à côté de mes dames
(à gauche de la dame Langue
à droite de la dame Amour)

sur le ciel
sous la terre

en face du soleil


Au bout de tout

est mon être

Monday, December 27, 2010

Une petite analyse de La Tulipe Noire - un roman historique de Alexandre Dumas (père)

Note : C'est ma première effort dans l'écriture francaise. Si vous trouvez des erreurs, dites-moi et je vais les corriger avec plaisir.

"La Tulipe Noire" est un roman typique de Dumas. Il a de l'action, de la romance, de l'aventure et une connexion forte avec l'histoire. C'est un voyage dans un autre temps... un temps chevaleresque, de l'amour et de la passion.

Il commence par une déscription dramatique et intense du lynchage des frères de Witte. C'est un vrai incident à partir des pages de l'histoire. (Ref : http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Johan_de_Witt et http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Cornelis_de_Witt). C'est une ouverture très rapide et est très intéressante. J'etais sous la charme de cette déscription.

Après cette déscription graphique et violente, le roman va dans un paysage calme et tranquille - la ville de Dordrecht. Ici vit Cornelius van Baerle, filleul de Cornelius de Witte. Il est amoureux des tulipes. Et maintennant nous savons pourquoi ce roman s'est appelé 'La Tulipe Noire'. Cornelius van Baerle essaie de créer 'La Tulipe Noire' que l'on pense impossible. Il vient de s'approcher son succès, il est emprisonné en connexion avec des activités de son parrain.

Dans la prison il rencontre Rosa, une fille Frison, qui est la fille du geôlier. Ce rendez-vous chanceux le sauve d'une mort certaine et aussi ses drageons de tulipe noire.

Mais à partir d'ici commence un voyage de danger et d'amour. Parce que le voisin de Cornelius est jaloux de sa tulipe noire. Il joue un jeu dangereux qui met la vie de tous en enjeu. Vont-ils pouvoir unir, les amoureux? Quel va être le destin de Tulipe Noire? Trouvez toutes les réponses dans le livre.

L'histoire est très belle et il y a beaucoup de descriptions des villes, du paysage et des personnages historiques. La déscription de la ville de Dort est comme une peinture. La romance entre Cornelius et Rosa est comme un poème.

Mais ce roman n'est pas le meilleur roman de Dumas. Il n'a pas la profondeur de 'Le Comte de Monte Cristo' ou la charme de 'Les Trois Mousquetaires'. La caractérisation du héros et de l'héroïne sont très simple. Vers la fin, le roman est très prévisible.

Mais, on peut dire Dumas ne nous deçoit pas. C'est un bon roman pour passer du temps dans le pays fantastique et romantique.

Merci à ma professeur de français pour les corrections!

Friday, December 24, 2010

Brahmin By Convenience - A few thoughts on carefully crafted hypocrisy

I am a Brahmin...

in wearing a sacred thread around my torso, primarily to scratch my back easily.

in expecting my wife, my sister and my daughter to wear only traditional attire like saris and salwars.

not when I roam about in Jeans, Cargos and Shorts myself.

in visiting a Perumal Kovil every Vaikunda Ekadasi to reserve my ticket to paradise.

not when I try to get a special ticket by bribing someone in the temple, to convert my normal reservation to a tatkal reservation.

in not eating non-vegetarian food out of compassion for all living things

not when I carry a leather wallet, wear suede shoes, a leather belt or drape myself in a saree made of the skin of dead insects.

in eating a Satvic diet designed to keep my temperament right.

not when I gulp more ghee than was poured into the sacrificial oblation or when I eagerly take another serving of Veg. Pulao with Panner Butter Masala.

in not having any bad habits or addictions.

not when I am addicted to filter coffee, pure ghee sweets, sleeping pills.

in refusing to take dowry for my son's wedding.

not when I lay down sovereign terms for the jewelry - anda, gundaa, taxes, etc exclusive.

in making sure my daughter sings Carnatic music or dances Bharathanatyam.

not when I expect her to get married to an insensitive rich brute...to ensure her happiness.

in getting married, with a 3 day traditional wedding as per the scriptures.

not when I blindly utter mantras asking for many male children even in this day and age.

in living with one spouse all through my life, a tradition of bonds celebrated in our Shashtiabthapoorthi.

not when I do it rejecting love, the one thing that can hold two people together, without actually binding them.

in shaying that the shong was shuper ensuring I speak my Brahmin Bashai perfectly.

not when I repeat every word that the priest says without knowing a letter in Sanskrit.

in completing my engineering/medicine and duly travelling abroad, maintaining the great Brahmin tradition of knowledge seeking.

not when I diligently pursue only material goals, not doing Sandhyavandhanam (or Sandhi, if you will), or any of those other unnecessary traditions that have crept into true Brahminhood.

in praying to the million Gods in my prayer room, trying hard to realize that truth is beyond the three natures, formless, attribute less, nameless...and so on.

not when I encourage discrimination in my own family in subtle ways by gifting fairness creams or commenting on people's height.

in chanting 'Asau adityau brahmaiva brahma aham asmi bo'.

not when I say that within the four walls of my posh prayer room, where there is no Adithya, no Brahmam and no Aham either.

in practising equality amidst all castes and religions, by talking to my neighbours and sharing with them the treats of my festival so that they can sample my skills.

not when I have a separate tumbler from which my maid has to drink her coffee, after she enters the home via the back door, or when I subtly push aside treats that come back from my non-brahmin neighbour's house


in working very hard to attain that bliss of union that sheep attain by belonging to a herd.

not when I constantly run away from the bliss that the sun feels when he embraces the universe with his million golden arms.


Aham Brahmasmi *

* - Conditions Apply

Monday, May 10, 2010

It is not love that moves the world. It is neither wisdom. It is not truth that is the breath of the universe. Nor is it beauty. The universe did not spring from joy. Nor is it the seed of silence. It does not culminate into death. Nor does it unite with One.

It is I who moves the universe. It is I who am the breath of the universe. From me springs the universe. And unto me it recedes.

Tuesday, March 16, 2010

This fire of the summer evening,

if it glows like burnished gold

in faces of strange women,

what light must play on Her face!

The koel's song with plaintive notes,

if it pierces like a spear

the hearts of those who are strangers to love,

how deep its wound in My heart!

Monday, March 15, 2010

A quilled evening

Summer clouds gather and gossip
Sordid secrets of a sultry sea.

Wanton wind wanders mad
in search of sweet petrichor.

Golden trees gasp in eternal pain.
Mute Atlases holding up the primal silence.

Dulcet evening smears her golden glow
on every stranger's beautiful face.

Sultry sweat trickles down
flirting with the breeze and skin.

Dusty roads raise dusky sighs
fading into empty footsteps.

All of this stays painted still
in the ripples of my quill.

Thursday, February 25, 2010

The Lady Afloat

I sat once upon the mute stone
that stares cold by the river bank
I sat ere the sun had shone
hailing a day so morbid dank

I sat in hush in deathly still
I saw the pale moon softly die
I saw those empty hours fill
the chasm of an undead sky

Then a dawn; a pallid dawn
of feeble rays with fading glow
Casting charnel shapes upon
the dying mist's fervid brow

And with that light of dreary gloom
She came in like a painted boat
A flower faded in its bloom
Asleep in death a lady afloat

Her nightly hair was led astray
By wanton weeds in the water gray
Her closed eyes they seemed to say
'Alas this is my only way'

Her breasts did swell with tears unshed
Of silent grief of hidden shame
And a thousand pains that love hath fed
To a thousand souls that have no name

What vow unkept what heart was broke
What vile soul did play deceit
What word delivered that deadly stroke
that crushed her heart with dreams so sweet

Perhaps he died a hero's death
in battle that waged in lands unseen
Perhaps he fell in foreign earth
ere she could count moons sixteen

Did she give her heart in vain
to some Adonis set in stone?
Did he tell her in words so plain
that his heart was his alone?

I stare as the hours rolled
She drifts so still like a painted boat
Her tale of woe stays untold
She fades away the lady afloat

Monday, February 15, 2010


O Ithaca, fair Ithaca when will I see
Your gold hemmed coast skirting the sea
Where Poseidon rests his wrath asleep
Where mermaids gambol, frolic and leap

O Ithaca, fair Ithaca farthest out to sea
When will I rove like the wind free
kissing with lust your ears of corn
drink from your streams and be reborn?

When will I ravish your bountiful groves?
Delve and hunt through your delightful coves
Impale wild beasts with my steady spear
Your sighs whispered by the wind in my ear

When will I drink the crimson wine
aged sweet in thine secret shrine
When will I gaze on thy endless skies
as they blush in brazen sunrise

When will I suck your nectar raw
from golden buds that spring did thaw
When will my plough with oxen pair
Till your fertile fields laid bare

When will I slake my thirst ablaze
in yonder stream that runs and plays?
When will I lie sated in joy
and yet hunger, for you do not cloy?

When will I sleep a dreamless sleep
one that thy breast's lilt alone keep
When will I wake to thy doting smile
sans base cunning sans beguile

O Ithaca, fair Ithaca should I not see
Your gold hemmed coast skirting the sea
Inter my lust my love in thy breast
And death would be than life so blest