Matters at hand...

"Far is such a thought from my mind," exclaimed Siddhartha. "I wish that they shall all stay with the teachings, that they shall reach their goal! It is not my place to judge another person's life. Only for myself, for myself alone, I must decide, I must chose, I must refuse. Salvation from the self is what we Samanas search for, oh exalted one. If I merely were one of your disciples, oh venerable one, I'd fear that it might happen to me that only seemingly, only deceptively my self would be calm and be redeemed, but that in truth it would live on and grow, for then I had replaced my self with the teachings, my duty to follow you, my love for you, and the community of the monks!"
With half of a smile, with an unwavering openness and kindness, Gotama looked into the stranger's eyes and bid him to leave with a hardly noticeable gesture.
"You are wise, oh Samana.", the venerable one spoke."You know how to talk wisely, my friend. Be aware of too much wisdom!"

[Siddhartha, Hermann Hesse]

Not often do I come across a short phase in my days where I am confronted with a singular matter brought forth with least design and cunning. It is interesting to watch, in a span of few days, intricately related matters bloom before my eyes and make me wonder why? Why do these things come forth to me? Am I supposed to do something? Am I supposed to realise something?
Such a bundle of days started out with a post on an acquaintance's blog where a small discussion about choices and one's worth in the context of the world ensued.
Later, I saw a post on Meera's blog about mediocrity and the like.
Dheepak Ra's blog had this post about love (why? oh why? :-) and there was some interesting points being raised there about expectations and reciprocation.
Misha's blog had a post about nothingness and doing things for their sake.

If you are wondering where the link is, here it is. The link is about volition and how we see ourselves in the context of the world. I suppose this is very essential to our thought process as well as our lives. It isn't as glamorous as "Ego" or "Esteem" or some of the other stuff that fills volumes of books on "philosophy", but I think it is most essential to our understanding of things around us and our purpose, or rather the absence of it, in this world.
I shall try and present this step by step, ever mindful of the growing dissent against lengthy pieces of writing!! ;-)

1. Why do we choose?
2. Why do we wish to walk our path and not just some path?
3. Why do we need to have an ambition?
4. Why do we think we have a unique purpose in our lives?
5. Is expecting inevitable, given that we choose?
6. What is a successful life?
7. How do we affect the world through what we do?
8. Should we live in order to create an impact on others, on the world?
9. Hence, what is the point of living?

Oops!! I think I would need to spread this across a few posts. There is no way I am going to manage all of this in a few lines and one post! Let's flow.
I would request the reader to enquire along with me. It is quite likely that I may learn something new or gain a new perspective. We aren't dealing in theories here, nor do we wish to proclaim and accept ideals. THAT I would be able to do in a few lines!!

1. Why do we choose?
I would start with 2 other, but related, questions. When do we choose? and what do we choose between? A very important thing we need to remember is, we aren't talking about trivial choices like "should I have Honey-Nut-Crunch or Choco-Rum-Delight." I don't think people fret over such incidents of choosing. What we are considering are incident where choices seem to be disturbing and/or have far reaching consequences. Are we together on this? So, what do we choose between? We choose between equally desirable things, is it not? If you were asked to choose between living in Switzerland and living in a cave in the Himalayas, there might not be much of a choice. If you were asked to choose between a life of wealth and pleasure and a life of ill-paid work in a cement factory for 17 hours, there really isn't much to choose from. We aren't going to argue for the heck of it, so don't flip over and tell me that "Why? Maybe a life in a cement factory for 17 hours everyday and earning 200 rupees a month is paradise for someone." So we choose between equally desirable things. When do we choose? Would I be wrong in understanding that choices are made to ensure a desirable consequence (usu. in the future)? If the consequences were to be the same, the choices might be of little relevance, at least the choice itself wouldn't trouble us for long. If the choice was between a career as a fighter pilot and a mason and both of them give you the same thrills, security, job satisfaction, etc. although you might hold a penchant for flying now, were you to become a mason the consequences might allay your ephemeral disappointment of not flying. This is usually not realised in a couple of days or months but usually over a longer period of time. Hence, (if we nod together on this) we choose when we need to ensure the circumstances and environment of our future. Basically, ensure security (not merely monetary) of our future lives. I shall leave this at that...

2. Why do we wish to walk our path and not just some path?
It is often heard from people who have chosen that "I'd rather choose and be wrong than be stuck with someone else's choice". It seems that the suffering is not a primary concern as much as who is the perpetrator of the suffering. If you hurt me, I don't like it, but if I go and hurt myself, it is ok. This seems to be irrational to me. I am interested in tackling my pain. How does it matter who caused it? I think I want to be a painter, my parents coax me into doing engineering. I get a job and soon I realise that I have no mental peace and long working hours and no job satisfaction. So I blame my parents and throw a tantrum. Had I become a painter and spent endless days without money and borrowing money to buy canvas and trying my best to put up gallery shows and being forced into selling my paintings for Rs. 500 so that I can pay off my debts, then such a life is fine? Now I am not suffering? This suffering is acceptable to me? Does the path matter so much rather than what we do on that path? If the goal is being happy, then does it matter which path we take? If the goal is being financially successful, then does it matter which path we take? Is the mind tricking us into identifying ourselves with a path purely on the basis of being the designer of that path?

3. Why do we need to have a goal, an ambition?
I am yet to figure this out. I am a criminal too and while I indulge in this I keep wondering (and this is ever since I stepped into my teens) why? What is the point? When I ran for the school and state athletics team, I wanted to be the best; when I got on stage, I wanted to be the best actor; when I did my homework I wanted my teachers to announce that my submission was the best (I still remember once when we were asked to find out the value of 2*2*2, everyone said 6 and I had said 8 and the teacher said "No, 6 is the right answer". When I proved it to her that I was right, she didn't bother to announce it. Notice that I still remember something that happened in 2nd or 3rd. I was so intent on being noticed then!!); when I got to sing in a choir, I wanted my voice to be recognised as the clearest. Fortunately I never felt that way about the writing that issued out of my pen. Even in wanting to lead a simple life I wanted to be the best. The point is: How does it help at all? Why do we need an ambition? Is it to fill the lack of passion for the task at hand? Is it goad us on towards stardom or perfection? But why? I am passionate about teaching and philosophy (amongst a hundred other things), and the passion is so overwhelming that there is no place for praise or criticism. Honestly. The prizes I won for my essays on pedagogy didn't affect me at all. Its like when you are running away from a lion; you do not want to run in the most elegant fashion nor would you care about whether you are the fastest person on earth: you need to be faster than the lion! Simple. And that is not ambition, that is pure necessity, urge, passion. The analogy ends here. Please do not take it further. If I am in love with something/someone I wouldn't measure it nor attempt to surpass anyone else in their love for a similar thing/person. If accolades and recognition is your thing, then do we agree that you do not love the task/object/person as much as you love yourself and exalting yourself in the eyes of the mass and the intellentsia/elite? When there is no love, why should you be recognised for something? When you truly don't love music why do you wish to be the greatest singer?

Let us spend some time on our discussion about these matters before we proceed with the other 6 concerns that we have raised...
It was a pleasure talking to you.

In a new avatar

Breathless stretches of mud and grass raced beneath our nimble feet which barely touched them as we chased one and another, shorts chasing shorts or shorts chasing skirts and frocks. We called it something else but, like true joy, I only remember the experience. It would be fun to corner a little pigtailed girl and she would start screeching as if the commotion had the effect of making her invisible and hence safe. Some of the guys would have mercy and chase another kid. Some prolonged that hunt and moment of accepting the trophy. I would explain that it is a game and then make them "out".
Elsewhere a variation of it is called Tag.
Now we have a similar game being played in our midst, like armchair hunters. I was all tickled
and excited to hear about it. I have been tagged by Meera and Krish. As stupid as I felt when I was hunted down in my days of bruises and scars, I felt elated to be picked in my present days of deadlines and emails! :-)
Without much ado I shall proceed. But (damn it! control yaar, control) I would like to recount a quick incident of this game with a friend of mine. we played this game and what I recount is not about the sweaty twists and dodges of the game with her, but the memory it brings of her. She is a very talented girl but has a great problem with apologising. She would try to make up in many ways, but would find it difficult to pick up the phone and call or send an email. Many a time I let her out of her predicament of not being able to break the ice. Once I decided not to so that she get a chance to learn how to do so. She hasn't yet made contact with me. She stills talks to others about me and, in indirect ways, maintains communication with me, but is still finding it difficult to break out and say "Hi Eroteme! Long time...." :-) This post is to that little brat with whom I have had a wonderful time. What do you say I do with her? :-)

So here goes:

Total books I own:
I stopped counting a few years back. The very act of poking the spine of each book and call out a monotonically increasing sequence of numbers with each jab has stopped holding my fancy. If one were to include the books that I have printed out (and bound in maroon rexine... hmmm smells wonderful) I would easily count about 200+ books. I do not seggregate between technical and non-technical books (Have you read Peter Van derLinden's Expert C Programming: Deep C secrets? You wouldn't call it a technical book. It is the finest example of a focussed book on a particular topic (aka technical book) which can make you laugh and read it like a novel. Brilliant book. Most of my technical books are interesting reads as well (even the Webster's New Collegiate Dictionary 1975).

Last book I bought:
Not 1 but 3:
Mistress of Spices: Chitra Banerjee Divakaruni
Corrections: Jonathan Franzen
Drawings of Leonardo Da Vinci: A.E. Popham (A rare book which I got at a good discounted price)


Last book I read:
Mistress of Spices


Currently reading:
Can Humanity change? Jiddu Krishnamurthy in dialogue with Buddhists
John Updike: Early Stories 1953-1972
Poems by Wordsworth, Longfellow and Basho
Immediate Fiction: Jerry Cleaver
Short stories from various journals


Books that have had an impact on me:
Honestly, every one of them (which I completed) has had an impact on me, so let me paint a scene in a bookstore where you ask me "E, I have less than Rs. 1000 with me. Give me 3 books which will make me sit up and read them and would be worth the moeny spent on them". Hmmm...

1. The Tao Te Ching: This is a compilation of 81 verses. It is not a new religion nor is it something that converts you from Islam or Hinduism or Buddhism or whatever you have trained yourself to follow. Its impact on your religious beliefs is the same as that of the South Beach Diet. In 81 verses, Laozi (or someone) has extracted the finest essence of philosophy and wisdom. I like this text because I was drawn into it, nay, I beat to the same rhythm as it thumps. Not one part came to me as new nor was it ever so clear before. In not knowing and knowing I relished this compilation.

2. Stories by Saki: I have read (as others have) this author since my schooldays and loved the way he played with words. He would make you read and re-read the sentence ensuring that your smile grew wider with every fresh perusal. Saki had the ability to be verbose without tiring you down. I hear many people say that he indeed was tiresome, but I never found him that way. His sentences were all read in one breath and when I ran out of it, in the inhalation came fresh air, purport, beauty, a tinkle of bells and ecstacy. I would play with words in my head ever since I read and relished his works.

3. Truth is a pathless land: This is the first public speech given by JK. I enjoyed it thoroughly and was truly shaken up by this (I read it when I was 18). His other works didn't have much of an impact (which is different from being impressed) on me as this single piece had laid me bare and I revelled in the nudity it brough forth. Try as much, I couldn't be clothed thereafter.

4. Tarzan (Edgar Rice Burroughs): I grew up wanting to ride Jadbalja (if I remember right) the
golden maned lion. I would practice jumping from branches onto the nape of a predator and press its head to the mud and bite into the jugular vien. The predators, rest assured, were imaginary, but the branches and the twists in my ankle weren't. I use to run around the house dressed (rather, undressed) like Tarzan (hold your wild horses! I stopped doing that when I was about 10). The impact this book series had on me was the power of imagination it opened up to me. I created sequels to the books and enacted the scenes.

5. Tinkle and Amar Chitra Katha: Every Indian child who enjoyed reading has been ensnared by these little thin books. Dasavathara, Tantri the Mantri, Mahabharata and others. They were the first I read and loved them. And the impact of the first love is not spelt out in words!

6. DC War comics: I was crazy about them and gobbled them in matter of minutes. I loved the scenes of war and the rat-a-tats of Uzi submachine guns and subs and... In loving these books I learnt to despise war. That was their impact.

"Damn it, E. I said 3 books. Now, do I have to buy all of them?"

Now whom do I tag?
I would love to hear the choices of Atanu, Uma, Toeragz, Ammani and SensiblyStoned (I was told to stop with 5 :-( ).


And a few more books:
I was asked recently by a few people to recommend/suggest/discuss good books. What follows is a quick list of my likes. I would like to break that list into 3 parts, viz., pure joy of reading, thought provoking and great amount of information. Some books would cross borders and cannot be contained in any compartment created with such wide sieves.
I would point to many books on this page. You could search for these on your favourite online bookstore (was planning to link them all, but decided against it).

Joy of Reading:
1. John Updike: Early Stories 1953-1975
2. Mistress of Spices
3. The Lady and the monk
4. Collected Stories by Nabokov
5. Lolita
6. Any story by Saki
7. Mrs. Dalloway
8. 21 stories: Graham Greene
9. On Writing (Stephen King)
10. Don Quixote (pronounced as Don K(w)ee-o-they)

Thought Provoking:
1. Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid
2. Siddartha
3. Narcissus and Goldmund
4. Truth is a pathless land (JK)
5. Peopleware
6. Catcher in the Rye
7. This matter of Culture (JK)
8. Art of Innovation (IDEO)
9. Razor's Edge
10. 1984

Wonderful source of information
1. Serious Creativity
2. How would you move Mount Fuji?
3. Expert C Programming (this book is a joy to read as well)
4. Lateral Thinking
5. Nature of Order (all 4 volumes, Christopher Alexander)
6. Organisational Behaviour (Robbins)
7. Programming Pearls (Bentley)
8. Pragmatic Programmer: From journeyman to master
9. Drawings of Leonardo Da Vinci
10. Design of the UNIX operating system (Bach. Brilliant)

I have an idea for another tag series. Will be putting up the details soon... :-)

And what life gave him...

It is a confusing day to which one opens tired, aged eyes looking around searching for those who helped define life which was being celebrated that day. They say a man is blessed to be able to celebrate his 60th birthday with kith and kin around to relive a few scattered moments and at once make him feel six, sixteen, twenty six and then with their gifts and chapped smiles remind him of the 60 years he has lived.
But his father was no more and his mother was too old to hug him like she did on that sultry morning when he was six and still in knickers while she had had her bath and wasn't supposed to touch anyone. She had brushed back his hair with a loving hand, before she went to have her bath again. He had lost most of that hair and she had lost most of that courage to display affection openly. Now he had his wife and son to hug, although his wife didn't and his son wasn't around.
And confusing days are surprisingly bright in a diabolic attempt to make you lose your guard and expect a wonderfully pleasant day. But he was wise by instinct and of years. He woke up and headed for the prayer room and bowed his silent 30 second reverence before he went about preparing for the day's activities. I remember once asking my mother: "Amma, why doesn't mama say as many prayers as we do? He seems to complete it all in 2 minutes but it takes me a shifty-legged 10 minutes to complete it all" She replied:"Its not how long you stand before the lord but how sincere you are." She still insisted that I say all my prayers for the gods might excuse her brother who, she hoped, was as loved by them as she loved him.

He came over to me and said: "You need to take care of a lot of things today." I was suddenly red with excited blood running to my head and all ready to run around even if there wasn't work. It was an honour to serve him. I never thought he would ask me. He picked me. I was smiling through most of the hodiernal work without regard to the heat and sweat that ran down between one curved lip and another.

And then I watched him go through the rituals like he had walked through most of life; with sincerity, attention and complete dedication. As I watched him live his life again for the next 3 hours I let my ears pick odd conversations which went from one tilted grey-haired person to another.
"Were it not for Kanna then it would have been so difficult to manage my children's education."
"Is the sweet dish ready? Kanna would like it hot."
"Why are those leaves dangling like that? E, come here. Go straighten those leaves. What will mama think of your work?"
"He could have conducted this in a big hall with hundreds of people coming in. But..."
"He doesn't cut down on any of the formal expenditures. Even now. God alone bless him and take care of him."
"Well, it seems that only god has been taking care of him."
"You like this chain. 22 carat. Haan, it was A~ choice. She and Kanna had gone to pick it up for my birthday."
"He has grown thin, no? I wish I could do something for him. But he won't accept anything from anyone. He still lives by the old code."
"Kanna and me were close once. Then I got married and he got married and... Everyone has to take of their own family."

In the midst of all this, mama would call me and give me some instructions which I enjoyed doing. He performed the sacrificial rites without a smile and I hoped no one noticed it.
"Mama, smile! One snap, mama. Please."
and that smile would carry the weight of 60 years on either ear which had stood recipient to praises, accolades, pleadings, accusations, death chants, birth cries of grandchildren of his siblings and a lot more.

As he was completing his sacrificial rites, I went to sit at my grandmother's feet. She placed a hand on my shoulder and I held it lightly. I turned to look up at her, but she was looking at her son with the same love she had once held him on that sultry morning. And in that gaze she hoped to take it all away from him and into herself. Her son didn't deserve what he had been through. None of her children did, but definitely not her son. And she watched him while each tear bore a tale:
An angry boy in torn knickers
A boy afraid of his father
A short tempered teenager
A loving brother.
A boy who climbed to myriad temples praying for this child to be a boy so that he could play with him.
A boy who loved to take care of his sisters and laid down rules for them.
A boy playing in dust while watching boys his age ride a cycle. Should he ask his parents? No, there were other things to be bought.
A boy diligent in his studies. He had to get his sisters married off.
An admission into IIT Madras.
Sideburns flanking a serious boy-man face.
How he held back his tears when his younger sister got married
How he helped ease out troubles in the married homes of his younger sisters
How he waited till he was sure that he could afford to get married
How he prospered
How he shared his prosperity with all
How he gave his wife everything
How he gave everyone nearly everything
How he prayed for a child
How he thanked the gods for the son they gave him
How he spun dreams into the soft downy blanket he draped over his son's chest
How he took care of his ailing sister
How he took care of his dear brother
How he heard jealous remarks but never flinched nor stopped helping those vile tongues
How he loved life
How he took everyone into the life he loved
Those toys and chocolates he bought everyone. Save some money Kanna! What use amma? Look at them. See how happy they are?
How he rose and then...
How he took care of his ailing father.
How he never let his father apologise for anything and let him die with his head held high. At least to others...
How he never fought with anyone, not even his wife and child
How he made sure his son got the foreign education he so sought
How he bore the brunt of time and misfortune but always greeted everyone with a genuine smile.
How he forgot to smile
How he forgot to love life
How he stoops under the telling of time
How he still holds on to the basic tenets of a good man
How his trembling hands perform the sacrifice earnestly
How I wish I could hug him like I did in the kitchen that day...

Amma, today is my birthday, amma.
Kanna, may you live like a king that you are to me and to all who know you truly. May you find peace. May you find joy. May the gods stop torturing you. May you get your smile back. May you find that bounce in your step. Kanna, may you be my son again. In this life and in every life of mine.

Her grip tightened around my shoulders and I turned to look at my uncle. He poured the last offering into the sacrificial fire and he seemed to ask: What am I celebrating?

I hope the fires replied thus:
Hear perfect man, you shall celebrate the lives you have touched and infinite be they although only a few gather around you today to be a part of your life as they have always been and to make you a part of their life as you have always been. Hear son, you shall celebrate the joy of giving without plot and design. Hear dear son, you shall celebrate the joy of instilling happiness in many lives although they forget in the midst of their reveling. Hear dearest of sons, celebrate the joy of having so many eyes turn toward you although I burn brighter.

Shower!

Parental guidance should be sought
For this scene in the bathroom, shot

(We need more warnings and disclaimers of this sort!! :-)


Taingggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggggg
Laa laa ri ra...
Laa laa ri ra...
Laa li ra ra ra ra rum
Laa laa ri ra...
Laa laa ri ra...
Laa li la la lum

Ooooooh Yeah!

Bin badal barsat ho jaise
(now I am scratching my chin to figure out where that came from)

Jaaaaaaane Jaan
Doondtha (muffled by soap) raha
Hoon tumhe raat din, mein yahan se wahan

Dhoom pichak dhoom, pichak dhoom,
dhoom pichak dhoom, pichak dhoom
di-di di di-di di di-di di di di di
Dhoom pichak dhoom, pichak dhoom

Vaathaapi ganapathim bhaje hummmmmm
Vaathapi ganapathim bhajeyyyy
Vaaranaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa
Varana-aasyam vara-pradam shree
Varana-aasyam vara-pradam shree
VAAAAaaaaaaathapi ganapathim bhajeyyyyyyyyy-eeyyyyyy hum

jing chak jing jing chak jing jing chak
ta da nu dheem taree ta ja nu dheem taree thaam takita thaam ta da nu-uuuuuuuuu

Dil se mere door-na jaana-aa
Dil se mere door-na-jaana
Tum meri zindagiiiiii
Tum meri ho khusheee

And I felt her leave...

Three little fingers held my thumb like earth does, the first rain drop. They were cool against my cheek... the coolness of receding life.
She licked her lips.
"Daah--dee!"
She was tender in my hands. How could she leave before her first blush, before she wore braces, become a woman, giggle at those cute boys, ... how?
I let my tears fall and mingle with hers. I bent to kiss her and watched her body slowly ebb away from me as if a kiss would break the resolve to depart. Would her little torso lift against the weight of death?

A pleasure indeed...

I realised that I hadn't visited a few blogs which I like. Did that and then I stopped doing that once I reached Dheepak Ra's blog

He has one of the most splendid blogs I have seen in a long time... Most of us weave in wonderful words and images and news tit-bits and opinions... He blends pictures, quotes and little colour of personal experience and presents a tapestry like I have never seen before. I find that wonderful. I owe him the smile that I carry today. Thanks D. I owe him other things of which he is unaware but that is better left that way... :-)

I wasn't planning to blog today, but couldn't help it...
Please do visit his blog when you find time...

(Naah, Dheepak didn't pay me for this!! ;-)

Those fakers...

I simply hate it when they fake a Western accent. I called some person and I hear an annoying feminine voice go like this:

"The Hutch numbuhr you have cawled is currently unavaiylabillll, pleease try again laytuhr. Thaiink youuu."

and she practically sang it out!

I don't believe that I have an accent, but whenever I go to Madras (nothing against Madras, but this was noticed mostly in that city) and ask someone at the bus stop which bus goes to Adyar or something like that (in Tamil) they would reply in English and the younger (25*365 days or lesser) ones would do it with a fake accent. Why? Why oh! why? I can notice the sharp change in accent when someone talks to another person in English ("No, daaa. He did it chumma only...") and then turns around for a conversation with me ("Oh! yeaaah. What they did was sooo coool. I really dig it.") ... Hurrmmmpphh. Annoying.

Recently at a bookshop in Bombay, I couldn't help overhear a bunch of schoolgirls (lesser than 14*365 days on earth) discuss some book and intersperse that with discussions about some girls in school. The accent was atrociously faked and the language had a liberal sprinkling of all the four letter words which one would refrain from using in front of one's parents! Cute kids, though :-)

My sister's doctor's kid and her cousins/friends went on a trek to some place near Delhi. So they stopped over at my sis's place. She had sent a small parcel with the kid. When I went to collect it, I thought it sensible to enquire about the trek and whether they enjoyed the stay at my sister's place (you know, the pointless but essential things of life!). Her accent knocked me over! She called my sister "funky" (my sis is a little shy of 30*365 days and this kid was all of 14*365 days or so) and called my nephew (< 210 days. Now you know why I was measuring age in days? Poor kid feels bad when he is the only one to be counted in days) something which I am glad he can't yet understand! FUNKY? My sister doesn't have a bull's nose ring nor does she wear her hair in pink and blue spikes! FUNKY? :-O

If being modern and hep (what on earth does that mean? Where did it come from?) and cool are the in things, then why is it that people achieve them only by faking and aping?

Wait till I catch that Hutch woman! X-(

Woh Kaagaz ki Khashti

Come on over. Come on. Sit down. Yes, you can use that chair. What's there? Papers? Put them on my bed and use it. Feels good to be back with you guys. Help yourself to the juice and katchoris. Yup, got them on this trip.
Voice1: So how was it?
Voice2: Did you meet all your friends?
Sorta yes, sorta no. The ones I wanted to meet, I didn't, and the...
V1: But you at least called her?
(I smile) I had others whom I wanted to meet as well.
V2: yeah, yeah. But did you call her?
Nope. No point in doing so...
V1: You are mad... seriously.
V2: I think he did the right thing. She is married and ...
V1: So what?
Guys, please. There are other things in Bombay. I bought loads of books. My bag of 6-7 years started tearing under the weight. I might not take her around anymore. I need to find a good seamster to take care of her and...
V1: You mean your bag?
Yup
V2: Why anthropomorphise everything, E? It really gets painful at times...
(I smile again. Very few pleasures match smiling amongst friends)
V2: So what else did you do? But wasn't she supposed to come to the wedding... with her husband?
Drop her.
V2: Fine, sorry.
Naah, nothing to be sorry about. I really have nothing to say on that matter...
V1: Sing us a song, E. Been a long time...
V2: No, no. Tell me what happened first. Did you have...
V1: Later. A song, E. I really don't like your voice, but it sounds right when you sing... :-)
Hmmm. Which song?
V2: How was the wedding? Did you spend some good time with her?
Hmmm. I did... Which song? Ok.. (clear my throat) ummm.... UMmmm... ummMMM
V1: Forget the shruti. Sing.
(I smile. Helps me to get into the mood of the song)

Translation: (translations adhere to the original inasmuch as providing a similar effect)
Do take my gold, and my fame, if you must
You can have my youth if you so do will
But do give me back my childhood showers
My little paper boat, the fresh rain's thrill

It hadn't rained when I went there. The first thing I asked the coolie was "Paaus padla, kaa?" and he shook his head. I watched Dadar station glow with a tarnished light and I knew not the reason for the dullness: a changing city or my eyes longing to see a city I left behind. It was still as alive as I had left it, for it wouldn't change no matter how many people came and went...
I reached home and nearly hugged my friend's parents (let's call him S). I really love them and they love me with their entire family and relations! I checked on his grandmother who was always ready to ask me about what I will eat as soon as she had dispensed the usual questions about my well being and my mother's and my sister's (and now her kid).
"Dosha lega kya?" (Will you have Dosa?), her Mallu accent still strong as the white of her hair and her resolve to take care of her daughter and her grand-daughter...
"Abhi nahin, ammamma." (Not now, granma).
Made a few calls and let people know I am in the city. Everyone invited me for some meal or the other! And then they blame me for growing fat. "Saala, mota ho gaya." (Dude, you've grown fat).
I was invited to my dear friend's haldi and mehndi. I had to remind her that I was a guy and guys aren't usually invited to haldi and mehndi.
"Arey baba, sab chalta hai. Tere saat koi problem nahin. Mom ne khud kaha." (Oh dear! everything is acceptable. No issues with you. Mom specifically said so herself.)
I wasn't sure whether to feel happy at being so close to her or feel embarrased for not being treated like other guys were! Most of Thursday was spent in travelling to Charni Road and spending time with her and reminding her that she was the one who hurried it up and we could have got married had she waited!!! :-) Her aunts joined in on teasing us!! It was fun and I was fed katchori, gulab jamun and some other sweets.
"Ye unke ghar se aaya hai." (This sweet is from the boy's family)
I was teasing and playing a prank on my friend S's fiancee. Now that, I will tell you later.
V2: No, no. Tell us now.
Please... later.
V1: Ok, continue...
I spent most of the first day in reliving Bombay as I knew it once. I sang Country Roads while passing Elphinston station and stopped to look while crossing Bombay Central.
V2: Kaalee phukat senti (unnecessarily sentimental)
No boss, you wouldn't understand it... Its Bombay.

Translation:
She, who, lived here as old as the road
She, whom we children, called granny
She, who wrapped fairies in sweet songs
She, whose wrinkles of years so many
And who, try as much, could forget them
Her fresh long tales filling nights so tiny
I spent most of my day on Friday sleeping. I had received an interesting call in the morning and was happy. I slept through most of Friday trying to rid myself of the jejuneness that days of walking in the heat and running around had filled me. I was also preparing myself for the long night.
Uncle had a lot of stories to tell me before I left for ammamma's place. She had insisted that I have breakfast at her place and...
V1: Aapam and stew? :-o
(I smile for the taste hasn't yet left the roof of my mouth) Hmmm. Fresh hot aapam and stew. She kept making it and dropping it on my plate. At a point I had to run away from fear that my stomach would burst. It was wonderful. Amazing that something so simple can be so delicious and lasting.
V2: Lucky bum. I am coming with you next time.
Any day. Ammamma likes to feed as many mouths watering at her dining table as can be seated there. This time, like every time, was better than before...
V1: Enough. Don't make it worse for us.
(I smile) Then we were going over the recent incidents in the family and how she was settling to her grand-daughter marrying a non-Mallu. I didn't take the kid's side because she had already gotten things her way so I listened to what ammamma (which basically means mother's mother) had to say.
"Dekho na. Pehla ladki shaadi kartha humare ghar mein aur... dekho na." (The first girl to get married in our family of this generation and look at what she is doing.)
"Ammamma, choda na. Aaj kal to..." (Granny, forget about it. Nowadays...)
"Choda naa. Ab kyaa kar sakta hai? Ab yeh bhi (and she pointed to her other grand-daughter) aise karegi to kya bolega?" (Forgot about it. What can I do? What can I do if this girl too does something similar?)
I simply went over and sat at her feet. What she couldn't say, she combed into my hair with trembling fingers... At least some of it left her. She soon was back to her cheerful self.
"Haircut mangta hai tereko. Par aise bhi achcha dikta hai." (You need a haircut. Still it looks good on you)
I returned to my friends place and had lunch with uncle and slept. I woke up and had a quick shower. My friend who was getting married called me and demanded that I come over. I got into my north-Indian formals and remembered to carry the gift I had picked for her. It was basically a large glass bowl and a few packets of pot pourri (dried flowers and leaves which give off a sweet fragrance). I needed a haircut...

Translation:
To walk out in the scorching heat
To larks and those jays and chasing butterflies
We'd marry our dolls and fight over it
High in our swings jumping far from watchful eyes
And those little trinklets of copper and bark
Those deep scarlet marks of broken bangles and cries
The wedding was fun. I was running all over the place and then settled in with the bride helping her arrange her hair and helping her sister get her bangles in the right order. It was fun. The 3 of us were the only ones in the chamber and had a wonderful time...
V2: Tereko andar kaise choda? (How did they let you in, there?)
I dunno. They just let me. Her mom and aunts told me where she was and I walked over. It was so sweet. One of her aunt, who seemed to be very fond of me, comes over later and says "Most gifts are coming from his side. You go now and give the gift so that things look balanaced." I was so touched. Without a formal word I was part of the "girl's side" and I was so happy that I jogged all the way to the stage where the couple was receiving guests. She introduced me to him:
"This is ------. I told you about him, right. Remember?"
"Of course. Nice meeting you. Whenever she spoke about her gang you always seemed to be in it. Glad to meet you finally."
I was glad to meet him too. Smart guy. Fits her well. I smiled and shook hands and clicked a few pictures together with them. I later realised that I was standing at a foot's distance from the couple...
The rest of the gang came in with their husbands and "would-be". It was great fun. We joked nearly about everything.
"Hey, -----. Aise saal ko ek bar at least aaya kar. Aise hans ke kaafi time ho gaya." (Hey, --(me)--. Do come to Bombay at least once a year. Been a while since we laughed like this.)
Felt nice to be considered thus, esp. without trying to. I watched all of them in their marriage. All of them glowing or tired. And then I turned to look at her on the stage. She was radiant. A fine damsel in blood red and colour turning to a softening pink on her cheeks. She was happy. I was happy.
It was so funny watching all my friends married. One of them wasn't so I told her "You and I are the only ones left. Let's get married." She said "Cool, my parents have also come. Why don't we go now and talk to them." I ran a mile away from there!
My friend's fiancee, D was also at the wedding and I was given the responsibility of taking her back home. She was looking pretty as ever.
Few more pictures... few more memories... greater distance creeping in...
It was nice. Didn't feel like eating much and then I picked up D and went back home. Dropped her at her place and walked into the house at 00:45 hrs.
V2: What? You stayed up that long?
Fine fine. Laugh away...

Translation:
To drag our feet over smooth high dunes
A castle here, a hillock there
Our innocence filling every picture and tune
Our life of toys and dreams
In a world of joy, relations none did prune
Wasn't it beautiful, that life of ours?
V1: I love the way you end it, that song, in a hushed whisper... really nice.
(I smile) That song is pretty much my song too...
V2: Our song
Yes, our song...

Of Decibels and Desi-Belles

I suppose I have been equanimous about my preference: I cannot stand loud-mouthed women (men too, but definitely not women). When I meet someone new and find them insisting on pulling the entire mall into the conversation, my system shuts down rapidly. I stay away from loud crowds, loud music, loud shirts, etc. And this trip (so far) has blessed me with the most annoying bunch of loud-mouthed people esp. women.
Mom insisted on getting a 3rd AC. As I had said earlier, I prefer travelling in sleeper class (pseudo-masochistic?). One look at the sun in Hydi and I decided to listen to my mom. Like often enough, I regretted that! :-(
Its a foolish notion that many people bear: people who spend more are more decent, well, at least they are more snobbish or something of that sort. People all over tell me "A/C-aa? Nice people!" I would have prefered all of them to be snobbish, so that no one talks to anyone and I have all the quiet in the world to myself. But no, God sure decided to put money into the wrong pockets this summer. Our compartment was filled to the teeth with the noisiest human beings. My mom and I took fancy to the game of occasionally exchanging glances which usually meant one of the following: "THIS is decent?" or "Can't these holy pig-heads shut up?" or "What is the going rate for cotton used in stuffing animals and mouths?"
This lady barged in with her son but her shouting orders and instructions reached us before like the twitching of the eye before disaster. She wouldn't shut up and kept telling us "Enna cheyardhu? Ivan pechey ketka maataan" (What can I do? He never listens to me). If she had stopped making that statement, we would have been deprived of 80% of the noise in the compartment; without regrets. She yawned with her mouth wide open (the first time I saw a tunnel in a train). Yuck! And she was ready to repeat that trick as many times as it fancied her absent brain. She kept shrieking to herself, to her son and to the world in general. I gave her time till 21:00 hrs. After that I was going to ask her to shut up, in the most uncensored fashion. I couldn't concentrate on my book, relish my snacks or even catch forty winks (most of which were lost over a few sleepless nights which preceded this trip). She was jarring. My only reprieve was this lady in pink who walked past our berths once every 45 minutes or so. Pretty lady... and then... noise!!!!
Aaargggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!
Like Providence at its favourite game, 21:00 hrs saw her shut up like magic! :-( I missed my chance of shouting her head off her shoulders. I don't quite expect you to understand the utter frustration of losing such an opportunity. I was waiting and planning for hours... I had rehearsed the dialogues and prepared rebuttals to her possible responses... Damn! I had nearly tasted blood before ... Damn!
After she shut up, the rest of the compartment took over (or were they muted by sheer volume, earlier?). Someone had to argue that 17 was theirs, only to have light dawn on them and their tickets and reveal that it is not 17 but 7 that belonged to them. Such people should be shot as soon as they were born! Winchester...
Madras woke me up with sultry air and early birds smeared with parallel lines of vibuthi (ash), as endless and strict as the railway tracks they crossed or sat over.
And then the cacophony started. Relatives and noise go hand in hand, especially when they are placed within a radius of 10 meters. Like the S shell in atomic physics. They had to shriek into your ears while they spoke to someone a few yards away. I actually ran away from home. I did, honestly.
I got on the roads. I prefered that maddening heat to the noise. Got into a run-down PTC bus and regretted my move again. The ladies had to fight right between the 5th and 8th seat (from the front) and made sure everyone participated. It was so funny and noisy when an old lady turns towards me and asks me to say something, that too in Tamil. I fumbled and asked them to let me know when T-Nagar bus stop came into someone's view. Someone said "Romba mukhyam" (a sarcastic way of letting me know that what I said was the most pointless and stupid thing in the world). I got off the bus and back on the roads. The sheer expanse of the roads swallowed all noises save the blowing horns (which reminded me of the women I met ever since I left Hydi) and the heat kept tongues busy at licking lips.
I avoided the main road (near Valluvarkottam) as there was this tea shop playing loud dampan-kuththu (a really well designed mix of rap, samba and cacophony with lyrics I have never understood. What on earth is "O podu"? Drop an "O"?)
Madras (the one I was presented) doesn't like quiet. People discuss serials and recipes and how Iyer-mami's daughter ran away with Chettiar-mama's son and how "I knew something was going on between them long ago..." right beside me, while I am on the phone. They love to hear Mariamma bhajans on full volume from the temple a few streets away. They love to fight near the water pumps and let the water evaporate while they decide whose pot should be filled first (with what? Steam?). The heat suddenly makes every voice louder and every touch feel like a slap.

Let's see what Bombay has in store for me...

(The above post was created 2 days after I reached Madras. Apart from that and the heat and ... forget it. So as I was saying, apart from that and a few others, the trip was good. I will detail my Bombay trip soon. Well, the trip from Madras to Bombay was noisy too! :-( , but not THAT bad)

And we shall meet soon...

I will be off blogging for the next 9 days. No, no. Nothing to do with getting bored or finding better avenues of entertainment. I am off on a vacation. Will be visiting Madras (when will I learn? May-July: Madras is a bad place) and Bombay. A good amount of plans in store, but I would be glad (glad? Overjoyed!) if anyone in either place holds a tickling fancy to meet up. Please leave a comment saying so. I am sure we can work out the logistics. I would be meeting some of the bloggers in either city. I am in Madras for 4 days and in Bombay for 4 days (and in the train for 1, although I don't expect anyone to plan a meet in AS2).

Have a great weekend and a wonderful week ahead. We shall meet soon...

Colours in black and white...

Yards of green undulating
A litte pink and a lot of gold
Mustard with red beating
Your love, to someone sold

Diaphanous for the fresh bride
Sanguine for the shy betrothed
Dark colours, but black aside
Thus fair skins shall be clothed

Here I see some bubbles
And there some merry flowers
Heavenly azure with tassels
A delight to end the hours

The colourful ringing prattle
Amidst the various grains
Shakes his head, to their battle
Between temples and plains

Such colour can never be lost
Not to the moist clouded eye.
Who holds the maroon, tossed
With memories, time can't deny.

Scant grey hair with no vermillion
Clean white is all she will wear.
But he had bought her blues prussian
And tucked flowers in her hair.

I watch her relive those sweet moments
The silks she gripped, were his warm hands.
They shelved the cloths, those merchants.
Life slid away as she held some dark strands.

Back to business

I let a quiet week pass in order to gather my ideas as well people's opinion related to the literary journal. Let me just call it a magazine. Journal makes it sound too important like a nose pointing to the stars.

I got to speak to a few people offline (for instance, on the telephone line) and they don't think it is an altogether crazy thing. Glad. I am fairly enthu about it and whether it is a success or not I think I would still like to go ahead with it...

I had some nice surprises in the last week. I was researching other literary journals and came across a few blogs where literature and writing as such is tracked and followed and discussed. I was so glad to find them. Some of them are typically like any of our blogs (although updated more frequently). Here are some of them:

Kitabkhana
Indian Writing
Caferati (thanks DV)
Chekov's Mistress
The Page
Arts and Daily
Arts Journal
LitBlog Co-op
Conversational Reading
The Reading Experience

Apart from these, the author of Indian Writing offered this link to me:
The Little Mag
I wasn't expecting any mag in India related to literary affairs, and was half glad half sad to be lead to one... :-)( (that doesn't look half sad half happy! That looks like Hercule Poirot!!!)

Continuing with the torrent of comparison between my writing (including the ones on this blog) and other authors, Amrita mentions that my "idli-story" (see Wookie? Idli. Spelt correct :-) reminds her of ammani's "quick tales". I ask myself: "What/who is ammani?" and then let it slip by like one lets the waves drag the sand from under you while tickling your toes... Maybe it was a spelling mistake and she wanted to say something else...

Today I find a friend's offliner: http://jikku.blogspot.com
I asked myself: "What might this be?" Since we were talking odd stuff earlier I thought that this might be some blog she spotted related to Jiddu Krishnamurthi (don't ask me how I reconciled to the missing extra "k"). I chase the link and land on Ammani's (with the uppercase "A") blog. I couldn't help smile at the picture which was part of her profile and verily, her life. Fun picture. Lucky her. Lucky kid. Then my eye's fell on the "Quick tale". Aaah! Amrita. She was talking about this... :-)

So I read a few (nearly all) of her posts. Interesting blog. This is the second blog (Melancholetta being the first) that has come to me from various directions (numbering being done for the present financial year; the previous year had its own share :-). Maybe you guys would like the blog too... Lots of mushy stuff and/but good! (the sharp ones would have caught me had I used a "but" and the one I live with would have caught me had I used an "and"!!! ;-)

Don't know what I have in store for this week... or what the week has in store for me...
I want to work on my Tao blog which is fairly neglected as well as the creativity and ideas blog which is also neglected (sorry John).

Let's see...

A Literary Journal

I'll make this post short as I want you to read it quickly and provide your opinion as comment, before you lose your patience.
I have been (over the past few years) reading freely available articles of the New Yorker, The Atlantic Monthly, Harpers etc. and recently found a fancy for articles published in AGNI, Virginia Quarterly Review, Story Quarterly and a few others.
I am unaware of any such literary journal in India, published in English. I have spread the question to other people who are into the field of journalism and have requested their response. I shall post their response as soon as I get it.

I was discussing with Meera last night, regarding the prospects of establishing a literary journal. What we mean by a literary journal is a periodical (say, a quarterly) which contains pieces contributed by a variety of people. The pieces would include poetry, fiction, analysis of various bodies of work, book reviews, opinions, well researched articles and essays and some artwork. I would like to invite your opinion on the following matters:

1. Are you aware of any literary journals in India in English?
2. Would you be interested in such a periodical publication?
3. What do you expect from such an effort? What would you like to see in such a journal? What would keep you looking forward to the next issue?
4. Would you like to contribute and/or involve yourself in the construction process?
5. Any other comments?

We would consider paying the contributing authors, but that would be possible only after some time. I suppose for the initial year everything would be voluntary although not lacking in quality. I have seen good writers and people who love to research something and present an opinion (these are not disjoint sets of people) come to this blog and to other blogs as well as write on their own blogs. It would be great if all the wonderful minds came together to make this possible. Details of this effort would be discussed later. I need your opinions and ideas now.

Senses

This was an exercise which I had responded to as a part of a writer's workshop in which I was involved many years ago. These were lying somewhere gathering dust when a friend of mine insisted on reading them. I decided to put it up here as well.
The exercise was basically to present a sentence which reflected a sensory perception: sense of sound, sight, touch, time, space, taste, etc.

I am still trying to recover the rest...

----------------------
The last word Damien spoke was "Dad", which was also his first one, five years ago; I was holding him then and now.

He sucked her tongue into his mouth, savouring the lust and definite completion of the the 3 million dollar contract, while she licked at his naivete'.

I was about to turn around & complain about not hearing a single bird in these woods, when he gunned his Hummer making it roar for a couple of seconds before shutting it suddenly; I got what I wanted and more.

I watched her eyes moisten to the news, softening the blue of her eyes to a painful shade of grey, & as the tear tried to slip down the side of her face, she tilted her head slightly & brought it back within the wrinkled folds of her eyelid; her tears were hers.

He had to write to her, so he wrote the words "Dearest Erika", stopped and smiled at the sparkling ink on the words before licking the portions that made her name.

Every hair on my body stood and watched his wet finger trail down my neck to unchartered, but eager, grounds.

As we were positioned in the back of the truck with our sides pasted together, knees dovetailing into each other's crotches, unable to turn our heads around, I counted thirteen children in front of me and assumed the same number on each of the five benches I saw when I was hurled in, hence sixty-five; this was my first unofficial assignment in math which helped me work towards my doctoral thesis.

(I realise the sentence above is too long, but I didn't want to help myself against it! )

When Uncle Joe hugged me, rather crushed me against his barrel sized chest, it was cheap whiskey instead of the usual Armani which told me that he hadn't recovered from his wife's death; this was my cue to make him mine.

Did he do this because his astrologer told him he would, or was it written in the stars; what difference does it make now?
--------------------------------

When Gmail decided to stop counting :-( !!!

Hitting the 1000 conversations mark!!!

When all I have to offer is this...

"I will pack idly for you"
"No, chithi. I am fine. I will buy some sandwiches if required."
"Hah! Sandwiches! These will be nice and soft. Everyone likes idlis."
"Of course they will be good, but I am not sure whether we have time now and..."
"It will take only 20 minutes" and off she went.
I watched the clock tick slow enough for the white disks to steam. Idlis were never my favourite but I'd rather say yes to this than have her prepare something new and lose more time.
"I will put milagai podi on it. Or do you want chutney?"
"Anything, as long as it doesn't leak out. I really think I need to rush."
"Its done, its done."
And in a few minutes I got hot idlis securely wrapped in layers.
"Don't forget to have it" and then she added her nonchalant bit, "If you want you can still buy the sandwiches, but have this first. Its better to..."
"I will chithi. Thanks. Very sweet of you to prepare this in a hurry."
"What is there in this? On one stove I had this and ..." she went on to detail the entire exercise while I tied my shoe laces.
She smiled as she waved out to me while she watched me leave with a part of her; the part which she thought was her best and the only that she could offer in this world...

Unknown paths

"But why did you get me this pen, Chitra?"
"You don't like it?"
"I do but... I am usually the one who gets you gifts and.."
"So I got you one this time."
"Don't know.... I am not used to people spending on me."
She smiled
"Chitra, you know I have nothing to give you."