Selfishness:
It, I would define is, the will to further one’s interests over others’, within one’s own moral precincts. It is the instinct of survival that has been tempered by generations of collective thinking and social taming.
I would like to clarify here that I am making a fundamental differentiation between a wrongdoing and an act of selfishness. A wrongdoing is an act of moral weakness. An act of selfishness is of the will, usually with full effect, because you are doing something over the fresh grave of a conflict.
The conflict is with the notion of “sacrifice”. It is moral degradation that asks or waits for a sacrifice. It is lack of strength that makes a sacrifice. A duty is never a sacrifice, to be remembered. Who claims a duty to be a sacrifice is being selfish.
Being selfish is just one of the means to be independent. This is the way that makes independence inevitable. You would have exhibited your preferences, your priorities and your intentions. You would have played your cards. You are exposed, like a diva under the focus lamp, whose shoulder straps have become undone. You can either cover your vitals and be ashamed. Or you can be light as a newborn foal, and celebrate the innocence of being naked. Your pretences have been shooed away by a momentary expansion of your real self. It is now decided! You have been branded!
Let me be honest, very. Simply put, no man can be not selfish at all. Selflessness is in an ideal man. Designed to make a role model for us, at a time when being selfish could have ruined a pack of hunters, who still held stones for weapons. The results of one individual wanting to exercise his interests and choices would be disastrous for the pack. Such hunters became the solitary jungle men, thrown out of the pack, and fighting for survival in a world where individual choices are violated and disrespected.
I need not be proud of being selfish, just like how I am not proud that I can be cold and unsympathetic. I need not feel self-regret and remorse for being selfish, just like how I am in equanimity with my arts and vices.
Selfishness is demonstrated through acts. Words, movements, gestures and decisions. They are the ends churned out by something as unpredictable as a human mind. The dynamics are complex to break down. The concoction is variegated by the essence of so many experiences and priorities.
People lie. People make mistakes. People do stupid things. People do bad things. People hurt. People hurt. Can an individual’s worth be measured accordingly? The answer would be a loud no among our intellectuals. The answer would be a simple yes from an ordinary man. What matters is “what do you think?”
The Personality – Taking the Mind’s Part!
In psychology, personality is a collection of emotional, thought and behavioral patterns unique to a person that is consistent over time. The word itself originates from the Latin word “mask”. Not meaning an apparatus to plot, but as one to typify or portray.
Various schools of psychology employ various approaches to frame a model to explaining personality. Freud used the ego, superego and id as components of personality. There are behaviorist theories, cognitive theories, trait theories and many more.
All modern theories look at explaining personality, where it is an object of mystery that has to be solved. Emotions, behaviors and thoughts are seen as outcomes of a certain type of personality. There seems to be an underlying principle that is ignored when something is explained in context than in essence. But this is science and it stops with the explaining. Psychologists were trying to understand, not to design a way of life. They did not have nirvana or deliverance or afterlife to contend with. Understanding was the deliverable than devising an approach to understand and use it to one’s advantage.
It is more prudent, in my opinion, to look at the cause to frame a theory, than to look at the action/reaction.
The Buddha explains personality thus:
The personality is of five components:
1. The body – as the substrata of being alive
2. The sensory organs – on which the body depends to feel alive
3. Perceptions – as the process of interpretation of the senses thus felt
4. The activities of the mind – as the process of thinking
5. Cognition – as the process of knowing
One leads to the other. Without the body, there would be no living. This is the physical bulk of the personality. The sensory organs feel, vibrate and function their part. The mind performs the arithmetic, gives allegories, recalls examples and finds the best way to act.
Till now, everything is involuntary. The ears will always hear the music, leading to a sense of joy. The joy is the outcome of the mind. It recalls nice things, beautiful valleys, colorful gardens and cute babies. Cognition is the awareness part, where the self reflects, meditates and ponders over itself and its actions. There is a smile that will bloom on the face at the sight of a kitten, which will sometimes be crossed by “why am I smiling?” This is the self, looking at the personality, trying to understand it.
Traditionally religions have been the channels of framing ways to live, act and behave. In turn, such principles were supported by philosophies that explained the self, its mysteries and the life after death. The Aryan race believed in payback brought about by the actions in this birth. Donate, sacrifice, be virtuous, be religious and abnegate.
Escape from passions and desires are seen as a way of freeing oneself from the mires of the personality. This is because the personality and the self are seen as different. The personality is the mortal, while the self or the atman is immortal. The personality is the direction of the urge of the self in this birth.
Cognition is causal. We are aware of something only when the previous four components have done their functions. The processes that take place because of the senses cause it. Cognition cannot be used as an approach to explaining the personality, since it is a part of the personality.
Personality can be explained and understood only by the self, which is an outsider to personality. One cannot know the quality of an apple by being a leaf in the tree. One has to be a farmer. The self has to look at the personality, isolated.
The self is the idea of a unified being which is the source of an idiosyncratic consciousness in a living being. This is called idiosyncratic because it symbolizes the peculiarity of the self with respect to the other senses that reside in the body and the processes of the mind. The latter are there for a specific purpose. But the self? Why must we have a self? It is because we are unable to explain this something. A substance or a mechanism that seems to reside within us, yet apart from us, and which will come closer only by reflection and not by intuition. The self is deduced by logic. The same cold logic of the mind will deduce the essence of man, the self or the atman.
The self is the life that throbs in the heart. The force that moves the universe. The electric field that causes electrons to go around the nucleus. The God that creates life. The destructive force that can churn an ocean. For us who are tangled with the details cannot see the force that is guiding us on our path. The macro can look at the micro with a mere effort, but the opposite to take place needs a different approach to life.
I have gone into such details to enable the thought process of understanding the cause of selfishness. If one thinks he is selfish, his self is looking at his personality. It is the essence of you that is being critical. The personality as such is causal and has acted in the best material interests of you. The self looks at the interests in a different manner, since it is outside the realm of the personality, though it uses the very same cognition to effect this judgment on the individual.
The self is apart from selfishness or any other vices or devise yet contrived by any mind. Such are acts of the cognition. Borne out of the processes triggered by the senses, and processed by the mind. The self is always divine in every being. The overpowering sensations of the mind, passions and desires overshadow the self, the essence of man.
All turpitude and guilt is only mind deep. Deep down we are all-pure. Till we realize and fructify this spirit within us, all movements and productions are sufferings and are illusory.
Are we then to abnegate and become monks ourselves? I venture forth with the answer “ All beings were selected by a self, the eternal one. It formed our personality in response to the touch and vibrations of our senses and our mentation. We have to respond in this world if we are to sail smooth within this samsara. Not everyone can quit family, desires and passions to attain Buddhahood. Nor does everyone believe in the eternal self and rebirth. The awareness of the self will suffice in this age when individual value is corroded more than ever. People run away, break down and actively and passively abandon their responsibility to themselves and the society. It is better to look at the world as a place where the self has chosen to weave its story, around this personality, in this direction”.
The self has to be acknowledged as being present within us. Not everything of us is flesh, blood and matter. There is enough room within our existence that permits the accedence of the metaphysical; of the abstract, the incorporeal and the obtuse. Once this space is accorded to the self, then it is the ego that is being selfish. Any act is a response to a condition that exists, and is the result of cognition, which is causal in nature. If the act evokes guilt, it is the mind again with its response to the situation created by the act. This situation might also be dealt with by a response.
It is by giving up all that the self can be attained. That eternal bliss is not to be attained by us all. We are creatures that respond. We are creatures that are surviving. We want to live. Death for us is pain, not deliverance. Such is the mentation’s reason. Strong enough, in my opinion, to make us go through life, as we deem right.
So let us set aside the spiritual context of selfishness, or any other quality within man that he deems is unfit for public exposition. The spiritual realm is for those who want deliverance from the cycle of birth, death, sins and suffering. We are talking about the justifiability of an act within one’s mind. We are limited to the cognitive. We are trying to make peace with the mind and the self, by taking the mind’s part. The mind is aware of the self and vice versa, and we are trying to synchronize the both by showing the self the very little choice that the mind has to consider. Let the self be sympathetic, let the mind be flamboyant. Let the path be correct. Let us live to be happy, however futile this life may be.
Submitting:
We all submit, rather surrender our choices for something better. We have the choice of redepositing our choices into the “choice” bank. We can draw out new ones. We can change.
I can surrender resolve to pliability. I can surrender truth to falsehood. I can submit to a life of celibacy. I can do anything!
We always go through a period when choices don’t seem to exist, after the surrender. There seems to be an indomitable scarcity of thought, ideas and action; of choices as such. We despair at these times. When the soul feels broken, when the heart revels in a trough, refusing to look up. There again is always the awakening. For nothing can be left untouched by evolution and growth, can it? We look about, and then amazingly, we walk again. We look for fresh choices to make. We surrender old coins that are not worth any longer, in exchange for newly issued ones.
There is a new attitude to this makeover! People do change, I believe for the good. They submit used choices to new ones. They create new vistas to themselves, where they can see a better view of their future. They rejoice the potency of their decision, proud and defiant.
Selfishness is just such a choice, made unconsciously and sometimes consciously. It wouldn’t be wrong to say that it is bred among us as separate entities; as money, as freedom, as desires, as power, etc. The only crime that selfishness commits on the human is that it conquers him unnoticed, when he does notice, he is in a plot inextricably complex and is daringly in the open.
He who exercises his choices with a will scares people of his potency. He plays to his strength, his smartness. He gets what he exactly wants. He makes bold decisions that decide his own fate. He is taking destiny head on. He chooses to have more control over his life than others.
He who is sure is always suspected. He who thinks for his own welfare always draws flak for his seemingly careless attitude. He who is powerful over himself is always belittled in a thousand small ways. He who is smart is always hated. We are not paragons of virtue. Vices rule our unconscious, moderated by again, taming and social instincts.
A selfish individual not only robs people of their interests, but also enjoys them right in front of the disadvantaged, all the more hurt.
Man has been so well conditioned that he will not advance his own interests till he is insecure, cornered. Insecurity may be imaginary, nothing really. He reacts like an innocent toddler clutching at fire. Will he be burnt? Or will he learn to play & revel in its warmth?
Love and Selfishness:
Love. I would not be doing justice to selfishness if I don’t think of this.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses
Your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So he shall descend to your roots and shake them
In their clinging to the earth.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then as he assigns you to his sacred fire, that
You may become sacred bread for God’s sacred feast.
All these things shall love do unto you that you
May know the secrets of your heart, and in that
Knowledge become a fragment of Life’s heart.
But if in your fear you would seek only love’s
Peace and love’s pleasure,
Then it is better for you that you cover your
Nakedness and pass out of love’s threshing floor,
Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh,
But not all of your laughter, and weep,but not all
Of your tears.
(On love, The Prophet, Kahlil Gibran)
Love is a flight toward perfection. We become better with love. We love so that we become better. Self-love is the basic manifestation of love. If it is not within us, it will not come out. One who is deficient in resources cannot give. Love is a conscious effort we make toward someone or something.
Love moves us toward extremities. There is immense happiness, emotions, and passions and there is heart wrenching sorrow and failure too. One who has not loved will never know these extremes. Yet nobody is not touched by love. If love is not perceived in its embracing presence, it is definitely felt in its ghostly absence.
One, who does not perceive love, will be contented. He will have capabilities that will define his boundaries. There will be no wings. There will be no utopia in the mind. There will be no butterflies in the garden. The spring that embellishes the spirit with a sense of bounty will forever deprive the individual of the warmth that is the extra bit of spice that man tastes over the animals.
We usually encounter situations where we must give up something for somebody we love. If I give up something for something for my beloved, I am doing love’s labor. It is duty. It is duty that is performed without the slightest whimpering. We cannot be selfish to those who love because we will be doing our duty by doing what is required to be done. There is a joy to doing this; else we would not do it. Ignoring the self in making such decisions towards depriving oneself can look romantic at that moment, but will always come back and haunt us. Regrets in decisions lead to discontent. Discontent leads to complaining. Complaining will always come back to “sacrifice”.
Must Selfishness be Vanquished?
Now, we will see if this needs to be branded as bad and hounded out of our realm, else if it needs to be tolerated as another eccentricity of the human mind among many others.
Everybody is selfish. It is hypocrisy if this is refuted. It cannot be challenged. We are human beings. We need to advance, grow, and survive, most of all. The advancements and the growth become the proxies for survival when survival is taken for granted. An average man is assured of physical survival. He will normally not be beaten to death or killed by an expulsion from a group. He will live. So now, the struggle is toward a comfortable existence. I need an air conditioner badly. It has become need. It has become a hygiene factor, without which I am not happy. I want to be powerful. I want to control. I will live unless an accident happens to occur.
So we will be rarely in a position where we will be endangering the physical lives of people by being selfish. Not many people get to that position of power and potency. Being selfish will enable you to be in control, if only your conscience permitted you to be happy with the control so achieved. Being selfish will let you have better things in life. Be it a better income, a better job, a better lifestyle.
It is imperative to understand that being unselfish will not give lives to people who are in trouble. It is sometimes bad to be unselfish, just like how it is good to be selfish sometimes. After all, we may not be making much of a difference.
What would we be losing? We would be losing the goodwill of those who were affected, if it mattered to think about their lot. We would be losing our peace of mind if we believe we have been harsh. We would be losing our self worth if we think we were wrong. If this were the case, it would be best to go back on the decision, since this is a weak mind, with weaker principles and controls.
Selfishness is good. Anything that is considered bad is bad and will be regretted and fretted over. I would not call them selfish acts or motives. They are just bad things done at a time when a bad thought asserted itself.
Selfishness is an act of consciousness if planned, within the ambit of our values. If it is unplanned, it is the essence of ourselves that are exposed through an act. In both cases, it is the good part of us that is acting to do us good. It is not sick to be selfish. It is not a base character that calls itself selfish and acts so.
Then are we here to outdo and outsmart one another, one may wonder. Gathering fruits is different from marauding an orchard. So is selfishness different from mindless acquisition. Being selfish means you pick the best fruits for yourself and not wish your neighbor ate rotten eggs. Then, what he eats need not be your worry, if that can be seen as a crime! If you have an apple to spare, you may even be charitable. Up to your appetite.
When selfishness creeps up from behind you, wake up. You may have your priorities wrong or neglecting your interests and well being. If you think you are unselfish, wake up. It is better to be selfish than a hypocrite. Accept it, live with it.
Conclusion:
I am selfish. I am not regretting it. I am at peace when I can say this to my face and to the world. I am not lying.
It takes a change to acknowledge this. It takes an effort. It takes will to assert oneself. Change.
When we look at the cost of a sacrifice, it will always be worth not making it. Who has not regretted a sacrifice sincerely?
For so long, socio religious conscience has had the better of the mind. A thousand chains have bound rationality. Man has become a slave to his own creation – society. Man is today lost in a multitude of fantabulous theories and myths regarding his existence. Man is an intelligent animal, a bit more sophisticated and with more ambulatory options, and definitely a better mental capacity.
In the absence of a physical territory to guard, when food, shelter and sex are guaranteed, when existence is not threatened, such things that were preternatural to our forefathers have become knowledge to us. Times have changed.
Selfishness is the conduit for our instinctual energies to be spent. It is the intent to live, expressed through a thousand proxies. It is human life, with its own eccentricity. The center point will remain the same, but the circle will never be perfect.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Sunday, May 18, 2008
GangaikondaCholapuram
I was supposed to be in Tanjore tomorrow. So I decided to make a trip out of the weekend and visit GangaikondaCholapuram - the name may sound long, but it literally means “The Town of the Cholas who conquered the Ganges”. It was the capital of the Cholas when they flourished and their empire stretched from the Bengal to Ceylon.
It is an off beat place in today’s tourist circuit in Tamil Nadu. In fact, it has never been popular, considering its heritage. The village has a marvelous shrine dedicated to Lord Brihadeeshwara – Shiva. Everything about this place can be had at http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gangaikondacholapuram.
I wanted to start off at 4 am and beat the midday heat. Yes, you guessed right, I slept happily till 6.30 am and then started off at a very leisurely pace. I was driving my Bolero today, and stuck to 80 kmph, with no work calling for urgency.
Got to Acharapakkam and had my breakfast at 8.30 am and drove on through Vikravandi, Koliyanur, Vadalur, Neyveli, Minsurutti, Settiatope and then reached GangaikondaCholapuram at 12 pm.
I had expected a small to medium sized town with the temple as the highlight, but all I found were dilapidated tea shops and dusty restaurants and a very small village. There is decent infra in place at the village. The village itself is very clean and neatly maintained. The temple complex is controlled b y the Archeological Society of India (ASI) and they have done a great job. Everything that is fragile has been fenced off and the place is very very clean. There are no sacrifices in the temple now, and technically there are no poojas as well.
The Nandi is very very imposing at the entrance and the temple complex is fortified and there are smaller viharas around the main complex. The outer walls are studded with sculptures, but the sharpness of their features is lost, not so on the inside. But what amazes you when you go to Chola Temples is the sheer size of the Main Tower. One has to see The Big Temple of Tanjore and this temple to assess the monstrosity of the folly of erecting such a tower.
The place is exactly 250 km from Chennai – 5 hours at a leisurely pace. It is possible to visit the place and get back to the city in a day. It is possible to couple this with Tanjore and make it a casual 2 day weekend trip.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
Tamil Historical Novels
I have always wanted to read Tamil historical novels. It was one thing I have never got around to doing.
Historical novels are interesting to me in the sense that they evoke a sense of curiosity as to where a particular monument may be now or what would be happening if this were to happen today.
I was at a book store last month, and I bought Sivakamiyin Sabatham, Kalki.
I started off slowly. I have never learnt Tamil in school, except in kindergarten. I have managed to get along by reading sign boards, hoardings and glancing through masala news in mainstream Tamil newspapers. I could not do more than 10 pages in an hour.
But I gained in speed everyday. And as I moved through to the core of the plot, I really started enjoying the story.
The thing with English classics and historical novels is that English novels elicit an awe and involvement into the plot of the story. But I have never seen rural England, London or the downs and its fogs and winters and summers.
When I was reading this book, there was awe at real things I have seen with my own eye. To think that Mamallapuram was created by the chiseling by thousands of artisans for about 20 years is inspiring. The country, Thondaimandalam, went through a long drawn out war against the Chalukyas, several famines and adversities, during which this work was stopped and restarted again and again.
There were so many Jain and Buddhist temples and monasteries in those days. I tried the Archeological Survey website and there are many protected Jain and Buddhist structures in our state. I was amazed to see that I have never heard about them or seen them.
I made it a point to visit the temple which has the idol of the Ganesh which was brought home by the General, Paranjothi, to his village near Tanjore the first time I was driving through the town.
I have started reading the sequel to Sivakamiyin Sabatham, Parthiban Kanavu. It is turning up many more revelations and many new places to explore in our very own Tamil Nadu.
Historical novels are interesting to me in the sense that they evoke a sense of curiosity as to where a particular monument may be now or what would be happening if this were to happen today.
I was at a book store last month, and I bought Sivakamiyin Sabatham, Kalki.
I started off slowly. I have never learnt Tamil in school, except in kindergarten. I have managed to get along by reading sign boards, hoardings and glancing through masala news in mainstream Tamil newspapers. I could not do more than 10 pages in an hour.
But I gained in speed everyday. And as I moved through to the core of the plot, I really started enjoying the story.
The thing with English classics and historical novels is that English novels elicit an awe and involvement into the plot of the story. But I have never seen rural England, London or the downs and its fogs and winters and summers.
When I was reading this book, there was awe at real things I have seen with my own eye. To think that Mamallapuram was created by the chiseling by thousands of artisans for about 20 years is inspiring. The country, Thondaimandalam, went through a long drawn out war against the Chalukyas, several famines and adversities, during which this work was stopped and restarted again and again.
There were so many Jain and Buddhist temples and monasteries in those days. I tried the Archeological Survey website and there are many protected Jain and Buddhist structures in our state. I was amazed to see that I have never heard about them or seen them.
I made it a point to visit the temple which has the idol of the Ganesh which was brought home by the General, Paranjothi, to his village near Tanjore the first time I was driving through the town.
I have started reading the sequel to Sivakamiyin Sabatham, Parthiban Kanavu. It is turning up many more revelations and many new places to explore in our very own Tamil Nadu.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Gas Cylinder
Was visiting my in laws today. I had just gone out for a smoke to the next street.
I heard a dog screaming down the road. I ran towards it.
The shopkeeper nearby had thrown a full gas cylinder on the sleeping dog. A gas cylinder weighs about 20 kg. He had let it fall on its head, for fun.
The dog’s skull was broken and the whole place was full of blood. It was running in circles, crashing, rising and then running around in frenzy. Its mouth had foamed. I think it had lost its sight. It was running around and hit a wall head on. It walked with a strange tilt. It was unable to balance itself. It kept falling every few paces and letting out a gut wrenching yelp.
The shopkeeper and a teenager were gawking and laughing at the creature. The teenager was shouting, “It’s a murder, murder”, with a smirk of smartness written all over his face.
The commotion had drawn a few people from around. They started asking the guys how it would feel if they had the same cylinder dropped on their heads.
They hung their head down, they were ashamed. One guy said, “It was only a dog”
One onlooker said, “If it was only a normal street dog, you could have chased it away by pelting a stone at it”
A lady on the top floor of an apartment kept cursing the shopkeeper, “You will be born a dirty dog in your next life. I will drop a TV from the third floor on your head”. This lady was making most of the noise.
A cop was riding by on his bicycle. He stopped to look into the row. He gave both the guys a good beating on the spot. Every time the baton fell on their backs, there was some encouragement from the people gathered around.
Everybody had forgotten the dog that had struggled and got away from the crowd. It was lying in a pool of blood panting its last breath in a gutter. It was choking and a few little boys were looking on. Only one of them had tears in his eyes. The others were, of course, learning their first lessons in inflicting pain. They were coldly poking at the dying thing with sticks. I had to shove them away.
The dog died approximately 10 minutes into its struggle. It will be carted onto a garbage tipper tomorrow and disposed of in an unknown dump.
I have felt the death of a man and the death of a dog very near me this week. But the dog’s death seems to have shaken me more than the man’s. In my travels, I have seen many gory deaths on the roads. But twice I have seen a dog beaten to death, and I can recall both to this day to the minutest of details.
A man has many variables to manipulate for his good. But an animal lives with more constraints than a man. It lives on faith and intuition.
To dump a gas cylinder on someone’s head is rank disrespect for life. A rage had built up within me at that time. I felt like puking a long time after I had seen the whole thing happen.
I think our children start throwing stones at dogs for fun, and to tune their aim. Some do family planning operations for lizards and frogs. Some experiment how many wings a dragon-fly can fly with. Some try throwing cats out of windows – cats don’t seem to die so easily from a fall.
How can there be fun in the suffering of another living thing?
Children get trained early on that someone else’s pain is not a thing to fret about, that if the situation permits and if there is the right company, inflicting pain can be fun.
I heard a dog screaming down the road. I ran towards it.
The shopkeeper nearby had thrown a full gas cylinder on the sleeping dog. A gas cylinder weighs about 20 kg. He had let it fall on its head, for fun.
The dog’s skull was broken and the whole place was full of blood. It was running in circles, crashing, rising and then running around in frenzy. Its mouth had foamed. I think it had lost its sight. It was running around and hit a wall head on. It walked with a strange tilt. It was unable to balance itself. It kept falling every few paces and letting out a gut wrenching yelp.
The shopkeeper and a teenager were gawking and laughing at the creature. The teenager was shouting, “It’s a murder, murder”, with a smirk of smartness written all over his face.
The commotion had drawn a few people from around. They started asking the guys how it would feel if they had the same cylinder dropped on their heads.
They hung their head down, they were ashamed. One guy said, “It was only a dog”
One onlooker said, “If it was only a normal street dog, you could have chased it away by pelting a stone at it”
A lady on the top floor of an apartment kept cursing the shopkeeper, “You will be born a dirty dog in your next life. I will drop a TV from the third floor on your head”. This lady was making most of the noise.
A cop was riding by on his bicycle. He stopped to look into the row. He gave both the guys a good beating on the spot. Every time the baton fell on their backs, there was some encouragement from the people gathered around.
Everybody had forgotten the dog that had struggled and got away from the crowd. It was lying in a pool of blood panting its last breath in a gutter. It was choking and a few little boys were looking on. Only one of them had tears in his eyes. The others were, of course, learning their first lessons in inflicting pain. They were coldly poking at the dying thing with sticks. I had to shove them away.
The dog died approximately 10 minutes into its struggle. It will be carted onto a garbage tipper tomorrow and disposed of in an unknown dump.
I have felt the death of a man and the death of a dog very near me this week. But the dog’s death seems to have shaken me more than the man’s. In my travels, I have seen many gory deaths on the roads. But twice I have seen a dog beaten to death, and I can recall both to this day to the minutest of details.
A man has many variables to manipulate for his good. But an animal lives with more constraints than a man. It lives on faith and intuition.
To dump a gas cylinder on someone’s head is rank disrespect for life. A rage had built up within me at that time. I felt like puking a long time after I had seen the whole thing happen.
I think our children start throwing stones at dogs for fun, and to tune their aim. Some do family planning operations for lizards and frogs. Some experiment how many wings a dragon-fly can fly with. Some try throwing cats out of windows – cats don’t seem to die so easily from a fall.
How can there be fun in the suffering of another living thing?
Children get trained early on that someone else’s pain is not a thing to fret about, that if the situation permits and if there is the right company, inflicting pain can be fun.
Uthangarai
14th March, 2008
I was in a place called Uthangarai – a remote hamlet in a corner of the Krishnagiri District. It is on the crossroads between what used to be 2 very busy trucking routes in Tamil Nadu.
Over the years, the significance of the place on the state map has gone down. The roads have deteriorated and the locale remains one of the least developed in Tamil Nadu in terms of infrastructure and industry.
Public transport is very bad or is not well connected. So people have to go in for their own means of transportation. This area remains one of the top rural markets for taxis and vans for ferrying people to Vellore, Salem and Chennai – 3 places where the many business interests of the people here lie.
I had stopped in Uthangarai to meet a customer of ours. I was leaving to Chennai and I had run out of cigarettes. I stopped by at a small shop and asked for a pack of Gold Flake Kings cigarettes.
I handed out a Rs. 100 bill and the shop keeper didn’t have stock, so he walked over to another shop and got it for me. The pack costs Rs. 38 normally. In villages you get it for Rs. 40. But this guy gave me change of Rs. 55 – meaning the pack had cost me Rs. 45.
He gave me a statement before he handed me the change – “Sir, the amount of money you spend on this pack of cigarettes can buy 20 kg of rice from a government fair price shop”.
My casual reply was, “Nothing can be done about that”
Then I asked him, “Why does this pack of cigarettes cost Rs. 5 more?”
He says, “That is the rate the other fellow gave it to me for”
I reply, “If you don’t have the stuff in your shop, how can you buy it for me at a cost higher than the normal cost?”
He says, “OK sir, since you are so concerned about the money, I will return the material and give you back your money”
He returned the money and I asked him, “Why do you think this Rs. 5 is not so important to me? Do you think people make money without working or do I look like a fool?”
He mumbles something and just goes away.
As I was driving back I was wondering – it was a new thought to me that one pack of my cigarettes is worth more than 20 kg of food grain in our country. Is it that the food is cheap or is it that the tobacco is costly?
A man who buys rice from a ration shop buys it at Rs. 2 per kg. I am not eligible for this scheme because I make than Rs. 10000 per annum. I have to buy rice at Rs. 22 per kg from a normal grocer. I bet the guy who tried to make Rs. 5 from me did not know this.
Thursday, March 13, 2008
The Killng Groungds
I was driving down from Chennai to Salem yesterday. The route was Chennai – Dindivanavam – Villupuram – Ulundurpet – Kallakurichi – Attur – Salem.
It is a 4 laner from Chennai to Dindivanam. After that it is the old 2 laner – this stretch of road from Dindivanam to Ulundurpet (90 kms) may be rightfully called the killing grounds of TN. At least 2 major accidents everyday – god alone knows how many get killed from dusk to dawn.
This stretch was just overcrowded at one point of time. Now, a 4 laner is getting ready – work is in progress since early 2007. The old road has not been topped during this whole period. The road has just disintegrated and everybody has to take this one route to reach – Coimbatore, Salem, Erode, Tirupur in one side and Trichy, Madurai, Tirunelveli, Tuticorin and Nagercoil on the other side. It is also the access to Tanjore, Nagapattinam, Cuddalore and the entire east of TN.
Yesterday it was raining heavily right from Chennai to Salem. After I hit the old road, I could see an accident every 10 kms. A whole bus on its belly like a dead cockroach. Huge trailers broken like thin twigs. Small cars reduced to pulp. Trucks parked on the shoulder just sinking into the mud.
Traffic jams everywhere. Till a new road is built and is operational, the old road must be maintained. This is plain simple logic. 10 people killed everyday is a big thing. Nobody reports this and nobody cares. There are no proper “Take Diversion” sign boards anywhere. There are such huge ruts and potholes that a car driver has to think which one to avoid and which one the car can afford to plough into. For all this, the pace of the road is not slow by any means. It is a nerve wracking experience driving through this stretch. Whenever I come this way, my knee aches from the clutch, shoulders from the continuous zig zagging and rough drive. There is no watering place. Everything is dug up on both sides – no entering the by lane for a chaai and dhum.
There was a news article in NDTV this morning. “Fiat takes auto journalists on an Arctic tour in Sweden to prove the ruggedness of the Linea and the Grande’ Punto”.
Professional journalists are chasing sensations and the common man is left to become a citizen journalist to capture the woes of the common man. The whole concept of journalism today has moved from the classical, meaning the traditional news, to the sensational, meaning the production of news out of non news making things. The Tamil media is more concerned about the harangues and bad mouthings between the CM and the Ex CM, Vijayakanth and their whole families ranging from their sons to annis. There are hundreds of banners – good flex banners – of various political dramas – our Lion, our Tamil saviour, our Tamil saint, our Tamil revolutionary. But they don’t add up to much when it comes to saving people’ lives. The NDTV’s and the CNN’s run more programs than news coverage.
When I was in the traffic jam yesterday, my knee was aching, my back was aching, my head was aching. We had been at one spot for more than an hour – no policeman turned up to clear the mess. Every john was cutting in and out of the mess trying to find a way to wriggle through. There was a minor accident where a bus driver violated the queue and brushed a car. One of the doors of the car was gone. There was a big fight. Nobody went home or wherever they wanted to go for lunch. So many man hours lost, so many kilo liters of fuel lost.
An ambulance couldn’t get through. Its siren went off 15 minutes into the jam. Things just cooled off after the person or people in the ambulance died. I think it was the struggle in the ambulance that made us all animals. People were embarrassed and they just relaxed and sat back. No horns after that. It was dead quiet for 2 minutes or so after the siren was turned off. In the end I had dinner in Salem – 330 kms – 13 hours later. The siren is still searing through my head when I am writing this in the refuge of a quiet room.
It is a 4 laner from Chennai to Dindivanam. After that it is the old 2 laner – this stretch of road from Dindivanam to Ulundurpet (90 kms) may be rightfully called the killing grounds of TN. At least 2 major accidents everyday – god alone knows how many get killed from dusk to dawn.
This stretch was just overcrowded at one point of time. Now, a 4 laner is getting ready – work is in progress since early 2007. The old road has not been topped during this whole period. The road has just disintegrated and everybody has to take this one route to reach – Coimbatore, Salem, Erode, Tirupur in one side and Trichy, Madurai, Tirunelveli, Tuticorin and Nagercoil on the other side. It is also the access to Tanjore, Nagapattinam, Cuddalore and the entire east of TN.
Yesterday it was raining heavily right from Chennai to Salem. After I hit the old road, I could see an accident every 10 kms. A whole bus on its belly like a dead cockroach. Huge trailers broken like thin twigs. Small cars reduced to pulp. Trucks parked on the shoulder just sinking into the mud.
Traffic jams everywhere. Till a new road is built and is operational, the old road must be maintained. This is plain simple logic. 10 people killed everyday is a big thing. Nobody reports this and nobody cares. There are no proper “Take Diversion” sign boards anywhere. There are such huge ruts and potholes that a car driver has to think which one to avoid and which one the car can afford to plough into. For all this, the pace of the road is not slow by any means. It is a nerve wracking experience driving through this stretch. Whenever I come this way, my knee aches from the clutch, shoulders from the continuous zig zagging and rough drive. There is no watering place. Everything is dug up on both sides – no entering the by lane for a chaai and dhum.
There was a news article in NDTV this morning. “Fiat takes auto journalists on an Arctic tour in Sweden to prove the ruggedness of the Linea and the Grande’ Punto”.
Professional journalists are chasing sensations and the common man is left to become a citizen journalist to capture the woes of the common man. The whole concept of journalism today has moved from the classical, meaning the traditional news, to the sensational, meaning the production of news out of non news making things. The Tamil media is more concerned about the harangues and bad mouthings between the CM and the Ex CM, Vijayakanth and their whole families ranging from their sons to annis. There are hundreds of banners – good flex banners – of various political dramas – our Lion, our Tamil saviour, our Tamil saint, our Tamil revolutionary. But they don’t add up to much when it comes to saving people’ lives. The NDTV’s and the CNN’s run more programs than news coverage.
When I was in the traffic jam yesterday, my knee was aching, my back was aching, my head was aching. We had been at one spot for more than an hour – no policeman turned up to clear the mess. Every john was cutting in and out of the mess trying to find a way to wriggle through. There was a minor accident where a bus driver violated the queue and brushed a car. One of the doors of the car was gone. There was a big fight. Nobody went home or wherever they wanted to go for lunch. So many man hours lost, so many kilo liters of fuel lost.
An ambulance couldn’t get through. Its siren went off 15 minutes into the jam. Things just cooled off after the person or people in the ambulance died. I think it was the struggle in the ambulance that made us all animals. People were embarrassed and they just relaxed and sat back. No horns after that. It was dead quiet for 2 minutes or so after the siren was turned off. In the end I had dinner in Salem – 330 kms – 13 hours later. The siren is still searing through my head when I am writing this in the refuge of a quiet room.
Wednesday, March 12, 2008
Maya, after all
13th February, 2008
It’s a girl! I ran shouting to my mom and dad through the hospital corridor. It was just what I had wanted.
The nurse, an old woman, walked out of the labor room and declared to us that the grandson was born at 9.54 pm. Then the doctor comes out and declares that the girl child and mother are fine. We got a bit mixed up then. There was tension that someone else’s baby may have gotten mixed up and what if we got the wrong baby? What if it was not Maya?
Then we got to know that there was only one delivery happening that night in the hospital. So there was no chance of anything like that happening.
The day we realized that we were going to have a baby, this was sometime in May, I willed the baby to be a girl and my wife to be a boy. I just wanted a girl child named Maya, as if it would be born clutchng a placard reading - annoouncing "Maya".
This wish for a girl child named Maya was born during my first love, reiterated by my second love and just solidified by the third. The solidification was just a longing for a girl child named Maya after I got married. I had secretly looked for a personification of all the good and the not so good I have loved in the 4 women.
I had always expected a dark child, with skin as dark, or rather, as brown as me. To see a pink baby was in itself a shock for me. It was a big baby when born, at 3.6 kg. I didn’t take it in my arms when they gave it to me. Maya was literally pink. One slight mewl or simper threw her face into the brightest red. I was afraid I would hurt her.
23rd February, 2008
I was with my wife and kid till they were discharged. Then I went back to work and didn’t get to meet them for 10 days. And today, Maya is already grown. She is a lot thinner, has darkened out a little bit. Is sharp towards sound and light. This time I couldn’t get enough of her. I wouldn’t let her go out of my arms. I was jealous when my brother in law gave her fond kisses.
I am really angry when people tell me I cant name her Maya. A name according to many has to be derived from the baby’s star sign. Maya was born under the star Bharani – I can name her with the starting syllables Le, Lu, Lo, Li, A, E or U. Now where do I fit the Maya in? Maya doesn’t start with the letter “L”. When I told my mother in law what I had in my mind – naming her Maya and balls to astrology – I got a very scary warning. Her son was named Vinoth – they never thought about astrology or numerology in those days. So he is still not too good at mathematics, has never been very bright or has he been successful in his career, has been divorced, etc. All his life has been ill luck and sorrow. I know that his ill luck has been attributed to the vastu of the house, the position of the borewell at various points in time. But the fact that there is a such a hypothesis is scary to any young father. So much for education, so much for aptitude and such bull. I decided to give the whole thing a figuring over a drink.
I have thought about Angamaya, Aghamaya, Unnatamaya, a hundred other names which fit in Maya as I had conceived my child and have the blessings of the astrological science. Now my people don’t like anything like that. What seems to be fad now is names like Anisha, Alisha, Lekha, Lalitha. Names sported by a hundred people, named by a hundred parents named Rahul, Reshma and Rasagolla.
Laya is a Christian name according to my mother in law. Subhiksha super market is a wonderful name for a girl – father in law. Lathika is a wonderful name – wify. Oh why doesn’t anyone want to name her Maya, the essence of spirituality and Hindu philosophy?
I will bulldoze my wife and her family into naming her Maya. Of course, there can’t be a beautiful girl named anything other than Maya.
2nd May, 2008
We named her Maya, after all! Cheers!!!
How does Maya Vinod Sriramulu sound?
It’s a girl! I ran shouting to my mom and dad through the hospital corridor. It was just what I had wanted.
The nurse, an old woman, walked out of the labor room and declared to us that the grandson was born at 9.54 pm. Then the doctor comes out and declares that the girl child and mother are fine. We got a bit mixed up then. There was tension that someone else’s baby may have gotten mixed up and what if we got the wrong baby? What if it was not Maya?
Then we got to know that there was only one delivery happening that night in the hospital. So there was no chance of anything like that happening.
The day we realized that we were going to have a baby, this was sometime in May, I willed the baby to be a girl and my wife to be a boy. I just wanted a girl child named Maya, as if it would be born clutchng a placard reading - annoouncing "Maya".
This wish for a girl child named Maya was born during my first love, reiterated by my second love and just solidified by the third. The solidification was just a longing for a girl child named Maya after I got married. I had secretly looked for a personification of all the good and the not so good I have loved in the 4 women.
I had always expected a dark child, with skin as dark, or rather, as brown as me. To see a pink baby was in itself a shock for me. It was a big baby when born, at 3.6 kg. I didn’t take it in my arms when they gave it to me. Maya was literally pink. One slight mewl or simper threw her face into the brightest red. I was afraid I would hurt her.
23rd February, 2008
I was with my wife and kid till they were discharged. Then I went back to work and didn’t get to meet them for 10 days. And today, Maya is already grown. She is a lot thinner, has darkened out a little bit. Is sharp towards sound and light. This time I couldn’t get enough of her. I wouldn’t let her go out of my arms. I was jealous when my brother in law gave her fond kisses.
I am really angry when people tell me I cant name her Maya. A name according to many has to be derived from the baby’s star sign. Maya was born under the star Bharani – I can name her with the starting syllables Le, Lu, Lo, Li, A, E or U. Now where do I fit the Maya in? Maya doesn’t start with the letter “L”. When I told my mother in law what I had in my mind – naming her Maya and balls to astrology – I got a very scary warning. Her son was named Vinoth – they never thought about astrology or numerology in those days. So he is still not too good at mathematics, has never been very bright or has he been successful in his career, has been divorced, etc. All his life has been ill luck and sorrow. I know that his ill luck has been attributed to the vastu of the house, the position of the borewell at various points in time. But the fact that there is a such a hypothesis is scary to any young father. So much for education, so much for aptitude and such bull. I decided to give the whole thing a figuring over a drink.
I have thought about Angamaya, Aghamaya, Unnatamaya, a hundred other names which fit in Maya as I had conceived my child and have the blessings of the astrological science. Now my people don’t like anything like that. What seems to be fad now is names like Anisha, Alisha, Lekha, Lalitha. Names sported by a hundred people, named by a hundred parents named Rahul, Reshma and Rasagolla.
Laya is a Christian name according to my mother in law. Subhiksha super market is a wonderful name for a girl – father in law. Lathika is a wonderful name – wify. Oh why doesn’t anyone want to name her Maya, the essence of spirituality and Hindu philosophy?
I will bulldoze my wife and her family into naming her Maya. Of course, there can’t be a beautiful girl named anything other than Maya.
2nd May, 2008
We named her Maya, after all! Cheers!!!
How does Maya Vinod Sriramulu sound?
Tuesday, December 25, 2007
Sutta Na Mila....
A smoker never really realizes what nicotine does to his head. There is empirical evidence that the chemical activates brain cells in some weird way, which makes the process of thinking quicker and more efficient. Sure I am not well versed with the technical terms involved.
Some people call all smokers idiots. “A fag is a fire at one end and an idiot at the other”. Not all smokers are idiots. The idiots are those who smoke to show off, to make parties and taverns more smoke filled and what not.
Day in and day out smokers are paying a heavy price for their addiction, in recent decades considered an affliction. But for the amount of excise duty shelled out by smokers, many Governments would go near bankrupt. I would question the actual spend of the Government on smoke related health hazards. It may be true in the USA or the EU. But in India, where is the money going? Then why does the Health Minister overdo the whole thing by proposing to print pics of mouth cancer patients on the pack? Does the Government really care about alternate nicotine sources or regulating the amount of nicotine and carcinogens that go into cigarettes?
Isn’t there one thing the society leaves unturned to deny liberty of choice? But isn’t this rebellious spirit of defying the society – to look contrarian to the stereotype good guy/girl – the real essence why people smoke?
I have been put under probation at home. No smoking! I have never heeded the call in 12 years. Today I am trying and the whole thing sucks to the marrow.
A man has nothing else to do in office except chewing gum and drinking coffee. The morning filter coffee at home seems hollow – the same drink that instills profound thoughts with a cigarette. I don’t understand how all those suckers remain non smokers.
It is not the time when you work when you feel the pinch to have a quick smoke. It is the temptation every time you turn your head, speak, have something to drink, pass a shop that sells cigarettes. The list above is not exhaustive. Of course I have omitted the toilet seat ritual every morning and evening – there is no joy in shitting anymore.
Some people call all smokers idiots. “A fag is a fire at one end and an idiot at the other”. Not all smokers are idiots. The idiots are those who smoke to show off, to make parties and taverns more smoke filled and what not.
Day in and day out smokers are paying a heavy price for their addiction, in recent decades considered an affliction. But for the amount of excise duty shelled out by smokers, many Governments would go near bankrupt. I would question the actual spend of the Government on smoke related health hazards. It may be true in the USA or the EU. But in India, where is the money going? Then why does the Health Minister overdo the whole thing by proposing to print pics of mouth cancer patients on the pack? Does the Government really care about alternate nicotine sources or regulating the amount of nicotine and carcinogens that go into cigarettes?
Isn’t there one thing the society leaves unturned to deny liberty of choice? But isn’t this rebellious spirit of defying the society – to look contrarian to the stereotype good guy/girl – the real essence why people smoke?
I have been put under probation at home. No smoking! I have never heeded the call in 12 years. Today I am trying and the whole thing sucks to the marrow.
A man has nothing else to do in office except chewing gum and drinking coffee. The morning filter coffee at home seems hollow – the same drink that instills profound thoughts with a cigarette. I don’t understand how all those suckers remain non smokers.
It is not the time when you work when you feel the pinch to have a quick smoke. It is the temptation every time you turn your head, speak, have something to drink, pass a shop that sells cigarettes. The list above is not exhaustive. Of course I have omitted the toilet seat ritual every morning and evening – there is no joy in shitting anymore.
Monday, December 24, 2007
paravaiyin koottil
Movie: Thamizh M.A.
Song: paravaiyin koottil
Singer: Ilaiyaraja
Lyricist: Na.Muthukumar
en vaazhikkaiyil vanthathu moone moonu letter
still i remember my first letter
Prabhaa nee ennai thediruppannu enakku theriyum
naanum ammaavum
inge maharashtra-la
thooraththu maama veetla irukkom
nee varrathukko letter ezhutharathukko
yeththasamayam varappo naa solren
neraththukku saapudu
vaaraththukku moonu naalaavathu kuli
antha socks-a thovachchip podu
nagam kadikkaatha
kadavula vendikko
anandhi
anandhi
paravaiye engu irukkiraai
parakkave ennai azhaikkiraai
thadayangal thedi varugiren anbe
paravaiye engu irukkiraai
parakkave ennai azhaikkiraai
thadayangal thedi varugiren anbe
adi en boomi thodangum idam ethu nee thaane
adi en paathai irukkum idam ethu nee thaane
paarkum thisaigalil yaavum
paavai mugai athu theriya
meengal kaanal neerinil therivathundo
kangal poigal solvathundo
nee potta kadithaththin varigal kadalaaga
athil mithanthene penne naanum padagaaga
paravaiye engu irukkiraai
parakkave ennai azhaikkiraai
thadayangal thedi varugiren anbe
unnodu naanum
pokindra paathai
ithu neelaatho
thodu vaanam polave
kathai pesik konde
vaa kaattrodu povom
uraiyaadal theernthaalum
un mounangal pothum
intha puzhu poondum paravaiyum naamum pothaathaa
ini boologam muzhuthum azhagaai pogaathaa
muthal murai vaazhap pidikkuthe
muthal murai velichcham pirakkuthe
muthal murai murintha kilai onru pookkuthe
muthal murai kathavu thirakkuthe
muthal murai kaatru varuguthe
muthal murai kanavu palikkuthe
anbe
yezhai
kaadhal
malaigal thanil thondrugindra
oru nadhiyaagum
mannil
vizhunthum oru kaayamindri
udaiyaamal
urundodum
nadhi aagida
itho itho intha payanaththile
ithu pothum kanmani
verenna naanum kettpen
pirinthaalum manathile intha nodiyil endrum vaazhven
intha nigazhkaalam ippadiye thaan thodaraathaa
en thaniyaana payanangal indrudan mudiyaathaa
muthal murai vaazhap pidikkuthe
muthal murai velichcham pirakkuthe
muthal murai murintha kilai onru pookkuthe
muthal murai kathavu thirakkuthe
muthal murai kaatru varuguthe
muthal murai kanavu palikkuthe
anbe
anandhi
anandhi
anandhi, ooru vandhuruchchunnu ninaikkiren
enga eranganum
Song: paravaiyin koottil
Singer: Ilaiyaraja
Lyricist: Na.Muthukumar
en vaazhikkaiyil vanthathu moone moonu letter
still i remember my first letter
Prabhaa nee ennai thediruppannu enakku theriyum
naanum ammaavum
inge maharashtra-la
thooraththu maama veetla irukkom
nee varrathukko letter ezhutharathukko
yeththasamayam varappo naa solren
neraththukku saapudu
vaaraththukku moonu naalaavathu kuli
antha socks-a thovachchip podu
nagam kadikkaatha
kadavula vendikko
anandhi
anandhi
paravaiye engu irukkiraai
parakkave ennai azhaikkiraai
thadayangal thedi varugiren anbe
paravaiye engu irukkiraai
parakkave ennai azhaikkiraai
thadayangal thedi varugiren anbe
adi en boomi thodangum idam ethu nee thaane
adi en paathai irukkum idam ethu nee thaane
paarkum thisaigalil yaavum
paavai mugai athu theriya
meengal kaanal neerinil therivathundo
kangal poigal solvathundo
nee potta kadithaththin varigal kadalaaga
athil mithanthene penne naanum padagaaga
paravaiye engu irukkiraai
parakkave ennai azhaikkiraai
thadayangal thedi varugiren anbe
unnodu naanum
pokindra paathai
ithu neelaatho
thodu vaanam polave
kathai pesik konde
vaa kaattrodu povom
uraiyaadal theernthaalum
un mounangal pothum
intha puzhu poondum paravaiyum naamum pothaathaa
ini boologam muzhuthum azhagaai pogaathaa
muthal murai vaazhap pidikkuthe
muthal murai velichcham pirakkuthe
muthal murai murintha kilai onru pookkuthe
muthal murai kathavu thirakkuthe
muthal murai kaatru varuguthe
muthal murai kanavu palikkuthe
anbe
yezhai
kaadhal
malaigal thanil thondrugindra
oru nadhiyaagum
mannil
vizhunthum oru kaayamindri
udaiyaamal
urundodum
nadhi aagida
itho itho intha payanaththile
ithu pothum kanmani
verenna naanum kettpen
pirinthaalum manathile intha nodiyil endrum vaazhven
intha nigazhkaalam ippadiye thaan thodaraathaa
en thaniyaana payanangal indrudan mudiyaathaa
muthal murai vaazhap pidikkuthe
muthal murai velichcham pirakkuthe
muthal murai murintha kilai onru pookkuthe
muthal murai kathavu thirakkuthe
muthal murai kaatru varuguthe
muthal murai kanavu palikkuthe
anbe
anandhi
anandhi
anandhi, ooru vandhuruchchunnu ninaikkiren
enga eranganum
Friday, December 14, 2007
All Holidays must END
My holidays end this Sunday. I have to go back to work on Monday. It’s the same old truck shit.
When you go back to work from your annual holiday, a few things seem really unfair:
1. The next holiday comes only next year
2. The little things you wanted to do during the holidays remain pending – like some maintenance, some cleaning
3. You want to get back to work – the holidays have seemingly “bored” you out
Day before yesterday, I felt this urge to go to office. So I ended up going there at 8 pm. There was hardly anyone still working. I sat in my cubicle and I felt this urge to start working. I promptly left the place.
After my trip on the motorcycle, I have spent this whole week at home. This week, on the 13th, there was a small function at home. Some 40 people would turn up for lunch. My wife and parents were busy cleaning up the place and I was the only one not doing anything. It is indeed great to be holidaying at home. It is even better than holidaying someplace else!
My birthday today was warm too. Good sleep, a mandatory trip to the temple, some very good food.
A cottage to live among the cold mountains,
A warm spring would quench my thirst.
A safe distance from the world I would maintain,
From its bazaars, hard ball and cold calls.
My wife would gather flowers & herbs.
My daughter would sing with the trills.
We would be one with the Almighty.
The dream will never end
The dream will never end….
We all have to wake up from the dream to be shut up again in the cube of reality. The solid and square reality. Sigh.
When you go back to work from your annual holiday, a few things seem really unfair:
1. The next holiday comes only next year
2. The little things you wanted to do during the holidays remain pending – like some maintenance, some cleaning
3. You want to get back to work – the holidays have seemingly “bored” you out
Day before yesterday, I felt this urge to go to office. So I ended up going there at 8 pm. There was hardly anyone still working. I sat in my cubicle and I felt this urge to start working. I promptly left the place.
After my trip on the motorcycle, I have spent this whole week at home. This week, on the 13th, there was a small function at home. Some 40 people would turn up for lunch. My wife and parents were busy cleaning up the place and I was the only one not doing anything. It is indeed great to be holidaying at home. It is even better than holidaying someplace else!
My birthday today was warm too. Good sleep, a mandatory trip to the temple, some very good food.
A cottage to live among the cold mountains,
A warm spring would quench my thirst.
A safe distance from the world I would maintain,
From its bazaars, hard ball and cold calls.
My wife would gather flowers & herbs.
My daughter would sing with the trills.
We would be one with the Almighty.
The dream will never end
The dream will never end….
We all have to wake up from the dream to be shut up again in the cube of reality. The solid and square reality. Sigh.
Thursday, December 13, 2007
Happy Birthday
I turn 28 tomorrow. It is again the big day of the year. Today I rule by virtue of my birth.
I am getting older! A few white hairs here and there. A slight belly – though my wife thinks otherwise.
This year
1. I got married
2. I am expecting a baby next year
It’s been a wonderful year.
I have observed that my life has revolved around 3 things this whole year
a. Family – my wife
b. My kid, enjoying life in his mom’s belly – now 8 months old
c. Money, money & money
There has been very little turbulence this year – emotionally & materially. Smooth sailing is unnerving sometimes and boring sometimes. The turbulent life seemed idealistic. Now it is more down-to-earth. Roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty with work.
Now I understand why married men are considered steady and steadfast. I am a 100% family man this year.
Cheers! Happy Birthday!
I am getting older! A few white hairs here and there. A slight belly – though my wife thinks otherwise.
This year
1. I got married
2. I am expecting a baby next year
It’s been a wonderful year.
I have observed that my life has revolved around 3 things this whole year
a. Family – my wife
b. My kid, enjoying life in his mom’s belly – now 8 months old
c. Money, money & money
There has been very little turbulence this year – emotionally & materially. Smooth sailing is unnerving sometimes and boring sometimes. The turbulent life seemed idealistic. Now it is more down-to-earth. Roll up your sleeves and get your hands dirty with work.
Now I understand why married men are considered steady and steadfast. I am a 100% family man this year.
Cheers! Happy Birthday!
Saturday, December 08, 2007
Reclaimed
The work was getting to my head, to my sensuality, to the health of my marital life. There wasn’t one day I didn’t have a dream of a truck or my boss.
A vacation had been long due and I decided to take it in December. I completed the necessary formalities and fixed the date to be December 3rd to December 15th. I would spend 7 days for my own redemption and the other 7 for the redemption of my marital life.
Day 1:
I drive down from Chennai to Dharmapuri in a car. My motorcycle, The Zahir was at my parents’ place. It was a dull drive in the modern yet boring 4 lane highway. I made the 330 kms without any hitches.
I had a tasty lunch at home made by my mother. Any married guy who eats his wife’s cooking knows the value of that lunch or dinner made by mom. I hogged and I started off to Salem (70kms), my first stop in the trip.
My duffel bag fell off The Zahir just 5 minutes from home. I was still a novice in knots and ties! I made it safe. My first ride on him in 4 months.
I checked in and the tomorrow will be a long day. I had to give The Zahir a good wash and some check up and then I have to ride to Madurai (225kms), my next stop.
Day 2:
With great difficulty I found a Bullet mechanic in Salem and got The Zahir checked up and cleaned. He was glistening like new and raring to go. Oh how I love the thump!
It was 12 pm by the time I could start off from Salem. It was a good ride. Not too hot, but not too cold either. Slight drizzles here and there. And the glorious countryside in December – well fed with water and the result – miles and miles of paddy fields. The Indian countryside gets its beauty after the monsoons, though the monsoons are beautiful themselves. Our threshing floors are our highways and the threshers are trucks and buses. What ingenuity!
I stopped for lunch in a Reliance A1 Plaza in Dhadikombu, near Dindigul, and ate what are the birth right and the craving of every Tamilian born in this world – curd rice!
I reached Madurai at 5 pm and checked into my favourite hotel – GRT. I took my beer to the bathtub watching Guns n Roses on youtube. It is pleasant to take a hot shower after a long day in the heat and the dust – a beer and good music going with it makes it heavenly.
Day 3:
I intended to travel to Kodaikanal today.
I had made some special arrangements for my stay. I wouldn’t be going to a hotel this time, and no, not to a resort either. I am taking a hut in a little village. One has to trek 3 kms from a road that ends suddenly to reach this village. The 3kms are very hard on city slickers like me.
I reached Kodaikanal at 12pm and go to the landing point. The place was swarming with firangees – the eternal wanderers – with matted hair and a doped up look. There were a lot of other Royal Enfields parked – all rented out to these foreigners once they land from wherever they are from.
They are all riding the classic Bullet STD while I am on a more modern Thunderbird. They come to look at The Zahir and try sitting on him and certify that this is a real good looking thing and must be very comfortable to ride over long distances. Boy I was proud of you man!
I started the trek downhill. With the entire load on my back, the very first 10 minutes were hell. My legs were shivering from the effort. I was sweating. I was feeling giddy. Then came the solace of the shop of my contact who arranged the accommodation. He is the Panchayat leader of the village.
A unique village – no electricity, no transportation – only horses, water comes from a stream. I drink a wonderful cup of tea, say hello and go to my home for the next 3 days. It is a decent 1 room house, with an attached bath. A fireplace was there. I have to pay 60 rupees everyday extra for the firewood.
I made it back to Kodaikanal to have lunch and buy some supplies. I love food at the Tibetian Brothers. They serve the best Chinese food in town. I ambled back downhill.
I had brought some whisky and I sat outside the house with a glass of whisky and just sat there doing nothing. I was served with chicken fry made by my host’s wife. It was 6 pm and it started getting very cold. It suddenly became completely dark. I went into the house and made a little fire and warmed my feet and had some more whisky. I have never felt so good after a drink. It was like the skin was cold and the inside of my body was warm. The fire was the only light in the house. I ate chapathis at my host’s house and came back home with strict instructions not to keep the door unlocked, not to roam outside during the night. The village is frequented by bisons and a leopard in the night. The latter makes off with whatever domestic animals that are left unsecured during the night.
I was reading by candle light. It would have been 10 pm and I put out the light to retire for the night. I peered out of the glass window and I could see a dark form in the meadow in the incline above my house. Then I could discern 7 bisons through the dim light from the backyard of my neighbor. I lighted a candle and rummaged through my bag for my camera. By the time I ran back to the window they were all gone.
I went to bed, but I could not sleep though my head was feeling clouded. I realized there was complete silence. The silence of the forest and the mountains. You can hear the breeze, the ruffling leaves, and your own hear beat and breath. No feeling of another human being living except you. Felt eerie.
Day 4:
It was a hard trek back to the base. This time it was a climb. My knees were aching and my lungs very nearly blew up on my ribs.
I came into town and there were phone calls waiting for me. Even though you are on a holiday and even though you have informed all your associates of this, the suckers will still call. In the end I had to check mail and reply to a few.
After lunch it was time for a lazy and slow ride along the picnic circuit of the town. There are the Pillar Rocks, the Suicide Point, the Guna Caves, the Pine Forest and one spot yet to be named and then to the Moyar Point and beyond that nobody can go. This road takes you to Berijem Lake and then to Munnar. This was a bustling road once, but now it is closed since the area is a national park. You have to get the permission of the Forest Ranger at Kodaikanal to enter – no motorcycles and the road is open only from 11am to 5 pm. So whoever goes in has to come out, if they don’t, just what you have guessed – nobody cares. The check-post here lets in some vehicles in the morning, if they decide to take a bribe. The roads are unmotorable after Berijem Lake – it once took us 4 hours to cover the 36 kms to Munnar. There is zero traffic. Nobody would know if one got doomed. At that time, I and my friends had posed as relatives of an eminent politician. We got in by paying Rs. 200 per head. This was back in 2001.
Stopped by at the spot yet to be named. The place is infested with monkeys. There are 3 smalltime vendors there and all three are armed with catapults, sticks and even swords to keep them off their goods. Everytime a car stops they try to climb into the car. They terrify children into screaming and then they run away screaming themselves. There are all sorts of personalities amidst the pirates. The hungry ones go mischieving, the ones that are cold are all huddled together, and the babies are playing in a group unmindful of the 3000 feet drop if they fall. Then a group of 7-8 women jogged along carrying firewood from the forest. The load would be 30-40 kgs and they carry it on their head. They stopped at the shop for some snacks and put down their load. They were casually saying that they came this way because some bisons were blocking their usual short-cut. When they decided to leave it took 2 men to load the wood onto their heads again.
Then back to base. The trek down again. Armed with provisions for the night, with a shawl as a gift for my panchayat leader and some chocolates for his sons, and some more whisky and soda. I am now sitting near the edge of the cliff where the village ends and nothingness begins. It is a pleasure to live like this.
This afternnon I asked my host what it would cost to buy a small cottage in his village. He told me that they don’t sell land or houses to outsiders lest their village become a commercial tourist center. Now they are attracting foreigners and very few Indians like me and making good sustainable money. The uniqueness of the destination lies in its remoteness from the bustle and its proximity to town. Anyways he just told me offhandedly that 1 sq.ft. of land here costs Rs. 100. Just imagine guys, a place with a view – not one building in sight, leopards and bisons in close proximity, strange fruit orchards and no roads at all – all this for a paltry Rs. 100 per sq.ft. Consider that land at 50 kms from Chennai costs Rs. 200 per sq.ft.!
Then I saw an amazing spectacle. A huffing puffing postman walked by handing over letters and cash from money orders to the village headman who then ensures that they get to the more remote hamlets. This is done through the horsemen who transport merchandise to these places inaccessible by anything else other than a horse (they take Rs. 5 as forwarding charges from the addressee). One kg of merchandise costs Rs. 50 and are taken strictly based on advance payment by cash. Everything comes in this way. Chicken, whisky, rice, vegetables, medicines. Not everyone can own a horse. You have to get a license from the panchayat.
An ex-serviceman runs a telephone booth, the only one in the village. It is roaring business here. With all people walking to the further hamlets this is the last communication point.
I then walk over to a church – half built. Some foreign trust had started building it and then abandoned it for some reason. It has an old watchman who gets paid in Euros every month! The villagers think he gets Rs. 10000 as pay for sitting there everyday and drinking sarayam (local brewed spirit) and ensuring that no one of the village enters the premises.
I got to meet my neighbor who runs a little shop for passers by. He is a simple man and looks poor. He lives off his shop and his little parcel of land. His son studies in Anna University, Chennai and daughter in a very good school in Madurai. The great Indian ambition – to uplift the lot of the family.
And back to what I love most. I retire to my whisky and will again write tomorrow.
Day 5:
Time to leave the hills and to go home. There is always a lethargy when have to go back home from a holiday. The journey back seems a long one and one considers even lingering for one more day.
But I had to leave today. There are things to be done at home when the holiday still lasts.
I left Kodaikanal after presenting my hosts with my gifts and settling my bills at 9 am. I decided to go through the Palani route this time round. Stopped in a village called Savarikadu for tea. Two old men were remembering old stories about pythons and their doings in their respective villages. It was an interesting conversation. I could recollect atleast 7 stories being exchanged in 15 minutes.
I reached Palani, then Dharapuram and then Perundurai. It started raining. 2.30 pm. I stopped at a dhaba and decided to have lunch – trucker style. Sit cross-legged on a wire cot and eat your food on the plate on a wooden plank placed across. The roti & dhal was amazing with raw chillies. Then a bowl of curd rice.
4 pm: The rain wouldn’t stop and one gentlemen picked up conversation. He too owned a Royal Enfield and he gave me tips on how to make the chrome shine. His motorcycle, a 1985 Classic was shining like new.
5 pm: The rain still wouldn’t stop. I still had to cover 130 kms to get to Dharmapuri. So I decided to turn in for the night in Erode. So one more day of roaming.
Now I miss home, my wife and my bean bag.
Day 6:
I reached Dharmapuri. I have to leave The Zahir there and head back to Chennai by bus. I once more have a sumptuous lunch made by mom.
I got into the bus at 2 pm and it was one marathon ride in the bus. Reached Chennai at 9 pm.
Had dinner at my own sweet home.
Day 7:
It’s the grind from today to the next holiday. One always gets the urge to go back to the holiday.
I have bought my freedom this year after 10 long months in the drudgery of practicality. When on a ride, distance doesn’t matter. The destination is an end which will be reached regardless of the means. The distance is just space. This space is life.
There is always a charm in traveling alone. People may think you are queer. When you travel alone, when all the static produced by your friends and family is non-existent, you get to watch the world as a spectator. You are living in a transparent shell and observing every little movement of the world. You observe, you dissolve. You don’t feel like you are a traveling mass, but as a wisp of grass that is carried along by the wind.
A vacation had been long due and I decided to take it in December. I completed the necessary formalities and fixed the date to be December 3rd to December 15th. I would spend 7 days for my own redemption and the other 7 for the redemption of my marital life.
Day 1:
I drive down from Chennai to Dharmapuri in a car. My motorcycle, The Zahir was at my parents’ place. It was a dull drive in the modern yet boring 4 lane highway. I made the 330 kms without any hitches.
I had a tasty lunch at home made by my mother. Any married guy who eats his wife’s cooking knows the value of that lunch or dinner made by mom. I hogged and I started off to Salem (70kms), my first stop in the trip.
My duffel bag fell off The Zahir just 5 minutes from home. I was still a novice in knots and ties! I made it safe. My first ride on him in 4 months.
I checked in and the tomorrow will be a long day. I had to give The Zahir a good wash and some check up and then I have to ride to Madurai (225kms), my next stop.
Day 2:
With great difficulty I found a Bullet mechanic in Salem and got The Zahir checked up and cleaned. He was glistening like new and raring to go. Oh how I love the thump!
It was 12 pm by the time I could start off from Salem. It was a good ride. Not too hot, but not too cold either. Slight drizzles here and there. And the glorious countryside in December – well fed with water and the result – miles and miles of paddy fields. The Indian countryside gets its beauty after the monsoons, though the monsoons are beautiful themselves. Our threshing floors are our highways and the threshers are trucks and buses. What ingenuity!
I stopped for lunch in a Reliance A1 Plaza in Dhadikombu, near Dindigul, and ate what are the birth right and the craving of every Tamilian born in this world – curd rice!
I reached Madurai at 5 pm and checked into my favourite hotel – GRT. I took my beer to the bathtub watching Guns n Roses on youtube. It is pleasant to take a hot shower after a long day in the heat and the dust – a beer and good music going with it makes it heavenly.
Day 3:
I intended to travel to Kodaikanal today.
I had made some special arrangements for my stay. I wouldn’t be going to a hotel this time, and no, not to a resort either. I am taking a hut in a little village. One has to trek 3 kms from a road that ends suddenly to reach this village. The 3kms are very hard on city slickers like me.
I reached Kodaikanal at 12pm and go to the landing point. The place was swarming with firangees – the eternal wanderers – with matted hair and a doped up look. There were a lot of other Royal Enfields parked – all rented out to these foreigners once they land from wherever they are from.
They are all riding the classic Bullet STD while I am on a more modern Thunderbird. They come to look at The Zahir and try sitting on him and certify that this is a real good looking thing and must be very comfortable to ride over long distances. Boy I was proud of you man!
I started the trek downhill. With the entire load on my back, the very first 10 minutes were hell. My legs were shivering from the effort. I was sweating. I was feeling giddy. Then came the solace of the shop of my contact who arranged the accommodation. He is the Panchayat leader of the village.
A unique village – no electricity, no transportation – only horses, water comes from a stream. I drink a wonderful cup of tea, say hello and go to my home for the next 3 days. It is a decent 1 room house, with an attached bath. A fireplace was there. I have to pay 60 rupees everyday extra for the firewood.
I made it back to Kodaikanal to have lunch and buy some supplies. I love food at the Tibetian Brothers. They serve the best Chinese food in town. I ambled back downhill.
I had brought some whisky and I sat outside the house with a glass of whisky and just sat there doing nothing. I was served with chicken fry made by my host’s wife. It was 6 pm and it started getting very cold. It suddenly became completely dark. I went into the house and made a little fire and warmed my feet and had some more whisky. I have never felt so good after a drink. It was like the skin was cold and the inside of my body was warm. The fire was the only light in the house. I ate chapathis at my host’s house and came back home with strict instructions not to keep the door unlocked, not to roam outside during the night. The village is frequented by bisons and a leopard in the night. The latter makes off with whatever domestic animals that are left unsecured during the night.
I was reading by candle light. It would have been 10 pm and I put out the light to retire for the night. I peered out of the glass window and I could see a dark form in the meadow in the incline above my house. Then I could discern 7 bisons through the dim light from the backyard of my neighbor. I lighted a candle and rummaged through my bag for my camera. By the time I ran back to the window they were all gone.
I went to bed, but I could not sleep though my head was feeling clouded. I realized there was complete silence. The silence of the forest and the mountains. You can hear the breeze, the ruffling leaves, and your own hear beat and breath. No feeling of another human being living except you. Felt eerie.
Day 4:
It was a hard trek back to the base. This time it was a climb. My knees were aching and my lungs very nearly blew up on my ribs.
I came into town and there were phone calls waiting for me. Even though you are on a holiday and even though you have informed all your associates of this, the suckers will still call. In the end I had to check mail and reply to a few.
After lunch it was time for a lazy and slow ride along the picnic circuit of the town. There are the Pillar Rocks, the Suicide Point, the Guna Caves, the Pine Forest and one spot yet to be named and then to the Moyar Point and beyond that nobody can go. This road takes you to Berijem Lake and then to Munnar. This was a bustling road once, but now it is closed since the area is a national park. You have to get the permission of the Forest Ranger at Kodaikanal to enter – no motorcycles and the road is open only from 11am to 5 pm. So whoever goes in has to come out, if they don’t, just what you have guessed – nobody cares. The check-post here lets in some vehicles in the morning, if they decide to take a bribe. The roads are unmotorable after Berijem Lake – it once took us 4 hours to cover the 36 kms to Munnar. There is zero traffic. Nobody would know if one got doomed. At that time, I and my friends had posed as relatives of an eminent politician. We got in by paying Rs. 200 per head. This was back in 2001.
Stopped by at the spot yet to be named. The place is infested with monkeys. There are 3 smalltime vendors there and all three are armed with catapults, sticks and even swords to keep them off their goods. Everytime a car stops they try to climb into the car. They terrify children into screaming and then they run away screaming themselves. There are all sorts of personalities amidst the pirates. The hungry ones go mischieving, the ones that are cold are all huddled together, and the babies are playing in a group unmindful of the 3000 feet drop if they fall. Then a group of 7-8 women jogged along carrying firewood from the forest. The load would be 30-40 kgs and they carry it on their head. They stopped at the shop for some snacks and put down their load. They were casually saying that they came this way because some bisons were blocking their usual short-cut. When they decided to leave it took 2 men to load the wood onto their heads again.
Then back to base. The trek down again. Armed with provisions for the night, with a shawl as a gift for my panchayat leader and some chocolates for his sons, and some more whisky and soda. I am now sitting near the edge of the cliff where the village ends and nothingness begins. It is a pleasure to live like this.
This afternnon I asked my host what it would cost to buy a small cottage in his village. He told me that they don’t sell land or houses to outsiders lest their village become a commercial tourist center. Now they are attracting foreigners and very few Indians like me and making good sustainable money. The uniqueness of the destination lies in its remoteness from the bustle and its proximity to town. Anyways he just told me offhandedly that 1 sq.ft. of land here costs Rs. 100. Just imagine guys, a place with a view – not one building in sight, leopards and bisons in close proximity, strange fruit orchards and no roads at all – all this for a paltry Rs. 100 per sq.ft. Consider that land at 50 kms from Chennai costs Rs. 200 per sq.ft.!
Then I saw an amazing spectacle. A huffing puffing postman walked by handing over letters and cash from money orders to the village headman who then ensures that they get to the more remote hamlets. This is done through the horsemen who transport merchandise to these places inaccessible by anything else other than a horse (they take Rs. 5 as forwarding charges from the addressee). One kg of merchandise costs Rs. 50 and are taken strictly based on advance payment by cash. Everything comes in this way. Chicken, whisky, rice, vegetables, medicines. Not everyone can own a horse. You have to get a license from the panchayat.
An ex-serviceman runs a telephone booth, the only one in the village. It is roaring business here. With all people walking to the further hamlets this is the last communication point.
I then walk over to a church – half built. Some foreign trust had started building it and then abandoned it for some reason. It has an old watchman who gets paid in Euros every month! The villagers think he gets Rs. 10000 as pay for sitting there everyday and drinking sarayam (local brewed spirit) and ensuring that no one of the village enters the premises.
I got to meet my neighbor who runs a little shop for passers by. He is a simple man and looks poor. He lives off his shop and his little parcel of land. His son studies in Anna University, Chennai and daughter in a very good school in Madurai. The great Indian ambition – to uplift the lot of the family.
And back to what I love most. I retire to my whisky and will again write tomorrow.
Day 5:
Time to leave the hills and to go home. There is always a lethargy when have to go back home from a holiday. The journey back seems a long one and one considers even lingering for one more day.
But I had to leave today. There are things to be done at home when the holiday still lasts.
I left Kodaikanal after presenting my hosts with my gifts and settling my bills at 9 am. I decided to go through the Palani route this time round. Stopped in a village called Savarikadu for tea. Two old men were remembering old stories about pythons and their doings in their respective villages. It was an interesting conversation. I could recollect atleast 7 stories being exchanged in 15 minutes.
I reached Palani, then Dharapuram and then Perundurai. It started raining. 2.30 pm. I stopped at a dhaba and decided to have lunch – trucker style. Sit cross-legged on a wire cot and eat your food on the plate on a wooden plank placed across. The roti & dhal was amazing with raw chillies. Then a bowl of curd rice.
4 pm: The rain wouldn’t stop and one gentlemen picked up conversation. He too owned a Royal Enfield and he gave me tips on how to make the chrome shine. His motorcycle, a 1985 Classic was shining like new.
5 pm: The rain still wouldn’t stop. I still had to cover 130 kms to get to Dharmapuri. So I decided to turn in for the night in Erode. So one more day of roaming.
Now I miss home, my wife and my bean bag.
Day 6:
I reached Dharmapuri. I have to leave The Zahir there and head back to Chennai by bus. I once more have a sumptuous lunch made by mom.
I got into the bus at 2 pm and it was one marathon ride in the bus. Reached Chennai at 9 pm.
Had dinner at my own sweet home.
Day 7:
It’s the grind from today to the next holiday. One always gets the urge to go back to the holiday.
I have bought my freedom this year after 10 long months in the drudgery of practicality. When on a ride, distance doesn’t matter. The destination is an end which will be reached regardless of the means. The distance is just space. This space is life.
There is always a charm in traveling alone. People may think you are queer. When you travel alone, when all the static produced by your friends and family is non-existent, you get to watch the world as a spectator. You are living in a transparent shell and observing every little movement of the world. You observe, you dissolve. You don’t feel like you are a traveling mass, but as a wisp of grass that is carried along by the wind.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Wonderful Tonight
Its time to go home now
From hard work and woe
To my last paradise in life
A caress awaits my cares
An embrace completes my toils
I right away retire to the book
Till nightfall in reflection
Senses tingled there is the dinner
The scent of jasmine lures me to bed
I am consumed in its flame
The breeze washes my body
Her love churns my heart
Peace is just a glance away
From the worries of existence
And the insanity of struggle
Oh come to me darling
Let’s sleep tight till morning
In unison and bliss dreamless....
It feels wonderful tonight....
From hard work and woe
To my last paradise in life
A caress awaits my cares
An embrace completes my toils
I right away retire to the book
Till nightfall in reflection
Senses tingled there is the dinner
The scent of jasmine lures me to bed
I am consumed in its flame
The breeze washes my body
Her love churns my heart
Peace is just a glance away
From the worries of existence
And the insanity of struggle
Oh come to me darling
Let’s sleep tight till morning
In unison and bliss dreamless....
It feels wonderful tonight....
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Satan's Saturday
The sky rains fury,
Hoary winds rip apart
The small dreams of ordinary people.
The grounds shake beneath
Blind causes and convictions.
Cursed be the violence.
Banished be the hatred.
Stop this gross war.
A appeal to stop violence against innocents.
Hoary winds rip apart
The small dreams of ordinary people.
The grounds shake beneath
Blind causes and convictions.
Cursed be the violence.
Banished be the hatred.
Stop this gross war.
A appeal to stop violence against innocents.
Thursday, August 02, 2007
To
Did I realize then
Such a one walked beside me
Smiling and loving.
Did I realize then
Such a one walked the earth
Smiling and loving.
Such a one walked beside me
Smiling and loving.
Did I realize then
Such a one walked the earth
Smiling and loving.
Friday, July 20, 2007
Stairway to Heaven - Led Zeppelin
Theres a lady whos sure
All that glitters is gold
And shes buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and shes buying a stairway to heaven.
Theres a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook
Theres a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
Theres a feeling I get
When I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who standing looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
And its whispered that soon
If we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn
For those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.
If theres a bustle in your hedgerow
Dont be alarmed now,
Its just a spring clean for the may queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
Theres still time to change the road youre on.
And it makes me wonder.
Your head is humming and it wont go
In case you dont know,
The pipers calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow,
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How evrything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And shes buying a stairway to heaven.
All that glitters is gold
And shes buying a stairway to heaven.
When she gets there she knows
If the stores are all closed
With a word she can get what she came for.
Ooh, ooh, and shes buying a stairway to heaven.
Theres a sign on the wall
But she wants to be sure
cause you know sometimes words have two meanings.
In a tree by the brook
Theres a songbird who sings,
Sometimes all of our thoughts are misgiven.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it makes me wonder.
Theres a feeling I get
When I look to the west,
And my spirit is crying for leaving.
In my thoughts I have seen
Rings of smoke through the trees,
And the voices of those who standing looking.
Ooh, it makes me wonder,
Ooh, it really makes me wonder.
And its whispered that soon
If we all call the tune
Then the piper will lead us to reason.
And a new day will dawn
For those who stand long
And the forests will echo with laughter.
If theres a bustle in your hedgerow
Dont be alarmed now,
Its just a spring clean for the may queen.
Yes, there are two paths you can go by
But in the long run
Theres still time to change the road youre on.
And it makes me wonder.
Your head is humming and it wont go
In case you dont know,
The pipers calling you to join him,
Dear lady, can you hear the wind blow,
And did you know
Your stairway lies on the whispering wind.
And as we wind on down the road
Our shadows taller than our soul.
There walks a lady we all know
Who shines white light and wants to show
How evrything still turns to gold.
And if you listen very hard
The tune will come to you at last.
When all are one and one is all
To be a rock and not to roll.
And shes buying a stairway to heaven.
Saturday, June 09, 2007
Sanity in an Inconstent State
Case 1
Was engaged in a casual conversation with one of my colleagues about the rule to make wearing of helmets by motorists compulsory.
I heard of this rule coming to effect from 1st June, 2007, about some 3 months back. Everyone knew this. When I woke up on D Day, the headlines screamed “Wear helmets from today – else face fines”. I left for office on my motorcycle, the whole road was dazzling with people wearing new helmets. New helmets have this sheen that older ones like mine lose over time.
Someone was asking me what to do if he wants to buy a helmet for his son, who he drops at school every morning. He couldn’t find the size that would fit him. He bought a bicycling helmet from a sports shop!
Then this person files a PIL – how can women and children wear helmets? There are the usual traditional hair dos and the flowers. The court raised the question of the health hazards that could crop up if helmets were to be worn in a hot country like ours.
The court’s judgment is awaited, and women have stopped wearing helmets altogether, and during the past few days even men have stopped wearing helmets.
In the meanwhile, helmet prices have shot through the roof. Good, branded helmets cost 1000 rupees (earlier 600-700 rupees) and dubious roadside helmets sell for 500-600 rupees (earlier 100-150 rupees).
The common man is buying a helmet for the first time in his life. He is paying dearly!
It gets incredibly hot inside a helmet in Chennai. One feels like dropping the vehicle on the road itself and running for cover – throw off helmets and clothes!
Now no one knows whether one has to wear a helmet or not. The police are not enforcing it; if the rule has been made void - the government is not publicizing it too. Now people don’t know what to do with their helmets!
Case 2
This is about another instance of inconsistent policy making by the government – closely related to my field of work.
School buses the world over are painted Yellow. Yellow is unique in buses – no one paints it yellow anywhere – better visibility for the buses in traffic and the highway – better safety for the children inside.
December, 2006 – The government comes out with an order changing the color of school buses in Tamil Nadu from Yellow to a color called Shell White.
No one knew about this till about February. One fine day, someone in the hinterland woke up. We were asked to repaint our buses to this new color to get them registered – but the catch was this NO ONE IN THE GOVT KNEW THE COLOR CODE FOR THE NEW COLOR!
We ran pillar to post to find this, convinced our plant up north to produce this color for us alone. We were proudly displaying these buses, when another manufacturer coolly registers yellow colored buses.
So we decided to go meet the top guy in the concerned department to be clarified. He tells us in an offhand, casual manner that the plan to change the color has been put on hold – due to resistance from the general public!
No new order was issued in the gazette to revoke the old order. We got raped by the plant for changing the color specs twice in 2 months – which entails a day’s loss of production.
Was engaged in a casual conversation with one of my colleagues about the rule to make wearing of helmets by motorists compulsory.
I heard of this rule coming to effect from 1st June, 2007, about some 3 months back. Everyone knew this. When I woke up on D Day, the headlines screamed “Wear helmets from today – else face fines”. I left for office on my motorcycle, the whole road was dazzling with people wearing new helmets. New helmets have this sheen that older ones like mine lose over time.
Someone was asking me what to do if he wants to buy a helmet for his son, who he drops at school every morning. He couldn’t find the size that would fit him. He bought a bicycling helmet from a sports shop!
Then this person files a PIL – how can women and children wear helmets? There are the usual traditional hair dos and the flowers. The court raised the question of the health hazards that could crop up if helmets were to be worn in a hot country like ours.
The court’s judgment is awaited, and women have stopped wearing helmets altogether, and during the past few days even men have stopped wearing helmets.
In the meanwhile, helmet prices have shot through the roof. Good, branded helmets cost 1000 rupees (earlier 600-700 rupees) and dubious roadside helmets sell for 500-600 rupees (earlier 100-150 rupees).
The common man is buying a helmet for the first time in his life. He is paying dearly!
It gets incredibly hot inside a helmet in Chennai. One feels like dropping the vehicle on the road itself and running for cover – throw off helmets and clothes!
Now no one knows whether one has to wear a helmet or not. The police are not enforcing it; if the rule has been made void - the government is not publicizing it too. Now people don’t know what to do with their helmets!
Case 2
This is about another instance of inconsistent policy making by the government – closely related to my field of work.
School buses the world over are painted Yellow. Yellow is unique in buses – no one paints it yellow anywhere – better visibility for the buses in traffic and the highway – better safety for the children inside.
December, 2006 – The government comes out with an order changing the color of school buses in Tamil Nadu from Yellow to a color called Shell White.
No one knew about this till about February. One fine day, someone in the hinterland woke up. We were asked to repaint our buses to this new color to get them registered – but the catch was this NO ONE IN THE GOVT KNEW THE COLOR CODE FOR THE NEW COLOR!
We ran pillar to post to find this, convinced our plant up north to produce this color for us alone. We were proudly displaying these buses, when another manufacturer coolly registers yellow colored buses.
So we decided to go meet the top guy in the concerned department to be clarified. He tells us in an offhand, casual manner that the plan to change the color has been put on hold – due to resistance from the general public!
No new order was issued in the gazette to revoke the old order. We got raped by the plant for changing the color specs twice in 2 months – which entails a day’s loss of production.
Saturday, May 12, 2007
The Layman's Debate
Was driving down to Madurai from Erode. My car has just an FM radio receiver. So I had to listen to whatever Kodai FM, Kodaikanal was playing at that time.
This is one of the many times when I have been left to the mercy of this radio station. Usually the songs played are ones one wouldn’t hear in the normal course of time. With no offence meant to their DJs, the programs are more or less boring.
Then there is this program at 10 am – a debate on simple topics – with views put forward on a topic by the laymen of Tamil Nadu’s hinterland. The moderator is a professor, who tries to make the arguments sound simple than what the respondents put forth originally.
Today’s topic was “Does comparison of oneself to others lead to good or bad?” The topic seemed fairly innocuous for me at the beginning of the drive. The respondents to this debate will be the kirana shop owners, men who run telephone booths, unemployed people, etc.
But when the arguments started flowing in, I was amazed at the quality of the responses. The ideas expressed were original with a very good mix of real life, cinematic, lyrical and inspirational allegories.
One person from an unknown village near Kodumudi in Erode put forth the following argument:
“comparing oneself with others makes one lose his/her individuality”
This I think is the essence of the whole discussion. He was referring to the moderator as “ayya”. He told the moderator that he was just a 10th standard pass out, running a kirana shop. Intellect is not dependent on education and social upbringing. It is imbibed through something other than mere institutions.
This is one of the many times when I have been left to the mercy of this radio station. Usually the songs played are ones one wouldn’t hear in the normal course of time. With no offence meant to their DJs, the programs are more or less boring.
Then there is this program at 10 am – a debate on simple topics – with views put forward on a topic by the laymen of Tamil Nadu’s hinterland. The moderator is a professor, who tries to make the arguments sound simple than what the respondents put forth originally.
Today’s topic was “Does comparison of oneself to others lead to good or bad?” The topic seemed fairly innocuous for me at the beginning of the drive. The respondents to this debate will be the kirana shop owners, men who run telephone booths, unemployed people, etc.
But when the arguments started flowing in, I was amazed at the quality of the responses. The ideas expressed were original with a very good mix of real life, cinematic, lyrical and inspirational allegories.
One person from an unknown village near Kodumudi in Erode put forth the following argument:
“comparing oneself with others makes one lose his/her individuality”
This I think is the essence of the whole discussion. He was referring to the moderator as “ayya”. He told the moderator that he was just a 10th standard pass out, running a kirana shop. Intellect is not dependent on education and social upbringing. It is imbibed through something other than mere institutions.
Friday, April 06, 2007
Katrin Mozhi...
Kaatrin Mozhi...
Oliyaa.... Isaiyaa.....
Poovin Mozhi....
Niramaa... Manamaa...
Kadalin Mozhi...
Alaiyaa... Nuraiyaa...
Kaadhal Mozhi...
Vizhiyaa... Ithalaa...
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhi...
Oliyaa.... Isaiyaa.....
Poovin Mozhi....
Niramaa... Manamaa...
(music)
Kaatru veesum poothu
thisaigal kidaiyathu
Kaadhal paesum poothu
Mozhigal kidaiyathu
Paesum Vaarthai pola
Mounam puriyaathu
Kangal paesum Vaarthai
Kadavul ariyaathu
Ulavi thiriyum kaatrukku
Uruvam theetta mudiyathu
Kaadhal paesum Mozhi ellaam
Sabtha koottil adanggathu
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhiyee...
(music)
Vaanam paesum paechu
thulliyaai veli aaghum
Vaanavillin paechu
niramaai veli aaghum
Unnmai Uumai aanaal
Kanneer Mozhi aaghum
Pennmai Uumai aanaal
Naanam Mozhi aaghum
Oosai thoongum Jaamathil
Uchi Meengal Mozhi aaghum
Aasai thoongum Ithaiyathil
Asaivu kooda Mozhi aaghum
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhiyee...
Oliyaa.... Isaiyaa.....
Poovin Mozhi....
Niramaa... Manamaa...
Kadalin Mozhi...
Alaiyaa... Nuraiyaa...
Kaadhal Mozhi...
Vizhiyaa... Ithalaa...
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhiyee...
Oliyaa.... Isaiyaa.....
Poovin Mozhi....
Niramaa... Manamaa...
Kadalin Mozhi...
Alaiyaa... Nuraiyaa...
Kaadhal Mozhi...
Vizhiyaa... Ithalaa...
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhi...
Oliyaa.... Isaiyaa.....
Poovin Mozhi....
Niramaa... Manamaa...
(music)
Kaatru veesum poothu
thisaigal kidaiyathu
Kaadhal paesum poothu
Mozhigal kidaiyathu
Paesum Vaarthai pola
Mounam puriyaathu
Kangal paesum Vaarthai
Kadavul ariyaathu
Ulavi thiriyum kaatrukku
Uruvam theetta mudiyathu
Kaadhal paesum Mozhi ellaam
Sabtha koottil adanggathu
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhiyee...
(music)
Vaanam paesum paechu
thulliyaai veli aaghum
Vaanavillin paechu
niramaai veli aaghum
Unnmai Uumai aanaal
Kanneer Mozhi aaghum
Pennmai Uumai aanaal
Naanam Mozhi aaghum
Oosai thoongum Jaamathil
Uchi Meengal Mozhi aaghum
Aasai thoongum Ithaiyathil
Asaivu kooda Mozhi aaghum
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhiyee...
Oliyaa.... Isaiyaa.....
Poovin Mozhi....
Niramaa... Manamaa...
Kadalin Mozhi...
Alaiyaa... Nuraiyaa...
Kaadhal Mozhi...
Vizhiyaa... Ithalaa...
Iyarkkayin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharin Mozhigal thevai illai
Ithaiyathin Mozhigal purinthu vidil
Manitharkku Mozhiyae thevai illai
Kaatrin Mozhiyee...
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