Sunday, February 15, 2009

The Flight of the Poem

The eyes do see, but they must not see
The mind does think, but it must not think
The heart does yearns, but it must not yearn
How can a smile be a smile when it is not a smile but a cry
Why can't the heart not talk
But if it talks will the heart ever listen?
How can I see you as a stranger when the heart knows you well
How can it be then that I live when I should not be
Is it not true that a poem makes the poet
How is it then that I'm still a poet
When the Poem is flying out of me

Wednesday, January 21, 2009

On The Swing

On the swing
Up and down do I go
Once I am happy, once I am not
Gives me joy, but fear is not far
I know I could fall and get hurt
But the joy shadows it
I ask myself, is it true joy?
I answer myself, as true as the shadow
But I argue the shadow is mine
And I answer the shadow is mine, but not me
I say it's just a Play Of Enthralling Moments
Or is it the Poignant Odds of an Ethereal Mystery

Saturday, January 17, 2009

Fashion Day at Tiruvaiyyaru

We have heard about the famed fashion week events held world-wide like NYFW or MFW or PFW. But have you heard about a fashion day event? There's at least one that I'm aware about. The Tiruvaiyyaru Fashion Day. Although some might recognise Tiruvaiyyaru, for the uninitiated, it is a sandwich between a village and a town, located about 8 miles from Thanjavur in TN. I call it a sandwich since it hopelessly fails all the prerequisites to qualify for either a village or a town. Neither is it sleepy enough to be a village, nor does it bear the din of a town. This place is better known amongst Carnatic music aficionados as the place where the Carnatic music colossus, Sri Thyagaraja, lived for most part of his life and also for enshrining his mortal remains on the banks of the Kaveri. Annually, it's become a tradition for the Carnatic music fraternity to pay tribute to this saint-composer by singing his compositions. But what started as a tribute event has metamorphosed into a fashion event. Come January, every year, Tiruvaiyyaru gets up and going, abound with lots of of energy and people. The reason behind this are the celebrities of the Carnatic world. One cannot miss ardent fans discussing at every given opportunity as to which artist might come this year or give it a miss. After all, this is the Woodstock of Carnatic music and the Gods descend here only once a year. These Gods arrive dressed far from befitting a solemn event such as this. Draped in their best Conjeevarams, Mysore silks, Benaras silks, etc., adorning gold bangles and diamond necklaces, they don't care if they look like a mannequin in a jewellery shop. For the only thing on their mind is not the tribute, but showcasing their fashion extravaganzas in the limited time frame. They are seen to vigorously shake their heads often. Although this could be mistaken for a sign of appreciation, it would in reality be to show off their gem-studded earrings. And how could the ubiquitous Tambrams keep themselves away from any such things? They are best known for their sharp olfactory sense for silk and gold. They may not be able to differentiate a ragam from a thalam, but they would profess and confess Carnatic music is their life breath. You can see hundreds of them straining their necks to catch a glimpse of, oh, no, not the saint's shrine, but their fave celebrities. The lesser fortunate ones that are unable to be physically present at the venue sit glued to the idiot box at their homes. Hurrying up their mundane activities, they sit all ready to glimpse their Gods, only to pass comments and comparisons about what 'X' artist wore last year and how 'Y' looks aged this year. A few are heard cursing the TV cameraman because he does not focus the camera much on 'Z'. And, yeah, coming to these cameramen, they are another appreciative lot. Tired of focusing on the same old celebrity faces year after year, they train their lenses towards attractive faces in the assembled crowd. So, there's every form of entertainment served in Tiruvaiyyaru - for the eyes, ears, mind, and body. And, if you by chance get to attend a Tambram wedding, trust me, you will for sure overhear somebody bragging, "Did you see me on TV during the Aradhana in Tiruvaiyyaru?" And then, the best part is reserved for the post event times. These die hard fans are seen headed directly from Tiruvaiyyaru, not to their homes, but to the ever-crowded Usman Road in Chennai, to purchase the sarees worn by X, Y, Z at the Tiruvaiyyaru event.

Sri Thyagaraja contributed a great mite towards Carnatic music during his life time, but did anybody imagine that his legacy would contribute, albeit surrogately, to the apparel industry, too?

Wednesday, January 14, 2009

The Pool Of Emotive Moments


The eyes saw, The mind perceived
Life moved on, life moved
In a crowd, but didn't feel lonely
Then there came a rain
So torrential, so refreshing
I drowned in a Pool Of Emotive Moments
A new lease was gotten, a new phase was entered
The eyes saw, the eyes didn't see
The mind perceived, the mind didn't perceive
Life moved on, life didn't move
Amidst friendly faces, yet felt lonely
There was a rain, but this didn't fall off the sky

Is the mind longing
Is the mind opening
Is the mind vagrant
Is the mind expressive

Life was anew, life was felt

Saturday, January 3, 2009

'In'human

This morning I came across a very gory sight on one news channel. I am saying "came across" and not "saw" because I did not view it for any more than a few seconds. But yet, it was so horrible that it got etched very well in my mind within that short time frame. There was a creature called "C". There were creatures called "H". There was a pool of blood. The "H" creatures were murdering the "C" creature. At a point, "C" just lay down hopeless and lifeless. But yet "H" would not stop. They went on torturing "C". Don't know what was left behind to torture any more. But these would not stop. Pain and helplessness was written crystal clear on the face of "C". That expression haunts me so much that I am unable to even describe it in writing. Wondering how a reversal of roles would have been. What if "H" is in the place of "C" and "C" is torturing "H"? But for "H", it could just be unthinkable. Because "H" does not like any trespassing. "H" wants "C" to be where it has to be, but "H" will not be where it has to be. It can and will be anywhere and everywhere. In fact, all places belong to "H". Then where will "C" be? Simple. "C" cannot be. Not just anywhere. Just cease to exist. No wonder "Humane" and "Human" are different words with different spellings and pronunciations. Oh, yeah. Needless to say, different meanings, too. But then again, inhumane is in human.



"C" = Cheetah
"H" = Humans

Thursday, January 1, 2009

Walk the Talk

Question 1: Who cross the roads best?
Answer: Dogs

Question 2: Who cross the roads better?
Answer: Older, sensible people

Question 3: Who cross the roads worst?
Answer: People walking, talking on their mobile phones

Sunday, December 28, 2008

The Times of Gadbad

Last week, our family went out for dinner to a restaurant nearby. Although the temperature in Bangalore is dipping by the day, my mom did not seem deterred in any way from having her favourite dessert. And when her dish arrived, all I could see was a convoluted mixture of several colors. This, the menu card called "GADBAD". No other name could have done full justice to this colorful delicacy. The next morning, I was browsing through the day's newspaper, and somehow, as I turned the sheets, I could not but help remember the dessert my mom had had the previous day. No, the paper did not contain any ads for desserts. Just that the sheets themselves looked so colorful and mixed-up. There was an article on the front page about the current war rhetoric war between India and Pakistan. Suddenly, from nowhere, there was a block of bright pink that cut right across the middle of the article, extending from the top left to the bottom right of the page. Written across this pink block was the name of a famous mobile phone brand. The article continued on the other side of the pink block. The inside pages were more than a revelation. Articles abound in Hinglish and Kanglish. Write-ups that ought to be in page 3 seemed to flow over to pages 4, 5, 6... The more surprising part was the shoulder-rubbing of glitterati stuff (I refuse to call it anything else) with news of a serious nature. One that was more surprising was about a theft in Paris Hilton's house, published next to a column speaking about the oil prices. I confess I could not see any reason as to what Paris was doing near oil. The last page was too much to take. The photograph of the ex of the ex's ex's of X, who is a sportsman, sandbathing on the sands of Florida. I could not wait to put the paper down. Very few news items registered. I had to take back my words. The gadbad ice cream looked less convoluted. I was convinced the newspaper had to be renamed from The Times of India to The Times of Gadbad.