Alive n Kicking

yeah! For the one who craved for holiday n travel... had been roaming like a God-forsaken soul.... Had a fantastic trip in God's own country... Next post... The Monsoon Holiday

... first post with pics.. soon on the go...

In a major Holiday-hang-over

Went to coimbatore... My college n old times.....

Met Amazwi, Blogger Vignesh..... More on that .. soon

Oops! Off to hyderabad tomorrow, Got an interview. wish me all good luck.....

Sorry, been away from many blogs n blog friends-family... This post just to keep informed, am alive n kicking. catch you soon on your blogs...

Had a great trip with my lil bro after a long time....

On the way to be a research scholar soon....

Oops!!! The Hypocrite Tamil

It is long time that I wrote something politically or a thoroughly opinionated write-up, though there are many to talk, there are a few that have been badly bothering me for a long while, especially the unwanted turmoil of LTTE issue in Tamil Nadu. Hey that is and that had been my take. How stupid is it on the part of the politicians of TN to make the people believe that they can help find a solution to the Lankan issue, It was nothing but an election-puller, a pickle to lick for Kalaignar, Amma, Ayya, Captain and every other crook. Well the question would be, why I refrained from writing anything on this. I just wanted to wait to make sure and more importantly the media to declare that the war is over and Prabhakaran is dead and gone. I have no affiliation/affection for him, but I did feel a little bad on his death. Prabhakaran was bad a leader, no qualms on that.

No I don’t want to get to the history or the intricate details or a post-mortem of why he failed/what should have happened. As a citizen, I would not want a third member to talk about the inner disputes of my country; I would want any third party/nation to better shut their mouth up, and Sri Lanka, would want the same, And I appreciate Sri-Lankan PM Rajapakshe’ autonomy and (partly) acting on his own. What it is that special affection for the Tamils, I had been called a betrayer of the Tamil-Elam cause, because I don’t support their ways and means or subscribe to that identity and Ideology, I wonder where thy-humble Humanity was when Innocent civilians in Israel/Orissa was being massacred because of their identity. I honestly cannot feel/cry for someone just because he/she happens to be a Tamil.

And Muthukumar, who immolated himself, for he cannot stand it, was called the Tamil citizen of dignity by one of the Tamil media. I call it the most ridiculous and disgusting act. I spoke to the same words to a magazine reporter, who asked me the same question, “How can I (being a Tamil) can speak so?” At times, I really don’t understand certain things of being a Tamil. And I couldn’t stand the highly hypocritical attitude of the Tamil. As Tamil writer Gnani tells, “It is not wrong to tell that the average Tamilian doesn’t have honesty in him”

And the most bogus election happened in Tamil nadu, everyone knows the story and of How’s DMK won the election and how the daddy had disputes with the centre on getting a share for each of his son/daughter and how congress had been aware of his well-I-know -how tactics. And now the elder takes care of the party at the centre and the younger the state. Rightly Jayakanthan, a Progressive writer in Tamil pointed out that DMK and ADMK are the evil-curses of Tamil nadu. And now it is at its peak. Let’s watch the Game. “Koothu nadakuthu paarir, Kaana Vararir”

I had been never been a watcher of Reality-shows and recently being in a friend’s home. I happened to be one of its spectators too, how everyone in the family religiously watches the show. I couldn’t help myself not to get hooked. It was a finals and live-show, which went till twelve before they could finally decide whole-heartedly and declare the winner of the Air Tel-Super-Singer Contest. The Judge was evidently tired and wished he could better be let go. Ajeesh, a second year Visual-communication student won the game and Man, he was really an amazing singer, and now wonder he got everyone hooked. And sure, that would have been the talk amongst all the house-wives folk and in the work-place too.

I happened to read Ashokamitran, a prominent writer of 80s, on a friend’s suggestion in his blog. He was quite a fascinating writer, whose multi-faceted aspect is clearly reflected in each of his short-stories, one could not guess, what he is going to talk about next in his writing, His characters are from the wide-array of life; the women, children, laborers, actors, writers, middle class family man to the murderers, saints and his almost-to-the-minute psychoanalytic detail shows his humane side and his concern for the fellow-being. One cannot ignore him on a class/caste based position as a writer. It is evident from his writing, how he had this broad outlook on life and literature which is a pre-requisite for a writer.

Unlike other writers of Tamil, he is man who had a well exposure to different lives and situations. While the average so called Progressive-Tamil writer takes a stand as that authentic ethnic Tamil, who considers anything other than Tamil as a gross and gross-betrayal to the Tamil cause. I basically feel that the average Tamil-writer/Tamil has taken a cause and stand that he/she would write in the chaste-Tamil and would read only Tamil. No to English and a Big NO NO to Hindi. “We don’t need a National Language.” We will flourish in Tamil by repeatedly ignoring and murdering Tamil and only using it as the cheap and easy way to attain our petty political means and gains. Honestly, Let me Question, “How many of us can write a page in Tamil without spelling mistakes? And How many of us can name a few contemporary writers and the books for what and which works he/she is well known and well acclaimed?”

Of Writing, Li(v)es, Statement of Purposes

Well, this is indeed a tricky part of admissions to any course, which I am in absolute love with, to write and write. At times what is expected is a profile or simple write-up of why one needs the course in the concerned institute, or how we see ourselves after the course. I don’t want to sound too technical or too much of a know-it-all or teach here, How to write a purposeful Statement of Purpose.

It is indeed a joy and happiness when someone approaches you to help them with something. Way back into years, right from my first year of UG life, I had been this guy, who takes pleasure in anything related to writing, editing and translation. Trust me, had first hands-on experience in editing theses, research proposals (proposals???) research articles, write-ups, essays, resumes, CVs, SOPs.

Remember my Jun N, who is in UK, I remember the excitement when he first told me his plans to go abroad for a masters degree. All the time, we spent in discussing how the SOP should look, the construct, the importance or clarity, conviction and the coherence in the writing. And how he wanted me to sit with him all through the writing process, and it was 3 AM in the morning when he finished. “Bro, here it is, just work on this and change whatever you want to,” Giving me the total autonomy, he slept off. I was rather happy for him, because I took more time to persuade him to write one on his own, rather than going for a consultancy’s ready-made, here-we-serve-your-needs and thus killing the originality of the students. Honesty in Statement of purposes comes from writing what you’re and what you genuinely want to do in life, rather than mere impressive verbose talents

It is such a contagious happiness, when you hear people make it up to their dreams and live the life they imagined. Also it is more an inspiration for me to. May be this is how we grow up with people, seeing their dreams as your own, standing aside and sure by them, cheering up every move, those necessary pats and slaps when needed, and those pep-talks when in really deep-dumps and also the huge throwing up a party to celebrate.

Now I’m at home, looking through a couple of SOPs, and also it is more of a view to someone’s dreams, and I respect each, as I know they are too personal, It takes a lot of courage to actually open our dreams to someone. It is a loving experience to actually read them, help them create the one they need, I sit like that ultra-professional with a sharp HB and an eraser, a thoughtful-I’m-in-work look with an invisible Do-not-dare-to-disturb-me board thrown over me. I soulfully take efforts to just edit the language, the grammar and the mood of the write-up if needed and make the conscious effort to retain the Writer’s tone in it. And it is indeed difficult an effort.

I remember the senior R, indeed a best bhaiya, who often tells me that people take advantage of me, many a times I assured him, not so and I indeed love doing this, I feel people appreciate our work by simply giving us more work. I often think this way, “When there are so many people around, why would someone prefer you over others. It is a confidence that they place on us.” And just play by. The feeling of importance comes from making others feel important.

And when A, got his job, hey I prepared his Resume. And the phone-call, hey dude I made it and the following celebration in that Aavin milk booth, just chai, coffee, Milkova and cookies for rs 289/- and that show-off to my friends that I have a friend who treats his friends in Hotel Residency, a Posh-place in Coimbatore. Actually, that Aavin milk both is just next to the hotel. And this way, our next treats in CAG pride Restaurant and Jenny club went every time someone gets placed.

My talent for writing(sound too much though) goes back to my third standard, when I helped my desk mate D in writing a love-letter to his crush-our senior P, I was caught badly, as I tried to send that letter to her through the Moral Science book, which was accidentally the teachers copy. Hey I still have that letter with me, a very old, badly torn, battered and dog-eared corner of a page torn from the copy-writing book. And also there are few reminders of my talent such as messages that I come up with at times, randomly out of the blue. The text I sent to a friend who was on his first date, the frustrated writings in a boring lecture, the notes sent among the bench-mates, a porn-story I wrote, the first thriller novel, me and alter ego co-authored and of course my first and last love-letter(still in my sent-tems folder)

Then! What if; then, what?

There are certain questions, one should refrain from asking, especially when you happen to travel with someone who calls and considers him/her self a writer.

“What kind of a writer are you?”

Well. I never had a clue, all other times; it was either a warm or an I-don’t-encourage-such-questions smile. But that day, to the most unfortunate despair of the interrogator, I had this answer, spontaneously brimming up inside me.

“I just write, hence I’m a writer, but my writings and my being of a writer is multi-layered, rather a multi-staged process. I’m a reluctant writer and when I’m past my reluctance, I turn to this compulsive writer and keep writing, only to end up as a voluminous writer. I cannot help identifying the little things and people prefer to call this labeling. So I’m even a labelist-writer, in a way.

She had this what-wrong-did-I-ever-do-to-you look on her face. For the greater good, I excused myself, “It is quite sultry inside. I’ll just go, stand near the door for a while.” And I left my window seat.

Pre-script: This post can be lengthily lengthy! Read it at your own ease.

Then I did realize the importance rather the necessity to traverse in the depressing murky narrow lanes of human mind. I did make the journey. In a shorter while, I stood face to face with him. He was tall and nude. I glimpsed down at Him, sensing his faltering hesitation, I averted my glance. I found out, he was shy and got intimidated by my presence before his naked self. It looked pale. It didn’t bother me anyway; for I had a mother’s eye. I was not disgusted by his nudity. His sudden appearance brought out the rather dormant motherly instincts alive in me. I reached the door of his grief-stricken soul and gently knocked to wake him up. He understood my silent plea to unburden his sorrows on me. I still got a chance to identify my own self in him, overcoming all my possible short-comings and human weakness. I can hear his prayers. I prayed/wished there were fewer burdens and more people to help him with his yoke. For the first time, I looked at his eyes, to see the fear blooming away to a smile.

When any mind is dug, the depths are seen to be filled with the acid, frustration- the source of hatred ness, which gets accumulated due to the needless and endless rush to no-where. People don’t let the flow of base, literally and chemically i.e., assurance-the source of love, to neutralize this and so as to stop the mind ending up, thoroughly eroded and turns to a scathed monstrous inside spitting words of venom outside.

What could I possibly tell, to let him learn that nudity is sacred and so are every private secret. No god/human-made-god is sacred. Believing that thy gods are sacred is the absolute Blasphemy. Nothing is more sacred than/as sacred as Human spirit.

When you sow love in life, you reap only smiles in return, the other synonym of love, which is pure and blissful, like that of a baby, which arouses a desire in you to touch and caress in rejoice.

Ever patted someone’s cheek with love, when they smile? You will know.

Sitting on a beach, feeling the coarse texture of the sand against my skin, with the music, plugged in, either Savage Garden/Bob Marley, with Italo Calvino unveiling the secrets of the Invisible cities, sipping apple juice spiked with white Mischief to be lost in the magical orange hues of the evening sun.

How romantic! How rejuvenating! NOTHING ELSE MATTERS

Only, when you’re in Pondicherry, Marina, Marine Drive, Kovalam, Goa or Gokarhna.

Not when,

Sitting in the living room, awake at an unearthly hour, with four other souls deep asleep at the dead of night, I look out of my window and heave the usual sigh!

I found myself awake to the deserted sight of my bedroom. No clue! When I fall a prey to Insomnia. I get up all by my self, prepare the most-cherished-I-made-my-own-chai and sit at my dining for the morning my-alone-mono-conversation. Brother would have left to Bangalore, remembered seeing him at 7, when I tossed around. Heard dad’s voice and spotted him in his usual I-don’t-see-my-spectacles-anywhere look, when I blinked and adjusted to the morning light entering through the window. Listened to mom’s daily set of instructions, “Keep some milk for puppy, you have your breakfast soon, clean up the kitchen, put away the used dishes, keep the house tidy, pay the grocery bill”, when I got up to switch off my alarm and sleep again.

Watch Television, sit at the PC, listen to music, stare at an empty space, sit idly, read, pick up a novel and start umpteen times, sketch/scribble/cook. Mono/multi/juggle tasks. Do nothing/everything. A day is gone. I spend my whole day regretting not being early, missing the jog and curse for being lately late every night. And naturally you grow around the middle.

Vacation does this. No matter how well you plan to finish novels, jog/jinx/jingle everyday learn guitar/music/cooking, watch movies plan a thousand trips. Nothing happens. Believe me, been through it badly, madly and truly.

VACATE YOUR HOME DURING VACATION.

When you’re an adult
1) NEVER EVER holiday at home, you’re past the age of summer camps/cramps
2) Home is meant to be missed and not to SPEND vacations.

Orkut and face book even bores the hell out of you. And you turn the most perverted poet. G talk status – a testimony to this statement

With all this now going in for a more while. I plan to write books/scholarly articles on the following topics

1) The Ignored Psychology of the Blissful Boredom
2) Being the second born – boon or bane.
3) Ten sure and safe ways to seek instant attention
4) An Introduction to holidaying at home.
5) The Psycho-analysis of bored-minds: A socio-cultural approach
6) What not to do, when you’re Home Alone.
7) Understanding the problems of the Youngest Kid.
8) How to be a successful attention Seeker
9) The nuances of being a nuisance at home – A beginner’s theory

Efforts are been given at a full fledged pace and wish me all luck.

As Erma Bombeck quotes, “Being a child at home alone in the summer is a high-risk occupation. If you call your mother at work thirteen times an hour, she can hurt you.”

And as JB ma’m puts it, “You’re home-sick, you reach home and soon, you grow sick of home.”

Yet, how I wish, I get up every morning to the beautiful sight of the snow-clad Alps Mountain on the meadows with that special dream-girl rather my-kind-of-girl cuddled up beside me.

No! No! NO! I’m a single, and not that desperate or waiting to mingle-single. It is just that I wish, to know what it is to get committed and to flash my COMMITTED status in Orkut and face book.

No Shrings! I’m still the committed single. Remember we can flirt, flirt and flirt, No worries, we’re still committed to our single hood status. We’re The Committed Singles.

And you T**** Now don’t call me a predictable pervert, you Pakistani *******U**. I miss my campus life, BIG time!!!!

I abstain form the temptations of running away, deserting my own self. I just cannot imagine my own self deserting the precious me.

The best way to overcome temptations is to yield into them - Oscar Wilde.

For I know, there are less and less worthy things in life to run after and more and more beautiful occasions and meaningful things to look forward. “Everything Waits”. As Samby puts it, “Nothing great has been achieved except by those who believe that something inside them is superior to circumstance.. And I continue to believe..”

For the Love of...

I don’t have a clue, when I fell in love, my first memory of my love dates back to my six or seven years of age, when I first saw my parent’s wedding album. I regretted being not there and determinedly decided that I would sure want my kids to witness my wedding. Brings a stupid smile now. But, Why not???

Well coming back to the wedding album, It was the pictures that I loved the most, The coarse feel of the black and white pictures neatly arranged in the black charts, beautifully bound gives an almost nauseating nostalgic look which slyly creeps into me, making me feel want to live in the bygone times. It is the frozen memories of the past, well hidden from the Wheel of time.

I go to greater extents and take risks to collect copies of photographs of my people. I greatly pester people for their photos, for which many don’t have a clue why I should go gaga over photos. Believe me I have albums of many with me. Somehow I feel a magical connection of going down the memory lane and reliving them when I see the photographs. When I see those pictures, I see their childhood and adolescence unfolding before me- letting me get a glimpse of all the missing pieces that I had only imagined. They affect me in a strange way; I feel neither sadness nor anger for having missed living with them in their yesteryear lives. For I always love to grow up with people.

When I see my parents wedding album, I get a thousand thoughts. Well, for first thing it is love before marriage, then accepted at last by their parents and an arranged marriage. I wonder how my dad would have felt being the groom, knowing that he would be spending the rest of his life, with the person he loved so much. Did he really think then, that he would have a son, who would be writing about his wedding in a blog? How would have my mom felt? Had she ever looked him into his eyes and smiled with a mischievous twinkle full of love? Did she ever have the clue that she is going to be the mom of a son, who considers himself a treasure of their cherished love and wedded bliss?

Well the photograph speaks, each picture has got a thousand stories to tell, If you’re ever a willing patient listener, listen to someone ramble about their youth and blessed will be you, if they have photographs with them when they tell their tales of loved and lived lives. But for me, photographs are just not the magic alone. It is their youth and more importantly having lived their youth in 70s and 80s which I personally consider the golden/classic/ best of times in life.

I am thoroughly in love with the art and literature of 70s and 80s. Be it the movies/music/pictures/literature/persons/advertisements/Television serials, nothing beats the magic of those times for me. May be the black and white print gives a lived-in authenticity to them, And till my ten years of age I believed that Life was in black and white or in grey in 70s and 80s. I visualize how the mountains, lakes and greeneries would have looked in black and white. I visualize life in the metros, sub-urban, abroad and villages alike. I visualize how people would have spent their young and old life in 70s and 80s.
I feel a tugging at my heart with a painful lump forming in my throat and I sigh heavily till the tingling tinge fades away in me. How much I wish, I want to live my life in such a period. I get jealous at people who have lived/spent their youth in those times. Certain Golden olden movies rekindle my longings and stir my heart, making me nostalgic for the past which doesn’t belong to me, a past I partly own. I smile knowing inside that, though I didn’t live then, I belong there completely.

For the simple reason, I believe life was simpler then, people were inherently good and people had time for life’s little things, everyday chattering were part of life then, people had time for humane interactions; families had time for dinners and for gatherings at terrace after dinner, casual acquaintances was more happening than social networking. Neighborhood and life in government quarters gave people to come-together and rejoice in camaraderie. Life was less mechanical, people certainly had the humane touch and more than anything, people wrote letters. Yeah I know, I whine here. But accept me. Just once in your life, realize what I’ve fallen for. Take a paper and write a letter to a dear one, at least a text mail. You will know the magic for yourself.

That was the time when life was not commercialized. I greatly believe that the art of those days celebrated love, people and the human spirit. I believe I’m made of that and made for that. I precisely conclude I’m a person who still live in the black and white times, pen and paper days. My world still counts in 70s and 80s. I take everything possible of me to make life more momentous and memorable with just people and people around. As I know, I’m born to love and I live now to love.

பருவ வயதின் கனவிலே பறந்து திரியும் மனங்களே கவி பாடுங்கள், உறவாடுங்கள்.

"To those hearts, fluttering their dreams in the youth. Sing poems of life and love and celebrate them. "

My evading musings

Curse the good god, (if there is any). What’s happening with my musings? It is like; I had been ditched by muse. Ages since I had immersed in thoughts, No I don’t count my exam days. They are far worse, but best when it comes to exercise my mind. For I imagine a lot, when I write exams. Probably you have, when you have no clue about what’s been asked in the question paper. Half my answers are hypothetical and the other needless to utter, non-sense. Well that’s how I had been till now. But my best memories include exam days, be it the board exams, entrance examinations or semester exams. I can never forget those days. There’s apparently something magical about exams, that only an average under dog can know. The thrill of being ignorant about what you need to know and still make it to the exam hall. And spending a considerable chunk of time, day-dreaming-looking around, reading the instructions, hall-tickets, question paper, what ever available to read, randomly looking around, wool-gathering, reliving memories, pretending to think and acting as if you are smart know-all and write some crap to fill-in pages. Those days are now gone. Me on a way to be research scholar soon, Heaven willing…..

Life is quite different now, outside campus and especially being at home. feels like am deeply grounded and living in an island of lost abyss. I wish things were a bit better. Have got loads to do, don't where to start to sort out things. Feeling crazy yet unreasonably depressed. Let's see.

And Well I have exactly never spoken about this, The coming of a small town boy to a metro. It has been two years now. and I remember the day, when this small town guy landed in hydreabad, about to cry when his dad wasl leaving. Thanks tto Rajitha akka and the timely offer of pav bhaji! from then it was a journey, mostly the journey of the self into the self... and then I started blogging! well, That was one another thing that happened to me. well the other thing is the meeting of people. People from various parts of the country. I learnt a few things and well even un learned many..

And this i9s how my musings have been evading me for the past two months. I honestly couldn pen down a single thought! there has been a block/clog in my space... and Of course things were nt fine at my end. Not keeping for a long while. All i know is my search grows bigger in my life and as Known to a few, I just want to give up everything...

And this wonderfull thing happened... Lets just call her N, for a few close folks of mine know, her! It was exactly in my first year UG I met her in coimbatore bus stand. She then was in her secomd year English literature. well she is my Kinter Garden sweet heart. Well. My first ever friend, The first person I consciously loved outside my Family. We were been this inseperable pair, well everyone knows that peopel till tease me, for I did everything to be with her, sneaking her out of the class in UKG and going for a walk in the school garden while class hours, spending the noons with her while we were supposed to take rest. It was innocence of love with pure bliss and joy. I remember the time when I prayed that I should be put up with her after my fifth std. And How she prayed to Mother Mary to change me to a girl so that I can be with her...

And we didnt meet so ofetn after that. and the last time I met her was a few weeks back, most unexpectedly. I heard she got married to a guy she fell in love with. Her parents were really nice ecought to let her marry a guy from another religion and I met her with her husband. Well All I remember about N is her dimpled smile with her trying to tuck a strand of hair. She remains the same. and then after a casula conversation, when we were about to leave, she smiled and told me, "Sure da bharatha, You will like V, he knows you well. and he is more like you." and she looked into my eyes and smiled. God! I love her. and You know I smiled inside, a knowing smile of seeing her happy!!! when you love someone, you smile often... and Guys! I love you. V and N. My sincere wishes are prayers for a happy life...

Well Nothing much! am not still out of my writers block.

Jb ma'm gonna finish her thesis soon.
Haven't spoken with anyone, should call and speak...
Got three more exams, well Thats counts more important
My trip is waiting and so is my friends
HAvent spokent to Mano, asish, Raku, Raji akka, sudar anna, winny, and a lot more
Been a year! I met Raul...
Should meet Vicky this time, no matter what happens..
Should visit my old school and college...
Samby would be back soon...
Well a lot more
Hoping against hopes That I would resume writing soon...

Life @ Now.

Exams got over on 25th.. And I had been blissfully awake all night till 30th working on my Research Proposal.

Well had total fun, boozing after a short-while. I started boozing in late march and still looking forward for a last booze in the campus.

It is odd, staying put in a place and watching people leave, people who I met here and people who mattered to me more in the last two years.

And Now I'm here. Not knowing what to do, Haven't booked my tickets still. Don't know, should I stay here or leave.. but where?

Spoke to Mano after a long time, It's been a year since he left the campus

Anu akka called me, it seems she hates coffee and that is what she gets all day. Life???

Many more Happy returns of the day Asish, My Alter Ego's birthday today.

Have got two more major exams. That will determine what next?

Got a travel plan to kerala, Well Plans never works? Been a victim of plans often lately.

Just wanna hit at a place with no humans around.

And Kind of pissed off with things, lately????

It's Okay Baru!!! Life....

And I need a Re-Invention now

Well, It seems Samby is back, Welcome back lil big bro!!!!

And I smell Jasmine, now... well Just a girl sat next to my system. I turned to look at her. Oh! Chechiyo???

And sorry people, will soon hit at your blogs too. It is just that I need some time to wake up from this Hibernation/sabbatical idling away ...