A view through my window

Let me be …

2011-10-18T08:52:00.000-07:00

Let me be your insignificant thought,
your temporary draught’s passing stream
let me seek you at an hour unsought,
let me be your inexpensive dream.

Let me be that secret smile,
the pretty stranger’s pause awhile,
let me be the drop of rain,
that meets your lips to your disdain.

Let me be the dusty milestone
that’s forgotten once the road is shown
let me be your whisper at noon-
a whimsical cloud over a November moon

Let me be – just let me be!
your fleeting thought in a voyage at sea,
let me be – just let me be
your hesitant hymn, in a hasty plea.

-Saranya
- for Prude -

Saranya

2011-07-27T04:01:00.000-07:00

Does a leaf that flutters with the whimsical wind
ever demand a reason for the flight?
Does the love that beckons a novice heart
ever wait for a season that's right?

Does the river that flows by eternally
ever question the sea for it's plight?
Or the waves that touch the shore with hope
ever withdraw their quest at night?

why then must i let go of the faith
that i'm ruled by the laws of life?
why then must i retaliate, fight
the time-like oblivious strife?
Ah! the joy of surrender is known but to few
the peace that abandon brings in washes me anew!!

-Saranya

A shadow is all I need

2011-04-04T09:21:00.000-07:00

Your shadow that returns with the passing of night,

is all I want from you and your light.

That shadow which not once changes its shade

That shadow that remembers never to fade

It is all I want from you and your light;

Your shadow that returns with the passing of night

Your shadow spells the hope of reprise

Your shadow returns with every sunrise

Your shadow is sure to come back with dawn

Your shadow knows not to stay withdrawn

Your shadow knows not to make me bleed

Your shadow heeds to my every plead

Your shadow I ask you as we part to leave

No tears no farewell no sighing a heave

Give your self to your days of yore

To me pledge your shadow and nothing more

It is all I want from you and your light;

Your shadow that returns with the passing of night

-Saranya

Dedication

2011-03-24T06:56:00.000-07:00

Its five years since we met today and there is absolutely no change in feeling, i still smile at the thought of you and still believe you do too... if i were given a chance to re-live our days together, i wouldnt change a thing - not even the day that changed everything for me

happy day we met abbai!

friend to few, poet to many...
a voice akin to purest honey
ask him to write he'l sulk so much
listen to his silence, his words will touch
a painter in love, devotee in ecstasy
too many pies in hand oft gets messy
can write n sing until the world lasts
can soothe n lift the weariest of masts
log like he reads on his favourite couch
services plenty no penny in his pouch
simple in living sublime in thought
once get closer u'd let go of him not

incomplete

2011-01-17T03:42:00.000-08:00

When innocence drowns in experience
whose discernment would hear the voice
that calls out to place a grievance
in the hope to undo the noise

In the battle of life
whose words would reign
amidst shoulders of rife
whose triumph would count?

Rehearsed emotions and restrained cries
paint every spontaneous call
unwilling partners enact dull verses
where then is joy where's poetry for all?

Saranya

The untended garden

2010-11-17T00:53:00.001-08:00

It was long since i did the kinda things that i used to do earlier. like listen to music, write to friends, change the look of my room, spend time on the terrace and so on. one of these undone things was to tend my garden. Earlier i used to take time off in the evenings to watch the sun set as i watered the plants on my terrace garden , sing to the flowers and just while the leisure away but lately i was busy... busy doing nothing actually just stuck with mundane rituals of daily classes, bike rides, traffic, books, agony aunt phases or in simple words just sickening routine after routines... in an unplanned life, i was kinda just flowing with the currents. i hated it but i was a part of it, in all this hustle bustle i had left my garden (read as a few potted plants a small set of flowering pots and a a few roadside shrubs) untended. Weeds had grown, some plants had died of neglect, some were dying, some were ok and some other new plants had sprouted form nowhere. this state of neglect had sort of caused my entire house to look gloomy n dull. I didnt quite take notice until one morning that i had this rare early rising i was in a bad mood, less sleep or whatever it was, i felt the need to stretch and get out of the inner suffocation through treading into space outside for myself, i thought of my garden as an option and i walked out for some fresh air that i noticed my once beautiful garden in virtual ruins!! i was taken aback at the sight, i had not had the time to stop and staere let alone tend the plants.
I rushed in to find a few tools and set it right , it was difficult, not so motivating, worse still i had too many onlookers passing their worthy criticisms on how i must go about the tending. after 4 long hours of clearing the place looked at peace, i had to do away with some plants that had begun causing more harm than good and bring in a few new ones - i also knew this was going to take time to look normal again but i did it nevertheless. Once i was done with it, i stood back to take one last look at the scene - better! much better!!
I came back in to remove the hand spray from my cupboard and suddenly took note of myself in the mirror " Look at me" i thought to myself "how much me n my life resembled that untended garden, how much clutter how much neglect had they gone through , there definitely were weeds that had grown within, definitely old plants that needed to be done away with and replaced by new ones, and most of all - despite what passers by might say about how my life's garden must be tended ultimately it was me who had to do it..." it sure hurt my ego to accept the analogy at the first instance but i did , this garden definitely needs tending and there is no better time to get started than now. I told myself i would smile more frown lesser, be industrious laze lesser, be patient and give way to anger lesser, i would conciously uproot the weeds and replant the inner garden!! and who knows it might just inspire a lousy neghbour garden to blossom again or cause a rose to bloom for a lover in waiting!! :-)

Tell me

2010-05-02T21:18:00.000-07:00

Tell me does it feels the same
when i sit like a stranger without a name
tell me does it move you once
to let me go from your presence

tell me does it justify
that the wave may live sans its shore
tell me from your soaring sky
on an unseen land my rains may pour

tell me did you spare a moment
to spend on me a single thought
tell me will you spill a fragment
to fill my hopeful dwelling's drought

why i write to no one's listening
only that sea's silence may know
why i paint to no one's mooring
only my muted love would show

And she came down

2010-03-30T09:09:00.000-07:00

She lashed her passion almost coarse
But this lash had no whip not even pain
A redeeming calm a reviving force
From cinders unsought came summer’s rain

She hid tears of men jilted in love
And the woman whose pining failed to touch him
She cleansed them anew and drenched them through
Gave them hope and lit up their dim

She washed with her springs the sinister wrath
Of their lost sanity and kindness of heart
She swept the world to flowing goodness’s path
A whole new world yet another fresh start

A single drop of this summer rain
Hath my dwelling so skillfully drenched
No more binding no cage’s pain
The body cleansed the soul untouched

-Saranya-
30-03-2010

claiming kin

2010-02-10T07:38:00.001-08:00

Thine verses my love have flown like birds
Freed by the wisdom of the winds

They hold no thought, they bear no weight
Save the sorrow of dreams that end

The reach of my pain, the grief that has touched
The barren earth of my being

Is but a gnarled wrinkled limb
That aches to touch those wings

But beneath that deadened, frozen place
A brook unhindered flows

Seek it and it shall pour from the skies
As the moon, 'pon your wings, shall glow

My grief cannot know the pain that soars
Into hazy skies overcast

But cry your tears, and rest your wings
By the tree, by the spring, I wait

im sure you know

2010-01-13T07:25:00.000-08:00

all it would take for my grief to displace is to hug your feet and cry my infant heart out , those days of spring those times of joy will forever remain though death plays the leveller, what you were to me might not have been told but im sure you know. Things would surely be different if you were around, but i rest in your memory that you live in a better place i'm sure you know and like you always said we joyfully part ways only to reach where we belong. but can i still say i miss you? I'm sure you know, what i learnt from your childhood stories were more than just words, what i learnt at the uncomfortable yet warm shade of your feet will remain with me though the world may call me names, can i get just one moment with you and just tell you once how much you meant but knowing you the way i do im sure you will say you are already here and here to stay. you can never be replaced not even your memory or taht one rupee coin you would gladly give every new year at every festive blessing i'm sure you know. If ever i have a daughter of my own and she asks me a story to put her to sleep i would tell her of a young lad who gave all that he had to see a smile in his kindred's face i would tell of that man who grew up to work more than all his comrades would do, i would tell her of a tall dark man burnt by years and experiences new and when i tell her of the day he held me and taught me this language i write in - i would stop and bid her to sleep for... i dont know what and why i write but im sure you know.

Twelve months

2009-12-30T22:34:00.000-08:00

Twelve months are not just one year
They’re not a plural of time
Each distinct and surely newer
swaying life back into its rhyme

The first month of uncertainties
The second of love and dismay
The third of celebrated special days
The fourth of summer’s array

The fifth of work and more work
The sixth of silence and sighs
The seventh of a misplaced sand clock
The eighth of weddings and wives

The ninth of a visit to paradise
The tenth of memories revived
The eleventh of celebrating a year done
And the twelfth of the passion of one

Yet another twelve months stand poised now
Awaiting their turn to revel
Where truth might be a distant field plough
Of an unsung field’s rebel

- Saranya

Hues

2009-12-18T04:59:00.000-08:00

A dash of still green ripe pepper-
a fruitless cinnamon tree
A ray through the vanilla creeper -
a golden heart set free
Where every hue is devoured
by that sprawling stretch of green
Where every memory would fade out
- but for the cocoa bean

Where the shadow of woven moments
with a pinch from an ancient pot
brim with dew like emotions and
the white butterfly spills a thought
Where a leaping heart that's brook like
is touched by my eyes smiling serene
If he'd liken the world to a garden
then there ! my Eden i have seen

:-)
Saranya

Horizon

2009-12-10T02:46:00.000-08:00

With much ado i travel these paths
not knowing what that wishful sea holds
each step of the journey a single thought
oh how would i blend what would it be

How would my likeness greet me inward
And how would we walk from there onward
ropes entwined would we be
- not knowing where one ends and the other begins
or would we be like these railway tracks
-seperate yet towards that one chosen destiny

Would we joyfully hold hands and say sweet poetry
or shy away from onlookers and sing silent harmony
would time permit the unfolding of truth - reverie
or would care and duty thrust us to play a hypocritic symphony

i await

saranya

Beckoning - Awakening

2009-11-12T07:05:00.000-08:00

The waves beckon me toward that morning

And I arise from melancholy

A distraught memory claims my being

but I refuse to suffer from her sanity

Here is your truth the world speaks

your longing is no more than a frail cry

of a frail poet singing from unheard peaks

unaware of his verses - safe with the sky

what do you dismally search for?

when all you need is within you

why do you live in your own war?

when peace and plenty wait anew

that was the breeze that warmed my face

with words so faint only I could’ve heard

shaking my conscious in lightning pace

all with the slash of a simple word

I’m me again and I fear no more

For there is no-one that needs to be pleased

I’m me again free and sure

For there is nothing begun to be ceased!

- Saranya

where are my words?? and my muse?

2009-11-05T02:34:00.000-08:00

Its been ages since i wrote. Wrote stuff that really mattered to me, my words have lost their muse - that was long back, over three years now, but i never believed i would reach a time when id write this - i just cant seem to write what i feel. why do words fail a person who lives by them and with them? literally? there was a time when words would flow uninhibited like they always lived within and just had to be written, but not anymore "where is all your writing" they ask me and i have nothing to say, i have the time the resources the inspiration but not the words! my muse walked out of me a long while ago and ever since i have dreamt of my muse every night, asked myself what went wrong, i helplessly attempt and associate myself with the shadows and roots of the muse hoping I'd catch a few glimpses of it. i walk through old roads hoping the street corner might be the place, get drenched in an obscure rain hoping a drop would be familiar, I helplessly browse through old letters, mails, posts, hoping somewhere there i would find a point of ignition, but no! oblivion is all that comes from the vain exercise. I miss my words, i miss my muse, At the end of it all i do is chant a hymn of borrowed words from a distant past spent with my muse and heave a sigh and go to bed, only to be haunted by words and the lack of them. in the background i can almost hear an old poet welcoming words just come to his mindscape, i'm awed, i'm jealous, i'm tired, but i wait.

Conform and dance

2009-07-07T04:26:00.000-07:00

The noise of silence nudges me awake
The beckoning resumes , "your very core is at stake!"
The oblivion widens, darkens, deepens, pervades
The heaved sigh returns home to defeated space

Conform and dance to that prescribed song
never say "i think..." - you'd be proved wrong
destiny really is somebody else's choice
they know it best - let rest your inner voice.

The roads are many but you have one
the path most trodden, proven and done
all others are roads that the vices trod by
what they know is right and your thoughts a lie!

The doomed house of spirits remember did state
you were after all only chiselled out of your mate!
where then is your truth and what is your race
you wished and now you lay prisoned in sceptred embrace!!

2009-04-03T02:59:00.000-07:00

A song of simple meaning, which flows like ripened hay

A dance of joyful expression, on summer's first rainy day

Words that hold memories of those silences deep

Silences that speak gently of words in a solitary sleep

In the wake of a misty morning the woods, to me they spake

Beckons the dew to a fantasy flight, the breeze nudges me... Awake!

The sun, its warm brilliance, shone through my half-clad eyes.

A lost thought in that known voice gently says “arise”

silence, darkness and...

2009-03-26T09:45:00.000-07:00

Nights of betrayal
Cast a cloud
Shadows of dreams
Wear darkness’ shroud

This darkness is stark

"This silence only screams "

In a crowd of faces
the likeness is lost
Alone with the multitude
at the very soul’s cost

This darkness is stark
"This silence only screams "

Where identities owned
are sold for nothing
where love n passion
are illusions of spring

This darkness is stark
"This silence only screams "

Darkness and silence are friends it seems
When one ends ‘it’ the other redeems!

One

2009-03-14T23:35:00.000-07:00

One Withering Blossom

One Hesitant thought

One solitary tear-drop

One memory distraught

One bewildered agony

One agonising sigh

One fluttering heartbeat

One parting cry

One un-lived moment

One unspoken truth

One unwritten love-song

one confession unheard

This is all i can offer you

my eternal flame of the storm

and if not with the kiss of a verse

how else can i give you form!!

-Ammai

Have u seen Men Blush?!!

2008-11-11T10:14:00.000-08:00

OK to start of with... I'm employed. damn i love it! , my work involves a lot of creative growth and interaction with people of different streams, which is in turn happy... !!

in fact it is this aspect of my work that got me reflecting on this one... "have u ever seen men blush?" - its so cute!! god!!

blush as in not in the "god i m shy" blush... but the blush that is combined with some random thought at the back of the head suddenly stimulated by some discovery or thought or whatever... getting to the point... an example

for instance 'K' who shares a few training classes with me at work is this "I'm the cool n funky guy, the macho the man" type of a formal guy, looks good and all that but cant be bothered about senti stuff about the simple and the like... teaches Physics! we were discussing the colour 'Black' and its associations . Me with my literature gyaan, poetry, semantic inclinations and all that jazz was rattling away what i thought of black, i suddenly said "black also is the beginning and end of everything" and 'K' in an unusual introspective said, "yeah death! birth" . "hmm birth!!" said I. Suddenly he jerked from the sofa like some heavy dosage of goosebumps had hit him and said "tell me, when the child is in the mother's womb which is dark can it sense light like daybreak or a candle... ?" Now how would me know... "I don't know about light but sounds yes! Even minute little sounds apparently reaches the fetus after a few months... Miracle this creation is!" i said "so can he hear me if i say his mother looks so much more beautiful cos is in there?? " i nodded and god the man blushed his face turning as red as...

I had goosebumps too :-)

and i just had to write about it!!

...and it passed me by

2008-08-18T08:08:00.001-07:00

I stay awake through each twilight
what if the horizon fades to vision?
I cannot have my eyes un-alert tonight
what if the rays return to their sun?

Of lost verses and un-chanted tunes
each blade of grass in my dwelling moans
i cannot let sighs while away the moons
what if hope returns from those consuming dunes

Awake - fearing the gossamer's deep
awake fearing the trivial sleep
eternal eternal eternally awake
the moment i know will make or break

Behold! my wait's end is walking my way
with that smile of knowing i hear him say
the only words to my sinking dismay
"maiden dear , this too shall pass away..."

Of Memories...

2008-07-18T04:08:00.000-07:00

Of late i have been dwelling on the concept of memories a lot. Strange things they are, memories, of the good times and the bad. I was thinking how much memories shape folks, old and young alike, how much they cause us to do and not do things and how they cause us to cry and laugh and sigh and sing. All this without any incident occurring in our 'here and now' . Although new memories take the place of the old, although the people and places associated with those memories are no more our own... they still cause nostalgia, they still cause us to emote.

Memories of the first crush first love - Memories shared with soul mates turned strangers, memory of those rains and summer afternoons shared with friends who are not on the radar anymore, memories of weddings and get togethers where a stranger meets the eye for a fleeting second and you are left wondering who it was for the rest of your life .

It amazes me how i can smile when i recall a poem or tune sung by the lost soul mate or the compliment paid by the estranged friend!!

Whoever said memories fade with passing time was probably not all that right i think... i mean how can we oversee the way the smell of wet mud and the first rain remind us of the first rain walk we took, or the fragrance of the lily of the valley that reminds us of a random party hall? how can we oversee the way we can never forget the games we played during childhood summers or the history of each rose petal hidden between the pages of abandoned notebooks. It wearies me sometimes to have so many memories but the times that memories lift me up and make me smile weigh more than those that do otherwise!!

"Life is calling where are you?"

2008-03-03T03:43:00.000-08:00

I know this really nice guy who thinks he's not nice

a guy who can talk absolute nonsense for hours and still keep u listening

a guy who writes from the actual words that occured in his head at the trigger of a thought without a single punctuation changed!

a guy who demands a treat for everything from a new bag u got to the wedding of your fourth cousin

a guy who eats like food is god (even when not hungry)

a guy who can be twins if he were any happier at each joy in your life

a guy whose shoulder is both the strongest and the 'prickiest'

a guy who is more concerned about a small bruise u got while driving than a huge bandage on his leg

a guy who treasures a little knot on his wrist from within and fakes that he doesnt (n does a bad job of the faking)

a guy whom a lot of us love and have failed over and over again getting him to believe we do

a guy without whom there is a lot of dullness in the air

a guy who loves but expresses it by arguing, ignoring, letting u wait and keeping quite

a guy whose single call makes your day, week, month!!

a guy whom u want to hate but cant

A GUY WHO SAYS EVERYTHING OF WHAT IS REALLY NOTHING AND NOTHING OF WHAT IS REALLY EVERYTHING

but all of a sudden now this guy... no more talks nonsense, no more talks actually, is no more happy, no more is silent when in emotion, is no more the way he used to be, a guy who has fallen silent in a way that is uncomfortable ; doesnt suit him; not one bit... each night as i go to bed i remember this sudden season change and in a silent hym to god i ask for that lost spring to return or reveal itself and dude if u r reading this... i want u to know that home awaits u ; you only have to believe it does!!

From the Child with Love...

2008-02-28T10:38:00.000-08:00

How much man is need of the Child
to leave behind numbers, to venture the wild
to jump into the puddle not worrying of the stain
to count the stars not worrying of being in vain
how much man is in need of the child

to see wonder in magnets and broken hooks
to hear and see beyond serious sounds and books
to laugh like there was no yesterday
to cry like there is only today
to forget and remember without a scar
to join hands with those not so much at par
how much man is in need of the child

to see with eyes as wide as windows can take
to venture doors that no labour can make
to love without fear, be moved without tear
to want to touch in same vein, the tiger and the deer
how much man is in need of the child

to value rags and streetfinds more than gold
to trust every truth is the highest ever told
to know that kites look best when high in the sky
to happily stamp away built castles and not heave a sigh
to love, to learn, to discover and still seek
to embrace, to abandon, to quieten and then speak...
how much more man is in need of the child

Conform or perish!!

2008-01-11T06:06:00.000-08:00

I have been the "middle class, vegetarian, average looking, more weighing, non english movie going, non swearing, non smoking, old music loving, non reality show viewing, Poetry writing, arts graduated, non-tech savvy, south indian, girl (punctuations and puns intended!!)" always... well perfect ingredients to be called the outcaste!!

time and again places i worked in or people i met in day to day life kept making me realise that i was'nt conforming to an unsaid, unwritten code of confirmity with respect to the prevailing majority... it made me wonder always whether being different or liking and doing different things made one an object or subject of contempt!! i agree that it requires a little bit of commonality and like-mindedness to be a part of any peer group whether work or study... but im also not convinced that merely not having commonly prevailing traits or attributes must cause a person to be an outcaste of sorts!!

With due respect to the sociological theories that mouth aloud definitions of a group or community; i always wondered why was it so difficult to accept someone who was different or not so like you, as kids we were always taught that like poles repel and unlike attract but that theory doesn t seem to be holding good in this context.

I always wanted to argue this with reference to myself. In my case among my peers in school and junior college i was the uncool English literature aspirant who was into NGOs and social work while the accepted trend was of the 'Friends' watching, having a defined taste for english music , aspirants of management courses professional studies and a law or journalism carreer or people who were merely in an arts class since they couldn care enough to apply to any other . The later 3 yrs of degree was a breather with some of the best people in my life meeting me; however , at the same point in youth on the other side among my relatives i was the difficult child who wrote poetry and read tagore instead of studying or playing catch, who spoke current affairs and philosophy instead of discussing movies and carreer ; who spoke and laughed and cheered when new people came instead of being coy and hiding behind curtains; who was a hindu in a christian NGO that worked for human rights instead of learning the hindu hyms and prayers by rote; who believed in प्यार instead of considering it a bad word; who was a die hard indian supporter instead of nurturing a US dream or betting on the South African cricket team, who wanted to be a teacher instead of burning the mid night oil to be engineer MBA or IItian. Who refused to join an IT MNC or trade her service dream instead of grabbing opportunities irrespective of national interests

Then came the days of work... bang i throw myself into the corporate world , joined Indian firms looking forward to be the change i wanted to see in my world, Well!! here i was the middle class silly girl who was a non smoker, wore salwars with dupattas, ate vegetarian food, gently kept away from parties, cokes pepsis vodkas instead of being asport and blend with the crowd; who refused to fake reports or keep silent when it was time for truth - instead of pushing things under the carpet, flattering the bosses and letting go of self esteem to get the coveted 'go ahead' mail from 'client' , accepting a casual night out suggestion and striking the deal,

I didnt last long there... Now as i sit here pouring my thoughts out, i have nothing against those who conformed to certain fads or trends or rule of thumb... but why tottally subdue those that dont is all my complaint is about!!

Most of my cousins are well employed, most of my fellow students have made it big (a lot of them thankfully in their line of choice) Most of my colleagues are in big positions; and here i stand plagued with an idealistic conscience, and a jobless occupational status... is it wrong to be a non-conformist? is it criminal to have an individuality? is it outcasteworthy to be a poet in love with all things simple? is it blasphemous to have a god and religion as percieved by one self for one self than for the crowd's approval?

i still think it was ok to have done what i did and have been what i was ; i still believe there is hope! i still know i will find the place and people to whom being one's true self is ok, i still believe in my dream of self actualisation on my terms, i still believe i will stand and live my life to my satisfaction than want to be certified and tested to befit world standards!!

and i still believe that one person who fails in life because he/she failed to conform is stronger and worth appalling than the one who succeeds like a million others by compromising with what is at the core of one's being...

as i sign off this post i am reminded of these words i read somewhere " in the rat race even the winner is, at the end of it, just a RAT!!"

2007-11-23T20:55:00.000-08:00

दुनिया से बहुत मिल चुके ,

खुद से मिलने कि चाहत है

अजनबियों से प्यार बहुत कर चुके
अब खुद से मोहब्बत कि चाहत है

बुलंदियों से नाता कुछ ज्यादा ही जुड़ गया
अब खुद से एक रिश्ते कि चाहत है

इन्सान और ईमान को जी जान से परख लिया

अब खुद को परखने कि चाहत

दूसरों के इच्छाओं के बंधी बन

अब बहुत वक़्त गवा चुके

अपने ही सरहदों से आजाद होकर

अब खुद के साथ वक़्त बिताने कि चाहत है

बाहरी आशा निराशाओं में बहुत गहरे डूब चुके

अब खुद के आशाओं में डूब उभरने कि चाहत है

अलग अलग लोगों के उम्मीदों को कायम कर बहुत जी चुके

अब खूद से खुद के उम्मीदों को सच्चाई में बदलने कि चाहत है

खोद खोद के असतित्व को बहुत इनाम पा चुके

तराश्कर अपने आप को अब खुद के खोज कि चाहत है

इंसानों के महानों के भगवान् को बहुत जान लिया

नाम और धर्म रहित खुद में बसे उस भगवान् को पाने की चाहत है

अंत के निश्चित सत्य से डर डर कर बहुत जी चुके

अंत से परे खुद में छिपे उस अनंत को पाने कि अब चाहत है!!

My history repeats itself...

2007-11-09T22:35:00.000-08:00

I was so numb that day, so still... like a still birth, and that's exactly what it was, a still birth. Life was being born into another realm another system of living and i was numb, still, frozen!! My soul mate walked out of me... yet again! I'm still in denial! I don't remember how life was before this little poet who had so profoundly changed my understanding of life!

It is one thing to have a life partner and quite another to have a soul mate. God had blessed me with both.

A life partner becomes a part of your day to day living you are called by his surname, identified by his family traditions, know as an individual who is literally the better half of your life, the 'I'll be there for u' guy of your life, the kinda guy u'd nag, beat up, and cuddle until red! But a soul mate is the silent unsung part of your life who contributes not so much to your daily life crisises but contributes to feeding the soul in you the poet in you the musician in you the intellectual in you, the brook in you that is waiting to break into a song of truth and beauty... the unnamed part of your life but so so critical to the emotional you!

What does one do when soul mates walk out of you uninformed without any forewarning without any notice without even a breath of knowledge of what is to come?? especially when the walking out is without an explanation. Its like you are in a really dark forest and there is a sudden streak of lightning... Light for the way? not really, its plunging of darkness. Is it easy to walk out? is being away really so beautiful? Why is there no explanation? why is there no consulting before breaking those untied ties forever? How can emotions get over? or closeness cease to exist? and all this without any material reason?? beats me!!

" i do not feel that closeness anymore. I thought it would be wrong to continue to act like I do. The change is in me, and it has nothing to do with you" so why am i being put through this stage of denial of bewilderment, disbelief and a million dollar why??

But as tradition has had it, life will move on, pangs will be felt and the memories will remain, you will remain you and i will remain me but changed forever in that little space that you occupied in a fragmented verse of life...

And to you if you ever read this i have this to say

Thank you for dusting off the rust on my poetry and reviving the spirit and making it new!!

Thank you for having shown me that one rain can drench two dwellings however far away

Thank you for the sea that never drenched my feet but always listened to my words

Thank you for teaching me to see and understand beyond words

Thank you for bringing me closer to my roots and making me feel cosier in my home

Thank you for Meenakshi

Thank you for the songs that would break out uninterrupted on the moonlit nights i had lost

Thank you for all the people you brought into my life who stay despite your absence

Thank you for making me see that absence is not loss

Thank you for Paradise regained and lost

Thank you for making me see that i was more than just a woman in love

And

Thank you for the meaning you brought to silence!!

2007-09-06T01:48:00.000-07:00

Around the corners, in the hearts of the cities
By the lane’s end, selling all nitty gritties
Shadowing the tired old family grocer’s stall
spread all over the place, looming large that mall…

a modern witch like, luring casting its market spells
‘best buy! yours to choose!’ the graceless sales guy tells
money exchanged - no smell of fresh note or clanking of old coin
cards and coupons answer the bill
at the end of an unending line
Surely the property plays host to spirits
where we once tossed pebbles to seal a trade,
leisure afternoons when mom called out from home
to run and buy salt for her special lemonade

that was when… when we had hours

here now our hours refuse to see the rest of earth.
This time today, morning of midnight madness,
the minutes quicken between escalators.
Faster than food the climate cringes

Waiting for love on those obscure stone benches
before a crowd comes from heat and hooves
of buses screeching to a stop before the ATMs
No more is it in, the pavements selling dolls
And No more bargains, its thanks to the malls!!

Meghadootha - Monsoon

2007-07-22T07:48:00.000-07:00

Do not go away yet ye clouds...

my songs are yet to refrain,

do not speed to his native half laden

ye! my throbs faint, bleak and so vain.

Wait!! till i tell you how much

this monsoon's rain hath my dwelling drenched,

wait until passion speaks of

my unheard verses so so wrenched!!

Then go tell him his beloved yearns

heart and soul in much a solitary plight,

that she waits and pines with nature's brides

through many a moonlit night

and here where absence and presence are

like oil and water mixt so unmistakenly right

bring him in your return fleet

if such a thing be in your might.

-----saranya-------

love's labour lost (and found)

2007-06-26T00:34:00.000-07:00

My young maid (17!) walks into the gate with an unusual sway in her walk and tune on her lips, humming the latest tamil louwve song. She happily washes all the vessels and surprisingly without a crib or frown picks up the relatively large bundle of clothes to the terrace to have them washed... i'm intrigued! kuch tho hua hai!!, i try not to look at her but her smiles are too obviously not without reason, unable to hold back my curiosity i ask her "ennamma innikki full happy mood?" (whats with the happy mood today?) she blushes and asks if she can make an STD call later in the evening... i agree and smile a smile of knowing...

evening comes and she rushes to my room upstairs and asks me if i can get the phone upstairs so she can sit in my room and talk. (read as my mom wouldnt have to know then!) i oblige. she calls all the way to the andamans, later during our cleaning session that weekend she tells me he met her at her sister's wedding and since then has been callling her... I couldnt help but notice that blush, that joy that playful anger and that ego in her denying his overt expressions!!

SO?? she made me think of Love and its coyness, its beauty, its effects on people all over again... i thought of my own love and kinda missed that touch of thrill and surprise... was it just because it has been 8 yrs now? was it just because we didnt have the time? was it just because we didnt remember?

I wanted answers...

AND SO...

I again drove down that dingy convention hall where we first met, and where i used to, until recently, go every now n then just to peep into that compound

I call his phone... the caller tune cries for attention - No response

I walked into the deserted Jayamahal park and sat on the bench where we had the best of conversations those early years and this was the only place that he would open his mouth to talk about us and not other important things

I call his phone... the silent mode demands a voice - No response

I went back to that florist who would never have loose change after selling his roses to us and would instead give toffees as compensation (and bought myself a flower this time i let him have the toffees instead!)

I call his phone... the voicemailbox is full again - No response

I pass by the ice cream parlour (which is a shop under an abandoned flat, with a few leftover steps as seating arrangement) where eating one small cup of butterscotch ice cream took us 4 hrs and it graduated to 5 and then 6 hrs

I call his phone... the network is busy too - No response

I stop at the fotoflash outlet by the lake, go in with the excuse of wanting to know about digital print charges and sit on those blue chirs where during his college days every single photo in print would be analysed and rated by us each time the film rolls were given there to be washed and printed

i call his phone... there are no more reasons i can remember , but he doesnt answer my call - No response

I walk into the STD booth that i used to call him from with saved annas during the non part time , non cell phone non internet days... i say hi to the uncle who used to give me a special discount of 25 paise per unit that the meter showed on calls that i made to his number, he asks me if i want to make a call, he remembers the number and asks me if its the same number, i nod a yes
that landline number does not exist anymore i give him the mobile number

i call his phone... he does not pick up calls from unknown numbers (ya right!)
welll... No response

My day was coming to an end, it is the day we met and i dump my mobile into the my bag and my bag into the bike, ride towards home
I stop at the eatery we last ate two weeks back, and carelessly fish my phone out thinking i'd msg him a bye... i see his picture on the phone and his number, he calls... Finally!! i wanna yell n say WHATEVER but i hold back thinking not today, waiting to hear the usual i was in a meeting revelation, he asks me if i called and was there anything urgent,
"nothing really"
i am asked to come over to his place for dinner. i go, fling my bag, we greet we meet, i go in greet all else at home, Uneventful. I leave. Day done
As i rode back home I thought of how HE met me, how we spent time together, how the love blossomed and remained unconfessed how it took 5 yrs of kheecha thaani to actually tell each other, how we almost lost each other in the process and a couple of times in the later 3 yrs, how 8 years have rolled by and... how now we were so held up that we didnt have the time to stop and stare at the love we shared... but well the love that has grown up or grown out of little things... you know what i mean?? i dont know how to explain this but i guess it is a lot to do with time itself...
I go home
open my bag
there's a small box, gift wrapped in a hurry ... i smile half disbelievingly
its a miniature piano...
i open it and a small red lamp glows and it plays a Beethoven tune,
right below the lamp is placed a gold ring with a little heart carved on it studded with a solitaire.
I blush again...
time had passed by and expressions may had changed but
LOVE still was the same, i felt the same ecstasy of the first heart beat i skipped, those good old days
My phone rings...

ANd then here i go, attempting to STOP N STARE at the love that was and most definitely is... (with or without the twinkle)

the power of silence

2007-06-24T08:19:00.000-07:00

of late i have started experiencing and understanding how powerful and consuming silence can be and how it can make and break life... how it can recreate a new world within

and how it can destroy all existing worlds...

the enriching silence of a solitary walk by the sea, the lake, the spring, the waterfall

the learning silence of sitting by the feet of an elder and just looking at those wrinkles of time

the impatient silence of a cold night when all is still and sleep is a distant dream

the yearning silence of the unheard love notes, unrung phone, unreceived sms, empty mailbox after a day of disagreement

the weary silence after emptied tears,a grief wrenched mind, empty spaces left by death

the reflective silence after a book well ended, a play well closed and a speech well delivered

the abandoning silence after the lost love

just silence... nothing else is so non existent yet so all pervasive...

there is a silence within me of memories, that i cant define, that takes control of me at the most unforeseen of moments, that shakes me up from my slumber of reality and recounts for me in its own language a truth that is void of all noise yet so full of meaning

the silence of spirituality
the silence of the prayer
the silence of poetry
the silence of love
the silence of hate
the silence of missing a friend
the silence of distance

But for silence... even words would not have any meaning.
now with every noise i hear and comprehend ... i thank the power of silence for making my understanding complete... give it a thought!!

2007-06-07T03:54:00.001-07:00

It rained

Heavy, as heavy as the wild sea in ecstasy of a new found love...
And I got drenched…
I am writing from my little world about my rain even as I watch the other rain from the window through the little gap between the walls of the neighbor’s illegally encroached built up area and a poor little mason’s labour of love taking shape in the fear of being acquired by some government project or the other.
The rain and me were as close as close can get... whether it was making paper boats and playing in puddles of pure muck, or get drenched until all the silent agonizing tears of drained eyes lose their saltiness in the pouring fury of the sudden rain specifically sent down by the heavens to complement the tears…

I and my rain even had this secret pact on a rainy day, of drenching the school teacher on her way to school so we would be free to play in the verandah of the school when she was away… what fun!! And then all the other bacche would join us in play…

One rain that I won’t forget is the rain that poured down the newly built quadrangle of my junior college… we wee in a general English class and were doing Wordsworth’s “Daffodils” that hour. It was early august and as we started the discussion we heard the loud patter of rains falling down the quadrangle’s green sheets, every single person in class even the ‘I couldn care less’ kinda bullies were excited and restless, our lecturer realized she couldn’t hope to snub all that excitement and give Wordsworth a fair trial… so there we all went out onto the quadrangle and the entire hour we spent experiencing what Wordsworth described as an image that remained in his mind’s eye and would come back to him in a vacant or pensive mood, all this teamed with the excitement of our respective crushes watching us from 216, 215, 115 and ground floor. Awesome! That’s a rain that drenched all of us, me more so, without actually getting too wet.

Of course that was an unforgettable rain, but the best rain that I have ever experienced so far is the one that drenches me even when I merely think of it…
Rain in The harbour town! I was there for a vacation and a project (supposedly entrepreneurship!!) and the rain there is the real heavy cold and luke warm rain, rain in the beach, rain in the car, rain on the rooftop, rain at a music concert, rain on a heart wrenching walk under the canopy of trees… as I walked hand in hand with my partner in poetry a strange calm filled within, a calm that made me so restless that I wrote and wrote and wrote that night, whether it was the rain that caused me to write or the drenching I don’t know but well that was the best rain ever…
Now that the rain is almost stopping I am thinking of how I got drenched today, alone, on a concrete structure of lifelessness but there was still so much life in the rain a life that connected me to those millions of moments in rain that I have had and leapt in joy in unconnected music verses and unrehearsed fits of dance… thank god for rain and thank god for those who keep me company in getting drenched
Happy bday ‘V’

Hmmmmmmmmm

2007-06-04T13:32:00.000-07:00

my blog has been inactive for the past few days, ive been sulking too, i have lost appetite, ive lost my moon my garden and my terrace tetete
in short
I STARTED WORKING!! IM EMPLOYED!! DAMN!!

MAYA...

2007-05-16T10:35:00.000-07:00

i finally figured it out to enable devanagri font on the blog, my blog was incomplete sans my maya so here goes. the poem closest to my heart...

माया...

दुनिया का हर इन्सान कहीँ ना कहीँ मेरा सामना कर्ता है,
साधू संत आदमी अनंत कभी ना कभी तो मुझसे डरता है।
मुझसे रिश्ता कायम कर, हर जीव आनंद भोगता है
फिर भोगने को तुच्छ मानकर, छोड मुझे भाग निकलता है
पहचाना मुझे?? हाँ मैं माया हूँ !!

मैं वोही माया हूँ जिसे अपनाकर हर कोई ठुकराता है
मैं वोही माया हूँ जिसे इन्सान चाहता और अज्माता है

मुझमे खोये मुझमे लीन सपना देखती थो दुनिया है
पर भरम टूटकर जब खुद पर शरमाये, कहती कारण माया है
मध् लोभ क्रोध और कामना मे बहती जाती थो दुनिया है,
पर आत्मा को उत्तर देते कहती कारण माया है।

खुद पर नियंत्रण खोकर क्षणिक सुख भोगती तो दुनिया है,
उस क्षणिक सुख के भोग का पर इलज़ाम खाती माया है।

कहते हैं द्रोहकाल के वक़्त मन्ड्लाती एक साया है
मुझमे खुद को भुला देती है दुनिया पर कहती कारण माया है ।
मेरे साये को जादू समझ मंत्रमुग्ध होती तो दुनिया है,
जादू से जीं भर आये तब कहती ज़ह्रीली माया है

हद को पार हर सरहद को पार करती अजब दुनिया है
खुद के चंचलता को भूल पर कहती कारण माया है।

अपने लिए अज्माकर मुझे बीच मझदार छोड जाती तो दुनिया है
उसी पथ पे मुक्ति मोक्ष खोजते कहती, बीच खडी माया है?!!

मुक्ती मुक्ती के नारे से पावन कहलाती दुनिया है
बिन मुक्ति बिन साथी के पापी कहलाती माया है
माया से सब कुछ पाकर, उससे छूट जाती दुनिया है...
साबका साथ होकर भी तनहा रह जाती माया है
तनहा रह जाती माया है ॥

saranya

msg on a coffee table

2007-04-06T01:55:00.000-07:00

Have u ever wondered how significant the role of destiny is in everyday life, in every single step of life, its a plan really that reveals itself time and again at every point. i used to be this absolute believer in signs and clues that destiny would give me every single day of life, i would find meaning or a hidden msg in every single moment that'd pass me by. like that first crush of mine in school days, he'd just be singing some dumb song and I'd think its destiny giving me a clue, or like that old pile of pathetic poetry that I'd find each time i cleaned my cupboard, I'd think twas destiny... it was fun, back then it was lot of living. what happened later?? well i just stopped making a note of reading destiny's signs on my 'to do' list.
i was walking down mg road the other day alone doing some unnecessary shopping (read as killing time waiting for... u know what!) i was meditating on how i had become this 'oh my fate i surrender to thee' types and was just being carried around by daily routine and days had run into weeks and weeks into months... when i happened to pass by the old coffee house and since i had very few lesser mortal goals to achieve ahead of my evening, i stepped in for a coffee. The place still had its aroma (of real coffee unlike the contemporary coffee shop clones) the way it used to , years back when my uncle used to take us to the park down the lane and then buy us cookies or a sandwich and we would indulge in happy idle pratter and cause havoc to everything from the furniture to the cutlery and the hotel staff would just let us be rather than stop us brats from the rampage. and of our favourite pastimes would be good ole graffiti, i used to write my new word of the day on it bad spelling et al...then walk down to the park again buy helium balloons, and on the way back home buy lots of lilies and roses for my room, then spend the rest of the evening putting up the stuff all around my dwelling. Madness!!

i walked up the stinking side stairs to the first floor, sat idly on the worn out wooden seaters on the rear side... the interior had hardly changed and so had the upholstery (all about keeping tradition alive!!). the friendly forced smile bearer uncle came around to take my order, one veg cutlet and a coffee ordered i sat down with my miserable attempt at finishing Chaucer's Canterbury tales, as i ran through his description of each pilgrim at the inn i looked around at each of my co-coffee pilgrims, quite a variety indeed!! I'm sure twas worth a Canterbury tales dwitheeeya!! after some attempts at playing Chaucer i got back to the books, my food arrived too, i began eating, hardly paying attention to the food, when the coffee cup drew my attention by rubbing against my arm and spilling some of its contents on my papers kept on the table, god why couldn't i just eat without spilling stuff over, as i tried rescuing my papers on history of literature to be tampered by the advent of caffeine... my eyes took notice of the table, graffiti!, twas a writing i recognised, of course it was my own writing... the good ole graffiti alright!! i suddenly felt 'me' from the past was talking to the 'me' in the present. i that one moment visuals and scenes of a girl full of life hope love and joy running about and doing little chores for people, buying flowers, writing poetry, waiting for calls , writing bday cards, laughing singing dancing...believing in the certainty of destiny and the prince on horse top!! i missed her, that one moment i wanted to stretch my hand out into the words scribbled on the table and touch that lovely girl and get into her world of beauty and truth and destiny. bearer uncle came back to check if i was alright and offered to bring me another cuppa, i mumbled a yes and continued staring at the table, i had come here a lot of times after school days through college and later but i never saw the table or the graffiti i couldn't explain why i discovered it now and why did it matter so much now?? and guess what the me from the past had written on the table?? "Happyness" with the y instead of i.

something happened within me then. i was shaken awake by my phone's beep, twas time to leave, i hurriedly drank the second cup of coffee, caught up with a movie... we watched "the pursuit of happiness" that evening and incidentally happiness is spelt as Happyness in the movie :-)

as we returned home that night i bought myself some helium balloons and lots of flowers, destiny was my friend again, we had met after a long time, twas time to celebrate!!

the rape of the lover

2007-03-19T00:42:00.000-07:00

no not again, not me again
not those prying eyes
not those venomous hands
no not again not me again

what did i hear as reasoning there?
instinct? desire? oh shameful fantasy
divinity? chasteness? mere words they're
no more energy to let myself be.

an offering snatched from my altar of love
yes by hawks that skinned the lady dove
shadows frighten now so do skies
a leftover life even death would despise!

my body would heal-my world'l come to terms
but who would gather the inner shreds?
my home would accept & love would rebuild
but who can re weave my broken threads?

no not again! not me again
unscar my own wounds
undo my own distrust
no not again not me again

yes yes again yes me again
who else if not me will choose to go on??
yes yes again! yes me again
i will see my inner self through oblivion

the bygone my body has fragmented i know
but what human life if it cant gather on
there's something beyond material loss
i'd triumph again and the soul still live on

The Moon, The Maiden , the Muse

2007-03-13T07:36:00.000-07:00

Shining and brilliant and so alone

dressed in amber of a treacherous tone
with an audience of a million and some more
you outshine the waves of the responding shore

narrating tales of people who silently sigh under your light
remnicising love's promises made at a farewell night.

wonder i, if u remember the childhood conversations we often had
or the teenage poetry of first love , every full moon's day we shared?

Do u know that i still recite that poem written when the first love was at bay?
do u know that i still longingly search for u on the first day of each may?
do u know that i still keep u in my minds eye whils asleep in a strange land
do u know that with each breeze that passes by i still think its your hand

time has rolled by and now you slumber too soon

i sometimes wonder if there was at all a moon
unaware you shine on, like i do not exist,

you become like that lost love and i relive my tryst.

saranya

summer

2007-03-02T09:55:00.000-08:00

The stars of the bright night sky

and the warm sun of a brilliant daybreak

remnants of the spring just passed by

peeping through filters of clear clouds' namesake

a sudden rain that gracefully drenches

the driest beauty of arid sand dunes

magnanimous giver this season quenches

the want of leisure to sing poetic tunes

what colourful spring or passionate winter can outdo

the joy of a sweet lit summer's night

awaken and capture in mind's eye ye asleep few,

its a new summer's newer sight!!

NEW MORN

2007-02-03T13:12:00.000-08:00

The day yawns wide and stretches
With the rays of the bubbly sun
The eagles soar and watch
The wonder of a day begun

The birds twitter and chirp
And traverse terrace and tree
Distant bells and mooing cows
Blend into symphony

The swish of the lone sweeper
Sprinkles dust into dreary fog
Green hills shed cloudy blankets
And the valley looks agog

Sleep leaves in lazy reluctance
In a swaggerwith droopy eyes
Warm beds and crumpled blankets
Are bid hesitant hurried goodbyes

The smell of coffee and fresh cooking
Glide out to the empty street
Street urchins sleuth for food and rags
And talk of mothers, and cars and sweets

The sea roars it's welcome
And slaps the sullen rocks
The little girl picks conch shells
And the wind, round a stranger, walks

The city shines golden
Golden, the hills and the fens
Golden the sea and the stranger
And the tear on the tip of his pen

The lost city

2007-01-21T10:20:00.000-08:00

Fire! blood! arson!! weapons! a city torn apart by violence that had no reason to trigger, no reason to continue, no reason to kill!! where??? Kashmir? Ayodhya? Gujarat? no folks! bangalore yes u heard it right BANGALORE!!! pensioners paradise, the place that was hailed for its tolerant ways and peaceful co existence! it all sounds a farce, a bloody dream of despair, my city is no more safe! my city is no more a dwelling place of the by two brotherhood, my city i hate to say is mine and yet so alien in the ugly face of violence!!! just in my neighbourhood, about few kilometers away, today,
3 buses burnt, 22 injured in police firing, 3 autos burnt, 1 police constable critical and a 12 yr old boy DEAD!!
DEAD!!! DEAD!!! yes DEAD!!!
A 12 yr old boy... innocent, unaware, carefree, he must have just casually cycled down the empty road whistling his merry tune of freedom and joy, he mustve wanted to breathe a wisp of free air before going back to school to face another boring monday morning, but all the joy, the freedom the innocence now lies wrapped in a white shroud beside his charred bicycle , shrivelled and still shivering with the fright of those icy hands of violence that slashed him to death. who is This little boy who lies there? ya he is probably an answer to the search and the struggle of proponents of love and brotherhood of hindutva and islam.
The whole thing started off as a protest in bangalore east to the killing of most reverend mr.saddam hussain (saddam who? dont u know that mahatma who saved his race from hunger and strife or better described a protector king who led his country to peace) so my group of stauch human rights activists as they begged to call themselves take out this protest against the inhuman trial and hanging of the great humanitarian Mr.Hussain, then on the way to the grand mass gathering, they pluck a few limbs of passers by, burn a few buses, molest a few women, afterall they had to appease the cause of justice and sacrifice the aforesaid to the sacrificail fire of justice for all!! , that done they also burn a stary flag in saffron that probably hindered their vision during their march, Wakes up the hindu soldier... they injured human limbs i pardoned, they burnt and arsoned civilians thats pardoned too but how can they burn the most precious piece of coloured cloth, surely that deserves a hit back!! that deserves a call to all ye faithful to come together and show the might of our religously righteous self!!! We will build that temple there even if it means we are snatching away homes of ppl living there, we will show them our resolve even if it means break their very lives!!! The peace loving other community gathers to address its people and as a part of the ritual... burn, arson and kill , in the name of the holy ram!! wow!
Behold my bretheren of both faiths and the few others who belonged to neither!!! Well done!! u have eastablished the will of god over human corpses! you have proven the might of justice over fresh and free flowing blood!! you have done justice to a dead president by killing a few others and sending them to give him company, you have established a legion of limbless people to build his temple of pride bravo!!! my country men bravo!!!
But where the heck do i find sleep cos each time i close my eyes i can only see a 12 year old boy whose charred cycle lies beside his mutilated body. long live YOUR GOD OF HONouR MAY HIS KINGDOM ACTUALLY COME!!

a first hand video coverage by cnn-ibn
http://www.ibnlive.com/videos/31760/tension-runs-high-in-blore-city.html

HUSH

2007-01-16T07:03:00.000-08:00

Hush, beat softer
Like her footsteps on the sand
See, but do not linger
Like the wind, that kis'd her hand

Hush, beat softer
Or you'll drown her tinkling laugh
The lucky wind Oh! he sways her hips
As she walks along the wharf

Hush, beat softer
Oh! don't make me sigh
Or she'll know i'm just an island
Under a lone, dark sky

Hush, beat softer
She's just passed me by
I feel like the moment after
An unsaid goodbye

Hush, beat softer
There like a whisper she stands
I see her shoulders heaving
And the breeze at play with her strands

Hush, beat softer
She turns with a tear and a smile!
The smile that tugs me closer
A tear for each lost mile

Hush, beat softer
My love is in my arms
The clouds have kissed the ocean
And the sky is blue and calm

2007-01-12T22:37:00.000-08:00

that minute my world crashed...
taking me by such surprise
no room for dress rehearsals
no place for a counter rise

no arms to hold me through fright
no ground to rest at this untimely twilight.

this last lap i run frenzied
knowing i have exhausted all
these borrowed breaths i take knowing
i have undone my heart's call

the darkening cavs of hope
shink into prisons of utter despair,
the hawkers of those ecumenical streets
force sell their compelling ware

thus laden with unasked tools
i walk weary and friendless so...
i tread these familiar paths
like a stranger with nowhere to go

Destination unknown alright
but the caravan cannot halt by
new wings in these darken caves,
now i search, to cross the unseen sky

fleeting moments dedicated to the sea at dawn

2007-01-07T00:19:00.000-08:00

"Caravans Of poetry travelling amoc
unable to decide what to say what not
all it knows is this journey celebrating
the new beginning the meet and depart

Sometimes its funny how one is unable to understand certain inclinations, certain feeling high phases. times when some stranger just comes into life's journey from the most unexpected of quarters and leaves you misty, touched, enriched and at rare times bound. all this in just a fleeting few moments. ya sometimes those fleeting seconds last a little longer and gets stretched through forever. like the lightning, lightning in a dark alley, it is so fleeting and short but the consequences? consequence doesn't sound like the right word but well... u know what i meant to say. those fleeting moments just remain unnamed and unrecorded. Those people we are touched by in those moments remain special yet unbelonged, No matter how hard we might try to change its nature, these moments and those relationships remain just that - abstract and fleeting.
i recently saw two films that sort of dwell on this idea of fleeting, Mr & Mrs Iyer and Shabd, both films have the female protagonist coming across an unexpected and unplanned for rendezvous and being taken up by the sheer beauty and child like freedom in the relationship with "the other guy" but the relationship or encounter comes to an abrupt halt and they resume their lives like that phase didn't affect them much. No! neither of the films portray extra marital affairs, they portray situations (fleeting situations) that results in a catharsis of sorts for its lead ladies. a discovery of the childhood laughter, teenage freedom, revival of old interests, ability to laugh uninhibited laughter... But both the films despite ending in a politically correct climax, do not offer judgements of right and wrong. i guess cos emotions teamed up with fleeting cannot be branded Right or wrong.
So?... so nothing, its just virtue to let go of that phase, let go of attempts to define these moments of poetry, so that these put together become a new nest in some remote corner of the self. and at times of solitude or retrospect become the place to go to for a quite retreat - bask in the warmth of those unrecorded moments, take a deep breath, heave a sigh of joyful separation and come back enriched to reality.
Let the moments remain fleeting, let them remain unnamed and undefined, lest the formality cause them to degenerate and decay.

Happiness

2007-01-06T21:59:00.000-08:00

Happiness for me??? money? friends? a heavy purse to shop? no visits to the office? well... after a lot of thought i chose the following few moments as my tangibles defining happiness
hold !! before that..

Disclaimer: The ideas stated below are strictly of a helpless poet kind, cliches abound and full of sentimental rambles, so if you are the poetry aint my kinda reading material, its best in the library n fairyland types, please skip this post. this post is just that

Little thangam, the girl who works in my place (she's 16 so by rule not a child) comes running to me and shows me her new clothes (which by the way are my old clothes that are altered to fit her petite frame) and tells me how everyone in the neighbourhood envied her and said she looked pretty with a frown.
thangam's proud and happy eyes... thats happiness numero uno

life is down in dumps, its that no job, no studies, peer group settled and me unsettled, best friend in the ICU, love life in rocks, home scenes irritable kinda phase... when the phone rings and friend 's' on a loooooooong distance ISD call in the most demanding of voices asks "why are you isolating yourself? whats wrong", u fake a bad cold and PMS and tell m its all fine, he reads thro and tells you its ok, this too shall pass. days to follow, almost from nowhere all old pals from long distances and accessible neighbourhoods call n give u a shoulder to lean on... and everybody says the same thing, "i got to know from 's' that u're down... its ok da, why didnt you call?" life seems in place... s actually makes sure everyone around knew i needed help....
s' efforts - that is happiness

i am at my wits end with a boss that doesn pay politely telling me that he p[ays according to deliverables n not time, corporate morons who dont care to respond to meeting schedules n plans, a website that fails to take off more than the initial two pages, colleagues who are as frustrated with the job and a celll phone that does not have a network even on MG Road!!! when i hear a knock on the office door, someone's come for me the receptionist says. I go unconcerned not even interested inthinking who it might be, and the guy from my hometown florist shop hands me over a whole bunch of red frsh roses, the prettiest i've seen and says "flowers for u ma'am". and the delivery reciept has his company's name in the sender's column
Those flowers the sender's thought and my colleagues' chiding - thats happiness

i drop into college to fill in the convocation form thats been pending for the last 2 months its the last day of the deadline, cheesed off by the long queue i take a casual walk up to the staff rooms o drop in and say hi. Knowing i'l have to step out bafoh i actuaally meet the staff. When i bump into a teacher in whose class i said the stupidest of things and got away, she gives me her warm "hello dear, so good to see u" one liners, i make polite enquiries about her new batch, and like most teachers she too says they're not as good as my batch, and as we walk her handbag falls down n the contents spill all over the place, and amidstthe piles of official stuff i find a card i wrote to her one teachers day... she smiles through the facade and says "oh thats something i carry with me always, it reminds me of the fact that sometime down in life i made a difference in my student's life, and i read it each time i feel low... " smiles.
that tattered piece of paper with my writing in her hands - thats happiness

a dull birthday again as it is every year, i hope someone will make it special, somebody will plan a surprise (that works!) somebody will care to remember and send a card, but the day passes by like a normal dull day of gloom, i am giving up, changing into old clothes, when suddenly at 9 pm i get a call all the way from lucknow and a friendly voice greeting me to say happy birthday i am surprised she remembers, even knew my bday, and just as that call ends another friend drops in to whistle my favourite tune as my bday gift.
Those planned rememberences form unexpected quarters - thats happiness

a leisurely evening, carelessly sipping a cuppa, no hurry, no emails, no escalations, just being able to unwind with myself, then have time and the mood to clean up the racks, finding an old tape with the most soothing voice ever singing for me melodies of jagjit singh, kishore n rafi, the small msg at the end of the tape , the smile that lingers hours after the tape ends and the memory of a train leaving a station , me next to the door and a familiar face waving out to me from the platform, the train starting and stopping thrice and then chugging out hesitantly, for the first time not feeling bad about parting but being able to bask in the thought of poetry...
That leisure, that space for self, that voice, that person, that memory - thats happiness

Happiness is a way of life, it is to be able to see through the nuances of joy woven into daily mundane rituals, it is the ability to smile through tears, to have hope in despair to believe in the sunrise at dusk to be myself for a while, to have the time to be late, to eat what i want to eat, health without hidden costs and energy to do what i did as a teenager... that for me is happiness.
At the end of this post i wanna thank all u folks who played such a big role in me sitting to think what happiness means to me. My life is made up of these fragments of happiness, yes i too brood, i too crib, i too throw tantrums, i too have my mood swings but these fragments of happiness cheers me up again.
I wish for all of you loads of such fragments, these fragments are all what we could access without a need for a sign in or password. SO... Happiness anybody?

HAPPY HAPPINESS TIMES !!!

Meenakshi of Madurai

2006-12-15T02:19:00.000-08:00

In the land of an ancient tongue,
here she stands holy mother of mine
no tall tales or false legends
she's the simple truth - she's the real divine

She that rules a million hearts
with not a sceptre nor a torch,
with a single smile conquers souls
that tire walking pathless and parch.

In her i lose my raging doubts,
my fears and those vile scars aghast
wanderer me, she binds with the world
in her she gives me a home so vast

seek not her grace with a hesitant tone
for she gives even before you place a plea
her grants are of no mortal kind,
its the very soul that she does set free

In the land of an ancient tongue,
come seek her - the real divine
Give yourself but once to her

and lo! my mother, she'l be thine

Saranya
18/08/06
on the journey back from Madurai

those 3 dry roses between pages of a poetry book

2006-12-14T23:52:00.000-08:00

When the entire thing got to my nerves i told myself i must figure a way outta this passive, nothing happening mess of a phase that i was going through. i was happy, life was good, finances were stable, but for the last few days, i had this attitude of a non chalant middle aged woman who is so saturated with life that even her special some one's "I love you" doesnt cause a tingle within... its the weather i thought. i was not busy or occupied to justify the above said attitude, its like i had just forgotten to respond, relish, react... reasons or the lack of it contributed to its causal factors!! To begin with, i had to figure a way outta the mess that my room was in.
I carelessly flipped through the piles of litter around the place trying to put them away into their respective assigned stacks, clothes, cards, files, study material, old projects, books, everything... when, accidentally i lay hands on a treasure that i had long forgotten to use.
My old poetry book. I used to read it so often and write in it with so much love, i was a bubbly enthu cutlet of a young poet, but somehow amidst office mails, distance education courses, e-mail exchanges, blogs and of course orkut updates... i had neglected that part of me so much. here i was in solitude with my book, waiting to hear it air its grievances to me after so long. "where've u been all the while? darn!! i missed you!" i almost heard it say. "i missed you too" i replied with a smile. As i flipped through the pages something heavier than paper fell on my lap, three in a row... with half a startle (actually a something little less than a startle) i looked down. ROSES . dry, withering and pressed against its own petals. i paused in awe for a few seconds... god this had actually survived all the while in here? as i touched them, his face flashed before my minds eye, those strong hands that held out these very flowers , fresh then ,with the blush of his first love, those expectant eyes hoping I'd smile, they seemed to be looking into mine even now. i was suddenly transported into that other place and time, The grand palace road, the laughter and cheer in the heart during the ride on the horse driven coach around Citizen's park, the inimitable Hindi shaayiris, the sheer joy of being then n there. i had believed in fairy tales as a child, but when it was unfolding right in front of me and i was the princess i just didn't even know i was in one such tale... he covered my eyes with his hands and signalled out to the guy riding the coach to take a turn - its strange how much more closed eyes could see- we stopped at the entrance of the palace, he took his hands off my eyes and we stood in the splendour of an ancient palace white... in the depths of it, it was so old yet it spoke so much about the the nobility that lived within her doors, and the wind brushed against our faces, as he gave me those roses and the palace stood majestic and watched to tell the tale another day, just like how these dry flowers spoke to me now!! they had withered away yet they were so alive and full of tales to tell... i touched those petals again and felt that wind brush my face again... a small tear rolled down my smiling lips. god!! i had forgotten that feeling that smile that cheer that joy of seeing beauty in little things, how alive those dry roses were now!! i groped to find my mobile phone, i had to tell him... dialled his number heard his line respond with a caller tune he had downloaded specifically for me.... it kept ringing, kept ringing, no response! the line went silent, with my lips still damp with the single tear that rolled by, i spoke into the silence of the unanswered phone line "ma i just called to say - i love you, guess what i found..." maybe there is yet another book amidst his mess that holds similar flowers that would take him back in time and remind him to receive the call!!

2006-12-14T00:02:00.000-08:00

whenever the question of technology pops up, i stiffen up a bit, resist, struggle through the phase and then succumb, and ya sometimes rebel and refuse to accept technology as an option. afterall isnt it technology that once prevented me from being able to write my article for the paper i interned with and made me type it instead? making me lose half my thoughts as i searched franctically for the right keys on the keyboard!. is it not technology thats guilty of having prevented my dearest friend from writing to me in his inimitable victorian english and get him to settle for a hasty phonecall instead...? isnt it the fault of technology of having kept HIM from meeting me on my special day and forced me to smile through flowers ordered via the internet... yes indeed technology is to be blamed. But here i am on my blog... forgiving all my grievances against technology with due respect to the lost marks in the past, putting pen to paper err... put thought to keyboard, or whatever. lets see wher this jouney would steer to! que sera que sera. i have the feeling of a novelist who's just started his first novel and let loose his characters not knowing where, when or what they would make him write, its welcome i guess. chao!