புல்லாகிப் பூடாய்ப் புலர்ந்தனாள் போதாதோ?

கல்லாய் மரமாய்க் கழிந்தநாள் போதாதோ?

அன்னை வயிற்றி லழிந்தனாள் போதாதோ?

மன்னவனாய் வாழ்ந்து மரித்தனாள் போதாதோ?

Towards the end of the blog, I have strayed into the emotionally disturbed-pathetic-helpless-frustrated- young man’s path. You can stop reading after the points to skip the melodrama.

If you do read it,

A clichéd point-the fact that I am writing this, and the fact that you are reading this means we are lucky.

Good music is always good music, and unfortunately relative and subjective.

Italicized lines are just lessons learnt, I did not mean to be sanctimonious. No preaching, no advice, not even suggestions, only an analysis of decisions/actions.

Everything was wet, inside, outside, in between. You have never understood the meaning of the phrase torrential rain until you actually travel in a bike in one. At 30 km/hr, it felt like I was hit by jet from a poorly designed water pistol aimed at the face but missing and hitting the nether regions. I don’t like to sit on anything when I am wet. (Not the kind of wet you have in mind, the less kinky and original wet.) The interesting part of the story-the lab was locked. I didn’t have the keys.

I can either complain about luck, or can rationalize: taking pre-emptive action by buying a raincoat or an umbrella (bus travel). Sensibility never comes in the way of decision making. At least in my case.

#you do not understand the actual essence of the proverbial 'its raining cats and dogs' statement until you are in one. I was talking to my maama about ramanan, and how he had forecast rains for the weekend and that it would be safe to venture out; it is reported that Barack Obama called up IMD and asked them if things went terribly wrong, as what ramanan said had actually happened-it rained.

Wildly.

People in Madras watched in awe, worried at the possible implications this might have and were shocked at the manner in which the core of their belief manner. They feel distressed that their long standing cynicism is being put to test in a very weathered(to unnecessarily and incoherently also meaninglessly use a weather related word). way. The mayans were right. Right about 2012, when ramanan's every single forecast would be accurate, that the gods would wise up to the erratic and imponderable changes the planet had undergone and kaboom. The end of the world is not nuclear weapons or wars, it is at the hands of a mysterious meteorologist.

He is definitely the harbinger of sunshine. We need better models for better forecast.

A lot of my friends are curious as regards the nature of my research. First of all, I would like to declare like Mark twain that I have nothing to declare but my absolute naiveté about my research. In very reductive terms, I don’t know. In more expanded and elaborate terms, I don’t know. So, that should give you a clue as to where you might want to start asking questions. I have no idea, about anything.

Life is the sum total of good books, good music, good food and good set of friends. its a four letter expletive without these.

I love digressing unnecessarily, and abruptly. I adore oxford commas.

I use a lot of I’s. I understand that it’s not a good thing to do. I also like hypocrisy.

I understand that success and failure is not to be questioned. They are heavily dependent on influential people, who can influence these decisions.

This is why I think the past is beautiful because its over. But I can also say the same about coffee and some women (obligatory coffee loving reference in the post).

I love logical fallacies from the language. We are so full of it all the time that we fail to see rationality at all.

I don’t know why I am implying logical correctitude to rational thinking.

The ironies of life-Child labor in one of the most premier institutes of this country, the hallowed portals of IIT. The restaurant inside the campus offers a beautiful case study of the collective callousness of this country-the boy was hardly 15, and he was cleaning a table. I am writing a blog after seeing this, because venting ire on a social forum is what is going to feed, clothe and educate him. Hypocrisy.

Happiness is not a medium or a short term pursuit because our lives are not over yet, and we never know how far we will sink, or how high we might rise.

There is a kutcheri outside. This one is not big bucks. Not garish displays of cultural snobbery. Not the vocal strains hitting one particular note with beautiful precision and producing lilting melodies. Not flawless rendering of sankarabaranam. Not the patronage of the limited few trying/pretending to understand music. Not the haughty arrogance of the few performers who instigate my spite.

I am not trying to defile the sanctity of the notion of the classical carnatic institution; it’s a part of the beautiful history of my city. I cannot stand certain things. Apologies (Impetuous).

This one is in a van.

It’s not anything new. Let’s move on.

This one is more of a survival than a song. This is a question of dignity, and of not losing it. This is a faulty cacophonous cry for a decent living.

It is true then, Life is cheap.

‘There is always hope’- Hopes don’t differentiate between survival and success. Everything will even out eventually. Hopefully. (Hypocrisy, one last time)

Maalai pozhudhin mayakathile on the radio.

அன்னை எத்தனை எத்தனை அன்னையோ?

அப்பன் எத்தனை எத்தனை அப்பனோ ?

பின்னை எத்தனை எத்தனை பெண்டீரோ?

பிள்ளை எத்தனை எத்தனை பிள்ளையோ?

முன்னை எத்தனை எத்தனை சன்மமோ?

மூடனாயடி யேனும ரந்திலேன்,

இன்ன மெத்தனை எத்தனை சன்மமோ!

Cheers.

tamil poems by pattinathaar:

#1 திருவேகம்பாலை(bottom)

#2 அருட்புலம்பல்(top)

சித்தர்களும் யோகிகளும் சிந்தனையில் ஞானிகளும்

புத்தரோடு ஏசுவும், உத்தமர் காந்தியும்,

எத்தனையோ உண்மைகளை எழுதி எழுதி வெச்சாங்க,

எல்லாந்தான் படிச்சீங்க, என்ன பண்ணி கிழிச்சீங்க?

The goal of the never ending search for doing something meaningful has come to an end. I have stopped searching. This marks the beginning of a new era, wherein I do something that I had been doing in the older era.

So, yes, it’s not exactly new. Neither is it an era. Nor a new beginning. So, this marks the.

I did not return many calls on my birthday, I was on drugs. Those paracetamol tablets can make you swirl in the fantasy land of beautiful women in no time. I woke up just as I was about to gather the courage to ask a girl out. In real life as in hallucinations, I suck. The dream girl would probably have shot me down anyway, I mean, that’s what dreams are for, aren’t they? To wildly hype a fantasy and tie it to achievability, and finally get hit by the sledgehammer of reality.

If you lived in madras, and you missed going out on December 16, you missed one of the six beautiful days of madras. Madras has six lovely weather days-two of them are imaginary. Out of the other four days, one is the rains right after the boils in the back start to swell uncontrollably due to heat; one is the day in between the rains when it stops raining. One of them is the day I was talking about-a lovely breeze the whole day, mild drizzle and sub-25 temperatures. The other is reserve, and is highly dependent on the discretion of the gods.

Anyone who asked if it was 25 F will be shot/let go upon subsequent inquiry depending on their nationality/knowledge of koppen classification.

Do you absolutely have to nod your head vigorously to appreciate carnatic music? Is there causality between them, and is the converse true-does someone nodding their head vibrate the air around with the perfect frequency that it manipulates the singer’s to produce awesome melodies? I was at a temple (yes, again, I am like that) wherein there was a big crowd of music lovers listening to someone who was apparently very good. I managed to stay there for an entire 3 minutes, which would explain that I liked it, but there was some vehement and almost hysterical carnatic head banging equivalent-along with the thaalam in the thigh. I am sure there were some sore thighs by the end of the show. The point should not be lost-had there not been a mike and a jarring loud noise and only her voice, I would have stayed longer. 4 minutes, probably.

Life is increasingly becoming pointless with every passing post, that I am planning to start a new blog just to talk about my old blog, thereby increasing the magnitude of the existing directionlessness, and I have no idea why I just coined a stupid word there. It must be to emphasize the point of pointlessness, which, in all likelihood, has already been strongly enforced in a lot of posts. So, yes, my life is pointless (needlessly, inadvertently, repeated. Actually, I repeated the needless with inadvertent, which is again, pointless repetition. I think I should stop)

Christmas is around the corner. Anyway, New Year is around the corner too. I believe there is also a welding shop around the corner. (A poorly constructed make-believe witty construct with no comic value whatsoever) I actually giggled at the joke (so-called), which must mean that something is definitely loose inside my mind.

எழுதி படிச்சி அறியாதவன் தான்

உழுது ஒழச்சி சோறு போடறான்

எல்லாம் படிச்சவன் ஏதேதோ பேசி

நல்லா நாட்டை கூறு போடறான்...

Tamil portions from songs by pattukottai kalyanasundaram

rains.

இல்லாருக்கும் செல்வர்கள் தாமே

என்பாருக்கும் தீயவர் மற்றும்

நல்லாருக்கும் முகிலே சமமாய்

நல்கும் செல்வம் நீயேயன்றோ?

Did you all know obama was here? Did you all know how the job market suddenly witnessed a spurt when he was out of US? Do you all know why he came to India?

Hint: I am here.

I want to ask this particular person in his secret service who is following me and notifying him of my activities. I have but only one question: Why are you doing this to me?(screaming on top of my voice). I have a suspicion that obama carries my voodoo doll, and sticks pins into it when he feels put out, say when his kids don't listen to him, or his wife spends too much, or when he is annoyed by listening to 'single ladies' for the thousandth time on the radio or the general problems that he faces in life.

#I am sitting here trying to ponder the heaviness in my mind. The million times the question pops into my head, and torments me with uncontrollable grief and anguish(both meaning the same), I am yet to find the answer to that simple question:

what is wrong with the puli that cooks in college hostels/canteens use for making rasam? Can't you pay more attention to it? I swear, I could have puked my pancreas out the instant I took a whiff of the rasam. It was nauseous, much worse than Indian politics.

#The signal at nandanam is god's way of getting back at me. As is everything else he is doing.But he has succeeded in riling me on this particular game. I stand there, patiently, waiting for the red to turn green, then to turn amber, then to red, then to green...until my life flashes in front of my eyes, and I die, and resurrect myself when the signal light turns green and I am in the front lines to take up the responsibility of irresponsibly changing lanes and going straight onto kottur. Some boards in madras suggest that I follow lane discipline. This statement is completely wrong for two reasons:

1. there are no lanes.

2. there is no discipline.

There have been times when I was embarrassed for not jumping a signal and doing the noble and right thing-not jump the signal. I guess I am a pretentious idiot, who is still hung up on following rules.

In keeping with the tradition of kaarthigai deepam, I watched kill bill and ate pori urundai.

note #1: Watch kill bill for the sword, and only the sword. the fights suck.

note #2: don't eat too much pori urundai, you might have problems the next morning...

I also attempted to do an unthinkable and probably the most depressing task on the planet-iron a shirt. I would like to warn you, what little self-esteem, confidence, strength, belief and motivation you have will dissipate into thin air. You will surrender to the will of fate, thinking about how this mad world imposes such hardships upon you with no apparent reason other than to make you squirm while your inability flashes before your life in those moments...we are still talking about ironing of course.I am going to find the first tailor who came up with the concept of a shirt, and make him pay in kill bill style. At one point,I stood on my feet and pressed the iron box against the shirt with all the god almighty strength given to me by satan and the crease, that crease, that maniacal, sadistic, persistent, evil crease continued to look at me and smirk. That smile made me want to run away to the end of the world(vaazhkaiyin orathirke odinen etc).

Nudist colony is a good suggestion, but I don't like nudity. Don't laugh.

http://www.videojug.com/film/how-to-iron-a-shirt

The instant I want to go out somewhere, some kind of a radar attached to me seems to signal the onset of tropical thundershowers which triggers a massive downpour for the duration of my stay on the roads without umbrella/raincoat.

As I said, home is where your heart, a steaming cup of coffee and ven pongal is...

cheers.

நிலா மலர்ந்த இரவினில் தென்றல் உலாவிடும் நதியில்
நீல நிறத்துப் பாலகன் ஒருவன் குழல் ஊதி நின்றான்
காலமெல்லாம் அவன் காதலை எண்ணி உருகுமோ என் உள்ளம்!

poem at the top: bharathidasan(rains, that don't discriminate)

at the bottom: attributed to kalki(not sure)

Listen here:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PCiqqFVY4Xw

Red Earth, Pouring Rain.

யாயும் யாயும் யாராகியரோ
எந்தையும் நுந்தையும் எம்முறைக் கேளிர்
யானும் நீயும் எவ்வழி யறிதும்
செம்புலப் பெயனீர் போல
அன்புடை நெஞ்சம் தாம் கலந்தனவே.

There are two ways by which you can travel to kanchipuram-the ordinary way, and the lord langote way. The ordinary way is the one in which you pay a train fare of Rs.16, endure a long and hard wait for a seat for almost the entire journey(or till chengalpattu) and finally get a seat a few hundred yards before kanchipuram east station(this is close to a lot of temples, get down here. thanks:sdk); alternatively, pay Rs 23 on a bus that takes you on a lovely tour of the scenic madras-bangalore highway at 25 kmph, spending close to 2.5 hours for traversing a distance of 75 kms. You can also see snails on the road flying past your windows(no puns on the operating system please).

Lord langote way, of course, is the AC bus. No.576, kanchipuram to t.nagar. At Rs 75, it is not something that could I afford to do everyday, but once in a while, it could be fun. I got on the bus at a temperature of 30 C, and I got off the bus at the same temperature. I am not sure the bus qualifies for being 'kulir saadhana perundhu'. Maybe 'saadhana perundhu'. I spent one half of my journey as a man of the masses, and the return trip was the lord langote way. A lovely cloudy morning, the fields all along the way wet and inviting, and I was standing for almost 2 hours on the footboard of BTL1 looking in awe at the 'singaara graamams' as one of the signs on a bus stand said.

******************************************************************

There might be a contrasting difference between a sivan temple and a vishnu temple, but you understand that one thing is common-indifference. Service to mankind is service to God, and in some temples both of them are denied service. Maybe the temple priests are not paid well, but do they have to take it out on the people who come here with all those false hopes and prayers that are going to fall on deaf ears anyway?(satire, take it easy) I have to ask some people in the crowd(especially the women) the following:

#just because you stand in front of the deity for a longer period, is he/she going to bless you more than the other persons behind you?

#If you had come all the way and you would want to see the god in all the glory for all eternity, doesn't applying for a job at the temple make better sense?

#does any god ever ask you to be ill-disciplined by stalling or jumping queues?

In one temple, the priest gave me vibhuti with as much interest as I had on my life(squat). In the perumal temple, I was looking askance at the shataari and the priest told me that it was closing time. If that is not a convincing answer, what is

#All the temple tanks metaphorically resembled my head-huge, but nothing inside.

#Bovonto is awesome. I really don't know why its not a success unlike a coke or a pepsi. If a willing entrepreneur is listening, I think there is quite a fan following for this drink.

**************************************************************************

Once I was back in madras, I realized my folly. I had stumbled upon yet another blunder in my life(an everyday incident)-I did not consider the deepavali week factor in my travel equation, the AC bus mogham had created this maayai which had veiled my vision to the truth. Anyway, I got down at T.nagar bus stop, and to get to doraiswamy road, which is 100 m from the bus stand, it took me all of my energy, time, patience, will, positive thoughts, confidence, along with a strong urge to blow the entire road into smithereens to get going. The honking had produced such a pounding headache, that the left portion of my head was playing a kacheri with nothing but blaring tavil and a cacophonous nadaswaram. If someone would pull down T.nagar, or all the shops there, I would talk to obama and try to bring peace in the middle east, or teach namitha proper tamil. maybe the first one.

I managed to get inside saravana bavan, which was a sorry sight:

#A long line of women in front of the loo(really long). The idiots building the shops can't build restrooms for god's sake?

#I did not see a public toilet either, and even if there was one, people would avoid it like politicians avoid people or sensible policies-they are sparkling clean, and beautifully maintained.

#The toilets for men were provided by a what looked like the dilapidated remains of an old transformer(maybe it was working, only god knows)

Anyway, it took me 20 minutes to find a seat, 10 minutes to order coffee, 5 minutes to drink it and 2000 minutes to get back home crawling on the stupid north usman road(I paid the bill, to all the smarty pants). I am sure somebody could have travelled to singapore, watched the grand prix and could have come back in that time.

Having accomplished my mission to kill boredom for atleast half a day, I went home and crashed. So much for attainable goals.

What kin is mine to yours?

And how Did you and I meet ever?

But in love our hearts have mingled as red earth and pouring rain" 

-translation for the poem from kurunthogai(at the top)

(translation:The hindu; poem source:project madurai website)