The Anna Centenary Library: A Representation

I am still seated in the Anna Centenary Library while I write this; in the fourth floor, B wing to be precise. An extraordinary conversation took place here sometime ago; let me recapitulate whatever happened.

The tawny-white, ergonomic book-racks stood tall around me, while I was writing away in my note-pad, and as I looked up for some inspiration, in a tangled garble of voices, I could make out, each rack saying “try my lot”. From my reading table, I gazed at the rack closest to me; ‘Journals of Ayn Rand’ and ‘The Greatest Works of Kahlil Gibran’ caught my sight, and returned it with regal disdain. I walked a couple of steps to the rack and bent down to take a closer look when I heard a raspy, cigarette-stained voice of a woman. It was Ayn Rand’s.

“Don’t pick me,” she said, “You are too mundane to understand, leave alone appreciate, the concepts of Objectivism and public welfare.” I winced, and tried to frame in my mind, the words that would sum up to the fact that I was indeed a great fan of her philosophies, but was just yet another man lost in the myriad trivialities of everyday citizenship.

“Don’t mind Ms. Rand please”, called out a deep, male voice from near. It was Kahlil Gibran. “And kindly tell me sire, what about this talk between the racks, that they are moving us elsewhere?”

“Yes, I can tell you.” I told him tenderly, “The Chief Minister thinks your fraternity does not deserve this place. Soon, this building is going to become a centre that is going to cure children diseases.”

Kahlil Gibran stared at me meditatively, and after what seemed like ages, told me – “What do you think this place is already trying to do, respected sire? Each of us here, have been congregated here, to provide the best possible treatment to the maladies of the mind, and to provide company of ineffable worth, to the lonely, troubled and orphaned.”

“Tell your Chief Minister anyway,” said Ayn Rand with asperity, cutting through Kahlil Gibran’s blanketing cadence,

“That we won’t move from this place, and she can employ the entire force of her powers and obscurantism on us, if she wishes.” Immediately, I heard the Babel of voices around me again; and the world’s most revered writers, existing in their most pristine forms, chanted – “We won’t move, we love here!”

As I looked around helplessly, someone wizened beckoned to me; his appearance was genial and sober – it was R.K. Narayan. “Forgive my family,” he said, his voice trembling a little, “They are troubled and they don’t know what to do. This place is heaven for us and we don’t want to move, save us please!”

I cringed within, but merely nodded to the abstemious appeal and came back to my desk. The Anna Centenary Library, with its seven floors, fourteen wings and more than half a million mummified minds, seduced the bibliophile in me like no other place or library had in the past. I have spent hours here – reading, writing, thinking, researching, updating my notes, and even snoozing a little bit. With its inspiring aura of intellectual sanctity, this place had helped maintain my mental equilibrium through my several inquests. I would be definitely and infinitely bereaved if this place went, but what could I, a mere common man, do, if no other site in this city is as super-special and healing as this?

My name is Gautam. Gautam Vasudev Menon.

For a better reading experience, please wait until this video loads fully and then start reading with it playing in the background in very very low volume.

My name is Gautam Vasudev Menon. I am young, smart, creative, conniving and since I studied in a convent and watched many Major Sundararajan movies, I am used to saying "Ava Avlo Azhagu. Beautiful and sexy too". Now, its been a week since my movie Vinnaithaandi Varuvaya opened to booming theatre business. I am sitting in my couch, while my Syrian Catholic Mal wife is up in the terrace trying to save my only veshti, her only mundu, and our other western clothes from impending rain. I am not only a hit director today, but a hit son and a hit husband too. And I am proud of it.

Think about it, Gautam, I told myself. Think about how you have been able to win most of the times and how each time it was just an exceptionally simple trick that you pulled off. Minnale, Kakha Kakha, Pachaikili Muthucharam, Vettayadu Vilayadu, Varanam Ayiram. Now Vinnaithandi Varuvaya. If I looked at Madhavan, Suriya, Sarath, Kamal, Suriya again, and Simbu in all these movies, I see something of myself in them. And my father, my wife, my sister, my uncle, my aunty, my neighbour, my classmate, my sister's friend, all of them, are the supporting characters in all my movies. I try to prove everytime, that every life that is born on this planet, is worth a movie classic. I try to prove, every life has charisma, a story and an enigma to it. Thats what I have tried, yet again in Vinnaithandi Varuvaya.

I was in love with my wife, who I ended marrying. But what if there was an anti-climax to my own life. Wouldnt it make a good movie? I tinkered the thought a little, gave it an art director, a cinematographer, a global music director, and many others. I imagined how it would be if Simbu was made to act like Gemini Ganesan and look like Siddharth. He would be a completely new star! Andha ennam enna pottu porrattichu. I was struck by the thought. Adhe nimisham, I called up Simbu and enrolled him for lead role. Even though all my heroes till now, save Kamal, were terrible at delivering dialogues in English, I made them say it, and people ended up thinking that it was a ravishing idea. So I made Simbu say, "I am crazy about you Jessie", though it sounded close to how it would be if the Late Cochin Haneefa said the same lines.

Several critics have told me that I mess up the second half. Most of them dont realise that I try to give a fictitional twist to my real life stories only in the later half. Hence, I know I mess it up. The first halves in my movies are so unbelievable believable and the second halves are so unbelievable unbelievable!

I think my biggest asset is my maturity. It helps me give a realistic grip to all my movies. A young man sent me an email last night. He told me that he saw himself in Simbu and that the incidents in the movie, minus the fibs and frills, was almost his story. He told me that he was confused about his life until he saw VTV, when apparently, clarity struck him as suddenly as love strikes Simbu in the movie. He told me that he spent some time after watching the movie with his love bird, discussing their future in love. The young man told me that the intimacy he felt at that point, was inexplicable and true. He ended his mail, few contents of which I am not disclosing here, saying that my movie helped the couple realise the beauty and the blooper in their beyond-normally-natural relationship. In a way, I am really happy that my movie has been able to shape true lives by disentangling many relationships from communication flaws and possible perdition, and has given many, pragmatism's point of view to relationships. Let me unravel the underlying intention in all my movies - I want the world to feel loved, I want the young man to feel loved, I want you and me to feel loved. And ofcourse, I want to make money in the process.

I can hear my wife coming down. She is the most beautiful woman ever. I wish every person on Earth married someone he/she genuinely loved. Lets not waste our lifetime, sacrificing on love for other things that are already here to stay.
I just got a text message from my next producer reminding me that we have already made publicity about the next movie, even though I havnt even thought of a story yet. Hey wait a minute! My kid fell down last evening while riding the cycle, and scratched his knee. My kid reminds me of Ajith Kumar, and a story is already buzzing in my head. I am somehow going to link the movie up with my kid's trip (pun intended).
From this second, I have only one ambition. Adutha padam semmaya irukanum, It should be awesome. Oru maatratha yerpaduthanum, It should rock like crazy.

Hope and the Peacock

There is definitely something charismatic; something numinous and charismatic about peacocks. In this discourse, I shall take you through a semi-dark passage in my mind, a carefully preserved and commonly restricted passage that leads to my fascination for peacocks.
It’s a beginning for my own realization while coming to say that peacocks are my idols of Romanticism. Romanticism here is not the virtue of being aesthetically or tastefully romantic, it is the derived connotation for optimism, the idealism in being frivolously, mindlessly optimistic.

The last time I saw a peacock was after the last time I brushed my teeth – this morning. A damp morning it was, probably due to a minor squabble among the pregnant clouds above (the squabble couldn’t have been more pleasant for the humans below). I live in this bungalow, in the centre of a dense, unkempt urban forest, in the outskirts of Tuticorin some ten miles from the Tuticorin port. Along with me, in the expanse of the bungalow, live a dozen frogs with a great family of whiskery grandfathers and sashaying tadpoles, a couple of sleepy, drunk water snakes, a five hundred scurrying squirrels, and hold your breath, a peahen and a peacock. On the first day of my stay here, I didn’t realize the existence of the last two inmates in my compound; I was head-punched and slept like a log that day. But some time around midnight, on the second night of my stay, I woke up with a start. There was a warping sound emanating from outside my window and it was tearing my ear membranes apart. It was certainly some animal, I decided. I first thought it was a rattlesnake (not a far-fetched thought – very possible), or maybe just a crow with insomnia. In my groggy state, I was just plain confused and little freaked out too (I have whatever ego it takes to not admit that I was frightened). Before I could get myself to summon the security guard stationed outside (who was most probably boozed up and knocked out), the sound stopped. I pulled the fattest pillow close to my chest and buried my face into a dream that revolved around boarding into a train and boarding out of a ship. That following morning, I witnessed one of the most beautiful sights ever. With the sun and the vast blue-gray skies as a perfect backdrop, a peacock was perched on the terrace, with all its glory, grace and cosmic glimmer unfurled for me to see. On a later enquiry with the security guard that morning, I came to know the identity of my midnight’s visitors. They were none other than this peacock and his benevolent wife, both in a particularly barmy mood.

To a Buddhist, the peacock symbolizes purity. But to me, the peacock symbolizes optimism – Unrestrained enthusiasm, limitless hope and inexhaustible euphoria – all comprised within that single expression. A couple of days ago I found a peacock feather lodged royally in between two shrubs. I picked it up, went back to my room and placed it near the mirror. I looked at its reflection for a long time. I have heard from my mother about how she, when she was a child herself, had stolen the peacock feathers kept for puritan purposes at home, and with so much of implicit belief and hope, had hid them in between her school textbooks. According to the child in her, the peacock feathers defied the science of reproduction and could multiply if cushioned between the pages of a book. I remember laughing at her and calling her a dreamy kid, with all the maturity my voice could command. I looked at the rich, indifferent splash of colours on the peacock’s feather placed before the mirror. For a moment, I was tempted to usher the feather inside the folds of my “Company Accounts” textbook. After that moment passed, I laughed at myself for laughing at my mother the other day. Even though what she did as a child was puerile, what it now conveyed to me is the amount of hope that little feather had exuded to her.

A peacock’s mood is on a song if it spreads its Resplendence for the world to see. This is the connection I see in peacocks radiating happiness and optimism to its audience. When you look at a beautiful woman tremendously happy and chatty, you tend to get blissful and hopeful yourself. This is the logic I see here too, and in this case it is a beautiful peacock.

I think I can sit hours together and marvel the artist in God, or whatever you choose to call that Anonymous Creator. I shall now go back to stare at the feather. Let me place it between the pages of a book. I hope it soon reproduces. Rest assured, I shall send word when it does.

The Pride of Tamils

Ten Tamils I am extremely proud of (Part I: 3/10)

(I reflect as I type, there is no particular order of importance followed)

1. Palaniappan Chidambaram (பா சிதம்பரம்) - Chidambaram has definitely risen; Risen above all ranks of politicans, and all rungs of politics. In the world of Indian Politics, he has been there, done that; From Finance and Planning to Personnel and IS, he has seen it all. From the lousy, bratty, desk-thumping graduate from Madras Law College, to the bespectacled, fountain-pen-flaunting scholar from Harvard, Chidu had been it all. Alright, Alright, when it comes to Chidambaram, I wish to dwell in the present. To begin with, what befogs me, is the suaveness with which the Staunch Socialist Chidambaram functions with indomitable ease in a country that leans on Capitalism. And to note that this socialist was one of the driving architects of India's successful Neo-capitalism policy, it pushes me to a state of irrecoverable bewilderment. Chidu was entrusted with the toughest job after 26/11 - the thankless job of the Home Minister's. He inherited the Ministry of Home Affairs from the soft-spoken Mr. Shivraj Patil. Shivraj, though a savant in every sense of the word, had only one deficiency: he converted internal security meetings into Sai Baba Satsangs. Successor Chidambaram, like a tornado in a farm land, chucked all peace in the IS Meetings out of the partisan windows. He woke the drowsy babus up with his child-like dynamism and set the sweat-rate high in the cozy cabins of the Ministry of Home Affairs. He revamped the NSG and has set plans to revamp the Indian Police. Today, one year after the Mumbai Blitzkreig, Chidu has pulled the trick, and has lived up to his job. With Kashmir and Naxals enough to itch his mind, lets give his Tamil heart a warm, redeeming hug. For more on PC, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/P_Chidambaram
2. Allah Rakha Rahman (அல்லா ராகா ரகுமான்) - A.R. Rahman is probably the biggest musical seed that was ever planted in Tamil Nadu. His is the curious case of the small seed planted in Chennai, that grew up to be a huge Banyan in California! More than his music (maybe because I am a Dasan of Ilaiyaraaja, whose monopoly Rahman broke), I am electrified by the rapture he commands from the National audience with his International appeal! I think only a true-blue Indian gone global could do that. I saw his Oscar Acceptance Speech; The pride of being Tamil surged in me, when he mentioned his Mother. Which Tamil's success-sentiment is complete without the mention of his/her mother? I was almost there on that occassion when Rahman made us all proud, standing on that high-voltage podium at the centre of the Kodak Theatres and receiving the World's most coveted Film awards. To this Tamil with wavy hair and humane musicality, a cheer from the highest note my voice-box can reach. For more on ARR, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/AR_Rahman
3. Srinivasa Ramanujan (ஸ்ரீனிவாச ராமானுஜன்) - Math Wizard Ramanujan, has more relevance to me, not because of his path-breaking discoveries in the World of Math, but because of the commitment my family has towards him. When I say my family, 99.999% of it comprises of just my grandfather, PK Srinivasan (who shall, to his amusement, from his study in Heaven, which I am sure is filled with a lot of books, research papers and newspapers just like his study here back home, find himself listed in the later part of this congregation of my top ten Tamils). Ramanujan died in 1920, sixty nine years before I was born in 1989. But, one of the first family members I knew, one of the first faces I recognised, and one of the first names I pronounced, was that of Ramanujan. Readers, like many people from the World Math Society mistake, please note that Ramanujan was not a family member by blood though he was from the same Vaishnavite clan. He was more of my family's identity from the external point of you. As regards to what Ramanujan discovered and what all his fuzzy logic included, I am yet to get past the counfounded. All I can say, is in the layman's tongue. I think Ramanujan is great. Two sides to his greatness; I think Ramanujan is a great in the Math World, because my grandpa thought so. I think Ramanujan is great within my heart, because my grandpa fed us everyday with his greatness. For more on Ramanujan's actual contributions, http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Srinivasa_Ramanujan

Do save this page on your bookmarks. I shall be right back with the remaining seven after attending to a few everyday rigmaroles. தமிழ் வாழ்க! தமிழனின் புகழ் பெருக!

Love, Hatred and Spirit

All creatures are the members of the family of God and the whole world is Home. When love blossoms, peace blooms. When hatred comes at the door, all happiness leaps out of the window; Unity dissolves, dischord reigns; love, life and ambition become the victims of the pungent quest for survival. The whole world becomes an irony of creation.

The War of the rooms, the War of the countries; the War of mankind against mankind, the War of mankind against beasts; the War for gold, money and power; the War for peace, paeans, principles and positions; the War for land, the War for wood; the War for food, wine and whiskey; the War for victory; The War for passion and the War for possession; shall all suffocate, die and bequeth calm, if the rooms, the countries, the mankind, the beast, the gold, money and power, the peace, paeans, prinicples and principled, the land, food, wood, wine and whiskey, the victor and the defeated, the passion, the passionate, the possessor and the possessed, the yours and the mine, the you and the me, all sit at the fireplace of Love and learn to share the excesses with the ecstacy of the warmth that is thus exuded.

To attain this warmth, effort is obligatory on the self.

We must learn to charter individual paths for our individual motives; Unrest happens when unwilling paths intersect. On the other hand, civilizations are born when the same paths meet at their final destination of fulfilment.

Our faith shall be our own, and it shall not question the others'; Our conviction shall not harm the undecided.

Never help the undeserving at the cost of the needy; never deny help to the needy, even if at the cost of the undeserving.

Contain a spirit within. A spirit that shall live long after you disappear. A spirit that shall live for a cause and that shall even die for redemption; a spirit that shall be gracious enough to accept all, love all, but spirited enough to stand by the belief. The spirit that can sustain, and the spirit that can inspire, is the spirit called you and the spirit called me. And this spirit conquers and and is one of the kind that no force can overpower, no cemetry can silence.

Musical Masterpieces # 2: Ennulle Ennulle

Song: Ennulle Enulle (Raagam: Keeravani)
Movie: Valli (Tamil)
Singer: Swarnalatha & Chorus
Composer: Ilaiyaraaja

Soulcore: If a song had to be romantic, it couldnt be better. I wanted to spit out my guts after listening to this song, they just wouldnt stay there. The calmness in the voice, the serenity in the interludes, the peaks and subdues, of romance and of passion; every second creates a magical feel within youself.

P.S.: I suggest you ignore the video, if you do not want a sense of sexuality to creep into the song.

IPL 2009

I wanted to squeeze a post in here about the IPL influenza, but I see I couldnt have done it any better than my bud Sid, and it saves me from a comment on his blog too!
Visit: http://siddharthsv.blogspot.com/2009/04/ipl-2009-predictions.html
It is just as good as out of my mouth.

Musical Masterpieces #1: Pramadavanam Veendum

Song: Pramadavanam Veendum (Raagam: Jog)
Movie: His Highness Abdullah (Malayalam)
Singer: Dr. KJ Yesudas
Composer: Raveendran

Soulcore: I was stunned by the silence this song exuded. Listen to the lead violins kiss your soul everytime KJY goes "Pramadavanam Veendum" (First time: 0:55 secs onwards). Probably the best Malayalam song I have ever heard. I have discovered Raveendran for myself.

Thank You, Lord, for giving the World this man.

1. For a better reading experience, please wait until this video loads fully and then start reading with it playing in the background.

2. Must-read for Ilaiyaraaja fans. Other ordinary music lovers need not necessarily share my passionate discourse.

I begin with apprehension; this could be one of the most confusing writing rigours I have ever given myself, and could be an equally confusing read for you. But I see clarity in one thought / objective - I am not writing about music, I am not writing about Ilaiyaraaja; I am writing about my love for a man. Or about my devotion to a man.

This man. Ilaiyaraaja.

Just like God, Ilaiyaraaja has been one of the most significant constants in my life.

If I was in love with a girl, He was there teaching my heart to love. If I was fantasising about someone, He was there telling my mind to rove and indulge. If I was gloomy, and my every breath depressed; He broke into my mind and silenced my negativities. If I was feeling miserable, He clogged my throat, flushed my eyes, and helped me break down only to emerge like a pregnant woman after having delievered a still born, realising that she cant do anything about it, and she has to move on in life, with life. If I felt victorious, He helped me celebrate, if I felt dejected, He helped me see reason, fueled me to recover and inspired me to redeem; and if I was plain freaking bored, He helped me chill out!

*****

As I write this, Ilaiyaraaja could be making music in his studio (Prasad Studios, Vadapalani), located 15 minutes from my house. That place could definitely be the Mecca of Music for millions of Music lovers around the Globe - majority of them Tamil speakers and all of them, South Indians.

In reality, that place is not just the Mecca for music lovers. It is a womb. A sacred womb, where love was born for many people; and the most sepulchral of graveyards, where miseries ended for many. This is where I think we can define God. God is, the phenomenon, that makes us realise ourselves when any of World's forces, that swells our heart to unproportional sizes, crushes our senses mindlessly, also descends our conscience into thinking - "Waah! What pure Ecstasy." This force could be love, success, or just any random euphoria. The force is common for all, its more a cyclic force. But God differs. I love Ilaiyaraaja as much as I love my God - That God who whispered into my ears the secret of realising myself.

*****

And just like God, Ilaiyaraaja has been one of the most significant constants in my life.

Thank you, Lord, for giving me this man.

See Sensex at 100,000 in 15 yrs: Elliott Wave Int

Mark Galasiewski, Asian-Pacific Fin Forecast at Elliott Wave International, sees Sensex at 100,000 within 15 years based on technicals and current patterns. He is of the view that October 2008 lows have already been breached by most markets but India did not, which is very significant. "From the pattern perspective, there was only a three wave decline down to the October lows and most of the other major world markets made what we would call a fifth wave or final wave down in this leg of their bear markets, but India is special because it has only three waves down."

Q: You seem to be very bullish on India. Looking at the charts of Sensex, what is your target for the Sensex in medium-term as well as the long-term, because you have a 15 year target?
A: We are very bullish, in fact this is going to sound extraordinary to many people but this is all based on technicals and if the patterns we are observing are correct, the implication is Sensex 100,000 within 15 years.

Q: What is your view on the Asian markets in that context, you think Asian markets will also rally or is it going to be just a regional phenomenon with Indian markets outperforming?
A: Our forecast for India is based on the particular what we are calling the Indian Ocean Group, these are the markets from Pakistan, down to Indonesia, that are connected to the Indian ocean. This is very distinct from the rest of East Asia for example and very distinct from Europe and the US. Our services here in the Eliot Wave International are forecasting larger bear markets for the next few to several years in the US, Europe, Japan and even china. India and the subcontinent in particular is special.

Q: Do you think that the October lows that we hit for global markets will be breached by most markets or will those lows hold?
A: The October lows already have been. The fact that India did not, is very significant. From the pattern perspective, there was only a three wave decline down to the October lows and most of the other major world markets made what we would call a fifth wave or final wave down in this leg of their bear markets, but India is special because it has only three waves down.

On a lighter nerve...

Few stupid questions that are commonly asked!
Few are borrowed, few are original! Recline and Read!
1. At a funeral, when a teary eyed person asks:-
Q: “Why, why, him of all the people?”
A: “Why, you reckon it should have been you?”
2. When a friend announces she is getting married:-
Q: “Is the guy good?”
A: “Nope, he is a wife-beating paan-chewing Goorkha. It’s just the feeling of security you know.”
3. In a restaurant:-
Q: “Is the Panneer Butter Masala good here?”
A: “No, we adulterate it with cement and we occasionally hold group spitting competitions in it.”
4. When an aunt meets you after a long time:-
Q: “Oh Beta! How big you have grown!?”
A: “Well, you haven’t actually shrunk yourself!”
5. When a friend meets you for the first time after a hair-cut:-
Q: “Hey, you’ve had a haircut?”
A: “Nope, it’s autumn and I am shedding…”
6. When a fat lady with heavy make-up and pointed heals stamps you inside a crowded bus:-
Q: “Oh sorry, did it hurt?”
A: “Nope, I am currently on local anesthesia, you can do it again.”
7. When you meet a friend in a theatre:-
Q: “Hey, what are you doing here?!”
A: “Nothing much, just wanted to check if there was water in the theatre loos…”
8. When you go out, come back home, and call your mom from the land line to tell her you are back:-
Q: “Have you reached home?”
A: “Nope, half my body is still on the way, stuck in traffic…”
9. When you get a call in the middle of the night:-
Q: “Sorry, were you sleeping?”
A: “Nope, I was just researching the consequences when the Amazonian men slept with Central African pygmy women…”

Its all about being true blue

A sudden ear-block and a rude jerk woke me up from my snooze. Almost immediately I could hear at least a dozen mobiles being switched on around me. That signaled that the runway had arrived. I fished my phone from my pant pocket and punched it on the head. The familiar Nokia tune greeted me, and a message from Airtel, warmly welcomed me to Delhi, as though assuring themselves, a sadistic pleasure out of my roaming gullibility.
My sim-card had accumulated seven text messages over the flight. Three were missed call alerts from friends and family. The four others read as follows:-
“Three cheers to ARR!”
“Wow…! Rahman has won the Oscar! I am so excited!”
“Ela pugazhum iraivan oruvanukke, Rahman is THE BEST!”
“Amidst all those in our nation who claim they are fit for Oscar, only ARR has made the performance to win it and make India proud. Jai Ho!”

Call it instinctive; I raised my hands in tumult, and announced to a colleague sitting next to me that Rahman had made it! Call it instinctive again; the next moment I yanked my iPod from a tough corner of the hand baggage and tuned to the “Rakkamma Kaiya Thattu” song from Thalapathy. It was not the song, it was not the movie, it was not the actor, and it was not the singer. All I knew I wanted to do at that moment was listen to an Ilaiyaraaja composition. I followed it up with “Janani Janani”, then the Mouna Ragam tracks, then Bharathi, Alaigal Oyvathillai, Payanangal Mudivathillai and all the way up to Gurgaon, my thoughts lounged on one single man – he was clad in white, a mien of salt and pepper, with a pair of mystic eyes deeply studded in what I used to think, was the face, of the man who invented music.

En-route, I pulled up the taxi driver in a sudden conversation; sung him a phrase from “Ilaya Nila” and announced to him that it was composed by a genius called Ilaiyaraaja, who sat back in the South. I swear the driver thought I was an incurable jerk. Or at least, he eyed me like I was one. I looked back at him stoutly.

“Udhar…DLF Square, Jacaranda Marg, Phase II…Off the service lane.”

He veered off the service lane dangerously and that was when I figured out that these Bihari drivers driving cabs registered in Delhi did not fancy Ilaiyaraaja, or did not know him at all, and for all they knew, he could be a taxi driver back in Madras, or just another Pani Poori vendor in Chandi Chowk.

I knew I was behaving strangely. I was not averse to AR Rahman. My conscience hailed him as the musician of the minute, and the single uniting factor that our Nation long wanted. But why, why was I trying to be so indifferent to him and his achievement? I still don’t know if it was the bad Nescafe Coffee I had just then, or if it was the true spirit of realization dawning upon me, I understood it was not indifference towards Rahman, but it was a demonstration of my loyalty to Ilaiyaraaja.
I told myself, Rahman is definitely a genius, but Ilaiyaraaja is no less a genius. In this moment, when the world comes together to celebrate Rahman, I told myself, I want to remember Raaja.

Sensing your beauty through my blindness

Oh beautiful, beautiful lass!
Now is the dawn of a thousand poets' dreams.
Oh what Beauty! Beautiful lass!

I feel your hair's silk; am I caressing the cloud's soft?
I trace your ear, pause at your ear stud; And I realise,
Even question marks can entice.
This angel's face, I think, is a golden lotus;
Her enchanting eyes, the loveliest of flowers.
My imaginations hue my mind's canvas;
God, I can see the artist in Thou.
Oh what Beauty! Beautiful, beautiful lass!

An oyster's shell, your lustrous lips;
Please whisper to me the divinity in lust.
Decks of teeth; pearls of white;
Nibble me now, my craving heart.

Let me hold your shoulders; those slender bamboos,
And point to Heaven, with your honey-dipped fingers.
For Symmetry's best, my hands shall wait. My hands shall rest.
Oh what Beauty! Beautiful, beautiful lass!

Your hips are a fortune; or the climbers in the garden.
Roll the clock, and serve the fruit, the freshly peeled ripest fruit.
Your graceful feet; Oh! Two sculpted leaves.
Beauty!
You are the guide to God, the God of my dark.
Oh beautiful, beautiful lass!
My beautiful, beautiful lass!

Naan Kadavul : Review

A brave brave film

Main Cast & Crew:
Director: Bala
Music: Isaignani Ilaiyaraaja
Lead Roles: Arya (Rudran), Pooja (Hamsavalli)

"வாழ தகாதவர்களுக்கு நான் குடுகர தண்டனை மரணம்

வாழ இயலாதவர்களுக்கு நான் குடுகர மரணம் வரம்"

"The punishment that I give to those who are not fit for life, is death.

The death that I give to those who dont have the fitness for life, is blessing/boon."

Overview: Naan Kadavul is more of a theme-based film, and is not wired by a strictly story-based narration. The film meanders through three subjects - Euthanasia (Mercy killing), Organised Beggary, and the Aghoris of Kasi; the compulsive and naked treatment of all the three subjects leave our hearts wanting to beat faster and forget what it just witnessed, but at same time, stay, beat slower, and slower, and slowly stop. Before watching the film, tell yourself, that you are not going to watch the poor and the pained from behind a glass pane, but you are going to be among them, you are going to share their pain; and what they are put through could be disgusting, but true.

Watch out for:

1. Humour: Trust Bala to introduce humour when you think your heart just sufferred multiple explosions. And this is no wit-crack and slap stick humour that we are used to, mind you. Humour par brilliance.
2. Arya & Pooja: This is not exactly the time in Indian filmdom when actors are content enough with romancing on screen, and counting fan mails off it. With this film, both Arya and Pooja have emerged as torch-bearers of this new crop of actors. Arya's supernatural performance, soars with the raw grandeur of his appearance. Pooja captivates in the climax.
3. Re-recording: The Isaignani and no one but the Isaignani, could have scored music for this film. It has always been a challenge to directors to match the out of the world re-recordings of Ilaiyaraaja, and Bala is one of the very few of them who can do justice to the music.
4. Om Sivoham song - Arya's introduction
5. Fight Sequences

Close your eyes when:

1. Just when you think the cruetly that was just exhibited was the last, you land kicking and writhing in another one.
2. Initial scenes involving Rudran's mother and father. They fail to act realistically and irritate at times. An interesting point to note here is that it was Bala's own brother who played the role of Rudran's father!
3. A "Nayantara" dance-sequence in the police station. Can be electrifying humour to some, but can also be obscenity to the rest.

Pointers:

1. Screen play has taken the back-seat; drags at times.
2. Photography is enchanting.
3. Dialogues are very fitting and are worth your instinctive applause.

Special Performance Mentions:

1. Villian
2. Yeli (Rat), the beggar boy

Verdict: Must see for most. Heart patients, pregnant women, excessively sensitive/sentimental people stay back at home and trust this review is just about right.

My Bud's blog

Only as recently as today, I let out a "Blimey!-Here's-a-brilliant-bard!" exclamation on reading "what-he-calls-as-gibberish" of one of my best buds, Sid! For the guy who inspired me out of a low ebb, here is my share of advertising:
http://www.siddharthsv.blogspot.com/
Please find time to read his blog and post your comments.
P.S.>>> My Favourite Post: http://siddharthsv.blogspot.com/2009/02/discovering-myself-en-route-to-dunedin.html

'Slumdog Millionaire' is mediocre, trashy: Priyadarshan

Mumbai: Indian movie director Priyadarshan has joined the bandwagon in slamming Danny Boyle's underdog saga "Slumdog Millionaire" and has called the film a "cheap trashy mediocre version" of erstwhile Bollywood hits." 'Slumdog Millionaire' is nothing but a cheap trashy mediocre version of those commercial films about estranged brothers and childhood sweethearts that Salim-Javed used to write so brilliantly in the 1970s. And please quote me clearly on this. If the Golden Globe and Oscars committees have chosen to honour this trashy film it just shows their ignorance of world cinema," Priyadarshan told IANS.Priyadarshan, whose much-acclaimed film on the silk weavers of Kanjeevaram was shown alongside Boyle's film at the Toronto Film Festival last year, feels Indians are exercising prideful property rights over a film that denigrates Mumbai.

"I saw the film with a mixed audience at the Toronto Film Festival. The Westerners loved it. All the Indian hated it. The West loves to see us as a wasteland, filled with horror stories of exploitation and degradation. But is that all there's to our beautiful city of Mumbai?"He is surprised that Mumbai is celebrating a film that shows only the city's underbelly."Why are we taking this treatment? Just because a white man has made 'Slumdog Millionaire', we're so happy with it? I've read Vikas Swarup's novel 'Q&A'. It should have been made by Mani Ratnam. Then you'd have seen what he would have done with Mumbai."The angry director wonders why there isn't a single shot in 'Slumdog...' that shows the more aesthetic side of Mumbai?"Why has Danny Boyle not taken one shot of Marine Drive? Do his slumdwellers exist only within their slums? And look at the absurdities...A boy becomes a national hero on a game show. One cop takes him under arrest and interrogates him relentlessly. Where is everyone else? Is this kind of confinement possible in this day and age when television cameras enter your bedroom? If one of our filmmakers had made the same film we would have blasted him out of business.""Let them give as many Oscars as they like. We don't need to be impressed," ends Priydarshan angrily.

செஷசாயின் ரமணமாலை

ஆழியலையாய் உயர்ந்த உயிரே
ராமனர்விலகில் அமைதி பெறுவாய்
கொடிதுயரில் சூழ்ந்த உடலே
ராமனரோளியில் மோட்சம் பெறுவாய்

சொந்தம்மில்லா பிரவிகேலாம்
தந்தை வடிவில் குருவுமுளார்
திசைகல்லில்லா போக்கை நீக்கி
தனது பழயணம் உனது என்பார்

வெகுளி வினைகள் இருளில் கண்ணீர்
மிடிமை நிறைந்த மனதில்லேலாம்
பிழைகள் நீக்கி சொந்தம் செய்ய
இருக்கும் ரமணா
போற்றி போற்றி
ரமண ஆத்மா
போற்றி போற்றி
ரமண ஆத்மா
போற்றி போற்றி

Opinion - The White Tiger

"

I guess, your Excellency, that I too should start off by kissing some god's arse.

Which god's arse though? There are so may choices.

See, the Muslims have one god.

The Christians have three gods.

And we Hindus have 36000000 gods.

Making a grand total of 36000004 divine arses for me to choose from.

"

When Salman Rushdie's Satanic Verses was banned, Muslim sentiments were cited. But here, Mr. Aravind Adiga, without sodomite intentions though, has raped his country and the religions that are contained within. What do we do? We garland him, we list him for "Indian of the Year" awards, we gift him gold-tipped pens, we lift him on our heads and cry out loud that he made our Nation proud by winning the Man Booker; and recommend him vigorously with sheer awe at how he made us proud and celebrated, by raping us and our identity in his 321-paged sin. We garland him and award him honours, when we ought to bang his bald pate with brass knuckles, banish him, his blasphemous ideas and his brilliantly snivelling book.

To all, who have not read the book, but have read the news bits raving about him, and have created a general intention to read the book sometime soon, create a specific aversion to him, and stay away from his book. He is after all a guy, who sold the dignity of his mother to earn accolades and riches.

Please save my Indian Face

The Indian ego has been busted. To the world now; The Kohinoor of 'India Inc.", the spearhead of "Surging India", the sheen of "Shining India" - the IT Industry - is just yet another humbug; yet another case of inflated credentials.

The trust we secured support by support, the confidence we built success by success, and the respect we gathered victory by victory, they will say now, are all the effects of dopes and drugs; Accounting Dopes that build bogus reserves, and corporate governance drugs that falsely resemble and exude a sense of carefully governed integrity.

The Indian Government cannot stand by and watch its own death. It is has to be aggressive and must show historic agility in the revamp process, for we are not prepared to take toothless excuses anymore.
Mr. Ramalinga Raju knows the "laws of the land" well, and so do we - that is why we say - "WE WANT CHANGE".

India's corporate studs and government torchbearers must understand - the common Indian is not a highway dog anymore. We know what is happening. We hear, we understand, we discrete. Ours lives have value and we need respect. We need accountable leaders and above all - WE NEED SATHYAM.

I SAY - "SLAY THE LIARS!" Lets hear the echoes, and lets gather the masses. Let us witness subsequent action. Let us see that change in governance, that is going to lift us billion Indians from the deep crevice of shame.

மார்கழி காலை

விடுதலை பெற்றது இரவானால்
மலரை தீண்டியது நிலவோ?

பணியில் குளித்து மலரானால்
பனி விழும் பொழுது பகலோ?

பகலில் ஒலிப்பது பன்னானால்
உரிகிடும் உயிரது குயிலோ?

தளிர்விடும் கிள்ளை அவலதானால்
பரிகிடும் மனது தாயோ?

செவிகளில் விழுந்தது ஸ்ருதியானால்
காலை லயமது மார்கழியோ?

மறு தாயே, நீ வேண்டும்மம்மா !

தாயே என்னை பாரம்மா
என் மோகங்களை நீ போக்கம்மா
நின் தேன் விரல்கள் என்னை வருடுகையில்
என் மனதினில் வினை எங்கோ போகுதம்மா

ஓவிய பாவை நீயம்மா
உன் காவிய தொண்டன் நானம்மா
உன் காலடி பூ எந்தன் விளையம்மா
நான் இருளிலும் பிரியாத நிழலம்மா

தருணங்கள் வந்தாலும் தருணங்கள் சென்றாலும்
தரத்தினில் இமை எந்தன் அன்பம்மா
ஆழ்கடல் சென்றாலும் ஆகாயம் வெந்தாலும்
ஓயாமல் காக்கும் என் இமைகலம்மா

என் சிந்தனைகள் யாவும் நீயம்மா
என் சாதனைகள் என்றும் உணதம்மா

பாதை ஒன்று வேண்டுமம்மா
அதில் வழி துணையும் ஒன்று வேண்டுமம்மா

இறப்பிலும் பிரியாமல் வேண்டும்மம்மா
இறுதிவரை வேண்டும்மம்மா
தாயே நீ வேண்டும்மம்மா !

The World of the Hospital

The pathetic screams and the craving wishes of undoing of death;

The crying mothers and bereaved wives, the orphaned children and mutilated relations;

The matter-of-fact doctors and the apathetic nurses;

The people hurrying inside the hospital, the people hurrying to heaven;

The deathbed for one subsequently a recovery bed for another;

The prescriptions to the chemists and black tickets to the mortuary;

The atmosphere of looming uncertainty,

The sleep and sleeplessness of many;

The life-shortening constraints of the material world and the medical luxuries that come with the excess of the same.

The frequent emergencies, the sepulchral ICUs, the beeping monitors and the morbid general wards;

The special smiles of relief and solemn secretive prayers;

The reminders of disrupted routines and abandoned appointments;

A fear in the heart transforming confidence in the ailing dear-one;

Get-well cards and mounting bedside bills;

This is the complex world of the hospital, the gateway between life and space, into and out of.

எதை தந்தான், எதை தரமருதான்

இது நான் எழுதிய முதல் பாடல். பிழைகள் இருந்தால், மனதில் திருத்திக்கொள்ளவும்.
பல்லவி
கடல் மீன்களுக்கு மழையில் நினையும் சுகம்,
சீரும் புலிகளுக்கு காட்டில் துளையும் பயம்,
இறைவன் என் தரவில்லை?
மனித உவமைக்கு அறிய உணர்ச்சிகள் மனிதனுக்கு சொந்தம்.
இது இயற்கையான பந்தம்.
அனுபல்லவி
காற்றைபோல நாம் கனவு காண இங்கு கருவி எதுண்டோ?
உலகின் சுகங்கள் அனைத்தும் அறிந்த பிறவி எதுண்டோ?
காதல் எட்கங்கள், கண்ணால் பேச்சுகள், கண்ணீர் காட்சிகள், சொல்லும் சாட்சிகள்.
வாழ்கை ஒரு உலக தொடர், மனிதன் அதில் மரும நபர்.
கடல் மீன்களுக்கு...
சரணம்
குயிலின் பாட்டில் கவிதைஎற்ற கவிஞன் எவன்னுண்டோ?
பிறந்த குழந்தை, kanindha kizhavan அன்பில் பெச்சுண்டோ ?
தாயும் தந்தையும் தந்த வாழ்விலே, சாவை தவிர இங்கு எலாம் உன் கையில்.
வாழ்கை ஒரு உலக தொடர், மனிதன் அதில் மரும நபர்.
கடல் மீன்களுக்கு...

என் தமிழ் சிந்தனைகளுக்கு குத்துவிளக்கு ஏற்றுதல்

என்னதான் ஆங்கிலம் என் முதல் பற்றானாலும், தமிழ் என் தாய்மொழி. எனக்கு தாயும் தமிழே, தெய்வமும் தமிழே. பள்ளிகூடத்தில் நான் தமிழ் படிக்கவில்லை. எனக்கு தமிழில் எழுதுவது சிரமம். தமிழ் படிப்பு தத்தளிப்பு. தமிழ் வார்த்தைகளை ஆங்கில சொற்களில் எழுதி தான் பழக்கம். உவமைக்கு, இதுவரை இங்கே நான் எழுதிய வரிகளிலும், இனி இங்கு நான் தமிழில் எழுத போகிற வரிகளிலும் எழுத்து பிழைகளும் சொல் தவறுகளும் இருக்கின்றதா இல்லையா என்று கூட என்னால் கண்டுப்பிடிக்க இயலாது. ஆனால் தமிழ் மொழி என் உடல் புகுந்து என் ஆத்மாவில் கலந்துவிட்டது. என் கரகோஷமும் தமிழில் தான், கதறலும் தமிழில் தான். இங்கே தமிழ் எழுத்துக்களை எழுதுவது சுலபம், நன்றி ப்லோக்ச்போடுக்கே. உடல் மண்ணுக்கு, உயிர் தமிழுக்கு. வாழ்க தமிழ், தங்கதமிழ் சங்கத்தமிழ்.

Essence of the Fourth Estate

There are two phenomena that are often misconstrued as one - What is just; and what is perceived as just. It should be obligatory on the part of the media to lead the masses from what they perceive as just to what is truly just. Strengthening perceptions are only less important, perhaps even insignificant when compared to developing the right perception. Media is actually one of the few powers that can bring about this CHANGE, at will/choice, that too.

The sublime "Good Night".

It is now time,
To drown our minds,
And,
To whet our souls;
In the Psalm of Sleep.

The Mail I shot to NDTV after a sudden attack of dissent.

My whole view of the media/NDTV has swayed in the past two days. When you covered the siege live, the stock of media/NDTV touched the peak in my heart. But currently, when you are still blowing a battered boring whistle and coming in the way of National decisions, which is absolutely of no use to the general public, your stock is at an ALL TIME LOW.
I am of the view that the media must SUPPORT the government in its role of governing and should NOT be hounds inspiring every civilian to over throw the government. I found so much of truth and verity in what Dr. Abishek Singhvi just said on the show with Burkha, and Burkha says nothing related to it, hides his point, and says he is the only politician brave enough to meet the public.
Let me convey one thing - While Burkha says we will not let the politicians divide us, she is actually dividing the politicians from the citizens, which is another disaster that could rage a much bigger carnage through our great democracy than any terrorist attack.

BURKHA - PLEASE DO NOT PLAY THE BLIND SHOOTER.

Completely Disgruntled
Not with you at this point of a bigger crisis
Seshasayee Gopi

COMING UP

Get on board as my raft sails into the waters of ISLAM, TERROR IN THE NAME OF JIHAD, THE HUMAN COST OF TERROR and the ilk. COMING SOON!

Fly on proud soul, you are free at last!

As a tenderfoot trying to understand death, I always thought it was somehow improper for caterwauling emotional great aunts, who were always nettlesome and garrulous in family re-unions, to one day, end up in a serendipitous coffin, unusually silent. The days, when I ran my fingers carefully over my baby-face to see if there were any signs of a moustache, and when I was growing incredibly restless to metamorphose into the inspirational man material my dad was, I had several revolutionary thoughts. I thought, I would burden upon myself to be the saviour of humanity when I became “big”, strive hard to find a medicine to cure death and give life to the way most stories I read always ended – “ … and lived happily ever after.”
As the pages in my life flapped by, my mental maturity grew pari passu with my moustache. This stage was marked by the demise of my grandfather, who always was, still is and will forever be my idol, whose mere memory never ceases to inspire and fill me with awe till this day. That night, when my grandpa rested on the laps of death, the following I wrote in my diary, with red eyes and a shaky hand – “Dear Thaatha, I am crying and groping in the dark, searching for your glorious bosom, I always found bliss burying my head into. Hours have gone by, I still am searching. Everyone say you are not there and you will not come back. But you have not gone anywhere, Thaatha. Your touch and smell is still clinging on to me, and will remain unaltered, for I have understood, the human heart is not just flesh, but something as brilliant as birth, as sublime as love, and as dark as death. The phase of brilliance and sublimity has expired along with you, and you have left me in transcendental darkness. But I am sure the darkness is ephemeral and our bond, eternal.” Trauma conquered my childhood ambition of curing death and in the course of a transition from mere fuzz to a pencil-line stache; I got a more realistic picture of death. Draconian, I thought, was the verity that it was only upto death to irrupt into the burden of old age and to ease the withering soul.
As time flew and stache grew, there were numerous deaths that numbed and shocked my heart, now entering teenage. My best friend’s dad, who was the genial best, a sharp-witted senior, a simple-hearted classmate, a vivacious junior, whose smiles and conversations I still treasure, and a teacher’s daughter, whose charisma, I admired, knew no bounds – all hurried out of my life and their own. Several questions, unanswered of course, erupted in my heart. Every death cavalcade I was part of, intensified my quest to form the right opinion about death. Several sleepless nights I spent, my mind lounging on what death left behind besides the body. During the course of an inquiry into myself, I found several answers. The grief of death lies not in the departure itself of the noble soul, but in the selfish realization that the departed has left us alone to fend for ourselves.
Who will I call again as Appa now?
Will I ever hear her voice again?
Will I ever look at his smiling face again?
How will I even live without her beside me?
Oh God!
It is here that we need to realize that it is our sensation of loss we are crying over, the void in our heart we are crying over, and not the life which lost itself. It is our feelings we are crying over, and not those of the departed.
Now I have learnt not to crib about death. Do we ever lament about the non-existent state of our loved ones before their birth? It’s the same non-existent state they have attained after death. They came, they lived, they left – nothing more, nothing less. But there is one thing that’s truly liberated – the soul from the prison of the body. I guess it is only something to be glad about. Fly on proud soul, you are free at last!