Sorry.

Sorry doesn't make a dead man alive when it is tendered by lips and not by the heart.

The person dubbed as .... ka saudagar is tendering it from his heart . So says my heart.

The week that was.

I never considered myself as a political person.Politics involves a lot of manipulation that is simply too much of a burden for my simple and idealistic mind set.

The intro to net introduced me to politics.When I started writing what most of us talk in our drawing rooms or in parks or in a social gatherings amongst yourselves with no one person agreeing with anther's view. on social and national matters only to be forgotten the very next day or even the moment , started assuming a totally different meaning .

Except for politicians can a person be strictly left, centre or right?I doubt it.We keep moving from one position to another.

It bewildered me that blogs which I felt were only a vehicle to express one's views and thoughts , could be so highly politicised!

One is either this or that.Iam definitely not.I want to express myself on what I feel on a given point of time.That is all.

Well the week has been very eventful.

First the impeachment of a judge. The judge smartly turned out stood out amidst the faded kurta clads and looked like a CEO. He argued his case very well . Then the rebuttal by the leader of the oppsn point by point on the spot itself , shows the mental calibre, poise, and intellect some of the political leaders are endowed with.The impartial analysis of the constantly expanding frontiers of corruption was truly enlightening . Leaders do their home work pretty well.

Then the tamasha at Ramlila maidan.It looked like one , but the chief player started looking increasingly pathetic and worn down by his fasting that at one point i felt mighty guilty whilst taking my food. Here was a simple old man forgoing his meals for out sake and no one seemed to be much concerned about it.It looked like as if every one was waiting for him to die ,live!A ghoulish desire that I couldn't stomach.

I know first hand how precious a life is. And how it can be lost due to selfishness, indifference and hatred.

If not for the non stop coverage by Macaulay putra's I wouldn't have seen for myself the fast detoriation of a person, a stranger just a fortnight ago and felt keenly his predicament.

Then the gracious appeal from PM and his amazing speech! It has left me speechless! He has finally found his voice ! And how! The collective appeals from the parliament shows that beneath the layers of hardened sensibilities a warm heart does tick in every politician.

I could sympathise with the anger of the regent [ but not with the bogey of communalism] delivered with a flourish in his speech [my, my the amul baby has come of age] against the team.I too felt it when they turned down the appeals of leaders with a paranoia that makes me wonder whether they , the swelling crowds aided by tv visuals are covertly abusing an elderly man for their ends. Honourable or materilistic. Whatever.

When i sat , eagerly to watch the debate in parl next I was totally dismayed by the speaker'allowing some other matter totally unconnected with the current burning issue making me wonder whether it was by design. Were the team justified in their fears? And the opposition right in their allegations doubting the sincerity of the ruling party?

The games politicians play. Is there a award for those?

Today[Sat]a blow to my plans to entertain myself with the eloquence of our netas in real time and not in the mock parli---tv cahnnels was delivered by the EB.They have thrown a spanner in the works by choosing this day to cut current exactly at 10 am till now .Hmm that is life.

PS. A word about the ex cops mimicry on the Dias.[I think she was mimicking the entire political fraternity and not any single party.]

It was top class. .Especially the part where she covers her face with a scarf. De talli! Sorry all you political folks and the prim and proper ones , I thoroughly enjoyed it and am looking forward to some more , preferably in celebration of ending the fast , soon.

Dil ho to aisa!

The peal of appeals from the well to take meals.

Anna take anna.

'O' Anna your not partaking anna makes me feel that I am a Huna,whenever I have my anna.

Huna or Huns----cruel person or tribe.

The suburban train.

I have passed the Thiruninravur railway station several times in the past decades on my way toTirupathi . I was aware that it was host to an ancient temple and my decisions to visit it was like an oath taken during labour pains--prasava vairagyam.

Today the moment had actually arrived . And there I was boarding an suburban electric train .The second class seats are hard . There is no cushioning here but the fare is soft , only 14 Rs for a 30-40 kms trip! The floors were littered with empty ground nut shells and mausambi peels. The seats were crowded with young mothers with infants returning home either after shopping or after paying social calls.There were also groups of college students [mixed] who were pulling each others legs and whiling away the time taken to reach home[ it was 5 pm] by playing with mobiles that crackle to life by a mere touch.

It seems a eternity since I first travelled in a electric train.Was i rubbing shoulders with the great unwashed?No.Most commuters were neat and well fitted out .

The only specimen from the past parade of poor were the incongruously dressed Kurathi's---gypsy women selling beads . They have preserved their past to perfection . Their wares , that is the beads have however become chunkier keeping in tune with current trends in fashion!

Visually impaired men were selling mobile covers.In all probability they are graduates who are making the ends meet till they are appointed as teachers by the govt.

What amused me was a fierce looking vendor of mausambhis ,who had plonked his huge basket on the way and his glowering and hurling abuses at two young men who dared to step over his cargo and obstruct his business for those few seconds!That those strapping young lads took this bullying meekly ,really surprised me.

After visiting the temple I boarded the ladies compartment ,for my return journey.Ah! This was totally a new world altogether.Most women who were returning home from their work as clerks,IT workers, teachers,and lower staff's had stretched out their aching limbs comfortably on the seats accommodating each other s limbs . Some were dozing and others chatting on their mobiles. One woman in particular was shrieking over her phone disrupting everyone's peace. Thankfully the recipient of this blast on the other side cut it off after some time and became unavailable.

If you thought that only adolescent boys stood on the rocking and swaying entrance of the train for thrills you would be surprised as I was .There were several women balancing themselves near the open doorway though there was no dearth of vacant seast ! They were enjoying the wind streaming from the speeding train .And there was a woman with a infant too.

All in a days work!

Anna ,manna and sapna!

Anna is the manna to many a munnas and is a simha sapna to many a manaa's.

PS.In Tamil manaa means ruler.

Agandaiya ? Vindhaiya?

Vellai roja pondra malarndha mugam ,kulirindha parvai , menmaiyana pechchu!

Yen varanda vazhvil sugamana thendralai, inbha idaivellaiyai valam vara seidhu,

andha anbana mottu malarum munbhe parrithu vittai .

Yen? Yarrukhaga? Yedharkaga?

Meendun palaivana mana vazhkaiyil puthagangalai thunaikondu khazhippadarka?

Yennaal indha ulagam siridhenum payanura yen maganin uyir thaan mooladhanama?

Yidhu yen agandhaiyin villaiva? Alladhu Vallavane idhu vun vikaramana vindhaiya?

Little white rose---Birthday remembrance--14.8.1983

Though the scent of my life was cruelly smothered the fragrance called memory has escaped and lingers on .

In my memory you still reign as a little white rose.

Little rose, my little white rose , not so white yet whiter than a white rose, wherever you might be , memories are for me to keep.

Translations.

Of late I have taken to translating Tamil poems into English.

My toughest customer was Bharathiyar.A translator either tends or has to get into the mind set of the original author . And I found Bharathiyar's turbulence of emotions and his anger very difficult to negotiate.

I think a woman can never experience such turmoils and churning's and scale such high emotional peaks . And this was no ordinary man! At least I couldn't and extricated myself by putting a full stop to it.

Aazhwars hymns in comparison are easier to translate.Their pleasing poetry and simple but deep devotion ,is very refreshing.

I am again encountering a problem ,that of deficit of intellect whilst translating Desikan's slokas or hymns.His intellect ,creativity and optimistic faith is so high that it leaves me flabbergasted.I have been scared stiff of his poetic skills . I daren't venture further and translate his other scholarly works,like philosophy and so on.

My translations are few , just scratched the surface. The energy I encountered flattened me to the ground.I can't even begin to imagine the magnitude of the energy that prompted these great poets to spin forth inspirational poems in hundreds and thousands, seemingly effortlessly!

Petition.

The only wealth my street is accumulating day by day is garbage.

The sole occupation of all in here is swatting mosquito's that seem to multiply 10 fold for one taken!

'O' Devas unlock your hard hearts and grant us lowly beings the boon of cleanliness.

PS. I am looking forward to the day when I need never petition the lord with this prayer.

Discovery

The other day I saw a few men clambering through a dark and mysterious looking caves with their flash lights held high , its light reflected by the river flowing silently below.. This kindled my curiosity and I watched on , in one of those animal channels.

Thise was either in Laos or Cambodia i forget the exact country , but have not forgotten the explorers excited exclamations about this vast network of caves being hidden from view this long , as well as their obvious pride spilling all over at their magnificent 'discovery'.

Their excitement was contagious and I gripped my chairs arm rest . Then I saw a local ferrying these Westerners across the river on his boat.

So now where is this great discovery? Those boats men seem to know the maze of tunnels and caves like the back of their hand . It was obvious that they had been in this new found discovery 100's of times before.And here are these Wn jumping in joy at their discovery.

All that they have done is to photograph it well and bring it to the drawing rooms of Westerners and people like us , interested in their antics.

What ever a wn finds before another wn it is a 'discovery', How limited is some Wn's view of mankind and how amusing is their very bloated sense of self importance. It reminds of the frog in the well syndrome.

America's, Australia and Newzealand had human habitations and civilisations for 1000's of years but only when wn land on these continents it is ''discovered'..World according to them revolves solely around them and every thing in it is theirs and is only for their advancement and amusement.

Now why do I see these irritating and yet fascinating channels time and time again? Now why do I see anchors spewing, stuttering, patronising, cutting and hectoring time and time again?

There is no other go.

A single grain.

Recently I read a compilation of short stories translated in English of 2 greatest Bengali writers , thinkers philosophers scholars all personified in the much respected and idolised personages of Rabindra nath Tagore and Bankinchandra chatterjee.

I really wished that I knew Bengali when I read Chatterji's stories to appreciate and savour the word picture he brings to mind more fully and deeply.

I had no such feelings when I read Tagore.He also conveys the exact settings as it was but without the poetic description of the former . But what he says goes straight to the heart and doesn't require one to be familiar with the nuances of his mother tongue ,the medium of his expression.

I am ducking in anticipation of the stones that are sure to be pelted at me by Bengali scholars. writers and thinkers for daring to to voice my opinion on their icons [ as well as Bharat's ]after reading just 2 books.

Well blogging is all about expressing one's views how ever crass it may be.

There is a saying in Tamil 'Orru sorru orru pannai sorukku padham '. I t is enough to test a single grain to find out whether the rice in the pot is cooked.

Books read;'She' by Tagore,

'Kapalakundala' and other stories by Chatterji

The sunset club.

If a person can live up to 95 years which is by itself a remarkable achievement and further writes book at that age which most of us would never reach and those who would surely be doddering and senile, kindled my curiosity to read the book Sunset club of Kushwant singh.

I quit reading his novels long while ago when I found them short of stories and long of lurid details of unnatural relationships.

I reasoned that a person edging swiftly to his final tryst will have something to say that is truthful. Hence I picked it up from the library's shelf.

He has retained the knack of not allowing the readers interest to flag despite his very old age.Politics and religion are the topics of discussion along with his trademark digressions.

This brings to my mind young Rama's desolate cry when confronted with the harsh realities of life in the treatise Vasishta suktam,discomfited by old age" How terrible it is to see a danseuse well past her prime and charm insist on dancing like a young woman".

Did some one say old age is second childhood? And may I add it is also an age obsessed with bowel movements. This is the general hang I got after reading this authors latest book.

The charade of life.

The koel's calling each other from the darkened silhouettes of mango and palm trees is the final call of the day!

It is preceded by the piercing screeches of parrots flying in groups to their nightly shelter.

Before them are the pigeons racing each other to wherever their perches maybe,for the night.

Even before them ,when the sun starts dipping in the west the crows turn restless ,circling , diving and assembling on roof tops.

All these daily rituals , preparations for a good nights rest is in synchronisation with the sun's sleep.

But the sun will rise every dawn without fail. Can one say that every bird going to sleep will wake up the following morn?

My son too slept with the sun as a child and did the same anon.

This charade of life is going on since aeons and will surely go on for some more to come . For whom and for what?