குறுந்தொகை

தமிழ் is my mother tongue. My mother, grandmother and my aunts were more than mere patrons of this beautiful language. Some of them wrote poetry and prose; others were serious dramatists. Even today, I can listen to my aunt recite பாரதியார் பாடல்கள் for endless hours with a kind of passion that is infectious... and I am so glad that another aunt took to writing after retirement.

Back in school, I wish I had done better than just memorize these verses for marks and medals.

After an inspiring conversation with 2 friends on Facebook over 2 weeks ago, I finally borrowed this book by A.K.Ramanujan "Poems of Love and War" from the library yesterday. I have not kept it down since. (People who know me well know exactly how rare such occurrences are! )

Reading the originals on 'Project மதுரை' and the translations by Sir Ramanujan - I feel terrible about how little attention I paid to my தமிழ் ஆசிரியர் in school. While I feel very sad about being able to appreciate my mother tongue better with an English translation, I am sure this is better than not appreciating it at all. I'd recommend you give it a shot.

Find below a sampler:

What could my mother be
to yours? What kin is my father
to yours anyway? And how
did you and I meet ever?
But in love
Our hearts have mingled
Like red earth and pouring rain.


Please grab the book if you enjoy poetry - am sure you won't regret it! :)

A Quiet Little Melody

I saw you as I walked outside;

Hanging around, by the curbside

Little things like these make me smile.

You held my hand and let me in;

Drove me home and waited still -

I looked at you to see if you’d smile.

I never wanted to be alone

Just wanted to be with you at home

So please, won’t you come along – tonight?

So when am scared to sleep at night,

You can tell me it’s alright;

So please, can you come along – tonight?

I‘ll hold you close and let you see,

All the lies that I have been;

Promise you that we will always be….

Together now and growing old,

Forever and for always more;

I will hold your hands and sing to you…

This quiet little melody

and I ask again...

Where did you go?
I miss you so.
Seems like its been forever...
Since you were gone.

Come back home.

.... of white shadows and black hopes

I burn for you to see.

…of people and places

Things and places always reminded me of times and people. This was always the way it happened. Objects brought more meaning to life. Strange? May be not!

She sat there, watching passerby's.

The wind was subtle. The place – crowded. There was little space left to maneuver; even for the wind. Probably why it remained subtle.

It could have been an hour, or may be even 2. The rains delayed the bus by a few hours. The not-so-dirty bench at the rear end of the platform was convenient. To watch, to smile, to smirk and to remain inert; immune to the chaos around.

Being the mute participant in multiple conversations, she continued to write... a story of borrowed characters and stolen dialogues. Little truth that captured the smell of sweat and wet iron of rusty buses made it real.

It kept her busy. Occupied.

And then he called….

Hence, another incomplete story.

Schizophrenia

Sometimes life is like that, there is always an invisible truth… a hidden reality… open secrets and surreal situations. It works on a simple truth – “Your life is REAL. But so is mine”. They say, emotions have that in them - the ability to bring to life memories. Love; most of all.

I’ve read books. I see there is so much to describe when it comes to mundane routines or even a crime scene. And I can’t help but wonder how Love seems to be the only thing that’s understood without words. Without words.

**********

But we did speak. A little, every now and then. No one asked me as many questions as he did. I had company. No one listened without judging me inside. And I have to agree, its tough finding people like that these days. Many judge by cover, I judge too – ‘instincts’; they say.

May be not.

I stumble upon more questions as I even try to answer the very first. What made me take that extra step?

He listened with patience. I preferred to think, he was observing closely. Sometimes, I even felt his gaze wash my skin.

Reluctant Panic. Both were mine. A sinful combination.

Such things can’t be ignored.

And some people can’t be forgotten. They can’t be remembered either. They just exist in your life. May be as tucked away memories of hurt… Or whispers of something you imagined…

***********

Welcome to my world. Here, nothing is new. Nothing is old. Its got me, myself and I.

With or Without You

To adolescent nights

Of infant love.

To sweet nothings…

Too many to count.





To silent words

‘n’ several sins…

To aquiline figures

Stagnant in time…





She left behind a story;

A wrinkled one.

Known to none; but

Two shadows in doubt.

PS: Totally inspired by an awesome line up of songs on my playlist! Someday when I can play the guitar - I will sing this song! ;)