Tam Brahm.

today was a very interesting day, to say the least.
i shall not go into details about it, because this blog is ending up little more than a sequential description of events. which is not what it was started out to be.

nee paartha paarvaikkoru nandri
nammai saertha iravukkoru nandri
ayalaadha ilamai sollum nandri, nandri
agalaadhe ninaivu sollum nandri, nandri
uyire, vaa.

this song has been playing on my zen, and in my head, repeatedly for the past few days. and only when i realised that i had subconsciously memorised the lyrics did i reflect upon them. they are direct, no doubt about that. but i still find that they mean a lot to me. especially the last two lines.

i hate it when i can relate to songs. i feel very violated when that happens, as though someone has just taken a peep into my life and written it down in verse. this frustrates me to no end, because although the events in my life are plain for you to see, the thoughts that run through my head are not meant for you to read. my head is not supposed to be penetrable.

the thrill of being able to think, the thrill of intellect is producing the product of your own created process. you created the process, thereby creating the product. and writing it as a song just seems as though somebody snipped off the last bit, at the expense of my emotion, and taken credit for it. its a terrible, terrible feeling. makes me cry.

but it also makes me cry that they are able to put it so much more beautifully than i would ever have been able to.

this phenomenon happens more in tamil than in english. my long term comparison of both the languages led me to deduce that it is because tamil is so much more beautiful a language than english is. While i was thinking about this at school today, i tried to think what it would sound like if the meaning of the song was written in english, and i did it in the most poetic way i could, so it would be a fair comparison. this was the product:

Thanks be to the moment you looked at me so true
Thanks be to the night that joined me to you
This relentless youth of mine, it wishes to express its gratitude.
As do your eternal memories, that remind me of you.

There was no way, after hearing the tamil lyrics, that i could find english words to string together and form verses as beautiful as in tamil. i almost didn't want to, it wouldn't be doing justice to the original lyrics at all. Tamil is the most beautiful language. it can mould itself to fit any meaning. the way the sounds form around your mouth conveys a meaning of its own. and don't even get me started on how exotic sounding tamil can be. some of the hottest songs i know are in tamil.

for example, yaakkai thiri. shrew said that yaakkai thiri means "my body is the wick" and kaadhal sudar is "love is the flame", after which fanaah means nirvana, although that isn't tamil. there's nothing in english that could convey the intensity of the words in tamil, and make it sound like a poem with pure sounds- strung together.

I am glad to have learnt such a deep language, whose words and sounds have so much more meaning than the message they convey. the medium is the message, said marshall mcluhan. i think i finally get the meaning of that. in ways that msc could never have taught me. i am glad i learnt how to write it, that i know how to speak it, that i am proud of it. i feel so sympathetic towards the "diaspora tamilians" who consider it such a shame to speak tamil, or don't have the opportunity to learn it. If nothing else, they lose out on the experience.


yes, it is ironic that i should get tamil grades like mine despite the passion i have for the language. but i think i would enjoy tamil literature more than what we do in tamil in school. and having been brought up by a father like mine, and a grandfather like mine, it is difficult not to love the language. not that i do not want to. i grew up on a diet of poetic tamil lullabys (lullabies?), tamil stories, intricately crafted tamil songs, and tamil jokes (dirty or otherwise) and i am unbelievable thankful that i was.

with the entire carnatic music awareness issue, and the food, and the love for the tamil language, i realised something today:

I am a true blue TamBrahm.
To think thats exactly what i did not indentify myself with all these years. Not that i wanted to, or didn't want to. I just never saw myself as one.

But i think i have grown into, and now fit, the perfect picture. it's probably not a bad thing. just an observation i am making.
It's been a long day and its pretty late. i think i'm going to go to bed now.
Night.

of philosophy and free men.

hey you.

and you and you and you.
and how are you today?
its a fine day, isnt it?

this is what happens when you drink tea in the morning. i do love the feeling though. sends mad rushes through my head, and the extremeties of my body (meaning my fingers and my toes of course, and nothing else ) tingle. its a pretty fantastic feeling. gives you a rush for the entire morning.


yesterday, after philosophy (which turned out to be extremely interesting, for reasons that would make the Hart and Devlin turn in their graves.) me and vanessa were at the bus stop. and later we were in the bus, naturally. that is the natural order of things. and we had a couple of pretty bizarre conversations. vanessa made me feel about this small, if you will imagine a suitable hand action at this juncture, with the things she said. oh oh and i saw mr.freeman. the stall 10 bandung works wonders. its my miracle drink. it is doing great things for me. perhaps one day it will be hailed as the new elixir of life [you will think two things at this point of time. its the second one.] i've got such a worry sense of humour.

next to me at this point of time are my two hamsters. i don't know if they're mine yet. but with any luck they will be, soon enough. i need to think of names. no suggestions, please. my poor dustbin-found hamsters do not deserve the names that i know you will give them.

i feel good today. i've been doing good things, for myself. indulging, you could call it. [yes, in bandung, but other things as well.] what i have NOT been doing, is my math and tamil. but like i told someone yesterday, denial is the first step to realisation. and i want to realise. so i will deny that i have any homework now. or that math and tamil even exist.

oh dear, my arguments would make mr.t flinch. and i cant even name the fallacy that i'm committing. do you commit fallacies? :/ mr. t- i'm not always this bad. i promise, mr. t. i am usually capable of better arguments. ask my mom, she will tell you.

i have 1 h 45 minutes left. and i've got other things to do. as much as typing on this iBook G4 does make me very happy, i must fare thee well.
byebye.

angry amoeba

this is pure unadulterated genius, and at its best at that.

bah you.

i could blog about a lot of things right now.

i could blog about the ARR concert.
i could blog about certain emails that i've gotten, and sent out.
i could blog about deteriorating relationships.
i could blog about how much i miss my chechi.
i could blog about how much work i have to do.
i could blog about how i finally realised how bad i am at tamil.


but lately i've been feeling not significantly higher than a snake's ankle. and i blog best when im happy. so you're going to have to satisfy yourselves with this bland entry until i have the strength to come up with better.

and its 7.09. which is nine minutes past the time i set for myself to go and start on my work. and now its ten. i really should go.

so until next time, pray for me to get better and stop scribbling random doodles of code on every worksheet while blanking out in class and thinking things i should not.

cheerios.
[oh, the agony of forced irony.]

The Schism

I see you.
splitting us into boxes
with stamps that quell us.

Child though i may be,
blind i am not.
I still see.

Your planes and trucks don't fool me.
Your words and messages and microphones,
they don't smother the schism.

People fall in everyday.
Deeper, into the sea
of green and orange and brown
The reds of brotherhood bind them;
and the whites of illusion blind them.

But not me.
I still see.

Your wires are no substitute for our vines.
Your words are no substitute for our veins.
Our trees are still green, and will be.
Wherever you take us.

Your papers and print don't fool me.
Your bullets and guns and tongues,
They don't smother the schism.

For with your newspapers around my feet;
I will dance to my song.
Which you cannot hear.
You Angels are deaf to it.

But i am not blind.
I still see.

muse

my muse is back.

i feel creative today. slash artistic. so why am i not starting on my art?
becase bust portraits bore me. because drawing pictures of my own crooked face seems like too much of a challenge for me to handle at this point in time. because if i start now, within half an hour my rage will get the better of me and force me to abandon the project.

but if i don't, his rage will. and i assure you, his rage is far more frightening than my own. and this is one wrath i do not wish to incur.

but i was saying that i feel creative. i feel like getting out of the house with a dv camera and shooting a movie. i feel like taking out a pen and a piece of paper and writing songs and poems until the world around me becomes a blur.

songs about the world. songs about politics. songs about peace. songs about violence. songs about heat. songs about women. songs about men. songs about children. songs about rain.

its raining now.
and inside, i'm burning.
but my muse won't let me go.

the chronicles of a wannabe fitness guru

in attempts at making my level o physical fitness increase [it has, unfortunately, plateaued with slight (or rather steep) dips every now and then, since primary 3], i did some sit-ups on sunday.

so, brimming with earnest, i laid out my exercise mat on the floor of my room, changed into comfortable clothes and lay down to do some sit ups.

i did around 8, after which the pain started building up. which is what is supposed to happen, with sit ups. but in the state of sheer exasperation that i was in by the time around 15 sit ups were over, i assumed i was doing something wrong. [and believe me, if you had seen me then, you'd have thought the same].

but since i laid out the mat a mere 3 minutes ago, i did not wish to admit defeat to a bunch of measley physically strenuous body movements.

so i promptly turned myself over and tried doing some push ups. i summoned to my mind an image of shrew doing her situps with such ease, and now inspired, i arranged myself in the same way that shrew did before she started.

only, once i started, i resembled a water buffalo rather than shrew.

so, after much mental coercion, i managed to do one push up. once i was done with this task of gargantuan proportion, i found myself in a position that i didn't recall sruthy being in at all. now more perplexed than ever, i picked myself up and rearranged myself in the starting position.

and now, with a humongous amount of effort, i pushed my body down.

and down it went.

i felt a sharp shooting pain in the left side of my neck, and one of the hand that i was using to support myself went up to support my neck. this meant that i was (gasp!) imbalanced, and so, aside from the pain in my neck, i was also experiencing a pain in my left shoulder, due to the impact when i hit the floor.

and now these spasms or whatchumaycallems were increasing with every degree i moved my head.
try to imagine the situation i was in, and empathise if you will.

and on top of this, the doors were closed [ i didn't expect myself to be a physical fitness guru who would do push ups single-handedly and not break into a sweat- i didn't want the entire family to se my attempts at reviving my fitness level ], and my ego wouldn't permit me to call for assistance.

so i just lay there, periodically moving my head to see if the pain had gone away.
eventually it did.

so i got up, rolled back my exercise mat with as much gusto as i had rolled it out, and gracefuly got up, and promised to start smaller the next time.

like flexing my toes perhaps. or moving my fingers.

(:

quick update.

yesterday was fantastic. it went better than i expected, and im very happy jared gave me the opportunity to be part of it. i learnt so much, and i met so many interesting people. and the best part was that they all took me seriously, in spite of my age and my lack of credentials. and plus, i went in school uniform. Melissa was really nice to me, she really integrated me into the whole thing and made sure i didn't feel lost. very thankful for that. And I made the best of it, said whatever i believed.

in summary, i feel great.

will be going again on the 21st. i'm not too thrilled about missing three options, but i'm not going to miss an opportunity like this. im glad james and jared will be there. i dont feel coherent or eloquent, but i feel the need to write about it.

i need to read up more. before wednesday.

anyhow, my mother said something to me this morning that made me very happy. what she said seemed to be her way of telling me that she was proud of me. and she doesn't say (or even imply, for that matter) that very much.

i think im finally taking the reins in my life. and doing what i believe in. and working hard for it. and enjoying every bit of my life right now.
theres nothing im doing now that i dont enjoy. im passionate about what i do. im firm about what i believe in. and ive got great friends and acquaintances, to help see me through all this.

life is good, baby. and its only getting better.

popular yahoo searches:

jessica alba.

*sniggers to self*

[i know i am supposed to be against using asterisks as a replacement for real actions, but there are times where it is more appropriate than any other way of saying that amuses me.]

on another note, options are absolutely fascinating, and i, as of now, don't even mind staying back till 6.30 for philo because the module is brilliant, the things we do are brilliant, and the class is even more brilliant. people are willing to talk,and larger class sizes, contrary to what i thought, seem to be better for philo. atleast from the perspective of an extrovert. because the larger the class size, the more perspectives you gain. and when you make a statement, there's always opposition, which [atleast now] is good, because im learning so much.

katradhu kaimannalavu, kallaadhadhu ulagalavu, to quote a tamil proverb.

my doctor was right. philosophy is a very enriching thing, and even fundamental to life, you could say.

many thanks to jared for reassuring me that i'm not a complete ignoramus. exactly what i wanted to hear. yay! im a stickler for compliments, as i am for romantic literature and cute old people.

good luck to all for everything coming up.
i dont know.
options. prelims. weddings? whatever.

cheers.

think, people of the world!

i just got back from the doctor's, after a fascinating discussion with my doctor on things ranging from philosophy to literature to documentaries to cooking. my doctor is far more interesting than i ever thought doctor's could be. he's so much like my dad, always willing to learn more, find out more, and do whatever it takes to do so.

inspiration truly lies where you least expect it.

anyway, he was telling me about this question he read which often sparks fantastic discussion. and although i've heard the question before, i never thought about it as much in depth as i did today. and its surprising how little i think about things nowadays. its good i've got more time now, to do all my reading and all my thinking. im happy for that.

i just thought i'd post the question up here for everyone to think about:

If a tree fell in the forest, and nothing was around to hear it, did it make a sound?

its very much got to do with the whole issue of what defines reality. is it something we can see? is something real simply because we see it? then what about god? we haven't seen god, so what makes people so sure that he's real? is it experiences, then? but if this is the case, you never heard the tree falling. you did not experience anything to tell you that it made a sound. so what makes you so sure it did?

mind-boggling. the most perplexing thing about questions like these is that the more you think, the more questions arise. and you seldom find answers, which is what leaves people so confused. this is why people stop thinking. but the more you think, and the more questions you have, the more knowledgable you are on a subject, the more perspectives you have. and this will eventually enable you to make a stand. and your stand will give you answers.

but you cant do any of that unless you think.

so, the summary of this entire entry, humans, is that we should all think far more than we do everyday. we think so little. atleast, i do. there are so many issues in the world that have more answers. there are so many things for us to learn about the world.

i think i finally understand what they mean by a thirst for knowledge.
and the idiots guide to the middle easy conflict shall temporarily serve as my water, until i get to better and more challenging sources.

cheers.

If I can stop one Heart from breaking
I shall not live in vain
If I can ease one Life the Aching
Or cool one Pain

Or help one fainting Robin
Unto his Nest again
I shall not live in Vain.

-Emily Dickinson

i think i have found my calling.
oh, happy day.
and so forth.

i can't tell my temperature because we don't own a thermometer, but my hopeful guess is that its going down.

i need to fart.
oh wait.
just did.


yeah crunch. im never going to experience wedded bliss.
except if its with a potato, or a vegetable of some sort.

In This House

In this house there is no room.

There is no room for voices.
When there are voices, there are tears.
And there is no room for a river.

There is no space for space.
Your boundaries gently brush across mine,
as mine do to yours.
Any spaces must be filled up.
With voices, even.
Voices are better than space.

There is no room for breath.
For breath forms a bubble,
and floats just above the reach of children,
and just out of view of adults,
and gently dissolves when nobody notices.

There is no room for maybes.
They were chased out, disowned years ago.
Black sheep of the family, that maybe.
Along with buts and ifs.
There is only one word here.
And you must know it.

Laughter is like a visiting guest.
We make room for it sometimes,
atleast to fill in the spaces between the boundaries.

Objection is a forbidden word.
Words evoke concepts and concepts evoke rebellion.
and there is no room for rebellion,
as rebellion breaks the normality.
and the latter is everything.
It is the food of this house, and the water.
And it is dark, and black.
it drips heavily frop the taps
and lurks in cracks in the walls.
Where you'd least expect it.

Someday these windows will break.
And sunlight will stream in.
It wil break your boundaries, and mine.
and create spaces, where it will dance;

Dance to the nakedness of your word.
And we will bathe in this light.
You can lurk in the shadows.
Or you can join us.

dialogue

Here is a snippet from a dialogue i had with The Mother, whose humour by the way, is more dark and satirical than i have noticed it to be. I like talking to The Mother, an unexpected line like this suddenly comes up when you least expect it.

[ the both of us are sitting down on the sofa, watching the news. First there is something about Katrina which leads me to think about the floods in bombay a while ago.]

Me: Amma, how is the situation in bombay now? is everything cleared up?
The Mother: Yes yes, everthing is better now.

[the newsreader starts talking about the plane crash in medan.]

Me: There's never any good news on the news anymore.
The Mother: Yes exactly.
Me: The world is ending, amma. I can feel it.

[long pause]

The Mother: I only wish they'd give us the exact date. That way I wouldn't have to do the washing.

***

Isn't she funny? I think The Mother is a hoot! I love her graveyard wit. Its like Offred's.
Aside from the humour, i truly thought about what was going on in the world. It makes me very grateful to have a family, and a funny one at that, even if their actions are a tad embarrassing at times [read previous entry]. But I must admit it kept me incredibly amused. And I do love them very very much, just to reiterate.

I also thought about the thing about the news never showing any good news anymore. and i realised i don't actually recall the news showing good news. Like what? Plane takes off safely. No Problems between India and Pakistan today. I suppose thats why they call it news, then. Because its unnatural! They only show unnatural things, and most unnatural things tend to be bad, is all!

I'm so clever at these deductions its almost obscene.

apocalypse NOW!

have i mentioned my theory that the apocalypse is fast arriving.

Last night, while sleeping, I had some dreams of a rather disturbing nature.
They involved MRTs running on roads, alongside cars and buses, a national uniform (red shirt and red trousers- a kind of cross between the cultural revolution and the handmaid's tale), and frighteningly tall buildings. i dont remember much more details about the dream (i.e: plot, structure, etc.) but the mental images i had were enough to frighten me into waking up. at 8 in the morning on a school holiday. justified?

so anyhow, i woke up. and i walked to the kitchen, made myself a nice wholesome breakfast, and sat down to read the papers.

and the main page was something about a molester. and they described his activities as a "reign of terror". it was quite amusing really, since this 'terror" was having to face a man masturbating on lift landings and stairways. of course, there's the molesting that you had to face, but the article made it seem as though the women found the concept of a naked chinese man with a tshirt around his head touching himself publicly more frightening than having your own body parts touched.

honestly, i think any woman would be more frightened by the latter, considering that its a direct intrusion of your privacy.
anyhow, the point is, they described this sex-deprived fanatic's actions as "a reign of terror". This is what they described Saddam's regime as. This is what I would describe the Gileadean goverment to be. Comparing a 9 time molester to Saddam is what made me think. Its really no wonder people say don't read ST, with parallels like these.

also, three of the most powerful men in the world are having a debate about bras. of course, its more than that, but for the sake of publicized journalism, you have to put it in the most concise, and most humiliating way. and when you put it like that it seems to support my theory.

i think this is the most manipulative, fallacious argument i've put forward in a long time. i love it. hah.

snore, old man in the skies.

I could start off this entries with boisterous cries of exuberance.
but you can go to any other random rgs girl's blog to get that.
i'm different. slightly odd and awkward. but different sums it up real nice.

or i could start it off the way i'm going to.
like this.


hello.


for those of you who are unaware (which is all of you, except me and the creatures in my head), this is the situation i am in now.

outside, it rains relentlessly. under normal circumstances, this would be a good thing. but coupled with the throbbing pain in my cranium, the rain just seems to be annoyingly, and without reason, wetting the world.

i am quite horribly bored. i went to school, came back home, went to school again and came back home again. and, although this need not be said, i slept on every bus ride, except the last one back.
as a result of this terrible mindless behaviour, i cannot catch a wink of sleep now. and for lack of a more eloquent conclusion, that sucks ah.

i could attempt to illustrate the most interesting thing that happened to me today, *coughcoughifoundmylobstercoughcough* but my head, my fingers, and your conscience beg me not to get into that.

besides, i need to go play hapland.

these noodles taste like fart.

excerpt from the prophet

here is an excerpt from the prophet, by kahlil gibran
which has once again proved to be an excellent guide to decisions and choices.

***

Then said Almitra, "Speak to us of Love."

And he raised his head and looked upon the people, and there fell a stillness upon them. And with a great voice he said:

When love beckons to you follow him,

Though his ways are hard and steep.

And when his wings enfold you yield to him,

Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.

And when he speaks to you believe in him,

Though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you. Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.

Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,

So shall he descend to your roots and shake them in their clinging to the earth.

Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.

He threshes you to make you naked.

He sifts you to free you from your husks.

He grinds you to whiteness.

He kneads you until you are pliant;

And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may know the secrets of your heart, and in that knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace and love's pleasure,

Then it is better for you that you cover your nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of your tears.

Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself.

Love possesses not nor would it be possessed;

For love is sufficient unto love.

When you love you should not say, "God is in my heart," but rather, I am in the heart of God."

And think not you can direct the course of love, for love, if it finds you worthy, directs your course.

Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:

To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

To know the pain of too much tenderness.

To be wounded by your own understanding of love;

And to bleed willingly and joyfully.

To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;

To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;

To return home at eventide with gratitude;

And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.

***

naturally, nothing beats having a copy at hand to highlight and scribble on and literally turn to.

but for the desperate, here is an online link to the entire script:

of mutagens and paintbrushes

i was just sitting down staring at a screen that was telling me about spontaneous mutations, induced mutations, tautomers and the like, while stroking my eyelashes like i always do when i am concentrating.

and i made a rather astounding discovery.

if i plucked out every single one of my eyelashes, straightened them out using a hair straightener, arranged them according to length, and put them back together with the longest ones in the middle and the shorter ones surronding it, it'd make a pretty fantastic round tip paintbrush.