The ant, unafraid
walks into honey-laden
Palaces of death…
Joie de vivre May 3, 2009
Smile!
Send to me again,
the fragrance of the earth;
Fill my ears again
with the music of the rain;
Sing to me again
the joys of the rainbow;
Plant in me again
the magic of a smile;
Flow unto me again
the waters of the stream;
Light in me again
the glow of a dream;
Come unto me again,
Life, with all your whims…
He February 21, 2008
He waited not for me
At the banks of the river,
He brought not for me
Garlands of scented flowers.
He spoke not to me
Of things great and small;
He brought with him
a great palanquin
Studded with gems;
He promised to make me
the Queen of his heart.
Will you please go tell him
I am no Queen?
that I have mud on my feet
and my clothes are torn ?
I have to go pick mangoes
with Kishan today ;
Will you go and tell him,
that I am no queen?
Pages from my diary April 24, 2007
[ I usually do not post about personal things like my trips.. but today I am feeling a little "un-heard".. So my blog bears the brunt! 
]
21 April 2007: Amma, Raghu and I set out for Chennai. I miss my Appa, especially at railway stations. He would be after my life asking me to eat mirchi bajjis, or samosas, or medu vadas, even as I vehemently shook my head: NO!
Anyway, it is a pretty uneventful trip.
22 April 2007: We reach Chennai Central, catch an auto to Egmore. As usual, Amma grumbles about the auto drivers.The coffee in Chennai tastes heavenly.. We help ourselves to a cup each. Breakfast is yummy pongal and idlis from Saravana Bhavan. We get on to the Koodal Express. I make friends with two cute kids, Pradeesh and Sarika, and dole them out Amar chitra kathas. The boy decides to keep one of them, in my ‘memory’.
We hop out of the train at Ariyalur. There is no platform to greet our tired feet, rather, we have rocks. We run across them and the tracks, trying to escape a train chugging onto our way. We come out unscathed. Only, Amma’s chappal goes kaput. My hair is dishevelled and my backpack hangs down quite ungracefully. We run out of the station, baggage in hand. To our luck, there is a bus to Thanjavur waiting right outside. We rush in, take our seats.
An hour later we reach Thanjavur bus stand (old). We get into a mini bus. There is some nice music playing. I am feeling thoroughly entertained. We get down at EB colony and walk half a kilometre to my aunt’s ( my mother’s sister) house. This is their new house. I do not like this house very much, I liked their previous ones better.. especially the one on Vilar Road. It had red oxide flooring and an attic cum store room on the first floor. This room had all sorts of unimaginable things: a broken fan, notebooks from 1950, books with notations for various kritis ( my thatha was an artist with the AIR ), cockroaches, lizards, bags of rice, vadams from last year, workbooks from Sacred Heart High School, old sarees, kutti empty bottles of “kasturi”tablets, old mugs and buckets, the lot! I miss rummaging through all that, which seemed like great treasures…
We bathe, eat, dress. I somehow feel like dressing up, which is a rare moment. I wear a printed silk saree and put on kajal and eye liner. I also wear jasmine in my hair. We take a qualis to Swamimalai temple. The ride is extremely pleasant: A.R. Rehman music in the background and roads lined with green fields and coconut trees.
We reach the temple at around 5 pm. It makes me very nostalgic, because I have visited this temple many times as a child. I remembered all those “running races” from the entrance to the top floor where the main sannidhi is, those fights over the cheap “kaleidoscopes” we bought outside the temple, getting blessed by the temple elephant, the scramble for prasadam, the peacock they once had.. We have a very good darshanam.
We stop by for tea. There is a beggar who is begging for tea: Amma, tea vaangi kudu! ( Mother, get me tea!). I am very amused. My mother, the beggar and I have tea. It tastes very good. We buy sweets from Bombay Sweet House on our way back.
We rest for a while, chat. At 8 pm, we have a sumptuous dinner of idlies with sambar, yum! We set out for the bus stop. We catch the 9:40 bus to Chennai. The ride is horrible, totally rash driving. He stops at 2 am at a small stall. The guy there plays all “hot”numbers, typical “midnight masala” kinds. For eg, deyy, kaiyya vechukuttu summa iru daaa..deyy.
23 April 2007: We land in Chennai, precisely at Ekkaduthangal. I am woken up ( yes, I manage to catch some sleep, in spite of everything!). I hop out bleary-eyed, one slipper in my hand, the other dangling precariously from my foot. We catch an auto to Alwar Thirunagar. Now, this is one house I absolutely love. With my sweet athai (father’s sister) handing out endless cups of amazing coffee and the different animals that roam inside the house, it is totally chaotic and totally blissful! They have two dogs and a cat and a cow that occasionally stops by.
I chat with my cousins, Prabha and Seenu. I get teased and ribbed like crazy. It is fun. I then take a loongg bath and get dressed. At 9:30 am, we set out for shopping. EEKS! We go to T. Nagar. I am already feeling sick… The shop is extremely crowded , I feel like running out and away. We manage to finish all the shopping and get out. We stop for bhelpuri and milk shake at a kutti café. Prabha and I take an auto home, just the two of us, where I get juicy details of her love life, without prying adult eyes, hehe!
Back home, I initiate her into Neopets. We spend the rest of the afternoon haggling for pet products and trying to satiate poor Picchoo’s hunger.. He’s been hungry for more than two months now! We do a lot of giggling and laughing. It has been a long time since I did those too…
At around 4:30 pm, we set out for the railway station. We catch the 6: 10 Charminar Express to Hyderabad. Again, a very uneventful night on the train.
24 April 2007: The train is more than an hour late. We reach home finally at 9:30 am.
Phew! Not a very interesting account, I am afraid! 
Yours and Mine. March 10, 2007
When you make a mistake, you are learning from them. When I make one, I am messing things up.
When you scream at me, it is out of deep love. When I do the same, I am being rude.
When you give me advice, you are more experienced. When I suggest something, I am a know-it-all.
When you call me dumb, you are speaking the truth. When I say you are acting dumb, I am being impolite.
When you hide the truth, it is a white lie that does everyone good. When I stop myself from telling the truth, I am being hypocritical.
If I say I am going to do something and do it, I am selfish.
If I do something I did not say I would do, I am being careless.
If a neighbour’s son is rebellious, it is only natural. Plus, it just shows how wonderfully individualistic he is.
When I refuse to do something because I do not like it, I am being stubborn.
When your friend writes a book, he is extremely talented.
When I write a poem, I am wasting my time.
When ABC makes a wall hanging using the Anchor Stitch Kit, she is being delectably creative.
When I make up a song about how wonderful you are, I am trying to impress you.
When XYZ cleans up her boyfriend’s room and cooks wonderful dishes for him, you say she’s such a responsible girl.
Oh she’s a darling. Did you know, she does so much for him?
When I praise my one a little, you say I am such a sucker.
If I wear makeup, you say I am stuck up.
When I do not, you say I have crow’s feet and laugh lines.
Boy, you are beginning to look old. And are those love handles on your waist?
If I watch movies, I am a conformist. When I do not, I am trying too hard to be different.
When I am happy, I am being irresponsible.
When I am sad, I am seeking for attention.
We seem to be in entirely different worlds, don’t we?
Of climbing trees and forgetting Time. February 10, 2007
This is a senseless post.Yesterday, I climbed trees after a long time. The last time I climbed one was when I was twelve. I realised I am still good at it.Sitting on one of the topmost branches, comfortably placed, I knew how happy I was. For a moment, Time stood still. All my twenty three years of joy, fear and sadness just disappeared. It was an amazing feeling. My awkward self felt graceful. For once, I did not have to speak. I could just sit and watch the blue skies, or look down upon the green fields. Dust on my body, dust on my feet- I’d never felt cleaner. I did not have to pretend to like books or literature or dance or music. My chaotic world seemed full of sense. My world was made of real things: leaves, fruits, sky, earth. I could touch and feel everything. I did not have to imagine anything. It was not a structured game, it had no rules. There were no winners. There was no praise either. Nobody praises you for climbing a tree well. That was precisely what I wanted. If I fell to the ground, I simply climbed again. My rewards were my own: clear skies above and a canopy of leaves. All my awkwardness, all my untimely smiles and all my unwarranted sadness fell into beautiful harmony.
Drifting.. January 20, 2007
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly flow the days
Seedlings turn overnight to sunflowers
Blossoming even as we gaze
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness and tears
What words of wisdom can I give them?
How can I help to ease their way?
Now they must learn from one another
Day by day
They look so natural together
Just like two newlyweds should be
Is there a canopy in store for me?
Sunrise, sunset
Sunrise, sunset
Swiftly fly the years
One season following another
Laden with happiness
And tears..
[ From "The Fiddler On The Roof"]
Frozen… January 14, 2007
I have lost it. I am trapped in this bubble of mine, where the world passes by, like a picture. I bang on my noiseless walls, suffocating in the depth of my own thoughts. I am caught, forever. I might dream and dream of getting out, of touching the wet soil, of feeling the rain drop on my cheek, but no, I shall not have it. This bubble that I built for myself shall be my doom. A perfect case of plastic for my frozen soul.
I do not like things beautiful. I do not like things wise. I hate women, I hate men more. The whole world and its smiles seems hypocritical to me. I fail to see that I am the biggest hypocrite of all. I smile where I do not want to, I cry to show off that I am sensitive. Tomorrow, when ‘being sensitive’ is no longer fashionable, I shall go back to my devil-may-care attitude. I will then laugh at the wounded, mock the weak.
I buy my smiles by the dozen, from the shopkeeper round the corner. He gives me smiles. I shall start buying my tears too, for nothing affects me. Good, bad, happiness, sorrow- they all look the same to me. I am stuck in my bubble, forever.
Music fails to move me; literature weaves no magical spell over me. I no longer look up to heroes. I no longer want to strive for a better life. The bubble, which I built, and wanted to keep beautiful, reeks of the old, of rubbish. All the trash that I have collected over the years. I cannot get out. Maybe I do not want to. I am stubborn. I refuse to listen. I am going deaf and blind with each passing day.
Deaf to nice words and blind to reality, I do not appreciate help. I crave loneliness and want to be shunned by the others. I want to see people’s hatred for me. I want them to kick me, to call me names. Hypocrisy should not be encouraged.
I want others to push me away, to be absolutely repelled by the sight of me. For that is what I give others. I want to die after being flogged mercilessly. Isn’t that the best punishment for someone who refuses to see beauty? Isn’t that the answer for all the hatred and coldness I distribute? I am cowardly, hypocritical and unfeeling.
I am ashamed to face others. I am not nice like them. I am not conscientious, nor helpful. I shirk my responsibilities. I want to bury my face in the sand like the ostrich. Only my action is not as utilitarian. My life does not aim for anything beautiful, or useful. I am pathetic. A hollow existence in a useless body. Rotten from within, and without.
I am stuck in my bubble, forever. Let me suffer.
One more time. January 3, 2007
She slowed down as she saw him. Her eyes darkened as she saw him walk. She saw him everyday. Her heart raced with thoughts, thoughts too timid to be spoken aloud. Sometimes a flutter, sometimes a marathon. She wished he would look back.
At her.
She was no beauty, however. She was made of very plain features and an even plainer presence. Definitely not the one to attract people to her. She spoke with a tremor and smiled within a small circle built around her heart. Her smile did not go out and reach people, like it did with some others. Her laughter was private, contained within inexplicable tears. Though at times, it rained like a torrent. People never understood what to do then. For it was so unlike her.
She looked at him standing at the end of the road. Drenched in the drizzle, he was dripping, his hair falling flat against his forehead. Please look at me, she prayed silently. She cursed her ugly existence.
Yet another time.
She saw them huddled together, under one umbrella. He and that pretty girl she had often seen on the road. She was beautiful, delicate, angelic. He was looking into the pretty girl’s eyes and smiling. Unknown hatred, seizing jealousy buried her smiles for a while.
She averted her eyes and looked at the muddy puddles on the road.
The rain stopped. The pretty girl smiled at him. He smiled back. Green stars rose to the centre of her heart as she saw their smiles. Then they settled down quietly again, like dried leaves after a breeze.
One.
Two.
Three.
I wonder how many such leaves I’ve collected until today, she wondered. All of them gathering dust. Making her heart a garbage pail.
Of unfulfilled dreams.
Perhaps he will look at me now, she muttered to himself. She cursed her ugly existence.
Yet another time.
She saw his receding back vanish down the road.
Wet hair, dripping blue shirt.
She watched his back mingle into the gray blobs of life on the road.
One more leaf fell down to the ground, softly.
For Appa. January 2, 2007
Sunday morning
I half-expect to see your face,
to hear the sound
Of your footsteps
In and around the house.
the tunes you loved,
and sang in heartfelt ardour.
the way the bathroom smelled,
Just after you’d bathed-
Of soap and steam.
Your wet hair,
and after you’d dressed up,
your face with fragrant vibuti.
A face I looked up to;
A soul I wanted to care for,
In my own careless way,
For Eternity.
the stories you told me,
the times we shared;
I know I have to be strong..
But I didn’t know,
it was this difficult.
