Lovely lines

Nalla Manam Un Pol kidayaathu
Nanri Solla vaarthai Yenakkathu?
Oru Thaai Nee..Un Seiy Naan..
Intha Uravukku Pirivaedhu?

Thaaimadiyil Seiydhan Varalaama?
Thallininru Thunbam Tharalaama?
Unnai Konja... Manam Kenja...
Ennai Thaniye Vidalaama?

Kuzhandhaiyum Kumariyenraayechae...
Konjidum Paruvam Poyaachae...
Manam Poalae... Magal Vazha ...
Nee Vaazhththum Thaayachae....

How better can the two extremes can love be explained in a few simple rhymic words? While the female sings her respectable love to her man personifying him as a mother and her as the child, her man demands his lusty love with the same personification. Again her intelligent reply with regard to a relation between a grown-up daughter and her matured mom is amazing.

Has anyone else tried this mom-child prosopopoeia for a love couple before? Indeed Andal Paasurams and Meera Bhajans are pioneers. Honestly, this style is an outstanding emotional comparison. Really comparing one form of human relation with another distinct form of human relation and bringing out similarities between them is awesome. Afterall, Tamil film can still say that it has some good, poetic, emotional lyrics to boast about. Isn't it?

The unusual conversation - intruder revisited

I was reading some of the comments posted by my fellows in my blog. Some rustling noise disturbed me. When I lifted my head I was asked, "Howya doin?" It was him again. The one I never wanted to meet again. With a sarcastic smile he greeted me. I was silent.
"Reading comments in your blog?"
I nodded. Didn't feel like talking.
"How is your trip? Are you enjoying it?"
"Trip? What are you asking about?"
Shoot! I talked. I was determined not to talk. He made me talk.
"Your trip. The one you are riding now".
What the heck? He never says anything clear.Getting irritated I asked, "I don't get what you are talking. I'm not going anywhere. Could you please make it clear?"
Again a smile. This time even more sarcastic and caustic.
"Please..." I had no option other than to beg.
"I'm asking about your ego trip".
"Ego trip?"
"Yes. The short lived ego trip you are riding on me".
"What do you call a ego trip? I'm not going any trip".
"No. You are. Its too late for you to hide. I caught you when you are on your trip".
"What do you mean? I was reading the comments on my blog when you barged in".
"Barged in? Anyways... that's fine. Yeah... reading comments in your blog. Isn't it a ego trip".
"You call it one?"
"Yes. You yearn for praises. You need people to read your writings and praise you 'good work', 'keep it up'. You get your ego fulfilled. You..."
"No. It is not like..."
"Stop. Don't interupt. Let me finish".
"You write things just to make people think you are a master of all trades and your intellectual thinking is unmatchable. You need people to laud you for your crappy writings. You get a cheap pleasure when they say you are good in writing and you write intelligent ideas. Just tell me the truth. Didn't you start this blog just for the sake of illusioning people you can write great things in a stylish way with a rich vocabulary?"
I had nothing to say.
"Hmm...no answer yet? Remember what I say last time?"
"Yeah...writing new ideas".
"So, did you write anything new?"
"Are you telling I haven't written anything new?"
"Yes. You wrote about books, sports, movies and some cartoon characters. Also you wrote something funny in the name of philosophy. I bet you had plans to write something on music too."
"So what? These topics had my own ideas, my own perspective. I wrote what I saw. I'll write how I see the world, and for your information world has all these what you claim 'old'".
I just recited the answer that I had prepared for him for the past one week.
With a frowning look he stared at me.
Yes! I made him dumb for a second. What a revenge?
"But, you didn't answer my other question".
It is my turn to be mute.
"Okay.There is no one without ego in this earth. Atleast accept you have this as an ego outlet".
My silence continued with my heads bowed.
"You know what? It is the hardest thing to accept truth in this world".
After few minutes I lifted my head to tell him something, just to see no one before me.
I agree accepting truth is the hardest thing in this world!

Visualizing books

"If you tell me, it’s an essay. If you show me, it’s a story".

Looks like someone has quoted the above words. I'm reluctant to accept it completely, but I am ready to agree with it partially. Whenever I read a story book, I have the feeling that someone inside me is reciting the story for me. I imagine every story is told by a person (not really the author), who witnesses the events standing a few feet away from the characters. Obviously my narrator stands in the same position, however the characters move around; disadvantagouesly providing me a single point of view of the incidents and the characters. But still I get a picture of the people and the places from the description of my narrator and I'm drawn into the world that the author has created with the help of the guidance from my narrator. I see my protagonist, my antagonist, my supporting roleplayers, my milieu, and everything else, through the eyes of my narrator, just like how he sees and comprehends from the author's words.

When I see a story, the narrator in me is dead. He is no more to guide me and show my characters and travel me through incidents. I am guided by another person, be the director of the movie or play. Sadly, I'm losing my imaginative ability to understand the writer along with my narrator. Though it has some benefits. I can now get a multi dimensional view of the story if the external narrator provides me with one such thing. It seems pretty simple and easy to see a story rather than reading it. Isn't it? But mine is a negative response.

I think that's why booklovers are not satisfied when they see the same story on screen or on stage. Their own images of the characters and situations are given new color by the outside story teller. Me personally had a couple of experience in the past. Having watched LOTR on screen, I was not driven to read the book. Still I'm staying away from Harry Potter with a hope I'll read the series one day. Thanks to my higher secondary public examinations, I missed watching "Srirangathu Devathaigal" and "washingtonil Thirumanam" TV series. When I read those books after six years, I'm happy that my narrator is still alive in me. The same thing with Kalki's and Devan's work.

Unusally, sometimes I think a visual media also elevates your reading fervour. Occupied with a few unerasable images of "Alai Osai"'s characters and events, I am longing to read the Kalki's classic, just to revisit the new places I was shown by the other narrator and try whether I can get my own narrator to show me other perspective. I faintly remember it was aired in Doordarshan about a decade ago. So, it seems like I'm favoring both the sides of the coins. As you know the head alone never adds value to a coin and neither the tail by itself.

Stories are enjoyable when watched; and stories are lovable when read. So, read a story to get the experience of travelling closer to the writer's world by yourself and watch a story to witness the other side that was not revealed to you when you read it. This became my idea in the recent past. Maybe I can conclude by saying, "Even if you read, tell or show me a story, it is always a story. But my relation with it decreases respectively".

Follow the boucing ball

Disclaimer: I have to mention two things before I begin this post.

1. I don't know anything about soccer and neither am I a big fan of any soccer team or player.
2. This post is written WITHOUT any intention to hurt any soccer fan (or sports fan) around the world.

I was talking with my Argentinean colleague about the Ronaldinho's soccer video. When I saw the clip first timw I was awestruck by the player's ball control. But I got a different response from my colleague. Right after I opened the topic, he said this guy is earning millions of dollars and his all day responsibility is to practise in the field. As a pro this is not a big feat for him. I was surprised by this retort. But it didn't take me long enough to learn that the player is from Brazil. My coworker also proofed some newspaper from his country that said the video is done with the help of computer.

Later when I was browsing through the net, I stumbled on the news article that had Zinadine's comment "Ronaldinho is breaking the laws of Physics for Nike". Again me surprised by the quote from this French pro.

I knew that soccer has the largest number of fans and fanatics in the workd than any other sports. But it is sad to see their overflowing zeal is restricted by their respective nation's boundary. After all sports is nothing but something done playfully. When "playful" is lost, "sports" doesn't exist. After witnessing this episode, I can now imagine how the fellow countrymen in the two neighboring countries of the Indian subcontinent will feel when they are showed a clip of Sachin hitting six sixers in an over or Shoaib taking six wickets in six consecutive balls!

Bart-The real Matt

Another kid who impressed me a lot is Bart, the first child of the Simpsons family. Unlike Calvin, he has two siblings to share his life. But still he is a BOY. I mean a real naughty, lively boy.

Read somewhere that Matt created Bart's character based on his own. When a creator thrusts his or her own memories or qualities in a character, it obviously becomes close to reality. Bart is closer to the real world. To be precise the true hero of the Simpsons is Bart, since he is from the heart of the creator. Although not to be forgotten that Matt added his family members to his Simpson family with the same names. But it cannot be certainly commented that he was successful in portraying them with the same attributes. May be he or may not be. But Bart is different. I can bet that he is straight from his heart.

I'm pretty sure that every fictitious character will have some influence of the real world human that attracted the creator. But a character that the creator sees as his or her own reflection is more real and unassuming.

I actually cannot finger any particular character as my personal favorite in the Simpsons. Everyone is unique in their own way, representing one or many of the human sentiments. But Bart is a step ahead, standing at the threshold of the 2-D world and peeping with eagerness to be a part of this real life.

The other route

Yet another lazy cold evening. With loads of plan and agenda on mind but nothing put into action. Everything becomes complicated when given a choice. Suddenly caught up with the question: "Is choice needed in life?" A second look showed me that life begins in a choice. The choice of the mother egg to accept me and nourish me. Hmm...seems like I'm towards philosophy.

Philosophy. It reminds me of the discussion me and Ravi had a few hours before. With an intruder spoiling my post yesterday, I was wondering what to write today. "Getting new ideas". These words are now swords near my neck. Being a senior to me I asked Ravi, why blogging? When everybody writes about the same thing why me an addition? He said "if books, movies, music, science and sports are not the stuff to write, then I have to try something on philosophy". If so, what can I philosophize? Am I Socrates or Plato to preach people?

Anyways, had some plans to write about something, but writing something. Again here comes the choice. Write something planned, or go for an impromptu. Think we can't get out of options. It has become mandatory for us to pick up some options. Sounds oxymoron?? Seems like life is an oxymoron by itself, a compilation of contradictions. Someone who said won't write things on a web diary (hinting the statistics 80,000 blogs are created in a day) is typing something in this post.

Okay, what am I trying to say through this boring article? If you comprehend something let me know. I had no idea what to say when I started this one. Still I don't know what am I saying. Somehow I filled up my space today believeing it's new.

A last word before I bid adieu. Someone barged me between these two paragraphs and read my post. The first question asked was "How the title is related to the post?" Again me dumbstruck. Can I get any help?

The unusual conversation

When I started writing this post, I heard a distinct noise. It was a sneaking noise. Noise turned into voice now. I heard someone calling me. I lowered the volume of the music I was listening to. Now I could hear it better.

"What are you writing?" It was an authoritative question.
"Hmm..a new post in my blog".
"I knew it. What's it about?", now with more command.
"Err... I don't know. Just felt like writing something. By the way who are you?"
"So you got into writing without knowing what to write?"
"Not exactly. I will get things as I write. Now I asked you who you are?"
"You won't get things as you write. You must have something in you to let it out of you".
"Yeah. I know. Now tell me who the hell are you? I've been asking you for three times."
Chuckles.
"You'll know me soon. Okay now tell me why you started this blog?"
This was a missile over me. Most of the time questions fall on you when you are not ready.
"Hmm... to write something.."
"something?"
"yea..I mean something about books, music, movies,..."
"Oh crap! everyone writes that".
"Also, about my memories".
"Boy! who needs your memories dumped on me? Do you think am I a memory repository?"
Yes! I got you.
"So you are my blog?" I asked immediately, with the joy of a discoverer.
"You took so long to identify me. Pity you".
To safeguard me I said,"When a lot of people write blogs, why not me?"
"A lot of people write the same thing. I don't need an extra load".
"So what do you want me to do now?"
"At last you are smart enough to ask this question. Try something new. Get your own ideas. Don't dump stale news on me again and again. I hate it".

Getting my own ideas? Where can I go for new ideas. I've never been tested for such things. I thought I can ask my interrogator for some ideas. Yes! I must ask him to trap him. But, where is he?
"Hello?"
"Mr.Blog, where are you? Do you hear me."
Nothing but silence.
There was a note. "Catch you later".

Okay. I need to get new ideas. Till then no more new posts. Then why a blogspot? What is this. I am getting sick. I lost my mood to write something today. May be later sometime. Wish I never get the intruder again!

Calvinizing life

This Bill Watterson hero attracted me a lot in the recent past. Me being not too much into comics was unaware of this child protogonist who rocked the U.S. in the 80s. Two years back I happened to read a collection of Watterson's comic strips.

Calvin represents the amalagated version of all the naughty kids; he is the one who will be commonly spotted in any household around the globe. He didn't even spare me. Every strip made me to think I am there in calvin whenever he is sharing his monments with the stuffed doll, or changing forms in the transmorgifier, or escaping the real world with his alter ego Stupendous man, or getting rid of slimy gal Susie.

Wonder what a cartoonist like Watterson do when given such a hero? He used Calvin as a tool to tell his philospohies of life, and he saw this world through his hero. Would really anyone like to hear satrical and philosphical thoughts from a six year old boy? But indeed everyone liked. Infact, a few strips still remain a puzzle to me, as they convey different ideas each time I read.

This shy hero is a silent killer. His stuffed tiger, Hobbes with whom he spends his joy or sorrow, is indeed his own personality - but the other side of the evil Calvin. When I say silent killer, I remember people used to call me when I was a kid. I too had a Hobbes; not really the Hobbes you think but my own Hobbes.

Being allured heavily to this nipper I believe to have a lot of posts on this superhero.

Where do I begin?

It all happened one day... Somethings don't have any reason, neither we can reason out the occurrence of some events. To be or not to be? To start or not? I was trapped in this quandary for quite a long time. Anything loses its charm if under question for long. So.... here am I.

Life is beautiful when it takes its own course. Let me stop here... to start something afresh...mostly in silence...at times freaky!