Mother – by Maxim Gorky

Got to know and love Gorky’s mother. Yes, that’s how I can put the experience of reading about her. The best thing about this classic is that it is told in the views of a simple and endearing village old woman. Yes, she is simple, yet she attains as much greatness as a human soul could possible do.

She does not rise as a heroine overnight, nor are there any incredible twists and turns that enable her transformation. Yet this gripping tale of a woman who is already past her times, regains a new lease of life through her comrades.

Sowing the motherly love she has for her own son, she reaps a much greater love with which she embodies the entire world. In her own words, she marvels at the vastness of her own heart.

The Mother, set in the revolutionary period of Russia, is the story of Pelagueya Nilovna, the mother of Pavel Vlaslov, a great revolutionary.

The mother is a poor widow of a factory worker. She has had a terribly hard life with her beastly drunkard of a husband, knowing nothing but beatings and constant terror of being beaten up. After his father’s death, Pavel also becomes a worker at the factory run by the rich and creamy of the society. The wealthy industrialists feed on the sweat of the peasants and factory workers. The country is under the czar’s monarchy, the authorities ruthless, and the people in undue misery.

The mother gradually observes that her son is very different from what her husband or other factory workers have been. She finds him reading in all his free hours and one day he brings home a group of strange people from the city, amidst whom there is also a young woman.

The mother very slowly comprehends that these "young children" are revolutionaries actively working for a movement through which they hope to create a whole new world.
A world as it should be! clean and beautiful, a world that has "everything for all, and all for everything". A world that worships work, and makes it obligatory for every living person. A world that is strange to evil, thievery, greed, and misery.

She first merely considers them as precocious children engrossed in a new play. She then involves herself into it, more out of her love for her son and his friends, than anything. But slowly she understands, appreciates, and voluntarily gives herself to the cause. She stimulates the rest of the mothers and fathers to be with their children, to help them in their journey of seeking truth; to be proud of their own sons and daughters who are willing to be tortured themselves so they can to free the spirit of the entire human race.

It’s a tale that moves you to tears, yet makes you laugh with the same childlike fervor that she feels.
It’s the tale of a mother whose pure love for her son makes her take the same rough path as his, so far only dared by dashing young men and women.
It’s a tale of hope and truth. It’s a tale that reminds you once again that the greatest things in life are always simple and humble, waiting only to be seen.

My Story – Kamala Das

Recently after the demise of renowned author Kamala Das, I was tempted to read her much-talked-about autobiography "My Story"

Somehow I had a preconceived notion that it was a tale of melancholy and self-pity. The authoress proved me deadly wrong with her witty and quirky way of describing things; and the rebellious way she chose to live her life.

The book begins with her childhood experiences in Calcutta with her affluent and modern family, though she claims it being nothing more than middle-class.
She briefly gives us a picture of the racist treatments she and her brother had to endure in the British school, which openly preferred whites and degraded Indians and blacks, their society with a few English and Anglo-Indian neighbors and friends, and the anglicized cook who scorned at the children’s table manners.

After a few years, they move to Nalapat, her hometown in Kerala. The vivid and nostalgic descriptions of the ancient house, surrounding gardens, the stage plays she wrote and acted with her brother, her grand uncle who was a great scholar, aunts, grannies, household maids, get us hooked onto her story.

She also light-heartedly mentions her life in a convent that she briefly went to. The letters she used to write home from there used to be very demure and boring, much to the surprise and ridicule of her brother, who knew her better!

It’s a tale of an Indian girl, bold and educated, full of dreams with a no-nonsense attitude, who is brutally subjected to a medieval-age kind of arranged marriage in the tender age of fifteen, and the domestic worries and burdens that follow.
Very clever and much learned for her time, her views of life largely contrasted with the society she had to put up with. Therefore, things tended to become all the more difficult for her.

The authoress has the least intention of seeking pity or justification for some of her actions, and neither are those sentiments aroused in the reader.
However, it’s this incredible honesty of the authoress that has brought her both much acclaim and criticism.

I think this book might instill varied opinions, each time it is read, or when re-read after a long period. And that, I think, is the best aspect of a successful autobiography.

My StoryAutobiographyby Kamala DasRs. 100D C Books, Kottayam 686 001
(Available in Landmark, Chennai)

Ramblings of an uncanny mind

I just can't define myself. If you ask what is my personality I don't have a clear answer. May be that is what I am. May be not. I don't even know if I am easily predictable or not.

One thing I can safely say about myself is that I am unstable. No, not in that dangerous way you think of. Just that I have volatile emotions, a few sublime qualities that are rarely seen, and a highly inflammable temper. That sounds like a chemistry lab, right? Well, chemicals are what all our emotions are made of, they say. And as long as the proportions do not greatly vary from the desired limits, you are normal. So actually, I am normal. But I can't deny that I am partially insane. But for that matter, who in the big wide world isn't?

If you are sane, you should probably stop reading this at this point. Oh! but you don't. So that means you are not as sane as you believe too! Join the club.

Sometimes, I think I am thinking too much about myself. Am I being so self-centered, selfish, egotistical, egoistical, and whatnot? oops! I am still thinking about myself. But if I had done that for a fair period of time, I should have found out who I am and what stuff I am made of. But I haven't got around finding out that so far. May be I am stupid, no I think I am definitely stupid. That's comforting to say the least. Atleast I am not eccentric.

Well, coming to the point (I know you are wondering if I really have one, well hold on please) what I mean to say is actually you should be glad if you are yet to know yourself. The fact that you surprise yourself at moments, that you feel emotions that you never know existed within you, you do stuff that you never knew you could, discover things that you never imagined you would, gives you a new lease of life, everytime. That's the way of life. Do not label yourself.

Give in, give in, give in like a leaf to the eternal breeze that's called life.

Of course, resist change; fight change; but at the end happily give in, with the knowledge that you fought with all your might. That the change was not inflicted upon you, but you allowed it consciously, albeit reluctantly. Trust me, it gives you an inexplicable satisfaction.

What you have to really fear is stagnation, it is delightfully comfortable, oh yes! but only if you look forward to bury your soul and rest your head there.

Good touch, Bad touch - Seminar May 10, 2009

What started as a tiny spark emerged as a ground-breaking event, a first of its kind by Tamil bloggers:

A highly informative and useful seminar presented by renowned psychiatrists Dr. Rudhran, and Dr. Shalini, and was attended by an enthusiastic gathering of fellow bloggers and their families.

The seminar about "Child abuse and precations to prevent it", more widely known as the "Good touch bad touch" seminar was conducted on the premises of Kizhaku Pathipagam on May 10, 2009.

Dr. Shalini gave an eye-opening talk about the causes and psychology behind child abuse. She emphasized that people with low self-esteem seek such forbidden pleasures and as children are the most vulnerable part of the society, they make easy victims for such barbarians.

Mostly such persons try work in the vicinity of a large group of children and make themselves pleasing and charming to children. This way, they win over the confidence of the children, making them easy preys. Therefore, it is all the more harder to make out a child-abusing beast from a truly fond uncle. So, go by your instincts, or your child's.

Dr. Shalini also mentioned various anecdotes in which infliction of sexual abuse as a child leaves indelible marks on a person years later. An educated woman averse to marriage and sex was found to be abused as a child.An otherwise healthy man believed himself to be gay because of sexual abuse in his teens, by peers.

As for protecting little children from sexual abuse, Dr. Shalini listed out the following precationary measures:

1. Let the child know thoroughly the difference between its private and public parts. The parts which can be publicly touched are public parts. Those which cannot be publicly displayed or touched are private parts. The private parts can be touched only by the child's mother, or in some cases the child's granny. Not
even the dad!(A dad who had great maternal instincts was a little hurt by this,
to which Dr. Shalini said, it should be the mother's discretion to make allowances on this matter, as not all men are beasts, she added!)

2. Just like you teach the body parts and their function, let them learn the names of their genitals and their functions too.

Eyes - to see

Nose - to smell

Penis - to urinate.

Also, tell the child to notify you, should anyone try to touch their private part. Be careful not to overemphasize or overreact on the consequences. (This may become a ruse for naughty children to tell tales about people they dislike, Dr. Rudhran mentioned.)

3. Be discrete before your children, just as you would in front of your neighbors.

4. Handle tacky questions or information by telling them stories. Never overload them with direct information. It won't help and might bakfire with dire results. Stories with the information subtly imbibed in them will do the trick. For example, "...there bad dinosaur touched the good dinosaur's private part. The good dinosaur immediatly went to its mom and complained."

5. Do not plant unwanted non-sense into the child's head. If they ask you how they were born, never tell them stories about the flying stork. Rather, give them details but as appropriate as to the age of the child.

6. Do not encourage babyish talk for speaking about private parts, and normal activities such as passing urine or bowels. Use proper civilized terms for the same.

7. Most importantly spend as much time as possible with your children. There is no substitute to the unconditional love and support you give them. Your children must believe that they can confide anything in you. Practice positive talk. Say,"I will love you even more if you do..." instead of "I won't talk to you if you don't..."

8. It's not only little girls that are abused. Little boys should be adequately educated on this matter too.

9. Emphasizing on the pseudo-gay belief that many men have in our society, Dr. Shalini pointed out that, while we celebrate the puberty of girls with pomp and show, we hardly acknowledge that of boys. As a result, our men are sadly ignorant of their own sexual abilities. This brings a range of complications starting from unwanted curiosity, low self-esteem, and they fall victims to phoney sexual experts.We must make an effort to communicate with our male children on sexual issues and celebrate their puberty as well!

Dr. Rudhran who spoke next, invited questions from the audience, which was answered by both the doctors.
The interactive session further extended to topics such as sexual harrassment of women at workplace, and child prodigies. Few interesting points:

1. Unwarranted comments about a woman's looks and clothes to the extent of embarrassing her is also a form of sexual harrassment.

2. Child prodigies can grow up to be normal adults multi-faceted or not. There is no cause to worry about their extra-ordinary abilities.

3. You cannot create a multi-faceted personality in a child by forcing them to a lot of activities. Find what interests them most and help them towards that.

4. A young boy is least likely to be abused by his adult elder brother. No cause to worry. Nevertheless, the education of your child regarding private parts should help him against anybody, including his brother.

5. If you find a child initiating sexual abuse, it's an alarm for deep trouble. Either the child has been priorly subjected to abuse to the extent that it has started enjoying it, or it is mentally challenged. Such cases warrant immediate investigation and psychiatrical assistance.

Special thanks to Dr. Rudhran and Dr. Shalini who spared time in their busy schedule and shared their valuable knowledge on the subject.

Great many thanks to:

Mr. SK who took the initiative and contacted the experts and got their consent, Mr.Narsim, Mr.Luckylook and Mr.Adisha who worked tirelessly rounding up participants and publicizing the event, Kizhakku Pathipagam and Mr.Badri, who played the perfect hosts offering their own premises, refreshments, and mementoes for the guest speakers. Ramya presented the guest speakers with shawls.

Let's hope this is not the end but only the beginning of many more purposeful events in the future.

Information Courtesy:

Sandanamullai

Dondu Raghavan

In the eyes of God

You two are destined to be born on the same day, same time, same geographic location. You'll be of the same gender too. Let's see what you make of this world.

The two lives took a place each in their mothers' wombs respectively, at the very same moment.

After a few weeks,
"Hey I hear jubilation and joy. My folks are really happy."
"hmm.. I don't think they have realized I am here, yet"

After some more days...
"oh, I wish she gets up and walks about a little...I would like some movement"
"She keeps rocking me all day.. I guess, she's climbing stairs up and down..."

After a couple of months...
"Why does she keep stuffing herself so much... Doesn't she know that from now on, all I'll do is put on fat?"
"Hey, do you sometimes get a tingling feeling in your stomach as though you'd like to eat a little more?"

A few more weeks...
"I haven't turned upside down yet. They are going to the doctor to find out what's the problem. "

"Well, I have. I can hear her panting and sighing. all day!" .

The d-day
"ooh.. Here I come straight out of the incision. So this is earth eh? Not bad, looks so clean, smells good, lot of white-clad women, laughing faces... oops.. gotta cry! waaaaaaaaaaaaaw!"

"Here I come amidst ear-splitting screams...
what is this place? dark and smelly, who is this dirty old woman holding me? why is my mom lying on the floor, on a mat? but yes I can see she is happy and smiling.. yes, I gotta cry too.. waaaaaaaaaaaaaw!"

Some years later...
"Arjun! put your head in. I am going to shut the window and switch on the AC. My god, it's so hot today... oh my, look at the time, it;s really getting late for your school. Are you ready for today's debate?"

The boy does as he is told and sits back in his car seat. What he just saw disturbs him a little bit, but he manages to shrugg it off. "Oh yes, mom.. Poverty in India. I have the coolest points summed up."
"Good boy," his mom strokes his head fondly and fixes her eyes onto the road.

"Raju...Don't just stand and stare...take these bricks up to the third floor. "

"Yes, mother..." Raju turns his eyes away from the speeding car and starts climbing up the stairs of that big construction site.

People wear make-up...

People do not wear masks, just make-up.
Oh, how easier it would be, if they wore masks. You can wait for the right moment for them to fall off, or you can try and tear them off.
But no, all they wear is simple, carefully applied make-up.
So it's really complicated you see, you can't tell which feature is for real and which one isn't.
Are the lips truly red? are those eyelashes are for real?
Is the hair truly black? may be, may be not.
If you like what you see, you think everything is real, or convince yourself that even without the make-up the person would be beautiful.
If you are repelled by it, you are convinced that a real hag hides behind all the glitter.
Well, so to bring up a weather-beaten cliche, it's a tricky thing, human relationships.
As they say, there are no black or white in this world. Only shades of grey... besides numerous colors of course!
And remember, people wear make-up, not masks.

A Valentine's day message

'You've got to give a little, take a little,and let your poor heart break a little.

That's the story of, that's the glory of love.

You've got to laugh a little, cry a little,until the clouds roll by a little.

That's the story of, that's the glory of love.

As long as there's the two of us,we've got the world and all it's charms.

And when the world is through with us,we've got each other's arms.

You've got to win a little, lose a little, yes, and always have the blues a little.

That's the story of, that's the glory of love.

Courtesy: Beaches (Film 1988)

A "memorable" experience

Lost my mobile phone

Two weeks back, at a wedding reception, I handed it to my bawling little one in an attempt to pacify her. And apparently she dropped it somewhere. Initially I was so frustrated. The phone was already in a condemnable state and I was waiting to replace it, so no complaints there. But I had lost all my contacts! I wondered how I was going to cope.

With the advent of mobile phones, the practice of remembering telephone numbers is almost extinct. You don't need to, anymore. All you got to do is, press a single button to reach a contact.

But can you believe it, I just happened to remember most of the numbers that I constantly use!

Of course, there are certain people whose numbers I can possibly never forget. Joe, mom, dad, sister, best friends. But besides that, I happened to rememer a lot of important contacts. For example, the Electricity board, LPG booking, the butcher, pharmacy, and few other official contacts. I was amazed at my own memory!

Now, how was that possible? It's very simple, actually. I had often used the landline to dial these.

So, naturally, I had to dial every digit. Now if I had never done that, I could not have remembered even a single number.

But I still have a whole load of contacts missing. But I should be having their email IDs, I hope!
And I have a new phone with the same number. So no great damage done!

It's possible that you might also encounter the same case sometimes. So now and then, try to remember phone numbers in the good old way. Writing them down or taking a back up in someother phone is also fine. But there is nothing like the satisfaction you get when you dial a number out of your own memory and get it right!

And you know what, one of my friends was really impressed when I told her that I remembered her number though I had lost it. I was so proud and pleased!

Running Vs Playing

I want to stop running, go back and play.

I am baffled by the rules, I can't keep to the tracks;

The prizes are tempting, but heavily priced;

I am not eager to win, yet I greatly fear to lose

Crowds cheer madly, runners cross me by, eyes on the winning line - which extends beyond the horizon;
laggers are losers, and are forever longers;

I want to stop running, go back and play

some come with roller skates, but many carry crutches.; it's a race most unfair but oh! who cares?
I want to stop running, go back and play
go back where there is still music to dance

A leaf from an old book...

Thank God, the rains are over. As my friend Ramki put it, it's been raining lions and elephants in Chennai the past week. So much that there was no power for days, no newspapers, no milk, no vegetables in shops and it had been like being in another planet for a while.

But rainy days are always nostalgic. And nostalgia is almost synonymous to childhood memories, which you can't deny are surprisingly evergreen. You tend to forget what you did and where you were during the last monsoon. But you cannot forget the times you came home from school, drenched in rain to your heart's content, or the little paper boats you sailed in water puddles when you parents were not around.

I especially remember one day when I was in class four. It was raining heavily since morning and the streets were flooded. After school, I was waiting for our rickshaw man to come and pick me up. But who turned up instead was my dad with an umbrella! On one hand, I was pleasantly surprised. On the other, I was a little apprehensive because besides that I had an innate fear for my dad (just like several kids of my generation), he never allowed us to get wet in the rain and got furious if he saw me waddling in puddles, which I was then hoping to do, if the rickshaw man did not turn up.

I quietly started walking with him holding my hand. There came the street round the corner, filled with rain water. I was sure my father would turn back and try taking another route or an auto- rickshaw. My dad looked down at me with a mischevous smile. "Thanniyile jal jal nu polaamaa?" (shall we tread happily through this water?) I was overjoyed. I couldn't believe it at all. I hastily agreed with a big grin on my face, before he could change his mind. I can never forget the way I waddled through the flooded streets to my heart's content, alongside my father that day. Long after I came home, washed myself and changed to dry clothes, the feel of the water lingered around my legs. And that daddy appreciated my childish desire to play in the water and let me indulge in it for once, was absolutely heart-warming.

I hope I'll remember this little deed of my dad which made me so happy that day, whenever I tend to make rules for my child, for her own good.

Playing To Your Strengths Pays Off

It’s good to make plans, but sticking to them no matter what, is not. As Winston Churchill said, “There is nothing wrong with change, if it is in the right direction.” And that was how I faced the most pressing hurdle that I ever faced in my life - Unemployment.

It was the year following my graduation. I had a bachelor degree in Civil Engineering. Though I was a good student and had scored well, there was a major problem. It was a time when the construction business was pretty down in my country and job opportunities for fresh graduates in Civil Engineering were almost zero.

I kept looking at the “Wanted” columns in news papers. I sat for various competitive examinations. I even walked-in to interviews that had specifically asked for people with experience, assuming I could win them over with my academic qualification. None of my efforts bore fruit.

Finally I was offered a contract job with a polytechnic college that offered diplomas for various branches of Engineering. As I loved teaching, I gladly accepted the job, though the pay was low. It was fun and I loved the work. But again, my troubles were not over.

The contract staff had to keep a log of the hours worked, get it authorized by the head of their department, and then claim the amount from the office. This process usually took about a weeks’ time. However, several months went without payment. We were told that funds were insufficient and aid from the government was expected. Also, we were assured every penny of our claim, even though delayed.

It was frustrating to work for months together without getting a penny. Also, I was commuting a long distance on bus and it was tiring; I quit the job. Most of my friends were employed by then. It was painful to listen to them talk about their funny bosses, friendly colleagues, and altogether what a jolly or hectic time they had at work. None of them meant to hurt me, but they did, all the same.

It was then that I had started browsing the Internet, and there was this Internet Cafe that I frequented. The guy who owned the place was my friend and he always had an ear for my cribbing about how difficult it was to get a job for my qualification.

One day we were talking about the boom of Information Technology and the spurt of IT companies in our country. That’s when he suddenly said, “Deepa, I have no doubt that you’ll be a very successful woman in the future. But it looks like you have taken the wrong road.”

It took only a minute for me to ponder. The words from a friend, who had confidence in you, were absolutely rejuvenating. I thanked him and headed straight for the nearest computer training centre. I enrolled myself for courses in various computer languages hoping to become a computer programmer or software engineer.

I soon found out that programming was not my cup of tea. I also saw that it was not the only profession in the IT field. There was a special niche for something I loved and was good at.
People with a fair amount of computer knowledge plus good writing skills were sought after for Technical Writing. This profession also required that one has to grasp things quickly and have the ability to elucidate the most complex topics in an easily understandable manner. The job was not as well-paid as programming, but it got me hooked.

I knew instinctively that this was what I was looking after. If at all there was a job in which I could play to my strengths, it was this. I loved teaching, and the job is all about putting things simple for people who want to learn. I then had the necessary computer knowledge – thanks to the courses I had taken. I loved writing and the job required extensive writing.

So, to make a long story short, I became a technical writer and have successfully completed seven years in the profession.

“Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--I took the one less traveled by,And that has made all the difference.”
- Robert Frost

Choosing books for children

Anybody who was born in the seventies and eighties would surely remember the big poster size books filled with colorful pictures and delightful stories sold at extremely low prices. Available in English as well as local languages, they were a major hit with schools. We used to get those books every year for various prizes we got at school.

Yes, I am talking about the books published and distributed by Soviet publications. I still cherish several old copies of them. In fact, those books were so kid-friendly that I started reading at the age of four.

Ok, now today if I were to buy books for my daughter, what would be on my priority list?
Well, well, I who hate planning and making lists, relished doing this one!
(Now, this is only for English books. For Tamil books, a post will soon come on my Tamil blog!)

From age 5 to 7
Picture books, Fairy tales, Animal fables
Of course, Enid Blyton books - But I would use my judgement to select her books. Some books are really prejudiced. The following would surely make a great read.

7 to 10
The adventures of Mr. Pink Whistle
Mr. Meddle's Mischiefs
The Enchanted wood
The folk of the faraway tree
After 10
The Naughtiest Girl - school series
Malory Towers - school series
Circus series
The Adventurous Four series
Famous Five series

That should be enough of sweets! Now for some real classics, I would like her to read:
Uncle Tom's cabin
Great Expectations
Oliver Twist
Adventures of Tom Sawyer
Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Little Women
Little Men
Last, but not the least, Harry Potter!

That's it! from this point onwards, (or probably earlier) she should be able to make her own choices, and most likely rebuff mine!
I hope my little girl loves to read, but it's alright if she is not really an extensive reader, as long as she develops a taste for good books, and most importantly shuns trash. Right? :-)

Paradise Rented Out...

She discovers the first sprout of life within her body. She does all she can to protect it. She eats and sleeps so that it grows healthy. She takes medicines and essential nutrients. She gets pampered and examined with care, all for the life growing within her.

She carries it and nourishes it with her own blood. She experiences the first ever movement of the life within her womb. She undergoes the pain and agony of labor. She puts her own life in stake and brings a new life to the earth. She gives the little one its first feed after birth.

Yet, it is not hers to claim; and never shall it be. She must hold complete indifference over the child and maintain the secret of its birth. The new-born is but a product of her business agreement.

Why? The egg is not hers; the sperm is not her lover's. She gets injected with both (or may be just the latter, in some cases.) She has rented her womb out for money - of which she is so much in need.

On the other hand, the couple who gave away the egg, the sperm, and probably a great deal of money are the rightful owners of the baby - yes, LEGALLY!

In most cases, I pity both the women. Yes, the latter deserves considerably pity too, if not as much as the former. I can very well understand the plight of a woman who realizes that she can never carry her own child in her womb. It is but a singular grief. She is therefore tempted to the alternative that the advanced medical science offers - to use a surrogate mother. After all the surrogate mother would be only a carrier. The child would have the life and blood of herself and her husband.

But, is it really worth it to put another woman's life in stake for your delight. And will it be a rightful joy, really? Can you hide the fact from the child that it was not you that bore it, but another woman, for your sake? It is certainly NOT like adoption, where the child was not borne for your own sake in the first place. It is a different thing altogether, and much more favorable.

Of course, it is difficult for anybody to give justice on this matter, because it involves two women who both deserve undue sympathy. However, renting out a mother's womb surely does not feel right to me.

A Novel Experience...

http://mathavaraj.blogspot.com/2008/10/blog-post.html

Dreams

I don’t know how many of us dream every night, remember them, too as if they were for real, wake up, drift off to sleep and continue the same dream? I came to know that a fellow blogger dreams in Technicolor. So do I. My dreams have never been monochrome. My dreams have been most often than not, action-packed, thrilling, enjoyable, and pleasant. I meet long-lost friends, find myself back in school or college, like we have just returned from a really long holidays. Such dreams repeat fairly a lot. And they are the pleasantest. But I do not miss the thread of the present. Actually it’s kind of funny as I find myself sitting in my old hostel room exchanging notes with my collegemates about our present day life too, like our marriage and children! But how we have bunked college for years, and now it’s suddenly our final semester exam and we have to cram up everything at the last minute!

All in all, my dreams are a platform where I relive my cherished past but try to incorporate my present onto it too. So I take assurance in the fact that I am not subconsciously obsessed with the former and discontented with the present.

Friends who visit my page are most welcome to share their dreams too. Would love to hear about them. When I say dreams, it’s the nutty chaotic kind we experience at night during sleep. As for the serious kind, mostly meaning “ambitions” I wish you all success that you realize every one of them.

UnFair & Ugly

I've been meaning to write this for a long time. So what's this hype (and lots of it) about being fair - and beautiful and handsome? If this isn't an avid form of racism, what else is? I mean, it's natural for a person to want to look pleasant and avoid skin problems and all that. So I am all for marketing moisturizers and other skin nourishing products. But leave alone the invariable display of fair-skinned models, there is a blatant and insensitive propoganda against the dark hued skin. Dark skinned girl shunned by boys and vice versa. Dark people not confident in interviews, insulted by friends, so on and so forth. And it is done in the name of good intentions - "Don't worry if you are dark by birth! We can make you fair within weeks, within days, within hours!!!" To hell with them. This is really a passive apartheid that is going on. We should be ashamed to stand back and watch it happen. Why the hell should a person be ashamed of his skin tone and want to change it? We are all born the way we are destined to be. Who are these marketing giants to seed unwanted anxiety and complex in people's minds? Making religion out of fairness is absolutely unfair. But the society is to blame too. These corporates are just feeding on our long-resident affinity towards fair-skinned people. I say, haven't the Europeans left our land long ago? I donno how we can put a stop to this, and how many of us really want to!

It...

In the heart of every town It stands,
swarming with crowds in mighty trance;
unperturbed by the cries and noise,
never ever raising its voice.

Men and women, rich and poor,
amass here with equal fervor;
yet it is not in Its power,
to bridge the gaps and make things better.

Little can I comprehend
the solace got from a deity;
surely there can be no form
nor gender to the almighty.

Call me not an atheist,
nor that I blaspheme;
it's just that I think it is best
to wake up from this dream.

Erase all the whimsy lines
that rip apart mankind;
It's time to shrug off old beliefs
and leave them far behind

Think of how much blood is shed
to nurture the sly old trees;
Their roots poison the whole of the earth,
it's time, it's time to cease!

If at all It exists true - and
wants us to know and praise it too,
it's not by praying, not by slaying
but living life each day anew!

Bilkis Bano - Justice restored

Of late, I am often told not to read the newspaper, for it's full of horrendous stories.

Sigh, But when considering a woman ins the same condition who had to undergo such an unspeakable horror... I don't know what to think...seriously.

And today, I am glad that I did read the newsapaper, for I read about justice restored, though delayed, (six years later) And that baby she was carrying is safe; And that her husband was so supportive to her. She had another baby. Surely, life is a miracle by itself. And a healer of its own.
All helpless souls like us can only pray that such history does never repeat itself.
Insha Allah

Kalluri ... Review

I am a great fan of Balaji sakthivel ever since I saw "Kaadhal" - one of my all-time favorites. He is one of the very very few directors who has got it in him (including tremendous guts) to take Tamil cinema to a different platform.

As far as I have seen, he is the only director who has made real success with realistic approach to films. Show life as it is, show the characters as they are, show emotions powerfully but with no melodrama, and there you are - a beautiful, hard hitting film. And that's what he does. And it's easier said than done. So hats off to him.

He has once more proven that a good entertainer of a film needs no stupid frills like hip-shaking dances (omigod - curse them), stupid punch dialogies, larger-than-life super heroes (let them all be banished to Antarctica) or double meaning comedy.The whole theater roared with laughter each time the annoying duo came up.. "ennanga, neenga sollunga... " :-))

What impressed me most was Kayalvizhi's character and the messages that the film speaks through her. Also, the plight of Muthu's sister was really touching. And the film, was so democratic. I mean, the friends were not just puppets revolving around Shobana and Muthu. Everyone had equal importance, including screen presence all were endearing in their own way.

And Joshua Sridhar's music - man, it's an amazing combo - balaji and Joshua. The song "Sariya... ithu thavara" rings around your ears for days after u see the movie. The song and music just blends through the characters and the situation and gives u the shivers!

All in all, a wonderful, must-watch, movie. Hoping we won't have to call such a movie "different" in the coming years. - I mean, more of such films should be made.

Learn to cry

Learn to cry, my darling
Feel the pain as though it pierces your skin

Show your anger with violent kicks
Shudder at the injustice that prevails in to-be home

Let not the love and care I shower on you,
Make you dumb or your senses numb

Learn to get angry, my dear…
Feel the rage as though you are boiled alive

Cry your heart out for the butchery done on lives even as young as you are
Scream your lungs out for the incredible terror unleashed in the name of discrimination
Your first cry to this world means all this to me and more…

Once you’re born, I shall shelter you, care for you,
Try all my might that no pain touches you…
For I won’t then have the courage to speak thus to you…
But life is not so fair as to many other babies

I’ll tend you like a rose bud,
Treat you like a sweet-smelling herb,
But my innermost desire is that,
To see you as the firewood that sets ablaze
A whole load of muck and tripe