Wednesday, September 30, 2015

I (can't) see Red!

Green veins of your fore arms,
Deep browns of your searching gaze,
The blues I get when I miss you;
You colour my fading youth
with every hue possible;
To paint my pale cheeks a faint red,
you ask a bit of my own heart's blood!




Friday, September 25, 2015

The zombie

A zombie walks this earth all day,
doing a little of this, and a little of that;
Waiting until night, night after night,
for the soul to come and re-unite

in the light of day,
spades dig out the corpse;
Clockwork makes the zombie go;
its hungry soul lurks beneath,
hoping for the dark,

waiting for its night.

The stillness on the surface
had me hoodwinked;
No mirage for sure, as I drank deeply,
Bewitched by the magic waters..
Not daring a plunge, too sure of drowning!
an inane wish growing for the same,
A fit of impulse, and I dive headlong;
Lucky to be still alive,
with a broken skull and all!

Bone-wracking hugs are kind
Kisses that draw blood, kinder
Smiles and handshakes, not too much can be had,
Even cold shrugs, never too bad
Be wary of, definitely watch out for
Gentle fingers stroking your temples,
Innocuous arms, slipping into yours,
with feather-like strokes, rendering goosebumps,
Only to pluck it right out of your chest,
walk away, and bleed you to death!

Friday, July 31, 2015

Smitten

I'm topsy turvy, blame him, not me;
His music has been sheer Alchemy!
A mere earthling, I crave the deity;
With nothing to offer but love in bounty!

Monday, July 27, 2015

T M Krishna's interview in Vikatan

T M Krishna’s recent announcement about boycotting the December season concerts has elicited diverse reactions. While ‘Sabha’ organizers see this as nothing more than his latest stunt, his devoted fan following perceive it as their rebellious idol’s next avatar.


What does Krishna have to say?
I am not against singing in Sabhas altogether, but only during the ‘Markazhi’ season. I will be singing in sabhas and elsewhere for the rest of the 11 months. This is a decision driven by several factors. Couple of decades ago, Carnatic music concerts flourished all through the year to a jam-packed audience. The December season festivities were but a culmination of the year-long accomplishments of the Carnatic musicians. In the present day, though, concerts do not happen except during the last month of the year, the reason simply being, reduced footfall. This has led to an increased competitiveness among musicians to procure slots during the season, which I deem amiss.
One particular season, I chose not to sing. I enjoyed attending and listening to all other musicians’ concerts. So that impelled me to propose that my concerts not be ticketed.  It’s an arduous task, getting tickets during the season, more so for the middle class. I wanted to alleviate that to the best of my ability. Pondering further, I decided not to get tangled in the seasonal traffic anymore.

What makes you believe that a single individual’s decision can change the system?
I believe this can be a beginning for the change we expect to see. With the risk of being accused of making false allegations, I shall state that it is not uncommon practice that slots are being bought for money, seriously hampering the performing chances of those sincerely committed to the art. The racket of corruption prevalent in the sabhas causes me utter disquiet.  I too am aware of what sells on-stage, and haven’t been a stranger to such tricks, in the past. I have embarked on a self-correcting path, as I now realize that art ought not to be thus commoditized.

You ventured a concert in a ‘kuppam’ (fisher people region) with the idea of bringing Carnatic music out to public. How significant were your efforts on that end?
Last year, we conducted concerts at Urur Olcott Kuppam, adjacent to Besant nagar, Chennai. Not so well-versed about fisher people’s culture and what they’d like, we included Villuppattu, Thappattam, Koothu, and Bharathanatyam in the agenda, as a safe bet. The event drew positive response from not only the residents of the kuppam, but also the general public, at large. Regular sabha-goers attended too. Therefore, the event served as a confluence for people from all walks of life. It was certainly a beginning of sorts. I can safely say that if not anything great, the event clearly brought art music closer to people.

How did the residents of Kuppam respond to Carnatic music?
Oh, they certainly enjoyed it; with what would you measure that? I, for instance, immensely enjoyed Koothu; but I could not make out its various nuances. So I’d say that the people enjoyed Carnatic music displaying the same blithe wonderment that I did watching Koothu. The more people listen to Carnatic music, the more they would be able to understand, appreciate, and enjoy it. All we need to do is stop confining it within the walls of sabhas and work on rendering it freely accessible.

Some have no qualms admitting you are their most loved musician, but for your communist ideologies. Your thoughts on that?
I am not a communist. I don’t agree totally with that philosophy. I only ask you to empathize with my voice, both literally and figuratively, pretty much the way you do when I sing!

Whom do you recognize as the most promising singer in today’s generation?
One Mr. Ramakrishna Moorthy has captured my interest. He is a no-nonsense musician with deep focus in singing. I believe he has bright prospects for a successful musical career.

There is a dent in our educational curriculum to learn Carnatic music. Do you think you could do something about it?
I wish to make something clear here. Music is not that easily learnt. It is a tedious task requiring much focus, effort, and hard work. However, the current practices can be streamlined for effective learning, for which groundwork is underway. Please give me some time!

What is your take on the reality music shows on television channels? Do you think they contribute positively to music?
I don’t believe that these short-term antics of getting contestants to sing commercial music will bring about anything good to the art of music.  Reality shows can never nurture soulful music. Moreover, children not older than fifteen years of age are exposed to flashy limelight for a very brief period and then left to their own fate, resulting in dire effects to their psyche in their teens. How many winning contestants have gone on to become successful musicians post the reality shows? It’s the parents’ responsibility to deeply reflect on these issues. They are to blame for the frenzy they let their kids undergo.

In all these years, have you been able to shed your caste identity?

When asked if I am a Brahmin, I wish to say ‘No’ with all my heart. However, I must and I do question myself if I am being true to myself. I must admit that I am afraid that an identity so wilfully disowned could fiercely crop up when one least expects. Hence I believe in accepting the identity as is and work on ways to passively resist the same.

Interviewer: Arul Ezhilan
Translation: Deepalakshmi J

Friday, July 17, 2015

The Road

I am fond of the road,
Lined with shabby shops
Or laced with stately trees,
I love the twists and bends
Even creepy corners
or the dark side lanes
The road entices me, enthralls me
As long as it doesn't lead me anywhere
It might even enlighten me

Wednesday, July 08, 2015

A wild fire

The gush of winds that fanned the blaze,
At its noble heights of soaring glory;
Now rush quietly to quench the flames,
Muttering about how things went awry!

Tuesday, June 30, 2015

Of crushes - the good, bad, and the mad!


It was "Kamalhassan" in times teeny,
With 'Life is beautiful', came "Benigni"
the intriguing Italian, live and agile,
then "Vikram" stayed for a very short while;
As Severus Snape soon came along,
"Alan Rickman" stood firm and strong!
Quite a few got lost in the maze,
grayed and faded away in a haze;
It's always clear of what will stay,
and what might merely flicker away;
That which gets past shallow sense,
and lets your crazy soul balance,
That you know will loom over,
and may be, just may be, will stay forever!

Friday, May 29, 2015

A loving dad...!



What kind of people could be a writer’s ardent admirers and close buddies? fellow writers, poets, publishers, even politicians, right? Well, this rule doesn’t hold good when it comes to JK. A doctor who hasn’t read even a word of his writings, an illiterate auto-driver, drug peddlers, Gana singers, and several other people from the lowest economic strata of the society have special places in their hearts for him, and have enjoyed his kinship for years.

Though this is not a sudden revelation, I truly realized its significance when he was recently hospitalized in critical condition. Mr. Pazhani who relentlessly rode 80 Kms to and fro on his bike, just so he could be at dad’s side, Dr. Poonkunran who kept checking on his wellness thrice a day, though he was supposed to be holidaying in the US, Auto Selvaraj, who came with Amman temple’s holy blessings and tearfully applied tikka on his forehead; the list goes on. JK’s love for humanity is not only evident from his writings but also from his friends ranging from all ranks of the society.

Can you truly love something, bound by its authority? It’s a known fact that artists who hold a great love and compassion for the society are also guilty of breaking most of its norms.

For years, I had believed that the charismatic author JK and my dad with his varied idiosyncrasies are two very different persons. Perhaps, had I been one of his close buddies I might have been illuminated better.

“Your children are not your children. They came through you but not from you; and though they are with you, they do not belong to you.” – These words of Kahlil Gibran remind me largely of dad. This was his way with us. He has never hampered our wills and wishes; has let us make our own choices in life, guiding us with only gentle and wise words.  It’s not so easy for parents to shower such unconditional love on their kids without expectations.

As kids, we have enjoyed his utmost pampering and attention. He used to tell us stories, sing funny songs; even tie our shoelaces and fill water bottles when we were running late for shcool. Also, he has been very scrupulous in sending someone for us without delay whenever the school-rickshaw could not pick us up. That he himself came to take me home on a rainy day is one of my ‘evergreenest’ memories!

I believe that the best gift you could give your children is to live an exemplary life, not compromising your integrity and dignity. And this, I learnt from dad.

  • Deepa

Monday, December 08, 2014

The Awakening

The bubble must burst;
inevitably; irrevocably!

I only ask that it leaves...
A lasting hue
staining my senses;
A soft buzz,
to quieten my fears
And..
a tiny spark,
that sets my soul ablaze!

Sunday, February 09, 2014

I love you not for the things you are proud of;
for what you love to be loved for...
your success, your intellect, your wit, your chivalry, your machismo
all these are adorable, no doubt, and they amuse me
just as much as my little girl's pretty antics would
However...
it's your deepest fears, your darkest secrets
all those hurt that you struggle to hide,
the weaknesses with which you crumble f...rom inside
the scars you are ashamed to show the world,
I love you mainly for these and more
I see through you my dearest,
and therefore,
I love you....

Tuesday, September 03, 2013

Card Building

Nimble fingers numb with fatigue
refuse to toil anymore
eyelids weighing down with ennui
lose focus insidiously

the soul however, is unforgiving
crying loud for its want -
to fit in, to concord, to belong,
it dreads being left out, being out of place
an old obsession that just dies hard
a quenchless thirst teased by mirage

daring not the swiftest blink
nor the tiniest whiff of breath
the soul sets to work with zeal;
even a fleeting sigh of relief or respite
could spell nothing but decisive doom

slowly but surely rises the tomb
the epitome of normality and calm
the soul delights, atlast atlast!
only to dread the slightest jolt

Wednesday, July 17, 2013

Of Bitches and Witches

On the other day, in a movie,  a man calls a woman in the midst of an angry fight,  "You Whore!"  -  (goodness knows why, but they muted it on TV) but you could still see his lip synching perfectly.
However, the sub-titles ran a different word "Harlot" which is acceptable or far less offensive, I suppose. Wonder why, the dictionary offers the same meaning for both these words:
Whore - "A woman who engages in sexual intercourse for money"

Not only men, It's not uncommon for women to use such words to insult other women. Slut, whore, hussy, jade, you have to just pick one, and the words just fall over you like the falling gems in the Cadbury Gems advertisement. There are a plethora of words to describe women in this context all over the world. Every language boasts of at least a hundred to speak of women who believe in free sex, or rather sex for sale.

One wonders, is the feeble, nearly male equivalent of these words used in the same way? The dictionary reads thus:
Gigolo - "A man who has sex with and is supported by a woman"

Unlike women, men supposedly can't earn money freely out of sex like a woman, unless he is "supported by a woman, so implies the dictionary. Or could it be that the dictionary implies that a gigolo could be but only a slave of a whore? whatever!

The English dictionary, like that of any other language, is seriously partial against the masculine gender in this regard. It's shocking to say the least that it sadly lacks with equivalents for the male, who are "disputably" still burdened with having to play an equal if not larger role in socially unacceptable scenarios.

Yes, there are terms like mother-f**ker, sister-f**ker and the like - Sad, you need to drag in the female
family members of a male in order to insult him.

A few more words exclusively for the females:

Bitch (the ubiquitous, most loved-to-use word)

The dictionary reads thus:
1. An unpleasant difficulty
2. A person (usual but not necessarily a woman) who is thoroughly disliked.
3. A complaint, the act of complaining
4. Female of any member of the dog family. (So now that nails down what was only hinted in #2)

Whereas, what's in store for the word "Dog" offers some surprises!

1. A dull, unacttractive unpleasant girl or woman. (Attributed again to a woman)
"She's a real dog" 
2. Informal term for a man
"You lucky dog" (that's in a praising tone)
3. Someone who is morally reprehensible
"You dirty dog" (definitely not exclusive to men)

Witch & Wizard 

Dictionary reads thus for Witch:
1. A being (usually female) imagined to have special powers derived from the devil (indeed!)
2. A female sorcerer or magician
3. An ugly evil-looking old woman 
Now the last meaning is given without so much of a warning as vulgar, or slang - implies it's
totally acceptable.

Curious what Wizard translates to?

1. Someone who is dazzlingly skilled in any field. (!!!) 
2. One who practices magic or sorcery (Devil offered the male no powers. He had to practice by himself, poor thing!)
3. (computing) feature of a computer program or script used to guide an inexperienced user through a sequence of steps.
Sad, it's always the males who's got to share their nomenclature with computer programs.

And to top it all words like fool, moron, git, idiot, stupid, half-wit, scoundrel, rascal, and countless others are frustratingly gender neutral!

Note: Dear readers, (if any of you there) your thoughts please? Anything to put an end to this blatant Misandry of the English Dictionary. Now, wonder why the dictionary should carry a female equivalent of this word too, as it hardly claims of any -  Misogyny.


Tuesday, July 09, 2013

I have never been around here much


I have never been around here much.  

First I spent quite some time holding others hands with the stupid and the smart crow, the hare and the tortoise, the lion and the mouse and other talking animals.
Then one day I went on my own with the little round bun that hopped out of the window sill, off to the porch, and met a series of animals, escaped them but finally got tricked by the sly fox that ate it.

Misha and Masha were always fun. They often took me with them to spend a few days at their granny’s. Misha used to laugh how Masha cleverly tricked the bear from eating her up. I loved Masha.

Then came Ivanushka with his magic horse. I became the princess he fell in love with; sometimes, I was Ivan myself.

School times were more fun, when I pretended to be at the Malory Towers, Riverdale High or St.Clares. Jyothi became Darrell and I was Alicia or Sally. 
The famous five gave me painful envy with their splendid times on Kirrinn island… I followed them like a shadow, as they had all sorts of picnics and exciting adventures.

Solace was always at hand with Enid Blyton, during the bitter domestic wars that sometimes waged for days together.
Dull and dreary teenage days brightened a little with Harlequin romance.

Adulthood came to a standstill and I relished going back several years in time with the magical saga of Harry Potter.
Even in the first few rosy years of marriage, languor was wiped off whenever it seeped in, as I managed to shut myself in the fantastic world Rowling had created. I have never done drugs, but I could almost imagine how it would be. In more sober times there were the good old classics.

Household chores were not so dreary as I mulled over tit-bits from mags. Escapades from the mundane; fantasies to dwell. Noesis was lucky to come by, if any!

Things have changed. With life’s most inevitable changes, came reality hard and fast. For the first time in life, I had to be here…right here, not miss a moment. I was engrossed in the all-new experiences and I couldn’t care less for self-indulgences. May be, I could live without them after all?
How very wrong I was? The more I turned my back on them, the more I missed them; sorely. They slowly became conspicuous by absence.

Now again, for goodness sake, they are coming back. Masha has come to baby sit my kids. She has grown slightly distant to me, but she smiles at me, her old acquaintance. As the kids play with Masha and her bear, Thumbelina and Ole Luckoie, they got new friends too. Bubbles, Jessica and the elephants, Martha the monster, to name a few. I weave in and out of their worlds and mine, so different, yet so connected.

Can’t wait for Enid Blyton who’ll soon be around; whom we’ll share, join in their picnics if they let me there!
Right now, as the kids are safely tucked in bed between Pinocchio and the blue fairy, Huck Finn and Jim are beckoning me for a ride on the river for a few hours before sleep. 

Wednesday, July 03, 2013

Love letters


Old letters are nostalgic, endearing even, written between family and friends.

However, there is always something sinister about love letters; even as the love gets consummated.

Love letters are out of this world, they do not belong here, except for those stolen moments they are written and read, re-read, and re-read for quite some time.

Like stealthy kisses, fateful impulses, they are born out of fervent passions, minds in a whirl, momentous ecstasies, or desperate agonies.

Like fireworks on the sky, magical flowers that sprout and wither overnight,
they are glorious, yet ethereal in their own accord.

Scandal and shame always await them,
or worse, the inevitable purging.

But the worst happens to those that manage survival and hold honorable places in chests,
for they lose their lusture like aging actors.

True love like wine gets better with age,
love letters decay, fade over time.

Like illegal drugs, adversely therapeutic, they lurk in locked chests, these phantoms of your past.

As you pass by them in silent weary afternoons, an eerie solitude creeping over, unsaid,

you first hear them smirking and giggling,
slowly turning into painful groans;

finally they come, the unmistakable shrieks soaring to such levels, as though you locked them just seconds before...

Like devilish naughty kids, they plead at you with sly eyes, asking to be with you, promising their atonement
your heart wrenches to forgive, but know that you shouldn’t

Nevertheless,
You budge, giving in to their victory, undoubtedly as you must.
with streaming tears you embrace them, spend some happy hours with these fugitives,
cooing with them over the past, only until  it’s time to get back to the present.
you then watch them go back to their graves, carrying undue poignancy,

Every time a bit more aged,
more faded,
and more dog-eared than the last.

Tuesday, June 25, 2013

The Black Hole

It was only a tiny little spot,
neatly cleared up, no mess at all
totally empty, staring at me...
not for long, I was smug and easy
took to feeding it slowly but surely,
as it grew greedily,
to enormous stature;
no hope of satiation, whatsoever;
I went on relentlessly
pooled in every resource I owned and borrowed;
what was just a poor little void
is now a panoptic hungry black hole;
Dreading me from deep within,
Waiting for absolute usurpation;
Nothing seems the Matter to it
And not even a faint Light returns!


Tuesday, June 04, 2013

Perhaps...!

With the rustle of each wind,
I look up at the bell,
perhaps, it will toll on its own
but no,
it just hangs there, tongue-tied
waiting for me to tug at the rope, perhaps?
The winds whistle away,
mocking at both of us...perhaps!

Monday, May 27, 2013

A Tortoise Story

That I am able to shut out and let in
anything at anytime within my self-made shell
scares me...
Is the trail actually deserted
or am I taking futile detours?
the cheery mad laughter that I so relish
has died down all of a sudden,
returning only to haunt my dreams;

weary of the path that is so clear ahead
I lie down and sleep a little,
dreaming of dancing and not running;

Where's the grace in winning a race?
with poor little hares that can't match your pace?

Survival of the Flippant

Life is all about Love, Sex, and Intoxication
Survival? that's a totally different story.
Live less and survive longer...that's the way of the world
#sad, really!

Time for tea? Time for two!

Lone lunches have never been uncommon or unpleasant. Even when work has kept your nose to the grindstone all through the morn, if you just...