True Friend

The King's Mistress by Emma Campion is slow moving, going round in circles though with an interesting historical plot.

In one place, the heroine learns this truth - that others around may provide companionship and be convenient up to a point, but finally, our greatest friend is us.

If I cannot be friends with myself, who else can? If I do not love myself, who else will?

There is a Tamil saying: That a wife walks till the doorstep, the relatives till the street end and the sons till the cremation ground. But no one can accompany us beyond that on our last journey. This is the root of Hindu philosophy, which stresses on detached attachment.

Why then do we crave to "win" friends, to "be seen" with the crowd, to "be pressured by the peer"?

Isn't it a trick of the mind that believes anyone can understand us as well as we can? That we can give others what they seek?

Anubavangal: Vattam

Anubavangal: Vattam: பள்ளிக்கூடம், வீடு. இதுதான் அவள் உலகம். அவள் வயதினர் எல்லாரும் மால், சினிமா என்று செல்வார்கள். இவளையும் ஓரிரண்டுமுறை அழைத்திருக்கிறார்கள். ஆ...

The Handy Camera

Well, I have seen the urge for people to stand next to celebrities and take a pic, even if the celebrity will not even remember having seen them, let alone their name or that they took a photo together.

And today, I saw the ultimate madness. Two men in an auto expo, making sure they posed next to every sedan and high end car - and there were quite a few of those: BMW, Audi, even a Porsche. They took turns to photograph the other with the car.

I just wished each had told the other to smile more and not look constipated. I was too amused to be able to suggest that to them.

Anubavangal: Mazhaikaala Megangal

Anubavangal: Mazhaikaala Megangal: வெளியில் எட்டிப்பார்க்கும் பொழுது அப்படியே பிரமிப்பில் உறைந்துபோனேன் நான். ஹெலிகாப்ட்டர் பூச்சிகள் அங்கே பெரிதாக வளர்ந்திருக்கும் மரத்தை மேக...

Finding Heroes

All around me, I sense failing is the flavour of the season. - Or maybe, it has always been, but I am suddenly hearing about this a lot. About how failure is inevitable, and how people bounce back.

Yes, we must draw inspiration from those who met with failure but through sheer will power, creative thinking, will power, repackaging - whatever it took - came back.

When I stare at failure, I am encouraged with the words, "Look at that man/woman. She was like you, but now see where he/she is."

I laugh. My gloom increases. I can't help saying, "If that same man/woman had not managed to succeed finally, no one would even be talking about him/her!"

It is finally only the failures of the successful people that we talk of. Successful = popular, well known.

Even those who don't shine like stars in the firmament face failures. And then bounce back and lead their lives, successfully within their framework. But, they don't become popular. We fail to see inspiration in them. We still look beyond at the distant stars and talk only of how they used failure as a stepping stone.

Me? I think it is easier to admire people who are not page 3 material, but have still faced tragedies, slipped and fallen, got up and walked, or managed to steady themselves before they could fall. They have a steady course, give their children steady families, and maybe help shape them into future heroes. They themselves seem to lead an average life, but are still kings and queens of their homes and hearts. Their uniqueness is in the clarity the eyes reflect, the cheer the smile spreads, and the warmth they give as friends.

They are not kings but kingmakers.

Anubavangal: Cheenargalum Tharamum

Anubavangal: Cheenargalum Tharamum: சமீபத்தில் ஒரு புத்தகம் திருத்திக்கொண்டிருந்தேன். ஜப்பானில் தயாரிக்கப்படும் போருட்கள் என்றாலே ஒரு காலத்தில் தரம் இல்லை என்று பொருள். இன்று ந...

Bubbling Heart

You are too busy to talk
So am I!
You have your road to walk
So do I!

We met, and I thought
Our hearts met too
But unspoken though my love
Weren't you swept away too?

Didn't you feel the pain
That is a pleasure
Didn't you want to reach out
And share moments to treasure?

When you left
With not a word
Nursing the wound
I curled up like a hurt bird

Time, the healer
Worked around the wound
But the scar comes alive
Persistent like a hound

Not letting go of that
Deep buried love
Sometimes urging my lips
To utter your name with verve

To talk of you
Like any other person
As if you mattered
Not a bit more than the other one

Shy and scared
I kill that urge
So no one may know
For whom my heart so surges

Like the churning of chaos
Old and new merge
Angry bubbles boiling
Old feelings emerge

Only to be suppressed
And forgotten with time
To be remembered again one day
By this foolish heart of mine.