tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-53501134795950496052024-03-10T09:48:56.995+05:30Viji unpluggedVijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.comBlogger446125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-74925917071301497732023-04-23T12:38:00.001+05:302023-04-23T12:41:53.633+05:30My 100th post - Porphyria's lover<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTdv9dKeLXdvRARFaHvhOBZEDPNijZE9v35OOcq5Sv8Ypqds79YNDKh8cN-p47_dvCeVbf4Gmrm_ZoGnsx1z5aYf88LXwbhAjKOD_93_IobyA51entwRnVTuS_MwzJUjX-PZFqibbWyxm/s1600-h/flaming+june.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer; width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgoTdv9dKeLXdvRARFaHvhOBZEDPNijZE9v35OOcq5Sv8Ypqds79YNDKh8cN-p47_dvCeVbf4Gmrm_ZoGnsx1z5aYf88LXwbhAjKOD_93_IobyA51entwRnVTuS_MwzJUjX-PZFqibbWyxm/s400/flaming+june.jpg" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391916723438966722" border="0"></a><br><p>I started my blog with a prayer to <a href="http://viji-poetrymypassion.blogspot.com/2008/01/now-ive-decided-to-blog-how-to.html"><span style="color: rgb(0, 204, 204);">Muse</span></a> on Jan 7, 2008. </p><p>I wanted my 100th post to be special... special to me. Though I call my scribbles poems, I love to read poems from a old poetry collection of mine.</p><p>Porphyria's lover by Robert Browning is the one I go to, when I am distressed, when I am happy and when I am anything in between.</p><p>Publishing the poem here, my way of sharing it to my readers.</p><p>My friend read it out for me and I am adding that record here, he had given life to this poem. "Thank you so much and God bless you dear. You can't even guess how happy you made me! Thanks for your time." </p><p>But his first reaction was, "The guy is crazy and you call this poem your favourite?". Yes. It's a favourite poem of mine, the hero of the poem behaves like a psycho. But the delivery of this poem and the shock we get out of those lines is where Browning's success lie. The anger and helplessness we feel is what Browning set out to achieve and he did just that. </p><p>It goes this way!<br><br><a href="https://drive.google.com/file/d/1CUYaabWz51YkV5CZLNxv0Hn_c7QJxGEU/view?usp=drivesdk">Poetry recital</a><br><embed type="application/x-shockwave-flash" width="350" height="24" allowfullscreen="true" allowscriptaccess="always" src="http://www.archive.org/flow/flowplayer.commercial-3.0.5.swf" w3c="true" flashvars="config={"key":"#$b6eb72a0f2f1e29f3d4","playlist":[{"url":"http://www.archive.org/download/PorphyriasLover/porphyria.mp3","autoPlay":false}],"clip":{"autoPlay":true},"canvas":{"backgroundColor":"0x000000","backgroundGradient":"none"},"plugins":{"audio":{"url":"http://www.archive.org/flow/flowplayer.audio-3.0.3-dev.swf"},"controls":{"playlist":false,"fullscreen":false,"gloss":"high","backgroundColor":"0x000000","backgroundGradient":"medium","sliderColor":"0x777777","progressColor":"0x777777","timeColor":"0xeeeeee","durationColor":"0x01DAFF","buttonColor":"0x333333","buttonOverColor":"0x505050"}},"contextMenu":[{"Item PorphyriasLover at archive.org":"function()"},"-","Flowplayer 3.0.5"]}"> <br><br><br><strong>Porphyria's lover</strong></p><p><br>THE rain set early in to-night,<br>The sullen wind was soon awake,<br>It tore the elm-tops down for spite,<br>And did its worst to vex the lake:<br>I listen'd with heart fit to break.<br>When glided in Porphyria; straight<br>She shut the cold out and the storm,<br>And kneel'd and made the cheerless grate<br>Blaze up, and all the cottage warm;<br>Which done, she rose, and from her form<br>Withdrew the dripping cloak and shawl,<br>And laid her soil'd gloves by, untied<br>Her hat and let the damp hair fall,<br>And, last, she sat down by my side<br>And call'd me. When no voice replied,<br>She put my arm about her waist,<br>And made her smooth white shoulder bare,<br>And all her yellow hair displaced,<br>And, stooping, made my cheek lie there,<br>And spread, o'er all, her yellow hair,<br>Murmuring how she loved me—she<br>Too weak, for all her heart's endeavour,<br>To set its struggling passion free<br>From pride, and vainer ties dissever,<br>And give herself to me for ever.<br>But passion sometimes would prevail,<br>Nor could to-night's gay feast restrain<br>A sudden thought of one so pale<br>For love of her, and all in vain:<br>So, she was come through wind and rain.<br>Be sure I look'd up at her eyes<br>Happy and proud; at last I knew<br>Porphyria worshipp'd me; surprise<br>Made my heart swell, and still it grew<br>While I debated what to do.<br>That moment she was mine, mine, fair,<br>Perfectly pure and good: I found<br>A thing to do, and all her hair<br>In one long yellow string I wound<br>Three times her little throat around,<br>And strangled her. No pain felt she;<br>I am quite sure she felt no pain.<br>As a shut bud that holds a bee,<br>I warily opened her lids: again<br>Laugh'd the blue eyes without a stain.<br>And I untighten'd next the tress<br>About her neck; her cheek once more<br>Blush'd bright beneath my burning kiss:<br>I propp'd her head up as before,<br>Only, this time my shoulder bore<br>Her head, which droops upon it still:<br>The smiling rosy little head,<br>So glad it has its utmost will,<br>That all it scorn'd at once is fled,<br>And I, its love, am gain'd instead!<br>Porphyria's love: she guess'd not how<br>Her darling one wish would be heard.<br>And thus we sit together now,<br>And all night long we have not stirr'd,<br>And yet God has not said a word!<br><br>-Robert Browning<br><br></p>Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com17tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-82012941981867334882020-08-14T06:05:00.006+05:302022-03-28T13:04:01.400+05:30Hopes forlorn<div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtF6I-15eZDXX9O2mrWKxZyUIQCprBoO3DfOpONpiaxP_J4KiBDBsD7WFje7kl2Zw0UJO4Caro4ymlXe5UyiDakQ56WBxcz0HjTWhGeCHRPBWx7Z58TzNcWAISXZqi8z2xvSLp3Ofamcg9/s672/images.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="282" data-original-width="672" height="216" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgtF6I-15eZDXX9O2mrWKxZyUIQCprBoO3DfOpONpiaxP_J4KiBDBsD7WFje7kl2Zw0UJO4Caro4ymlXe5UyiDakQ56WBxcz0HjTWhGeCHRPBWx7Z58TzNcWAISXZqi8z2xvSLp3Ofamcg9/w513-h216/images.jpg" width="513" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The sleepless nights I had then, </div><div>I had something to dream about, </div><div>Hope waiting at the end of the tunnel, </div><div>The life I loved, waiting out there to live. </div><div><br /></div><div>I had known, the dreams won't last, </div><div>Not forever, not for a score, </div><div>Yet, I hoped my hope won't desert, </div><div>Now that it did, I stopped to think. </div><div><br /></div><div>The sleepless nights I have now, </div><div>I have nothing to dream about, </div><div>Hope forlorn, no light in vicinity, </div><div>My life I lead, hollow and ridden of life. </div><div></div>Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-47268974843417169362018-10-27T03:07:00.001+05:302018-10-27T03:08:52.782+05:30Before the world shuts down for me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLOxUse8M751sgbtI8KuXPUDQ1ffaZJdMZ1zXbbqOPVRaS_wfLCAJ2HN1rXoFmQwFnaQZfiyFy1SVX5Wk3ng5VDaZbzjGqAesN1dzde1M2N-KkzpjtF7Dc-gunyQddP0Xm0uz_rdWJC2L/s1600/images+%25285%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="247" data-original-width="330" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEivLOxUse8M751sgbtI8KuXPUDQ1ffaZJdMZ1zXbbqOPVRaS_wfLCAJ2HN1rXoFmQwFnaQZfiyFy1SVX5Wk3ng5VDaZbzjGqAesN1dzde1M2N-KkzpjtF7Dc-gunyQddP0Xm0uz_rdWJC2L/s320/images+%25285%2529.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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I wish to keep turning pages, </div>
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One page every day, </div>
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I will pen a line on every page, </div>
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It will start with your name and</div>
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End with yours, </div>
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Everything in between is our story of love. </div>
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The pages may age, </div>
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My hands may wither, </div>
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The writing shaky, </div>
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Your name scrawled, </div>
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But, I will continue </div>
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Till the last page or my last day. </div>
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You will be the end of my story, </div>
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Your name will be the last I utter. </div>
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My only prayers to the great lord, </div>
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That you hear my last whisper and</div>
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Your face is the last I should see. </div>
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When my eyes close gently, </div>
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I would still fight to get another glimpse, </div>
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Another glimpse, </div>
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And another, </div>
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Yet another</div>
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Before the world shuts down for me. </div>
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-31124331582262663082018-08-31T02:11:00.000+05:302018-08-31T10:34:30.073+05:30Look at me<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmgGOQh8NReJ-P7EcDFi-BXh5u7p2B8VYSFFACuycHbHb0jwxlGYddOCaQnIb38CaDVLYp_uuTsx0idd5UkLw0c1491k13lSf_p6OT1c1njDpkkVkydmbnLtv8BtIZxLZ5bTpPNdGacvBp/s1600/images.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="313" data-original-width="469" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmgGOQh8NReJ-P7EcDFi-BXh5u7p2B8VYSFFACuycHbHb0jwxlGYddOCaQnIb38CaDVLYp_uuTsx0idd5UkLw0c1491k13lSf_p6OT1c1njDpkkVkydmbnLtv8BtIZxLZ5bTpPNdGacvBp/s320/images.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
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My eyes are the screen for you to watch.. </div>
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Thousands of emotions playing for you</div>
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You might see or you may miss, </div>
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But, it's there for you to see.. </div>
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They are bereft of curtains, </div>
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Except when I tear up, </div>
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Amidst the droplets, </div>
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You are welcome to watch.. </div>
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The million expressions,</div>
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Whether angry or happy</div>
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They speak to you</div>
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About a beautiful heart. </div>
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<br /></div>
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When you are absorbed with other things </div>
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When I speak to you from behind, </div>
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Turn and look at my eyes for a second, </div>
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They hold several hundred shades of love. </div>
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<br /></div>
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Look at me now</div>
<div>
Look at me again</div>
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Look at me for a hundred times, </div>
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In your eyes I will reflect, </div>
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And in mine yours.. </div>
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A billion times in and in</div>
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Our tale of love never dims. </div>
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-15458228066869393832017-09-14T11:02:00.000+05:302017-09-14T22:23:44.635+05:30Two women, two states, one goal <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmUi-uqqiLq_E-BWavu6cH5G0Dxtkx6HvPH4EHpCrPImOI5_p_djal_CJ6Z9Ef6Fqgt8Yp1wTWxRWd_p5wuBdpNTCL2NRD337i_dZLC6Ldfeea1PybPSFkCPobs55Cq1bhn1mkciWIKsx/s1600/images+%25281%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="468" data-original-width="315" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgmmUi-uqqiLq_E-BWavu6cH5G0Dxtkx6HvPH4EHpCrPImOI5_p_djal_CJ6Z9Ef6Fqgt8Yp1wTWxRWd_p5wuBdpNTCL2NRD337i_dZLC6Ldfeea1PybPSFkCPobs55Cq1bhn1mkciWIKsx/s400/images+%25281%2529.jpg" width="268" /></a> <a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdr23Dtz_6FVfrplKox88hQ1iIQA0rxHl6QGdKXasTxuSG11uXfLek3elHSuaL5hL2-yPWLTsw9BiChxPERK_xjpQhPqLrz2q3d_PeSOPm7ReobbVnCb0yZuVqCioUXjx2udwwAfVLSVL/s1600/images+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="344" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqdr23Dtz_6FVfrplKox88hQ1iIQA0rxHl6QGdKXasTxuSG11uXfLek3elHSuaL5hL2-yPWLTsw9BiChxPERK_xjpQhPqLrz2q3d_PeSOPm7ReobbVnCb0yZuVqCioUXjx2udwwAfVLSVL/s320/images+%25282%2529.jpg" width="257" /></a></div>
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A tale of two women, who were obsessed about Krishna, the yadhu kula prince. Govindha and Kesava, as he is fondly called, is followed by the cows and calves, his hair is adorned with Peacock feathers and plays venu, his flute. The magical music risen from his flute envelops everyone and make them forget everything but the divine music. <br />
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Andal, daughter of Periyalwar, a foundling, adored by her father, was brought up with verses on Krishna. She lived and loved Krishna. After hearing her father sing verses in praise of the divine child, from bala to kumara, Andal fell in love with Krishna. She imagined herself as a Gopika and followed the practices of Gokula. She wanted to marry Krishna. She had the support of her father, who not for a moment thought his daughter's idea of getting married to the lord himself is a crazy one. Her Naachiar Thirumozhi has a padhigam where she creates the wedding scenario of her getting married to Krishna right from wedding procession to the lord marrying her. Every small details are captured with the most beautiful words, like fresh honey dripping out of honeycomb.<br />
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Meera, born in a royal Rajput family was a mystic poet. Her love for Krishna is evident in her poetry. She has the wish of marrying Krishna. She clung to the idol of Krishna and he was her playmate and soul mate through her childhood days. Unlike Andal, she wasn't given the freedom of being unmarried. She was married to the Bhoj Raj, the crown prince of Mewar. Meera holding on to Krishna bhakti never paid heed to the political and personal chaos around her. Her only thought was Krishna and her love for him made her invincible, who tried to even kill her. She kept singing about Krishna amidst poison being served to her or snakes trying to get a bite out of her and even when she was ordered to drown herself. <br />
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Both Andal and Meera sang songs that were dipped in love and bhakthi for Krishna.
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Andal songs are romantic, carefree, playful, cheerful and she owns Krishna to an extent she even mocks at him in certain places.
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Meera on the other hand sings soulful songs on Krishna. It has a melancholic touch, being married to the King and in love with Krishna, makes her long for her union with lord, at the Same time making it difficult to remain with her husband and going against societal norms. This drove Meera to the brim of despair, hoping against all odds and naturally her songs were full of despair, loneliness, yet the longing in her words, stirs at the heart of people. <br />
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Andal her songs are not just about Krishna, everything surrounded him. She describes krishna, his various avatars, his conch, aadhisesha, his disc called sudarshana Chakra. She talks about Napinnai (Krishna's wife), yasodha, balarama, nandhagopala, devaki, vasudeva, the gopikas, the butter, curd, even the rope that was used to tie Krishna. all the asuras who were sent by Kamas to kill Krishna. Andal's description of krishna is just not him, she loves everything that belonged to him. She has the audacity to even address Nappinai, Krishna's wife to give Krishna along with her fan and mirror. Fan, mirror and krishna? It's a praise for Nappinai that Krishna had given her all the rights to handle him the way she can handle her fan and mirror. "Ukkamum thatoliyum thandhun manaalanai, ippodhae emmai neeraatu“.
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Meera on the other hand sings about the dark skinned Krishna with his 'mor mukut' (peacock feather) and 'peethambara' (the golden yellow dress Krishna wears) and 'bansuri' (flute). She immerses herself in her Khanna and doesn't give heed to the surroundings. She is content to have Krishna and the surroundings doesn't matter.<br />
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<i>Chala wahi des,
</i><br />
<i>Preetam pawa, jalaan wahi des
</i><br />
<i>Kaho kusumal saari rangawa,
</i><br />
<i>kaho tho bhagawa bhes.
</i><br />
<i>Kaho toh motiyan maang bharaawa,
</i><br />
<i>kaho chhitkaawa kes.
</i><br />
<i>Meera ke prabhu Giridhar naagar,
</i><br />
<i>sunagyo Birad nares.
</i><br />
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Let's go to that region, to be one with my love. It does not matter if I have to wear colourful attire or saffron robe. It does not matter if I have to decorate my hair with pearls or to have dishevelled hair as long as Meera be with her lord of love, Giridhar.
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If Andal and Meera meets...
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Meera sings:
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<i>Mor mukut pitambar sohe
</i><br />
<i>Gale vaijanti mala
</i><br />
<i>Varidawan mein dhen charave
</i><br />
<i>Mohan murli wala
</i><br />
<i>Mane chakar rakho ji
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Andal sings:
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<i>Karpuram naarumo, kamala poo naarumo?
</i><br />
<i>Thirupavala chevvai thaan thitthithirukumo?
</i><br />
<i>Marupositha madhavan than vaai chuvaiyum naatramum,
</i><br />
<i>Viruputru ketkinraen solaazhi vensangae.
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<u>Meera: </u> Kodha means creeper? You are the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I have a question for you. How did you escape the clutches of the samsara? How did you escape getting married to a human? </div>
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<u>Andal: </u>Meera, I was created beautiful for Krishna. You look serene and your untouched beauty was created for Krishna too. This body is just a vessel to hold the love for Krishna. My father Vishnu Chitha like nurturing a plant, nurtured Krishna's love in me. </div>
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When I was ripe for marriage, I prayed to Kamadeva(the lord of love). </div>
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<i>"Oonidai aazhi sangu uthamarkku endru unnittu ezhundha en thada mulaihal, maanidavarkku endru paechu padil vazhahillaen kandaai manmadhanae". </i></div>
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(My bosom beats and waits for the lord who holds the conch and disc and I am not meant to live with human (the mortals).) My father stood for me. </div>
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<u>Meera:</u> Your poetry is full of beauty. Nature, birds, Krishna's avayava. I am so immersed in your poetry now and I do not want to spend my time away from it. </div>
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Andal: Meera, I knew you were put to so many tests before you became one with him. How did you face them. It is so easy to give up than stick on. Not having the support of your own family, the enmity of your in-laws, you are the bravest and the determined. I respect you and want to join you in your bhajans. Let us slowly walk to Vrindavan. Let us sing and dance and enter his fort to be accepted all over again. </div>
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I want to sing with you,</div>
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<i>"Yaad aave yaad aave
</i><br />
<i>Vrindavan ki mangal leela
</i><br />
<i>Yaad aave yaad aave
</i><br />
<i>Krishna kanhaiya chhail chhabila
</i><br />
<i>Yaad aave yaad aave
</i><br />
<i>Sakhiyan ke sang jana
</i><br />
<i>Nirmal jamuna neer nahana
</i><br />
<i>Sab mil kar lalan gun gana
</i><br />
<i>Kabhi kabhi val dars na pana
</i><br />
<i>Yaad aave yaad aave
</i><br />
<i>Nabh pe taro ka jhilmil na
</i><br />
<i>Murli dhun sun dil khil milna
</i><br />
<i>Kunjan kunjan mohan milna
</i><br />
<i>Yaad aave yaad aave
</i><br />
<i>Chandai madhu chandai raat mein
</i><br />
<i>Ras rachana
</i><br />
<i>Rup mantar se prem jagana
</i><br />
<i>Krishan roop mein kridyan gana
</i><br />
<i>Aabha ko parbhu ko mil jana
</i><br />
<i>Yaad aave yaad aave
</i><br />
<i>Koi kahe ye hai mitha sapna
</i><br />
<i>Krishan kahani savimal rachna
</i><br />
<i>More nahi kachu kahna sunna
</i><br />
<i>More to brij lalan lalna
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<i>Yaad aave yaad aave.
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(Won’t those days when Krishna was growing up in Vrindavan comes back again? The son of nanda did so many miracles those days. Won’t those days comes back again?
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All the people gathered and sang the praise of Krishna and bathed in the river Yamuna. They wandered all over the forest looking for Krishna everyday in order to get a glimpse of him.
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The herd of Does was put to shame by the gopis. They and the sages were enchanted by the music of flute played by Krishna which made it feel that humanity is superior to celestial life.
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He used to go to the forest accompanying the cattle to let them graze. He used to get dirty all over by the dust floating around. The celestials witnessing that desired to visit earth.
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Ignorant Meera’s heart is occupied by giridhAri (one who held Govardhana). The lotus feet, sought by scriptures, sages, and Brahma--- must have hurt while walking the forest. Won’t such days come again?)
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<u>Meera:</u> Giridhar stayed with me in my hearts and the belief in him, took care of all the obstacles. As you sang, he doesn't need weapons to destroy enemies. He didn't lift one during the great War of Mahabarath and he made me not to lift one during my war within me and with those who stood between me and Krishna, my lord. </div>
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Holding their hands Meera and Andal sings in unison, language doesn't matter.. Only true love and devotion. Their songs reverberated and reached Vrindavan, even before they reached the gates of Vrindavan. </div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #757575; font-family: , "helveticaneue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Image courtesy: </span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #757575; font-family: , "helveticaneue" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px;">Meera: Meera Ho Gayi Magan in Sketching by Naveen Kumar Singh</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: 12px;"><span style="font-family: , "helveticaneue" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #757575;">Andal: </span></span></span></span><a href="https://goo.gl/images/CFxU39">https://goo.gl/images/CFxU39</a></div>
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-188742116994517632017-06-02T23:02:00.000+05:302017-06-02T23:04:57.061+05:30Illusions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Inside the cocoon of swirling waves, </div>
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I swim gently, awaiting the splash. </div>
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The lights distorted, surrounding me, </div>
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Creating an illusion of the northern lights.. </div>
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I swam first rushing along, </div>
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Avoiding the splash as much as I can, </div>
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I slipped on a current and missed a breath, </div>
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I saw the water making its fall.</div>
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The wave huge about to swallow me, </div>
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I couldn't back down, but was ready to surrender. </div>
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Waiting for the strike, to make me breathless</div>
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Down it came crashing on me. </div>
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When I stopped fighting, </div>
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The waves enveloped me, </div>
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Like an oyster protecting the pearl, </div>
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I felt cherished and cocooned. </div>
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The false sense of security </div>
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The lull setting me to settle in, </div>
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Didn't realize, it wasn't my home, </div>
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The hugging waves, started to kick. </div>
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-59571231209111887862017-05-11T01:58:00.000+05:302017-05-11T01:59:51.201+05:30Mango, the fruit of endless surprise<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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If at all there is a fruit that can make you madly fall in love with it, it has to be Mango. Mango, a sage in saffron that has the power to open up the gates of heaven. </div>
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Whenever I gaze at this rich, succulent, plumpy fruit all juicy, oh! I go so weak on my knees. I had to have it. It needs preparation to enjoy this fruit. You can't just peel and dig in. You hold it, look at the ways it lies on your palm so beautiful. Then take a bowl or go near the kitchen sink and take a deep bite. The juice will drip all over your jaw, chin, hands and on your shirt. The river of divine pleasure. Who cares? </div>
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This time take a bigger bite and suck the juice. Don't mind the sound (the slurpier the better) or the juice that flows through your palms and races on your arms. Lick it clean and get your attention back to your mango. Turn the Mango, gaze at the untouched half. Did I hear you calling me messy? Maybe I am. Where was I? Yeah, turn the fruit, gaze at it and decide from which side you should attack it. Sink your teeth just the way a predator does to its prey. Only difference is the fruit is a willing prey. It doesn't fight or evade, it is slippery and may tease you a bit but it doesn't fight you back, a temptress that makes you pine for more, a willing prisoner. </div>
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Now you consumed more than half the fruit, you will slowly start to feel the astringent of the skin, you cluck and get back to the rest. Usually you won't stop till you gobble up the skin, pulp and left with the seed that now have hairy fires sticking out. Like a wet cat with bristles sticking out? No! Mangoes are mangoes no comparison. You are done licking everywhere and about to shove the seed off in a dustbin. </div>
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One last time, you turn it sideways and with your teeth tug at the bristles from root and draw out the little pulp that's stuck in between those bristles, repeat the process all over and throw the seed finally. After washing, gargling and cleaning the mess up, there are those particles, the fibres that's stuck between your teeth, keeps reminding you about your sinful affair with the ripest fruit. The slight raw skin underneath your lips, makes your tongue to rub it and test the sensitivity and a reminder for the rest of the day about you gorging a fruit sinfully. </div>
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You remind yourself to buy a dozen Mangoes that evening. Atleast this season, I should have Mangoes 'contently'. A relative term of course. </div>
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-26798234647280233412017-03-04T00:01:00.000+05:302017-03-04T12:23:14.435+05:30Kids of 70s, 80s and 90s<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Through centuries kids has been kids. Born in 70s I had witnessed kids of 80s, 90s and millennium.<br />
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Starting with a statutory warning, I am not judging and this post is only an observation from a 70s kid.<br />
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70s kids<br />
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1. We had company. When we walk down the street we bumped on friends or bullies. The physical them. For survival we made more friends that led to more enemies, (friend's enemies ours too). We took sides, we made some promises, broke some. We crossed our fingers, when we lied. We ran down the street to welcome grand parents, uncles, aunts, unburdened them of their cloth bags or baskets and carried them, wondering about why the bag was heavy and if any sweets, toffees, or if we're too lucky the multi coloured striped rubber balls resting in a corner of the bag. We shift restlessly till they go to the loo, wash their face, hands, legs, what not...talking all the time to parents, sipping coffee. We wait not too patiently like a Stork. And when they call your name, you run and stand next to them. They will remove things one by one and finally hand us a newspaper wrap, that may have some candies or pull the much awaited ball out. We rush out to show the ball eagerly to our friends and they all stretch their hands to receive the ball to admire. In less than a minute they will start throwing the ball and you go behind them shouting not to and slowly the hours stretch as we play. By night you hijack the torn ball home in the well worn half pant pocket.<br />
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2. With a spring, we were ready to walk any distance. We just needed a reason to be outdoors and going to nearby chettiar kadai to get 200 grams mustard and 1/4 kg sugar for a 10 paise commission was enough incentive. The ultimate luxury being hiring (h)our cycle and trying to manage the huge bicycle with Monkey pedal. The parents didn't put curfew for their children to play outside, there were kidnappers, murderers, rapists, psychos lurking but it never stopped us from roaming around. Parents asked the children to be careful but they didn't try to instill fear in them. The children were bold, independent. All children read together, there were no special schools, we never knew terms like hyperactive, attention deficit etc. There were only three types, intelligent, mediocre, dumb. <br />
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3. If you caught cold, you weren't rushed to hospitals. There were only 4 vaccines small pox vaccination, DPT, BCG, polio drops. Once in a year medical checkup in school, the doctor will do eye test just by examining our eyes with torch, check if you have vaccine marks, you were made to remove the uniforms and made to stand with shimmies (shifts) as we used to call then. Boys were checked in different rooms most of them bare chested clutching at their half pants, some of the boys who forget to wear their briefs, their face transparent and their fear evident, "what if?" I remember there was this element of fear, excitement around. Flu and malaria was common and we in general used to feel jealous of kids who get typhoid. Typhoid somehow was looked at as a posh word and taking 15 days leave was really a boon. The most feared disease was Diphtheria.<br />
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4. Ponds or Gokul sandal talcum and in summer days Nycil was the only cosmetics we knew of. Our hairs parted and combed with oil, our talcum coated faces smeared along with the oil was a common scene. A lifebuoy soap cut into two pieces lasted almost a month. We all sang loud while taking bath, our voices gurgling with water poured by a mug, was enchanting.<br />
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5. We never bothered to wash fruits, we brush it on our skirts or trousers and take a bite and offer to<br />
friends, they turn it the other side and take a bite. Somewhere it all get mixed up. Moms kept sugar, jaggery on the loft, but we try to take it during noon when they sleep and though we are careful to place it exactly as we took, the CB CID mothers when they wake up, they will turn and ask, "Who opened the sugar dabba?" And we wonder how they knew?<br />
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6. When once in 6 months or so visit your native village, eager to meet friends whom you made during past summers, hijacking some gifts some broken toys, withered balls, an old shirt of yours or a broken steel torch light, pencils and feel the happiness spread inside you, when their faces beam with joy. It is also quite normal, the next day you fight with them and ask the gifts back. You fight, you make it up. You walk in the paddy field holding a bunch of leaves like actress Sridevi and try to rehearse the sway of hips and sing, "sendhurapoovae sendhurapoovae, jillendra kaatrae en mannan engae en mannan engae nee konjam sollayo?". Taking bath in the pump set with cousins and shyly watch if your boy watches you. The boy who shows attention is Kamal Haasan to your eyes and Nambiar to the other boys.<br />
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Years moves on.... You step into 80s...<br />
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To be continued<br />
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-84766096900601698842017-02-26T13:48:00.001+05:302017-03-02T00:16:01.046+05:30Dreamy delights<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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Art by Vidya Chinnappa<br />
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Just like any other day, I couldn't sleep and just like any other day, I was reading, watching a Turkish classic serial. The grandeur, harem, numerous concubines plotting against each other, killing some, saving some... The majestic palaces, not to forget the most handsome Padishah, his pale green eyes lush as a meadow on a spring gay day, freezing and turbulent on an outdoorsy, angry day... I was so much in love with this Padishah, just like Hurrem Sultanum. I wouldn't hesitate to poison any woman who gets closer to him. You could say I am in love with this Padishah who lived centuries back.."The magnificent century". Who am I kidding? A man who had a harem full of women, who were prepared for him everyday. Looks like he had so much energy. Hurrem sultanum who only had two jobs, 1) plotting death on whoever tried to enter his majesty's chamber 2) Announcing "I am pregnant". While I hated myself watching such a serial, it intrigued me as well. I got addicted to Turkish. The sing song language. Started to pick words in Turkish. No. It's not a romantic serial, it's full of unsolved murder mysteries.<br />
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It was 3 AM already and I still couldn't sleep . The wretched cough, not only affected me, it woke the whole neighborhood and I downed some Benadryl hoping for remedy, if not for cough, at least for my insomnia. <br />
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<img alt="" id="id_38a0_8167_c11b_5a4c" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjad-KgxcvNuuyVK9Gfa_TIu0ObX0QlwvL5DlSDhI4GkUY4634k0J1UBhR6gr8y0Fr2rNh2PTknfFJR0N-66NwtNptc37rrWCs10HUOfsA_yjWHRnujtS4nQNYGu5TxdrnYinY2v6mmzZMS//" style="height: auto; width: 718px;" title="" tooltip="" /></div>
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Art by Vidya Chinappa<br />
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I can't even imagine, how I gathered courage to sit on that battered airplane that rattled it's way on the runway. No glass windows. The windows were open. The wind hit heavily and my ears buzzed with the force of wind and I had to keep my teeth pressed fearing a breathing difficulty. The plane did take off. I could see the crowded suburbs below me. Several feet below. The familiar weight hovering over my insides; the fear of heights. I removed my glasses, the way we used to when we ride a roller coaster. The air was getting colder. Wished I had a wrap. Jaws froze. When I believed I will break into two, the airplane hicupped, stopped for a second, plunged down. There were no screams, no warning from pilot, no air hostesses, no stewards, just me, not defying gravity accepting without choice. There was a 'thud', the pilot maneuvered the plane on a terrace of the battered house. I opened the door struggling, trying to feel my legs. I was standing at the edge of terrace and alas! my head started to swim. The woman in navy blue cotton sari (corporation uniform), pulled me back. I stared at her as she brushed me off, called out to the boys on the road with a nod. I stared. I shook myself when I realized the woman was talking to me. She was saying something about makeshift runway. Uh! Runway? She asked me to remove the grills that served as parapet wall of the terrace. Like an automaton, I tried shaking the grill hard and it loosened and I managed to remove one. Slowly I started to remove the rusted grills with bare hands. I watched from the cloud above, watching me working, the woman commanding all the while wondering who that woman was, her tone quite colloquial. She pried the driver seat open, hopped inside and started the plane to check if it still worked and the sound of engine, made her nod with satisfaction, she hopped back down. She made the boys fetch cardboard boxes, the grills, the cartons from a godown and arranged them to connect to the next house roof. The street lights were used as pillars to support the make shift runway. She kept shouting we just got 10 more minutes. She threw an oil container to a boy and asked him to get petrol, "just incase", I heard her say. "OK", she called out. "Get in", she said to me and I nodded and got in. She hopped into her seat again and started the engine, it spluttered but started. With a loud cheer from the kids, the airplane lifted like a chopper, not even using the make shift runway. The glasses slowly raised itself to close the window, the not so distinct hum, the air hostesses started helping the passengers, a stylish English accent of a woman announcing the altitude, temperature outside while the seat belt warning lit up. I reached for the seat belt, my rusty hands the only reminder that it wasn't a dream, as I looked at the fluffy clouds and distant lights announcing the arrival of the destination *indistinct murmur*. I turned to look at the European guy sitting at the aisle seat. I smiled trying to fish for a paper towel to clean my rusty hands if in case I land in London Heathrow... I couldn't feel my hands. My brain stuffed with layers and layers of wool. I tried to peel one layer after other. The continuous nag of that ringing.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I woke up, looked for my hand bag, my eyes falling on my phone, alarm ringing. </div>
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-42982049270882920792017-02-01T14:58:00.002+05:302017-02-01T15:06:02.418+05:30Happy Birthday, Akka!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
<br />
There are times when you are in a haste, slip to mention important people in your life, who made an impact. <br />
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Life has to be celebrated, when it deserves celebration. To be mourned, when it deserves mourning. <br />
<br />
It was on 2nd September, 1994, I stepped in to my husband's home for the first time. A new bride, stepping with lots of love, hope, expectations, fear. I was that. The first one and half month was heaven, life went peaceful for all of us. Later it was a tough period for all of us, with my mother in law's hospitalization and passing away. <br />
<br />
For any bride in India, this can be considered an ill omen. She can be taunted, troubled with remarks that can hurt for the life time. Yes! there were couple of such remarks that did hit the mark then. But, today when I look at it, I don't think those comments were meant to hurt me. It was their loss of a dear one, passing away without much warning. Even these trivial remarks were wiped away by my immediate family... i.e. my husband and two sisters. They protected me, were by my side and made sure that I was safeguarded from the wags of tongue, till it was safe enough to venture out.<br />
<br />
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<br />
The small family that consisted of two sisters, my husband and me (Sucheeth, Supriya were kids. Balaji, Rupal and Arvind were born and getting ready to enter our family.. Anirudh, Akshaya, Hiyaa yet to make their presence felt in this world :D). Losing their father barely a year back didn't make this loss easy for them. But, the love they showered on me without any reservations is what I can always remember easily even after 22 years of my married life.<br />
<br />
So, about this birthday girl. What is so special about her? Hemalatha the 24x7 sweet smiling woman, with a spirit that matches the infants. Enthusiastic, always game for challenges, fighting them all and what more! Winning every one of these challenges. <br />
<br />
The hospitality I always received at her home, I doubt I can ever match her in the way she fed us,rather plied us with sweets, food, juices, savories. By god, we always leave her home as if we were about to burst in our seams. <br />
<br />
Hemalatha akka for me:<br />
<br />
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
an optimist; a vibrant woman with loads of smile<br />
a great intellect, who can carry conversations effortlessly even if it is PM of India. <br />
an arts lover<br />
a sport lover<br />
someone who never shies of competition infact thrives on them.<br />
a woman with great sense of humour; infact I love the harmless sarcasm in it.<br />
someone blessed with a great voice, be it singing or reading news in AIR.<br />
A mother hen for all of us, as I mentioned early, very protective and her love for everyone of us without any reservations is really astounding.</blockquote>
<br />
I could have neglected the fourth paragraph, on this auspicious day but for me it's all about people sticking by your side during tough times and not just during happy times. It is not just Hemalatha akka, it's the family Deepa my other sister and my husband Suresh. It's not too easy, to lose their mom, it was time for them to mourn but they sheltered me is something that made me love this family, with all my heart. I may not be the person to express my love in words. I always write about feelings and very rare I write about people. But, I wanted to today. You might be sitting in a cabin at your office, far away akka, but I want you to know that you are here in all our hearts.<br />
<br />
I would like to wish you a very happy Birthday, in my own way and my own style. A small poetry for you.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>When monotony turns life in to boredom,</i><br />
<i>You looked at ways to celebrate the life,</i><br />
<i>Finding joy in simplest things,</i><br />
<i>Finding joy in multitudes and sharing them.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>It's not easy, to smile always,</i><br />
<i>But, your name brings only your smiles to our minds..</i><br />
<i>People change, but you remain, the usual self.</i><br />
<i>The energy you absorb from, you give us back in multitudes.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>Life has a knack to throw a curve at you,</i><br />
<i>You are equipped to handle it without a sway.</i><br />
<i>Taking a stride, that threatens some</i><br />
<i>The stride, that protects some..</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>I admire the way you live your life,</i><br />
<i>A world that you created for you and for us all..</i><br />
<i>Where you lead, love and cherish</i><br />
<i>A clan that your fiercely guard.</i><br />
<br />
Happy Birthday, Super woman! May god bless you and all of us! Have a beautiful day and a successful year ahead!</div>
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Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-67762433037679828482017-01-31T00:25:00.000+05:302017-01-31T00:25:38.764+05:30Shadows <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCFbf2Z6CnGlovDiKF6KPJKWATH_7HdXxDFwKr26eqZH_dha2425jxu1W0hAQ4ywn3iL_X3VtFPo1DvFxDx3ffkr6vwAh-pRWE_sUiOK_mlkiBJoMBxMXKReQ7i2v2Zy4AWbMHBekaD1i/s1600/FB_IMG_1485802211123.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaCFbf2Z6CnGlovDiKF6KPJKWATH_7HdXxDFwKr26eqZH_dha2425jxu1W0hAQ4ywn3iL_X3VtFPo1DvFxDx3ffkr6vwAh-pRWE_sUiOK_mlkiBJoMBxMXKReQ7i2v2Zy4AWbMHBekaD1i/s320/FB_IMG_1485802211123.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
I waited for the world to slip by me,<br />
Unnoticed I wanted to let things free,<br />
Inside a black and white world,<br />
I would like to spend my days,<br />
With no great joy or regret that I fear...<br />
<br />
Under the tall dark trees, I would take a stroll,<br />
Talking to my shadow, that doesn't speak at all...<br />
I would walk, talk and walk some more,<br />
Until I drop, tired and stop eating at my soul.<br />
<br />
The bright white shell at the shore,<br />
I picked, admired but decided to throw.<br />
The waves fierce and loud,<br />
Refusing! threw her back with force ..<br />
She lay on the wet sands gleaming,<br />
Waiting for a wayward wave to take her in...<br />
<br />
My shadows grew before me,<br />
Another long dark night unveiled free,<br />
I lay down wishing for oblivion,<br />
Where I could vanish and remain hidden...<br />
The moon beam, reached out to unveil me,<br />
I rushed, retraced and hid inside my shadows,<br />
Waited for the world to slip by me,<br />
Unnoticed I wanted to let things free,<br />
Inside a black and white world,<br />
I would like to spend my days,<br />
With no great joy or regret that I fear...<br />
<br />
Art by Vidya Chinnappa I feel honored Vidhya. Thank you.. Beautifully expressed.</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-9282984570591642192017-01-31T00:17:00.000+05:302017-01-31T00:26:41.768+05:30Expressions<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
All these years, all those words I spoke if chained, can wrap the world once,<br />
All these years, the love I expressed, if stacked can touch the moon,<br />
All these years, all those dreams of mine, if shot can turn into dozen movies<br />
All these years, the moments of joy, if turned a memoir, another Taj would have born...<br />
All these years, the tears I shed can become a Diamond, a Diamond tree might have sprung.<br />
<br /></div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-82447169276364946052017-01-31T00:10:00.000+05:302017-01-31T00:10:51.963+05:30A wasted soul<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Thousands of lines,<br />
Written several nights,<br />
The meaning in the words lost...<br />
Those vacant verses, forsaken lot,<br />
Strewn around, waiting for a read,<br />
A quick scroll, a hasty read,<br />
A nod at some, finger tracing them<br />
A dream forsaken<br />
A dream forgotten<br />
A dream that continues<br />
For months without interference<br />
The day the dreams are awake,<br />
And find me missing,<br />
A wasted dream woven in a life<br />
By a wasted soul, hoping<br />
For a quick scroll, a hasty read,<br />
A nod at some, your fingers gently tracing them...</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-73428355723071442992017-01-31T00:05:00.000+05:302017-01-31T00:05:54.238+05:30Life inching away<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
There are times I give up,<br />
Days like these,<br />
When I stare and think,<br />
Gazing at the wall,<br />
If I am on the right path at all.<br />
The path I see moves on and on..<br />
It stretches before me like desert sand..<br />
All those dreams, I cherished<br />
Slipping away smooth, banning finish.<br />
There are times I give up,<br />
Days like these,<br />
When I stare and think,<br />
Gazing at the wall,<br />
silently cursing the dreams,<br />
I carefully nourished..<br />
Living this life is an end<br />
That continues,<br />
Beyond boredom,<br />
Beyond pain,<br />
Beyond numbness,<br />
Life inching away...<br />
Dreams destroyed beyond repair..<br />
Days like these,<br />
Wishing for optimism,<br />
Fighting boredom,<br />
Fighting obstacles,<br />
To move on,<br />
Till I can postpone...<br />
Another day like today.</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-86268895481178847272016-09-12T11:04:00.000+05:302016-09-12T11:04:44.257+05:30Krishna my divine Child <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">When thunders rumbled without any care </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Lightenings crawled through the sky far,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Rain tore its way merciless</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Krishna! The divine child born to this world...</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px; widows: 1;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">World will never be the same again,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">That dark night , carried the tales of an exquisite child,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Those gracious women of Vrindavan, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Krishna! The divine child brought in joy to so many lives...</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px; widows: 1;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Mystical music flowed through the forest,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Wrapping women in myriad tress,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Magical the Dusk, when moon shone on the river Yamuna, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Krishna! The divine child danced on the head of Kaalinga.</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px; widows: 1;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">He who stole the drapes of Gopikas, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Draped Krishnaa during her distress.. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">He who measured the universe in three steps, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Krishna! Oh! my divine child you took thousands of steps as a messenger.</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px; widows: 1;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">You the creator of this universe, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Yet you stole butter and got tied as Dhamodara.. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Krishna! My divine child with two mothers, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">You were still greedy and breast fed happily from Bhutana.</span></div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-52226855376442099692016-09-12T11:01:00.001+05:302016-09-12T14:25:51.161+05:30Happy 48th wedding anniversary appa and amma<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Dear Appa and Amma,<br />
<br />
It's your 48th anniversary of your marriage. You are married for 17,520 days or 420,480 hours or 25,228,800 minutes which is over 1,513 million seconds! You had witnessed 12 leap years together.<br />
<br />
God! I am loving this statistics, I feel like taking off from work and get more data.<br />
<br />
Did you know you were married on a Friday the 12th? Thank God not a day later.<br />
<br />
Do you know, September 12th is Day of Conception in Russia and the government give couples time off from work to procreate and produce the next generation? The couple who have a child on June 12th are handsomely rewarded.<br />
<br />
Did you have the time to notice the happenings in India during 1969?<br />
<br />
Indian national congress split into two factions. One led by Indira Gandhi and another led by Morarji Desai.<br />
Rajdhani Express was introduced in 1969.<br />
14 banks nationalised by Indira Gandhi.<br />
India was close to insolvency in 1969<br />
ISRO was set up in 1969.<br />
<br />
Do you know?<br />
<br />
By now you have shared about 38,200 meals together which equates to approximately 2 years, 6 months of continuous eating!<br />
<br />
I am wondering on how many hours you had spent quarreling.. Or maintain silence? The quarrels or should I call it as tiff were for silliest matters like; appa, you wanting to cook and Amma refusing to pass on the laddle to you, claiming you mess the kitchen or use more spices than required or add more salt and it is not good for health.... et al.<br />
<br />
You gave us all awesome Diwalis, Pongals, Krishna jayanthis.. The memories you gave us during the festivities will last a life time may be extend for another lifetime or two.<br />
<br />
You made our lives beautiful... When I think about our childhood days, it's always basked with golden sun shine.. Not once we had been threatened with gloom or stormy days. As a parent, I would love my son to feel or experience the same things.<br />
<br />
We wish you, Amma and appa, many more years of wedded bliss and silly tiffs. But, even those tiffs are full of life and love for us, we secretly smile and enjoy.<br />
<br />
Happy wedding anniversary Appa and Amma.<br />
<br />
Lots of love from,<br />
<br />
Srimathi, Kannan<br />
Srikanth, Sejal<br />
Aareev and Ani</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-3287235803592957712016-08-19T02:04:00.000+05:302016-08-19T02:11:53.854+05:30Happy Birthday my friend :D<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br /></div>
So, this is your 9th Birthday after we had met? Not that I am counting... God! you are getting old buddy. <br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
So, where are we? Should I start all over again from your coming late to interview... claiming some lame reason of flat tyre and stuff.. I was furious under that calm exterior.. "what a nerve!", I shouted at you inside my head... </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Or should I talk about the first drive Indu and I had in your beast, Lancer? when Nami stared stupefied at the rear view mirror, that hung itself to death. She signaled us to call her the moment, we reach home safe. From a playful boy, to a serious man, an 'angry bird' man.. I had witnessed various avtar of yours, and I 'gracefully' accept the way you are.</div>
<div>
<br />
<div>
It's good to see you my dear friend; reaching heights, missing few steps, not giving up; gaining more... I see you up there now, hoisting your first successful venture. </div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Enough of my flashbacks.. but a quick reminder that you are 34 today, stepping into 35, and the ride is going to get tougher, take if from me, it starts with knee pain, mild memory outages, but it is still fun, out there and amidst all your busy schedule, take a break, have a vacation, stop to admire little things. that I feel you are overlooking these days. That way you don't need to reach out for hair colour prematurely.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
As always, a small poem for you.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
It's easy to stay on the shore;</div>
<div>
Watch the waves roar,</div>
<div>
Not so easy to ride the waves;</div>
<div>
Gaining control...</div>
<div>
It's easy to give up and brood;</div>
<div>
Not so easy to fight and move...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
With words let me weave a magic,</div>
<div>
Words that plays background music,</div>
<div>
Sax that adds power to your name,</div>
<div>
Drums resonating untamed...</div>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Let the birds, tweet for you,</div>
<div>
140 characters, scrounging through,</div>
<div>
Let the Lions roar this dawn,</div>
<div>
Keeping the evil, forlorn.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
I place before you year 2016,</div>
<div>
It holds what you craved from your teen,</div>
<div>
This box hold the Benz or Triumph,</div>
<div>
This box hold the key for your health..</div>
<div>
This box hold plenty of laugh,</div>
<div>
This box hold everything you wished..</div>
<div>
Unfurl the ribbon, peep in..</div>
<div>
You will see the gifts stacked in..</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div>
Lighting a candle for your success,</div>
<div>
Lighting a candle for riches,</div>
<div>
Lighting a candle for peace,</div>
</div>
<div>
Lighting a candle for your health.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Make a wish, blow one by one</div>
<div>
Cut the soft, delicate bun</div>
<div>
Scoop a slice and give it to friends</div>
<div>
The smooth, Butter scotch, waits for none...</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
These silly rhymes, you may hate</div>
<div>
Remember, it comes from agony aunt's tale,,</div>
<div>
Whatever you may think about this,</div>
<div>
This carries a warm "Happy Birthday" wish.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
Happy Birthday, Manu! have a blast! Let god shower you with his choicest blessings.</div>
</div>
</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-644259112160775432016-07-07T00:31:00.000+05:302016-07-07T01:02:17.636+05:30My dear wall<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
My dear wall ,<br />
<br />
For the first time I realise, I neglected you for more than three months. You had been my best friend, who was always with me, a confidante, for more than 8 years. I wrote on you my deepest pleasures, I wrote on you my disappointments, I cried on you over my miseries.<br />
<br />
What's happening in my life? It's been a roller coster ride. Ups and downs. Forty five is a difficult age. An age when you are confused if you are young or old? Just like adolescence there are changes in your body, mind. One day over the moon, the next deep down the dungeon. You become a misery for people around you. From someone who doesn't expect anything out of anyone, slowly you start to expect some response, a reciprocation of actions, words, gifts. When they don't materialise, you are deep down the rut, sympathizing with yourself and end up loathing yourself and make them loathe you too. But, can't help but wonder, why it is tough for people to be attentive, why are they rushing, where are they rushing to? Why can't they stop and take the time to look or appreciate things on their way? It is only fair or isn't it? Should not spontaneity be a trait to everyone?<br />
<br />
This exactly was why, I neglected you. I don't want my folks or friends to see me like this, after I am long gone, I want them to remember the cheerful Viji, who takes that extra mile to keep people happy. But, what the hell If I can't talk to you my dear wall, who else can I talk to?<br />
<br />
There are some good times too, a new job, few new challenges, new young minds to work along. Life is good in that end. Family, is good. My son turned 20, turning into a responsible young man.<br />
<br />
Trying out few new things I feel that I truly deserve, a huge silver nose pin for example, getting that was the most beautiful moment. Seeing my friend's, new born. Couple of trips out of Chennai. <br />
<br />
What more? Nothing, except the terracotta clay is lying untouched for 2 weeks now. The huge canvas along with paints, lying idle too. All this blabber, trying to figure out when this phase will pass. I long to roll in to a ball and sleep for days and never to wake up for few days, weeks, years, decades, maybe a life time. But, I refuse to give that pleasure to me. I refuse to stop.<br />
<br />
Dear wall, I know and I am sorry it is not a happy post or a poem with all those rhymes, that you might feel proud to wear. I know, I bequeath you with a massive frame, with no painting, not a dash of colour, not a sketch, not even an alphabet. I know if you can, you will delete this post. But, let it remain. I want this to be a milestone post, to measure my happiness in the coming weeks. A yard stick, that will give me the satisfaction to probe and feel the hurt or like a feather soothe the pain, all self created. This deep rut I had been in for sometime now, the happy face I show to the world is tiring even to me. God save those people who are connected to me in social networking sites. It they see picture of a piece of nose sticking out, or the long agony aunt posts, some half boiled photographs... I hope they don't curse me.<br />
<br />
So my dear wall, enough of me. Tell me about you, how are you apart from losing your followers, (a few I remember by names, I don't blame them), apart from feeling neglected, apart from bearing few bitter, sad, melancholic posts, do you feel otherwise good?<br />
<br />
Au Revoir friend. So long... yeah, will be back soon if my spirits lifts up or I won't be back.<br />
<br />
Warm Regards,<br />
Viji<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-16026602620679275442016-04-23T00:05:00.000+05:302016-04-23T00:09:06.801+05:30Dear Sowmi<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Dear Sowmi,<br />
<br />
Hope you are cracking jokes wherever you are.. Or wetting the diaper as Asha's baby. <br />
<br />
One year since you left us? Parted ways? No! I don't think so. You are with us every festival, every Utsavam at Parthasarathy koil, every time we eat vada, bajji or while drinking sathumadhu (rasam) in tumbler, while watching TV, while listening to prabhandham... Trust me! I see you, whenever I see a strongly built, tall, very fair, bald man. <br />
<br />
I see you in myself whenever I grin.. I learnt to keep grinning like a fool from you.. I know it automatically brings a smile on others face. Usha says she remembers you whenever she takes selfie. Vasu thinks of you as a friend. Srikanth thinks you are full of fun. Periamma and you are the most complete people I have ever known.<br />
<br />
How can I forget your temper and "poruthadhu podhum pongi ezhu" gunam. All those autowalas whom you fought with for their atrocious rates. Your making us walk miles to catch auto to save some odd 10 rupees. Your chiding people who jump queues. I wish you jumped into politics, you would have easily won, my charismatic dearest brother.<br />
<br />
You know sowmi, you are one person who talks with perfect intonations, be it Tamil or English. I still have the Mukesh Kumar cassette you gave me.. You introduced me to few hindi songs. "mere sapno me rani kabh".. I love singing them in tamilish hindi.." Maere sapunomae rani kabhu aayaekithu"..<br />
<br />
For me and for all your friends and all our relatives, when we say sowmi, we automatically smile. That is all.. As my favorite Bach says.. " your mission is over", so you have migrated to another land and I am sure we are waiting to get know ur V2. 0 Dhruv. He is going to bring in more smiles..<br />
<br />
I know you are muttering "please stop" and I will stop now.<br />
<br />
Unadherumai thangai, (erumai thaan arumai illa)<br />
Srimathi<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-54555934309318018632016-04-03T00:56:00.000+05:302016-04-03T00:56:34.639+05:30Insane love<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Sometimes I wanna wear you like a cloak,<br />
Hugging tight, as if I am cold...<br />
Sometimes I wanna hang you on a rack,<br />
Feeling sweaty and need some air..<br />
<br />
At times I feel you are sweet,<br />
And my diabetes, makes me wanna eat,<br />
At times, you are a hot 'cross' bun,<br />
I silently drop you till someone takes the brunt.<br />
<br />
There are times, you make me feel mushy, tearsome,<br />
And at times, you make me worrysome,<br />
Yet few times, I feel like kidnapping and demand a ransome.<br />
Other times, I wanna a hold on and pay lumpsum.<br />
<br />
It will all be over this lifetime,<br />
So let's do some over time...<br />
Let us laugh, fight, kill and like<br />
Like today is the last day left, of our lives. </div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-1696111491460191282016-02-01T01:41:00.002+05:302016-02-01T01:41:43.857+05:30Conch<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Another shore, another age</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I walked those sands, searching... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Some shells, some foliage, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I ran at the waves rushing.</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Beyond the third white wave, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Curled against the fourth... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">The brittle crab shell swayed, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Bobbled, speding forth...</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">My heel firm and grounded</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">The waves raised with a crisp honk.. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">The catamaran, I spotted, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">On the wall, seated a white conch...</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Staring at the conch, I dreamed, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">My fingers traced the tiny lines... </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">The lines circled edging for release,</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I placed it near my ear, it whined...</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">The song of another shore, another age</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I hear you now, calling me </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I hear clearly, my voice interlaced</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I stand here, it's you I feel...</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Looked up at the sky, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Looked at the sand, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Looked side ways, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Looked beyond...</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Without a clue, where to move, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I followed your voice from inside, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Another year, another month, or forever, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">But, one day we will meet, soon enough</span><br />
<div style="font-family: Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">This day we will recite those lines, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">For another shore, another age, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">Your words will still beckon, </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; line-height: 22.4px;">I will follow your words, till there is no return.</span></div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-57913462251164936522016-01-28T01:34:00.002+05:302016-01-28T01:34:31.803+05:30 Was that a dawn or dusk, when we met? <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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I just need to close my eyes,<br />
Hug myself, dance for the song in my mind<br />
The song once you sang on that long drive,<br />
My steps halting, as you stepped to my side...<br />
<br />
We moved together like breeze; effortless,<br />
We moved together like blaze untamed,<br />
We held each other, like insane,<br />
No strain or stir, pure music in our steps...<br />
<br />
A cloud burst, unearthing us,<br />
Carrying us to an undisclosed haven,<br />
Your breath on my hair, the warmth I felt...<br />
Our breath in sync, we swayed and held.<br />
<br />
Was that a dawn or dusk, when we met?<br />
Was it shining or dowdy as we were swept?<br />
Not a drop of water or a grain of food we took,<br />
Our bodies paralysed, yet we stood...<br />
<br />
Time elapsed, a day? a month? Or a year?<br />
In a trance we stood by each other.<br />
The earth sped, we moved together<br />
Faster; yet slower than ever...</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-72819861777664726242016-01-08T01:11:00.001+05:302016-01-08T01:11:14.011+05:30Hope<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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The shortest distance, I thought<br />
Was between two hearts,<br />
I only had to take a step, <br />
And already there at your door step.<br />
<br />
Several months, your door shut,<br />
I worked alone fearing distress...<br />
Wearing a smile for the world to see,<br />
Gripping the pain holding it within me.<br />
<br />
You have your reasons for staying shut,<br />
Not realising, you are inducing a cut,<br />
I try to force myself closer,<br />
You add more distance and walk further.<br />
<br />
I am not used being without you,<br />
I don't want to force more trouble on you,<br />
I keep asking do I deserve this pain<br />
But without you my life is vain...<br />
<br />
I remain... Bearing pain..<br />
Dawn or not, I will remain,<br />
Life or end, I will continue,<br />
Hoping your love will renew.<br />
<br />
With love,<br />
Hope<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-76291352621769512632015-12-24T00:14:00.000+05:302015-12-24T00:14:47.279+05:30A ghost story<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<br />
Everything was perfect until two days back I told my mom, that my heart beats fast and feeling scared to go to the restroom during nights. She casually told me to avoid going to that bathroom during nights and use the one in her room instead.<br />
<br />
Only those who had experienced living in South Indian houses and not apartments might relate to this story. She further told me that, one of our neighbours told her the story of a woman who lived long back in our house, who was very unhappy and jumped in a well and committed suicide.<br />
<br />
Someone who never believed in ghosts, I started to dread every nook and corner of my home. My mom took it upon her shoulders to reassure me and told me not to fret. She further added, that the well was closed soon after the incident, as if that would comfort me.<br />
<br />
A small pat on my back one day, a cold touch on my hands the other day and a series of scary dreams today, making my scream all squished up like a toothpaste followed by my son’s answering scream woke the whole street up.<br />
<br />
Dreams! Those that was all indianised version of Annabel dragging me by my feet, the floor where I was lying down tilts and tries to take me down, a washing machine comes racing my way and a woman hanging from the celing to my left and to my right a head bent with hair streaming down, like that of the Tamil movie "pisasu", but slightly creative the dream was as it was curly hair and grey hair interlaced unlike the straight and jet black hair. I raise my hand to pull the hair, for whatever reasons God only knows and it was that exact moment, I opened my eyes screaming and my son let out an echoing scream that was induced by mine…<br />
<br />
Mom came racing in and said it was just a dream and asked me to drink water.<br />
<br />
I sat up still shaking and after a while everyone left to mind their own businesses.<br />
<br />
I don’t really remember, how long I sat and stared at my hands furled on my lap.<br />
<br />
I chided myself…. uff! It’s just a dream.<br />
<br />
When I unfurled my hands to raise myself up and my eyes narrowed and I raised my palms towards the light, was that… Hair?</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5350113479595049605.post-45654033872518826172015-12-24T00:02:00.001+05:302015-12-24T00:02:52.915+05:30Relationship<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<blockquote class="graf--blockquote graf-after--h3" id="15e5" name="15e5" style="background-color: white; border-left-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 3px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin: 8px 0px 0px -20px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 17px;">
Dreams and reality</blockquote>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--blockquote" id="8094" name="8094" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
When I was 23 and it was a day before my wedding, my mom stopped by me and pulled me into a private conversation. Her gyan, I heard half hearted, impatient and did I dismiss? No! I could not have dismissed, it was there and still there reverberating in my ears, I can still recall the exact words she spoke.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="880d" name="880d" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mine was the "arranged marriage", typically Indianised way. I had few of my friends asking me how I can start my life just like that with a stranger? How can I even think of going to a bed with a stranger? How could I even think of spending a lifetime with someone I was introduced barely a month before?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="bece" name="bece" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
It was a private corner in the store room of the wedding hall, I chose to hibernate. There was still a day and half for the wedding and the wedding hall was filled with few close relatives, kids running around laughing. The store room gave me the privacy to cry my heart out. My mom caught me crying, it was then she pulled me to listen to her gyans. She asked me why I was crying?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="6667" name="6667" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: As a bride, you should be happy. Did we not get your consent before the wedding got finalised? You got second thoughts? Do you love anyone?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="a068" name="a068" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
I negated; nodding my head. My first crush on a cousin of mine and a colleague from office who proposed came to my mind. Am I doing a mistake? I bit my lips and told my mom, "I am too young Amma and I think I am not ready for wedding yet." Mom said, "At 60, if you are unmarried, you would still not be ready. I wasn’t ready, when I married your dad too and I was 25. Trust me you will never be ready. But, 'these’ things should happen early, only then when you retire, you will have a grown-up son to support you."</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="cc84" name="cc84" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
I looked at my mother with new respect and to my eyes she was like Lord Krishna preaching Bhagavadh Gita to Arjuna.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="bdae" name="bdae" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: What are you exactly worried about?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="98e5" name="98e5" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Me: What if he is a violent person? What if he doesn’t allow me to visit you all after wedding? What his family doesn’t like me?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="fdba" name="fdba" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
I paused then added, what I thought I dreaded the most, " What if I overslept? I should cook, clean and it frightens the hell out of me."</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="8596" name="8596" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: He looks like a fine chap to me. He respects elders. You will get used to cooking and cleaning.</div>
<blockquote class="graf--blockquote graf-after--p" id="d8cf" name="d8cf" style="background-color: white; border-left-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 3px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin: 21px 0px 0px -20px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 17px;">
Mom: (Wicked grin)I told you several times before, you should have learnt cooking and you could have helped me cleaning. If you had, you won’t have such fears now right?</blockquote>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--blockquote" id="0f9e" name="0f9e" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Me: hmmm…</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="e0cb" name="e0cb" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: I would like to warn you about one more thing. Whatever you dreamt about marriages won’t happen. The reality will be opposite to what you have dreamt.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="8dbb" name="8dbb" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Me: hmmm..</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="7a34" name="7a34" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: If you thought he will take you out everyday for a movie or for a dinner, then drop such thoughts. If you are lucky it might happen once in a month or two maybe.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="d9da" name="d9da" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Me: mmmm…</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="9c94" name="9c94" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: Remember dad is spending so much of money to get you married. Think twice before you talk back to your husband or in-laws.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="f579" name="f579" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Me: Mom, on the contrary I am planning to give my salary to you after marriage.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="85c7" name="85c7" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: Don’t even dare to think such things. For us, self respect is more important than money.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="9bcc" name="9bcc" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Me: (heads lowered, tears started to flow)</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="96bf" name="96bf" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: But, they have daughters, so they will understand. I am sure they will put up with you.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="31ab" name="31ab" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Me: Put up with me? What do you mean?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="86c7" name="86c7" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Mom: Before I forget, you know what wedding involves, ahem! You know what I mean… Don’t throw any tantrum.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="c7ce" name="c7ce" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
That was the last straw and I rushed out of the room and locked myself inside a rest room and puked.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="c22a" name="c22a" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Between tears, doubt and hope, if not radiant, I glowed time to time at the attention people showered on me and at those hasty exchange of shy glances with my fiancee and at the camera flashes, and while exchanging garlands. We finally entered the holy state of matrimony, with so much of doubts lurking inside, it was like entering martyrmony and not matrimony.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="0dec" name="0dec" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Did these fears last?</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="403c" name="403c" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
It did till the next day. Till the embarrassment of bearing with relatives, ushering me inside the decorated room where we were expected to spend our wedding night. The fears lasted till, I saw my husband, standing there embarrassed, eager, tired and ready to bolt away at a slightest chance. I felt confident and the motherly protective instincts raised inside me and I smiled at him and in a while, 'things' took its natural course and my son now is 19. Retirement is not far away and whether I expect him to support me or not, my mom’s Gyan proved right, I would still be a young mother, when he gets married.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="2067" name="2067" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
Needless to say, we grew to love each other, while those of my friends who married for love drifted apart.</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="5e30" name="5e30" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
My mom’s final Gyan proved right. She said, "expectations leads to disappointment".</div>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--p" id="3c9b" name="3c9b" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
I do sense few raised eyebrows.</div>
<blockquote class="graf--blockquote graf-after--p" id="8c73" name="8c73" style="background-color: white; border-left-color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); border-left-style: solid; border-left-width: 3px; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; font-style: italic; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin: 21px 0px 0px -20px; padding-bottom: 3px; padding-left: 17px;">
But, arranged marriages are an experience unto itself.</blockquote>
<div class="graf--p graf-after--blockquote graf--last" id="7610" name="7610" style="background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.8); font-family: medium-content-serif-font, Georgia, Cambria, 'Times New Roman', Times, serif; font-size: 18px; letter-spacing: -0.004em; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: 21px;">
If I am given a chance to travel back and choose between love or arranged marriage, I doubt I will have that Dutch courage I had then and I am sure, Suresh, my husband would have ran the other side.</div>
</div>
Vijihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08464183724160979232noreply@blogger.com0