Is Past really better than the Present?

The grass on the other side of the fence is always greener. For us humans, the past is the other side of the fence. We were not witness to the micro-level events that took place and all our knowledge of the past is through the sieves of authors, poets and artists. That being the case, we always find the past to be better than the present.

A Brief Book Review - 'The Kept Woman and Other Stories' by Kamala Das

The stories range from mesmerizing to mediocre. Each story is peppered with the inferiority complex of Kamala about her appearance and dark complexion. Most of them sound not like a short story but like an anecdote from her own life. Add to it the annoying depiction of male gender as selfish, lustful and insensitive. Except for some occasional flashes of brilliance, the book is overall a forgettable experience.

Story-teller Kamala is not as thrilling as the poet Kamala.

A comparison between the 'Civilised' ones and the Barbarians!

"Ah! this civilization, what does it all come to? For forty years and more I lived among savages, and studied them and their ways; and now for several years I have lived here in England, and have in my own stupid manner done my best to learn the ways of the children of light; and what have I found? A great gulf fixed? No, only a very little one, that a plain man's thought may spring across. I say that as the savage is, so is the white man, only the latter is more inventive, and possesses the faculty of combination; save and except also that the savage, as I have known him, is to a large extent free from the greed of money, which eats like a cancer into the heart of the white man. It is a depressing conclusion, but in all essentials the savage and the child of civilization are identical. I dare say that the highly civilized lady reading this will smile at an old fool of a hunter's simplicity when she thinks of her black bead-bedecked sister; and so will the superfine cultured idler scientifically eating a dinner at his club, the cost of which would keep a starving family for a week. And yet, my dear young lady, what are those pretty things round your own neck? -- they have a strong family resemblance, especially when you wear that very low dress, to the savage woman's beads. Your habit of turning round and round to the sound of horns and tom-toms, your fondness for pigments and powders, the way in which you love to subjugate yourself to the rich warrior who has captured you in marriage, and the quickness with which your taste in feathered head-dresses varies -- all these things suggest touches of kinship; and you remember that in the fundamental principles of your nature you are quite identical. As for you, sir, who also laugh, let some man come and strike you in the face whilst you are enjoying that marvellous-looking dish, and we shall soon see how much of the savage there is in you."

- an excerpt from the book 'Allan Quatermain' by Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider).

How the British forced the Chinese to open trade links with them in the early 18th Century!

An excerpt from the book 'What On Earth Happened?', by Christopher Lloyd:

Tea, silk and porcelain were highly sought-after commodities in Europe. But there was a problem. Chinese society was built on a philosophy of self-sufficiency. Since the mid-fifteenth century, China had been a civilization independent of overseas fleets and trade with far-flung vassal colonies. Food and luxury goods were all manufactured in the home market. The Chinese Emperor himself explained as much in a letter he wrote to King George III of England in 1793, in response to a British request for trade:

‘You, O King, live far away across the mighty seas… The difference between our customs and moral laws and your own is so profound that our customs and traditions could never grow in your soil… I have no use for your country’s goods. Hence there is no need to bring in the wares of foreign barbarians to exchange for our own products…’
Such self-satisfied sufficiency provoked the most extreme imperialistic reaction. If the Chinese didn’t want Western goods, then something had to be done to make them want them.

Officials in Britain’s Honourable East India Company came up with the rather less honourable solution of drug trafficking. An elaborate system was established whereby British traders would buy Chinese tea at Canton and issue credit notes to Chinese traders, who could then redeem them against opium struggled across the border by Bengalese agents from Calcutta. Between 1750 and 1860 thousands of tonnes of opium grown in the poppy fields of Bengal were smuggled into China in exchange for silk, tea and porcelain. The trade was a masterstroke of ingenuity. Rather than the British paying for goods in valuable silver, locally grown opium could be used as currency instead. And the problem of China’s self-sufficiency was solved by a freshly cultivated dependency on highly addictive drugs.

Book Review – The Great Indian Novel, Shashi Tharoor

Have you ever watched the video of a remixed Indian movie song, especially, those of Hindi movies? A song, which was immortalized by the mellifluous voice of the singers, brilliant music composition of some doyen of the music industry, acted to perfection by some of the greatest faces of Indian film industry and what these producers of such ‘remixes’ do is to pick up songs like those, and tarnish them by adding some lousy noises in the name of pop music, then ‘spice the video up’ with some B-grade actress who wears more skin than clothes and for whom the only major expression possible is to part the lips seductively and keep her face with an obscene, longing look!

‘The Great Indian Novel’ is one such a remix, er, book. Mr.Tharoor has picked up two of the greatest periods of the Indian history, that act as beacons of hope and guidance for the current crop of Indians – The Mahabharata and the Indian Independence Movement, shuffled the pages of these phases like one shuffles a pack of cards and once he is convinced that they have been shuffled enough, has laid them to print. He has picked up the lead personalities of the Indian Independence Movement and sent them on a journey across time, by casting them as the lead characters of the great epic – The Mahabharata. With some pages carrying the characters of the Indian Independence movement in the backdrop of the Hastinapur, while the others have characters of the Mahabharata playing the role of martyrs of Indian freedom struggle, Mr.Shashi Tharoor has displayed an enormous knack of shuffling that can put even a professional shuffler at a casino to shame.

The patriarch of the modern India, Mahatma Gandhi becomes the patriarch of the Hastinapuris, Bhishma, Subhas Chandra Bose becomes Pandu, Nehru becomes Dhritarashtra, Indira Gandhi becomes Priya Duryodhani, Jayaprakash Narain becomes Jayaprakash Drona, Morarji Desai becomes Yudhistra, Indian Army portrays Bhim, Journalism become Arjun, Diplomacy and Aristrocracy become Nakul and Sakadev and so on. Of course, the great Mohamed Ali Jinnah becomes Mohamed Ali Karna. With the greatest events of Indian Independence and post-Independence becoming the plots for these characters to prove their mettle, Mr.Tharoor has proved to be in his elements with some ribald writing and debauched humor.

Did I say debauched? Yes, indeed it is. When it comes to ribald writing and dull, dry and debauched humor, Mr.ST manages to remind me of another such book I got to read a long while back - ‘Catch-22’ by Joseph Heller. While Joseph Heller had shown some respect to the world war veterans by mocking only the fictional characters, Mr.ST has performed a sacrilegious ritual with this book, tarnishing and taunting every other big name known to Indians in the political arena. In fact, after going through just a bunch of pages, I couldn’t resist the temptation to throw away the book and throw up. Such a pathetic writing and shallow substance, with frequent and abundant instances of what I’d like to decently put as ‘between-neck-and-knees’ humor. Loins, groins and other such obscene references to the female anatomy are found in abundance in this book.

Throughout the book, Mr.Tharoor displays a holier-than-thou attitude with so much of preaching over current state of Indian politics and civil life. Also, the condescending arrogance that has become the primary trait of many of the eminent NRIs is equally evident in his style when it comes to talking about the Indian lifestyle. But, Mr.Tharoor, why do I sense a glaring division between – what one of my sweet friends recently put as – the writer ST and the politician ST? Is it the guilt of the failed politician ST that made you postulate some great ethics to be followed by the Indian politicians? Or, is it that the writer and politician are your split personalities, one being completely oblivious to the presence of the other within you? When you speak so highly about being against corruption, immorality, polyandry and polygamy, I couldn’t avoid but recalling some of the fiascoes involving you and your better-half with regard to corruption in sports, shooting mouth and landing in trouble and other such incidents.

Of course, the book is not all crap. It has a fluid writing style, some amazing creativity and some occasional highpoints too. He makes amends for reviling the leaders and characters throughout, by writing some ambivalent praises for them in the end – I mean the end of the characters in the book. But Indira Gandhi is one person who could receive no such ‘benevolence’. Throughout the book, she has been portrayed as evil-personified. Of course, having been cast as ‘Duryodhan’ (Priya Duryodhani, a play in the name of Indira Priyadharshini), she can expect no leniency, but is it justified? I am not sure. The book may please a few but disappoint many. There is something magnetic about the book and something charming about the way how he has handled two distinctly different phases of the Indian history, fusing them as one. When it ends, you end up being confused as to which event took place when. That is the success of this book. But the irreverent attitude taken towards many of the greatest personalities of Indian history – both past and present – is sheer sacrilege and that, is the downfall of this book!

Ashok Krishna

Humor - A Real Bicyclist

A man decided that he was going to ride a 10-speed bike (bicycle) on a cross-country ride. He got as far as possible and after some distance the fatigue just became too much and he could go no farther.

He stuck his thumb out but after 3 hours, hadn't gotten a single person to stop. Finally a guy in a Ferrari pulled over and offered him a ride. Of course, the bike wouldn't fit in the car. The owner of the Ferrari found a piece of rope lying by the highway and tied it to his bumper. He tied the other end to the bike and told the man that if he got to going too fast, to honk the horn on his bike and that he would slow down.

Everything went fine for the first 30 miles. Suddenly, another Ferrari blew past them. Not to be outdone, the first Ferrari, pulling the bike, took off after the other. A short distance down the road, the Ferraris, both going well over 120 mph, blew through a speed trap. The police officer noted the speeds from his radar gun and radioed to the other officer that he had 2 Ferraris headed his way at over 120 mph.

He then relayed, "...and you're not going to believe this, but there's a guy on a 10-speed bike honking to pass!!!"

Elections - The Great Indian Tamasha (an excerpt from the book 'The Great Indian Novel', by Shashi Tharoor)

‘Elections, as you well know, Ganapathi, are a great Indian tamasha, conducted at irregular intervals and various levels amid much fanfare. It takes the felling of a sizeable forest to furnish enough paper for 320 million ballots, and every election has at least one story of returning officers battling through snow or jungle to ensure that the democratic wishes of remote constituents are duly recorded. No election coverage is complete, either, without at least one picture of a female voter whose enthusiasm for the suffrage is undimmed by the fact that she is old, blind, unlettered, toothless or purdah-clad, or any combination of the above. Ballot-boxes are stuffed, booths are ‘captured’, the occasional election worker/candidate/voter is assaulted/kidnapped/shot, but nothing stops the franchise. And for all its flaws, universal suffrage has worked in India, providing an invaluable instrument for the expression of the public will. India’s voters, scorned by cynics as illiterate and ignorant, have adapted superbly to the election system, unseating candidates and governments, drawing distinctions between local and national elections. Sure, at every election some distinguished voter claims his name is missing from the rolls, or that someone has already cast his vote (but usually not both). At every election some ingenious accountant produces a set of figures to show that only a tenth of what was actually spent was spent; somebody makes a speech urging that the legal limit for expenditure be raised, so that less ingenuity might be required to cook the books; and everyone goes home happy.’

- some lines that I loved from the book 'The Great Indian Novel', by Shashi Tharoor.

Some rankling questions - excerpt from the book 'The Great Indian Novel', by Shashi Tharoor

‘…even I could not understand, what makes a man strike with a cleaver at the head of someone he has never seen, a son and husband and father whose sole crime is that he worships a different God. What makes a man set fire to the homes and the animals and sometimes the babies of people by whose side he has lived for generations?

What makes a man tear open the modesty of a girl he has never noticed, spread her legs apart with a knife to her throat, and thrust his hatred and contempt and fear and desire into her in a spewing bloody mess of possession? What madness leads men to seek to deprive others of their lives for the cut of their beards or the cuts on their foreskins? Where it is written that only he who bears an Arabic name may live in peace on this part of the soil in India, or that raising one’s hand to God five times a day disqualifies one from tilling another part of the same soil?’

- The Great Indian Novel, by Shashi Tharoor.

Do you still think 'civilisation' is better?!

Image Source - Google

Imagine a world where you can have anything and everything you want. There is plenty of fresh food every day, and of immense variety. There is some work to be done, may be three or four hours a day on average, but not more. In this world you can sleep and rest as much as you wish, or spend time with friends and relatives, cooking, talking, dancing, or just having fun.

And don’t worry about money, mortgages or debt. No need for those. No exams, qualifications or career to grapple with, no reviews, promotions or demotions. In this place there’s no such thing as losing your job. You can’t get into trouble with the law or the police here, because there are none. There is no need. If you want something, nearby friends and neighbours will help you find it – or let you borrow it, if they have it.

This world has very little risk of disease. Most illnesses we have today don’t exist. War and violence are also rare, because there is plenty of food and little competition for natural resources. Sounds good? Fancy moving in? I’m afraid today that’s not really an option. But, amazingly, this is the kind of lifestyle that we human beings have lived for 99 per cent of our history. Much of the evidence we have suggests that Stone Age man lived well, happily and mostly in peace.

 - an excerpt from the book ‘What on Earth Happened?’ by Christopher Lloyd.

Ways in which a king can annoy his citizens and make them rebellious - from 'Arthashastra'

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Impoverishment, greed and dissatisfaction are engendered among the subjects when the king:

i)    ignores the good [people] and favours the wicked;
ii)    causes harm by new unrighteous practices;
iii)    neglects the observation of the proper and righteous practices;
iv)    suppresses dharma and propagates adharma;
v)    does what ought not to be done and fails to do what ought to be done;
vi)    fails to give what ought to be given and exacts what he cannot rightly take;
vii)    does not punish those who ought to be punished but punishes those who do not deserve to be;
viii)    arrests those who should not be arrested by fails to arrest those who should be seized;
ix)    indulges in wasteful expenditure and destroys profitable undertakings;
x)    fails to protect the people from thieves and robs them himself;
xi)    does not to what he ought to do and reviles the work done by others;
xii)    causes harm to the leaders of the people and insults those worthy of honour;
xiii)    antagonizes the [wise] elders by lying and mischief;
xiv)    does not recompense service done to him;
xv)    does not carry out his part of what had been agreed upon; and
xvi)    by his indolence and negligence destroys the welfare of his people.

-    by Kautilya in 'Arthashastra'

Book Review – Aung San Suu Kyi : A Biography, Jesper Bengtsson

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Aung San Suu Kyi – one of the most eminent, yet least popular feminine personalities in the world. Someone that has spent a major part of her life in house arrest, fighting for the cause of democracy in her homeland, spoken on par with Nelson Mandela and Mahatma Gandhi, she always remained a personality that I wanted to know more about.

With so much of interest did I pick the book ‘Aung San Suu Kyi: A Biography’, by Jesper Bengtsson. But, as it is always said, the more you expect, the more you get disappointed. This book is a disappointment, in the sense that what you get is not a coherent, comprehensive biography, but rather what looks like a hastily compiled bunch of standalone essays.

The author himself makes an excuse at the very beginning stating that this is not a comprehensive biography of Aung San, due to her isolation from the world, being in house arrest. However, isn’t that what the challenge of representing such a personality is about?!

He has done a basic ground work, meeting a lot of her supporters, relatives, party people, contemporaries and opponents. But he has failed miserably in putting it all together in a manner that befits a biography of such a persona. The books jumps here and there and with so many spelling and grammatical errors, makes one wonder whether one should have explored better before deciding on the right book to read about Aung San.

There are some serious lacunae in the book with only patchy information filling up for the serious details. When he ends the chapter about her family life in London - before she ended up arriving at Burma in 1988 and donning the mantle of a national leader – he mentions that she would have remained on the path to her goal of becoming a successful author/academician, if not for the phone call on the last day of March 1988. But neither before this mention, not after that, does he explain or elaborate as to who made the phone call or what was the phone call all about.

Also, the most critical event in the life of Aung San Suu Kyi, which resulted in her becoming a national leader of the Burmese, is her talk in the Shwedagon Pagoda in August 1988. But sadly, the book has no proper information on such a crucial and watershed event in her life. Now, imagine reading the biography of Mahatma Gandhi without any information about his works in South Africa or that of Mother Teresa without any information about her early struggles in the streets of Kolkatta!

My view is that if you are keen on reading about Aung San Suu Kyi and her struggle for the Burmese Democracy, this is not the book to read!

Ashok Krishna

Book Review – 'Siddartha' by Hermann Hesse

Reading a good book more than once is like stealing a kiss from a little kid – different and yet delightful, every time. ‘Siddartha’ by Hermann Hesse is one such a book. Picking it up 5 years after I first read it, I felt the emotions and expressions take a grip on me in an entirely new way.

To brief you on the plot, Siddartha is a young, wise Brahmin boy, who reigns supreme amongst his peers and is the darling of his town, due to his personality as well as Vedic acumen. Also, his spiritual orientation is very deep, making him the pride of his community and his family. However, Siddartha is not quite satisfied with whatever he has learnt through the Vedas about the Self (Atman) and the Supreme Soul. He gets his father’s permission to go and join the Samanas in the forest. His good friend Govinda, who had accompanied him like a shadow since childhood, follows suit. Both of them spend a long time with the Samanas, mastering all the techniques of carnal mortification and the tricks of spiritual conquests. However, the thirst for realizing and conquering the Self remains unsated within Siddartha as he is not quite satisfied with merely fasting and physically tormenting himself for no avail. Just then arrives the news about the enlightened one, the Gautama Buddha.

Siddartha leaves the Samanas and goes in search of the Buddha. With Govinda following him as always as a loyal comrade, they come to the place where the Enlightened One is staying. Govinda is convinced about the spiritual supremacy of the Buddha and decides to join the order. However, Siddartha is not satisfied with learning the bliss of Enlightenment from the Buddha and wants to feel the enlightenment by himself. He once again moves, leaving behind the wisdom of the Buddha as well as his long-time companion, Govinda.

His journey in search of the Self takes him to a town, where he comes the courtesan Kamala. Pretty and lascivious, Siddartha falls for Kamala. He learns the art of seduction from her and joins Kamaswami, a wealthy merchant, in order to earn money to satisfy Kamala. Though he doesn’t feel the normal, mundane bondage for wealth or women in the beginning, slowly the worldly life takes a firm grip on him. Did Siddartha learn the futility of the worldly pleasures? Did he attain the supreme enlightenment that he had been searching for his whole life? What is the wisdom that he attained at last? This book answers all this and more.

Hermann Hesse weaves the story with the expertise and wisdom of a sage, handling with élan topics that are always considered the forte of Eastern philosophers. I would like to safely say that each of us could connect ourselves with all those hurdles, hassles, cravings, yearnings and quests that Siddartha goes through. We all go through the same cycle – starting off as special beings, being wise, testing the waters of the world, slowly but surely ending up being bogged down into the mire of the worldly passions and emotions. The question is, are we willing to awaken our divine inner selves and walk the path of spirituality?!

Ashok Krishna

Atrocities of Burmese Military

~  ‘They put a sheet of plastic over my head,’ said Naang Yord, ‘and then took turns raping me. I couldn’t see what they did to my two girls, but I heard them panting desperately a little way away. After that I heard two gunshots.’ 

After that, the soldiers disappeared and Naang Yord was able to free herself. The first thing she saw when she had torn off the plastic sheeting was her niece’s body, lying at a little distance. She had been shot in the ankle, probably because she had tried to crawl away from the soldiers. The second time they had shot her in the head. 

The journalist Vasana Chunvarakorn from Bangkok Post met Naang Yord and other women who had endured such abuse, in sheltered accommodation in Thailand. Their pain permeated every word in her article: ‘Those who listen to the survivor’s stories have to push their imaginations to a terrifying limit. The women’s weak voices are heard only as a whisper. They have scars on their foreheads, ankles and wrists. Their skin seems to give off a scent of dejection, with distant traces of suppressed rage. Can anyone really handle what they have experienced?’  ~

- excerpt from the book 'Aung San Suu Kyi: A Biography', by Jesper Bengtsson.

I am so reminded about the plight of all the Tamil women in Sri Lanka!  :-(

Who is the real patriot - Nehru or Subhas?

I see people sharing some pictures in the web, where the photos of Subhas Chandra Bose and Jawahar Lal Nehru are shown side by side. In the picture, Bose is wearing a military uniform, whereas Nehru is seen smoking a cigarette and the caption is 'who is the real patriot'. I wonder whether these morons are aware of the fact that Netaji started consuming alcohol when he was in exile in Europe. Let us look into the big deeds of such good people and learn from them, rather than trying to tarnish their good names, by meaninglessly gossiping about their personal habits, personal relationships, so-called illicit affairs and so on. Because, what we learn from a person defines what OUR priorities are, not what they really are!

Book Review – Manuscript Found In Accra, Paulo Coelho

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How to cook a book that one can successfully sell across the world, as one’s own work!

Name of the Dish – Manuscript Found in Accra

Name of the Chef – Paulo Coelho

Cuisine Type – Spiritual Fiction/Fantasy/History/Whatever else you want to put this into!

Ingredients – Spirituality, Religion, Mystery, History, Occult Genre, Works of Kahlil Gibran, Zen Masters, Rumi, Gnostics, Self Improvement

Recipe – First, pick the main, favorite ingredient ‘Kahlil Gibran’, a bookful. If the quantity is the size of ‘The Prophet’ much better. Then, add the ingredients of Zen, Leo Buscaglia, Rumi, Art of War, Biblical wisdom, Bhagavad Gita and Gnosticism in equal quantity. Knead the flour well for about one year. To have the onlookers (read readers) convinced about the originality of the dish, sprinkle it with the usual colors and sweeteners like alchemy, soul of the world, warriors and so on, which have started to appear like your intellectual property (!).

Once you are convinced that the bowl is full and the flour looks neatly kneaded, send it for print and get it printed, with a lot of people creating hype and making gullible readers ready to jump the bandwagon. You have a hot-selling book on hand and a shameless pride to show the world!

Ametas and Thestylis Making Hay-ropes (poem by Andrew Marvell)

This is one of the poems by Andrew Marvell. Love this!

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Ametas
Think'st thou that this love can stand,
whilst thou still dost say me nay?
Love unpaid does soon disband;
Love binds love as hay binds hay.

Thestylis
Think'st thou that this rope would twine
If we both should turn one way?
Where both parties so combine
Neither love will twist nor hay.

AmetasThus you vain excuses find,
Which yourselves and us delay:
And love ties a woman's mind
Looser than with ropes of hay.

ThestylisWhat you cannot constant hope
Must be taken as you may.

AmetasThen let's both lay by our rope,
And go kiss within the hay.

Can a wife be forced for physical relationship?

Mahatma Gandhi - love him or hate him, but you can never ignore some of his wise stances against some social evil. The following is a letter written by him to Jayaprakash Narayan, when the latter was having some issues in his conjugal life with Prabhavati. I felt this letter to be so relevant to the current times, when the courts discuss whether a husband can forcibly have sex with his wife and decide some dumb things. Read on!

//

Yervada Jail
November 21, 1930

Chi.Jayaprakash,

Today I have sent you a telegram about Prabhavati which you will have received. I await your reply. I hope you have sent her to the Ashram. The best thing of course would be for you to go with her and have her fixed up there. Any programme about her future work can be decided after she gets well. I understand your sorrow. I have thought over it. You should not say anything to Prabhavati. If she is moved by desire there will be no problem. But if she has no stirrings of desire, it becomes your duty to protect her. I need hardly remind you that women have as much right to freedom as men. It is my firm opinion that if one partner in marriage has sexual urge it is by no means the duty of the other partner also to have such urge, though it is the right of the partner with the sexual urge to satisfy that urge. This is perhaps one of the causes of polygamy. Just as it will be considered immoral for a man to cohabit with a wife who is ill it should also be considered immoral to cohabit with a wife who has no sexual desire. It is therefore my earnest advice that if Prabhavati has no craving for sex you should give her freedom and find yourself another wife. I see no immorality in that. After all what is to be done? How can your craving be forcibly stifled? You consider sex necessary and beneficial for the spirit. In such a situation I would not consider a second marriage immoral from any point of view. In fact, I feel that your doing so may well set an example to others. Many young men use force on with their wives. Others visit prostitutes. Still others indulge in even worse practices. Prabhavati has chosen to live the life of a virgin. You do not wish to practise brahmacharya. Therefore, I see nothing wrong in your respecting the wishes of Prabhavati and finding yourself another wife. If you cannot think of another woman, you should, for the sake of Prabhavati, observe brahmacharya
 

Blessings from 

Bapu

A poem written by my father - கூடுதானா என் வீடு?

என் வீடு -

வீட்டு முற்றத்தில்

விளைந்திருந்த செடி ஒன்று

சிறுக சிறுக நீரூற்ற

சீராய் வளர்ந்தது

சன்னம் சன்னமாய் கிளை விட்டு

சடுதியில் நின்றது.

ஒரு நாள் -

எங்கிருந்தோ வந்த பறவை ஒன்று

என் வீட்டுச் செடி மீது! - அது

எங்கோ சென்று சென்று வந்தது.

சிறகில் ஏதோ கொண்டு கொண்டு வந்தது.

பொழுதொரு வண்ணமாய் பட்ட ஒரு பாடு

பொற்கிண்ணம் போலே பொலிந்ததொரு கூடு!

ஒரு பொன் மாலைப் பொழுதினிலே

முட்டைகள் மூன்று முத்தாய் இட்டது பேடு

தடையேதும் செய்யாமல்

இடையூறும் இல்லாமல் - நித்தம்

தலை நீட்டி பார்த்துப் பார்த்து

தவித்ததும் என் பாடு.

ஒரு நாள் விடிகாலை

முட்டைகள் மூன்றும் முகிழ்ந்தவிந்து

அங்கே -

முத்தாய் குஞ்சுகள் மூன்று

செக்கச் சிவப்பாய் சிதறிக் கிடந்தன.

அலகோ அழகு

வெண் பட்டாய் சிறகு!

பட்டுப் போல் மேனி

தொட்டுவிட ஆசை -

பார்த்து பார்த்து மட்டும் - என்

(பரவசம் கைவசம்)

பரவசத்தைக் கூட்டும்!

பத்து நாள் கூட பறந்தோடவில்லை

முத்துக்கள் மூன்றும் மூப்பெய்தவில்லை

சட்டென ஒரு நாள்

சிட்டுக்கள் ஒவ்வொன்றும்

சிறகை விரித்தன

பெற்ற தாய்க்குருவி

வட்டமடித்து விட்டு - தன்

கூட்டைத் துறந்து விட்டு - தான் அங்கே

வாழ்ந்ததையும் மறந்து விட்டு

சிட்டாய்ப் பறந்தது - சோகம்

எனக்குள் திட்டாய் படிந்தது - ஆனாலும்

வருத்தமில்லை எனக்கு –

ஏனென்றால்

பட்டுச் சிட்டாய் எனக்கும் பனிமலராய் ஒரு மகள்

பட்டுச் சட்டை முதல் பட்டப்படிப்பு வரை

பழுதின்றி அளித்து பாங்காய் வளர்த்தேன்

பல்கலைகளில் வளம் பெற பார்த்து திளைத்தேன்.

பருவமெய்திய மகளுக்கு

பாங்காய் மணமுடித்து

பண்பாளன் ஒருவனுடன்

பட்டணமும் அனுப்பி வைத்தேன்.

சூள் கொண்ட செல்விக்கு

சுப நாளில் வளையிட்டு

பேறுகாலம் பெருகி நிறைவுறவே

பூரிப்பாய் என் வீடு புகுந்தாள் என் மகள்!

நான் பெற்ற மகளும் - அவளுற்ற கருவும்

பேணி வளர்ந்தனர் - அந்த

பெருநாளும் வந்தது!

சிறகில்லா ஒரு தேவதை - என் இல் நாடி

சிசுவை வந்தது! - அந்த

சந்தன பொம்மை எம்மை

சதிரடச் செய்தது!

அந்தப் பறவையின் அழகுக்குஞ்சினை

தொடவே வழியில்லை - தூர நின்று ரசித்தேன்

ஆனால் -

என் ரத்தத்தின் ரத்தம் தந்த ரத்தினத்தை

தொட்டுத் தூக்கினேன்

தோளில் சுமந்தேன்

வாயார முத்தமிட்டு

'வண்ணமயிலே' எனக் கொஞ்சினேன்!

முகிழ்ந்த மொட்டு - இந்த

மலர்ந்த சிட்டு

வித்திட்டவனுக்கும்

விளைவித்தவளுக்கும் தானே!

சட்டென ஒரு நாள் எனை விட்டு

பட்டணம் சென்றது -

கூடுதானா என் வீடு?

இல்லை!

கூடு விட்டு அன்று சென்ற

குஞ்சும் பறவையும் - அந்த

கூடு நினைக்கவில்லை - என்

வீடும் நினைப்பதில்லை

ஆனால்...

என் வீடு விட்டுச் சென்ற மகளும் - அவள்

விளைவித்த பெருநிதியும் - இந்த

வீட்டை மறக்க மாட்டார்கள் - என் மனதின்

பாட்டையும் மறக்க மாட்டார்கள்!

மீண்டும் மீண்டும் வருவார்கள் - நான்

மாண்டு போகும் நாள் வரையும்

வந்து வந்து போவார்கள் - நானும்

மகிழ்வேன் மகிழ்வேன்

மறுபடியும் மறுபடியும் மகிழ்வேன்!