I think

தமிழில் எழுதி நாளாகிறது

வினாஸ காலே விபரீத புத்தி !

ட்யூடின் சமீபத்திய இடுக்கையைப் படித்ததில் மனதோரம் ஒரு ஏக்கம். மேலும் ஏதோ தேம்ஸ் நதியோரமாக பிறந்து வளர்ந்ததைப்போல் மகளுடம் தினம் தினம் பீட்டர் விடுகையில் தாய் மொழி மறந்துவிடுமோ என்று உள்ளூர ஒரு உதறல். இதையெல்லாம் தாண்டி, தமிழில் மூளையைக் கசக்கி பிழிந்தாலாவது அது முழித்துக்கொண்டு, வேலை செய்யுமோ என்ற ஒரு நப்பாசை.

என்ன எழுத? அடுத்த வீட்டு பூனை பெண்பால் என்பது இன்றைக்கு தான் எனக்கு தெரியும் என்பதைப் பற்றியா? எங்கள் வீட்டில் நாஷ்னல் ஜியொக்ராபிக், பீபீசி, ஜேம்ஸ் பாண்ட், தசாவதாரம், ஹாரி பாட்டர், ஹிட்ச்காக்,  டிவிடிக்களைப் பார்க்க, ஒரு ப்ரும்..மா...ண்டமான மானிடர் + ஸ்பீக்கர் வாங்கியிருப்பதைப்பற்றியா? தகிக்கும் கத்திரி வெயிலைப்பற்றியா? சென்னையும் பெங்களூரும் மோதிக்கொண்டு இருக்கும் ஐபில்லைப்பற்றியா?  அதை நேரில் பார்க்க சென்றிருக்கும் ட்யூடைப் பற்றியா?

சரி, படித்தைதை பேசுவோம். தமிழில் கடைசியாக நான் படித்த புத்தகம், பகவத் கீதை மொழிபெயர்பு.  மொழி பெயர்த்தது யார் என்று கவனிக்கவில்லை. கீதையை எப்போது படித்தாலும் மனதில் ஏற்படும் சந்தேகங்கள், ஒரு விதமான பரிதவிப்பு தோன்றியதில், எப்பொதும் போல், பாதியில் மூடி விட்டேன். என்றாவது ஒரு நாள் கீதையை முழுவதும் படிப்பேன் என்ற நம்பிக்கை இருக்கிறது.

போன வாரம், மாமனார் வீட்டில் தமிழ் செய்தித்தாள், ஆனந்த விகடன், குமுதம் படித்தேன். ஒரு நண்பர் வீட்டில் நக்கீரன் படித்தேன். என்ன பயன் என்று தெரியவில்லை. கார்த்திக்கு திருமணமாம். எல்லா பத்திரிகைகளிலும் தடபுடல். யார் கார்த்தி?  பெயரே கார்த்தியா, இல்லை கடைசியில் வரும் “க்”கன்னாவை ந்யூமராலஜி, பயாலஜி என்று எதாவது காரணத்திற்காக கழற்றி விட்டாரா?

பத்திரிகைகளில், எழுத்தை விட நடிக-நடிகைகளின் படங்கள் தான் நிறைய இருந்தன. இடுப்பையும் தொடையையும் காட்டியே தீருவேன் என்று எந்த கோவில் வேண்டுதல்?

தாத்தா போய் ஆத்தா வந்ததில் அதைப்ப்ற்றி வேறு ஏகப்பட்ட விமர்சனங்கள். எனக்கென்னவோ, ராமன் ஆண்டாலும் ராவணன் ஆண்டாலும் சாதா மனிதன் சோதா மனிதனாக தான் இருப்பான் என்று தோன்றுகிறது. ஆத்தா என்னைத் தப்பென்று நிரூபித்தால் மகிழ்வேன்.

ஆஹா. எனக்கு தமிழ் மறக்கவில்லை !   என்ன, ஐந்து நிமிடங்களில் எழுதியிருக்க வேண்டிய இடுக்கை அரை மணி நேரம் பிடித்தது.  கீ போர்டில் தேடி தடவி தவறி தத்தி விக்கி எழுத இவ்வளவு தான் எனக்கு பொறுமை. 

பிழைத்தது தமிழ். பிழைத்தனர் தமிழர். 

 

Cookalogue: Tango with Mango

Summer means many things to many people. To some, it is vacation. To some, travel. Others warmth. Heat, humidity, cousins visit, festivals, story books....

But if you were born and bred in the South of India, summer is synonymous to Mango. Every house (rapidly being replaced by multistorey apartment complexes with names such as "Green grove" with not a single potted shrub in sight) in Tamil Nadu, would necessarily have three trees in its courtyard - neem, coconut and mango. Any festival at home is marked by a garland of mango leaves at the main door.

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Books I read: Apr-May 2011

The kid has her own Kindle, heavens be praised. I get the android to myself finally. The saga of female authors continues.

1. Cleo Coyle: Through the Grinder
After the third book in the Coffeehouse mystery series, what makes you continue to read the series is the curiosity of what happened to the hero(ine) whose love life runs on a parallel track. So, that way, it is not really a mystery series but a romance series with some poor mystery thrown in for variety. It gets irritating after a point. I mean, if it takes one mystery to meet the guy, second mystery to befriend him, third to sleep with him, fourth to break up and fifth to get back together and so on, it is quite the soap opera. The mysteries are pretty banal as well.

2. Isabel Allendale: Kingdom of the Golden Dragon
The golden rule of writing is this - "Write from experience, not hearsay". I am sick of non-Indian writers, associating India with cows, snake charmers and dirt. Writers, aiming to write stories with an Indian context - remember this - Cows are banned from roaming the roads in metropolitan cities (such as Delhi, where Allendale's dead cow stumps traffic), an average Indian has not seen a snake charmer in twenty years and so on. I do not have first hand information on Tibetan monks, so refrain from making statements here, but I suspect Isabel Allendale mish-mashed stuff she found on some third rate, pseudo-nationalistic, pseudo-religious, pseudo-scientific website about Tibet and came up with all the various mystical stuff in her story. Throw into it South American mumbo jumbo of totemic animals, sorceress and People of the Mist, you have a rotten union of James Rollins-J.K. Rowling whatever.

3. Barbara Cleverly: The Last Kashmiri Rose
A refreshing mystery, set in Colonial India. The historic setting is near perfect (not that I would know firsthand; only from information passed down through generations..) and the mystery itself, intelligent and almost practical. The style is engaging, the mystery compelling, romance subtle and no where does the story sag. And NO COWS. Hallelujah !

4. Lyn Hamilton: Archeological Mystery4 - Celtic Riddle
I am sure people interested in Celtic/Irish mythology/history will find this book very interesting. For me, it dragged a bit because I do not know much history/mythology other than Indian and it seemed too much effort to understand the background stuff to understand the book. Nevertheless, I read it skipping pages here and there. So, I can't really comment much.

5.Louise Penny: Still Life

The closest to Agatha Christie. Murder in a small hamlet. And how it is solved. Expected murderer, and good logic. Thankfully, the detective does not fall in love with someone ! Well written. Engaging.

6. Earlene Fowler: Fools Paradise
Good story. A little sagging in the middle, the detective falls in love with the policeman. Is this some kind of the in-thing?

I think I will take a break from books. Forced. I have a big deadline coming up, and a one week trip around which I need to work. The heat is draining, the kid and dude's vacation mood is rubbing off on me and the brain is simply refusing to function.  The panic is growing, hopefully all the adrenalin should help me start.

 

More pictures

Typepad is driving me crazy today by not letting me use the full editor...especially on the day I want to upload photos. Resorting to post-by-email, an option I don't like. This post could wait until Typepad resolves the issue, or I get disgusted and move out to another blog site, whichever comes first, but the brain refuses to get to work on the next deadline, and perhaps writing something here would help jump start the system?

Some of the pictures are from thaaramangalam, one at Yercaud and rest shot during the three-and-half hour bus journey from Salem to Srirangam. The route was scenic, the road smooth and company pleasant, but the underlying risk of travel sickness, that had earlier in the week given me many embarrassing throw-up moments during the journey up and down the Yercaud hills, and the heat of day had kept me from enjoying the journey as much as I could have.

There is a small cave temple atop the Yercaud hills. It seems there is a tunnel from this temple that leads to the head of the Cauvery river, in a place called thalakaveri, in the adjacent state of Karnataka, a good 300 km away. Most of the tunnel is blocked now by natural and man-made disasters.

The following pictures were shot during the bus ride.

Finding the view of the Rajagopuram ethereal one evening, I attempted a P.C. Sreeram and ended up with a blurred excuse for a photo. There is only so much you can do with a cell phone camera, especially if the owner in an attempt to get technical, messed with the camera setting so that the pictures are more than a few MBs in size and look like the camera has myopic vision.

The kid loves to sit on the many stone elephants found all over the Srirangam (and other) temples.

What's wrong with typepad?

I am unable to open the full editor in typepad. I don't like this minimal editor. Anyone else with the same problem?

Thaaramangalam

Thaaramangalam is a little hamlet near Salem.  The peace of the hamlet hides a spectacular temple for Lord Siva - Kailasanathar. Said to be built by a chiefton called Kettaya Mudaliyar, the scultptures mark many of the features of those of the Nayakkar clan of the sixteenth century, such as presence of Vishnu-related characters in a Sivan temple, and in particular, the importance given to the God of love - Manmathan and his consort, Rathi.

If you know Tamil, read a  detailed description of the temple and its sculptures at dude's blog.   

 

 

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The sculptures are breathtaking.  The passion and sincerety that went into this art form is obvious from the beauty.  There are some really cute sculptures - there is one of Rama killing Vali - the figure of Rama is on a pillar, and that of Vali and Sugreeva on another.  The pillars are designed such that, you can see the VAli pillar from the Ramar side and not the other way round, as according to the story that Rama hid himself when he killed Vali.

There are more pictures in dude's post. 

 

 

 

Four days

..is all I can abstain from the internet, it seems.    The vacation stupour is being slowly replaced by this nagging whisper of the one-word mantra somewhere at the rear of the brain - "deadline".   I have been subdueing this voice with self-inflicted inertia, but the voice is getting stronger and I am sure by the time I am back home middle of next week, it would play on Dolby stereo surround sound.

But then, let me enjoy the now.  With whisper and all.  

In many ways, my extended family is cool (is there something I should do to ward off the evil eye here?).  When I visit my own parents' home, my eighty something old grandmom pampers me like I were still her grandchild in knickers. When I visit my in-laws', they, contrary to popular belief, let me sleep-in well into the A.M.  The only reason I wake up is that the darn bladder wouldn't let me sleep any more.  By the time the teeth are brushed, the coffee is ready at the table, and all kinds of lovely aromas waft in from the kitchen.  

One of my friends recently asked me why I keep spending every vacation at Srirangam, instead of taking an exciting or romantic trip elsewhere.   As  I sip a glass of ice cold ilaneer derived from coconuts harvested from the home trees, delivered to me where I am sitting, by my mother-in-law, who reminds me of my plans to visit to my favourite temple today, I find my choice amply justified.

The kid and I make a pact before every vacation. That we would stay off each other's hair from the moment we board the train.  Apart from the few hours at night where she MUST sleep, and the few minutes spent in nourishment and santiation activities, the kid and her local friend have not let the Srirangam sun go waste. When I was like her, my parents and aunts/uncles would wonder what my cousin and I would do all day together, oblivious to the world around.   It seemed a stupid question to ask then, but now, I wonder the same thing of this kid. The kids are either running around the house, making a colossal racket, or making mud pies and cakes or throwing water at each other, and in general, living the moment to the extreme.  I am thankful that she is able to enjoy this part of life as well, she will carry these memories as she grows up.

Dude gets into a different groove the moment he enters his childhood home -  the home built into his memories. I see in him, a very different person - a relaxed, comfortable and at-home person and I know that when we leave, he'll leave this part of him behind.   Hopefully this recharge will work until the next visit.

As for me, apart from the intense physical relaxation that vacation offers me, Srirangam takes me to a different plane of existence.  The fact that this is perhaps the place that I would spend the sunset years of my life gives it a mystical aura.  But beyond hopes of the future, just a walk around the main temple, by myself, taking in the sea of humanity, watching little dramas of life unfold, and just being there, is an experience so far removed from daily life filled with actions arising from responsibility and reason. I know that the life of purposefull activity is just a few days away, and one that I have deliberately chosen and enjoy in its own right, but now, what exists is just this moment.  The air is hot, the windchimes tinkle, I am blogging, my father-in-law is lying on the bare floor, snoring, his son, next to him, eyes closed and mouth smiling, my daughter is burying dead spiders (!), the  mother-in-law is reading ananda vikatan, there is hot kunukku on the dining table, and life couldn't be more peaceful.

There are loads of photos in the cell phone. One of these days I will upload them. Perhaps I'll write more..perhaps less.  But the memories have been captured in mind's amber more vividly than this blog and the cell phone camera and that will keep me going for a while.

 

 

 

 

Vacation

I am at the geometric centre of a much deserved vacation at Srirangam.  

My days are packed with eating and sleeping. As I lie in stupour, taking the enormous effort to digest the food, I occasionally wonder if I should write about the vacation, soon to be over-rided by the wave of inertia that has surged my being. So the thoughts have been pushed into the deep recess of the grey cells right now.  They'll probably surface when I am back at home, especially since I'll be coming home to a colossal work deadline.  

Until then, don't unsubscribe from this seemingly inactive blog.  I'll be back.

 

Cookalogue: Over a cup of coffee

"காபி சாப்பிடறேளா"  ("Want coffee?")

This is perhaps the most important hospitality question you would face as you enter a TamBram household.  Thirty years back, it was insulting to even ask.  As you sat on the "thinnai" of your host, the lady would send through her daughter, a "gooja" full of frothing,steaming coffee, no matter what time of the day it was. There was no question of you NOT being a coffee drinker - every TamBram was a confirmed coffee drinker, and even if you weren't you'd soon be, thanks to the aroma of the "degree kaapi" that would permeate the entire house. A tambram child was said to have stepped into adulthood with his/her first cup of coffee (usually mixed with Bournvita) in his./her sixth standard.

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Change is good

I don't know if it would be a change for the better or worse. The optimist in me believes that nothing could be worse than the corruption of the past five years, but the realist is skeptical.  The last time Ms. Jayalalitha was ousted in favour of Mr. Karunanidhi, I believed that we had seen the last of crore rupee worth corruption.  I was right.  What ensued in DMK's next ten five years was in the order of many hundreds of crores against the few tenths of crores of the predecessor. It is a sad state of affairs if one or two zeroes less after the one makes it appear better.

I want to believe that you cannot add any more zeroes, but what do I know?  I belong to the clan that works 12 hours a day to see three or four or, in a lucky year, five zeroes after the one, 30% of which we gamely give back to the Government  with the hope that our roads are laid, our food and water supplies are kept functional and our life secure. Such of us are the luckier lot . My maid works at 7 houses, washing clothes, vessels and floors and earns a few thousands every month, most of which is spent by her good-for-nothing husband on TASMAC, a legacy of  the founder of the party that will now rule us for the next five years, if all goes well (!).

I just want to be optimistic and hope that Ms. Jayalalitha learned something from her past mistakes.  And I sincerely hope it is not the fact that she could add more zeroes like her successor did.

Good luck Ms. Jayalalitha. Good luck Tamil Nadu.