tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-71135418507685763692024-03-10T20:23:55.325-07:00Totally Owordosed Sujatha Warrier's BlogUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger166125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-14504331746216838142024-03-07T08:11:00.000-08:002024-03-07T08:11:01.541-08:00i came upon a lighthouse<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVBKwcWLBHIDVh1mPy6y_osP9-QoLdjE0MwEz-pxx3ofwEqunjeidL9Ir9nOB4G8Cosi2wbRt3hdoQPMi_t0cCxfjwMhtLjwSo85n9l6IqvCD0SiFb3dhGquifbS_xCPTHvpmtpzD6yKSCJyrnuno2g8jRfYYnHAEpYglKEKisW4Kz0jiCj6vuHZqqaAJ/s445/i%20came%20upon%20a%20lighthuose.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="445" data-original-width="290" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEVBKwcWLBHIDVh1mPy6y_osP9-QoLdjE0MwEz-pxx3ofwEqunjeidL9Ir9nOB4G8Cosi2wbRt3hdoQPMi_t0cCxfjwMhtLjwSo85n9l6IqvCD0SiFb3dhGquifbS_xCPTHvpmtpzD6yKSCJyrnuno2g8jRfYYnHAEpYglKEKisW4Kz0jiCj6vuHZqqaAJ/w261-h400/i%20came%20upon%20a%20lighthuose.jpg" width="261" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Title:
i came upon a lighthouse<br />
Author: Shantanu Naidu<br />
Illustrations: Sanjana Desai<br />
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers India</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“i came
upon a lighthouse” is a book about the most unique, unusual, and unlikely friendship
between an octogenarian (Ratan Tata) and a twenty-something author (Shantanu
Naidu). The book is as charming as I expected it to be. Illustrations by
Sanjana Desai add to the charm. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">
</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Though the
author says – almost like a disclaimer – that “the pages of this book are the
result more of heart and story and less of artistic capability”, the story,
which is a true one, reads as smoothly, gently and softly as any good fiction. The two friends meet because of a common trait – their compassion for homeless
dogs. And the meeting evolves into a rare kind of friendship where the elder of
the friends become a guide, a mentor and a companion-on-call for the younger. And a confidante and an anchor when the latter finds himself alone and lost in an alien land. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Everyone
has their own layered relationship with New York City. It is a relationship
with a living being, an actual person. Each visitor has their own version,
their own narrative. Everyone is hustling, trying to make it, whether in life
or through the day. It is overwhelming to be on the sidewalk with people who
are always anxious to be somewhere. When everyone around you has a purpose in
the city, it is lonely to be there without one.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The beauty of this friendship is in the sweet innocence of the friends and their refreshing candour. Their relationship becomes a subtle, non-intrusive influence in the young man’s life,
helping him find his feet in his confused world. That he has access to one of the greatest, one of the most brilliant, minds of India makes the relationship even more special, rather, enviable, to the readers. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal">
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><i><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">“Why don’t you come with me to the World Trade
Center office tomorrow. You can see the slums surrounding the campus from the
twenty-sixth floor. It is a disturbing difference, a mismatch of classes. But
you can also see how organically they are mapped, how there is pattern to the
chaos.”<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I am
grateful to the author for writing this book for, it brings out the unseen,
unknown, and unheard-of (at least to the general public) personal side of one
of the most admired and respected citizens of the country. And what I find is
less of a surprise and more of an affirmation or a reassurance. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The friendship of this pair – the youth and the
youthful – restores your faith in honest, genuine, selfless friendships where
almost nothing stands as a barrier between friends. The aura of their
friendship lingers long after you have finished reading the book. You are happy
to be caught in its spell, and remain so.</span></p><p><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%;"><br /></span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-87004071098591278942024-02-13T03:59:00.000-08:002024-02-13T04:12:39.685-08:00Pranayam - Limited Version<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9MFHP7rQhfIY2uEr3N2Rc6pRbxxtSfx3-fyxAXRqhyphenhyphenuCPAhNKFAOkhNMIpQE-aTBkHBNJHqFpGK8mMdPVxwgUgGIh5cNDEerSyw9LqS8mbI2AQuuFhymKZUPqkiNnXIfiLq4XmmughWIAWYfaEOhyLQAT03niHOmmRLEzVAnxrIbppNIt3ys3rTsjpuhM/s934/Pranayam%20-%20Limited%20Version.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="934" height="301" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg9MFHP7rQhfIY2uEr3N2Rc6pRbxxtSfx3-fyxAXRqhyphenhyphenuCPAhNKFAOkhNMIpQE-aTBkHBNJHqFpGK8mMdPVxwgUgGIh5cNDEerSyw9LqS8mbI2AQuuFhymKZUPqkiNnXIfiLq4XmmughWIAWYfaEOhyLQAT03niHOmmRLEzVAnxrIbppNIt3ys3rTsjpuhM/w400-h301/Pranayam%20-%20Limited%20Version.png" width="400" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Title: Pranayam – Limited Version<br />
Genre: Flipbook of Pictures, Poems in Malayalam with Translation in English<br />
Poet: Jayarsree T.<br />
Translator: Sujatha Warrier<br />
Photographers: Basanth Peringode, Manikantan Mundakkal, Poornima G.,<br /><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span><span> </span>Riya Anes, Sudevan, Zakariya, and
Jayasree T.<br />
Publisher: Writers International Edition<br />
Bookstore: <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jayasree_T_Pranayam_Limited_Version?id=3P_lEAAAQBAJ" target="_blank">Google Books</a></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Excerpt from the Foreword by Shreekumar Varma</b></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both;">
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Translators usually tread a tightrope. There is a tendency to
either stay safe, or push ahead, and often venture away from the original
markers. Here, in this encompassing volume, Malayalam words, even when they
seem uniquely untranslatable, are rendered into English with an independence,
even whimsicality, that startles at times (as in the case of “Thiruvathira”),
but always remaining loyal and pristine, always embracing the sensibility of
the original. This allows poet and translator to stand up as twin towers, as
one voice, and unique at the same time.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Excerpt from the Foreword by Kavitha Balakrishnan</b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">ഇവിടെ ഒരു മനസ്സ്. അത് ഏറ്റവും പരിമിതമായ കരുക്കൾ ഉപയോഗിച്ച് സ്വയം ആവിഷ്ക്കരിക്കാൻ ആഗ്രഹിക്കുന്നു. സ്വയം, ഒരു 'ജയശ്രീ' എന്ന മനുഷ്യൻ / കവി അല്ല. അത് പരസ്പരം പടർന്ന് ഇണങ്ങി വ്യാപിച്ചും കലർന്നും കാണാൻ പറ്റാത്തത്രയും സൂക്ഷ്മമായ ഒന്നാകാൻ ശ്രമിക്കുമ്പോലെ തോന്നും ഈ കവിതകളും കാഴ്ചകളും കാണുമ്പോൾ. ഇവിടെ ഒരു പ്രണയം. അത് നശ്വരമാണെങ്കിലും വൈവിധ്യമാർന്നതാണ്. സർവ്വവ്യാപിയും ഭൗമവുമായ ഒരു ജീവജാലപ്രപഞ്ചത്തിൽ അത് സജീവമാണ്.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="color: #222222; font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>About
the Book</b></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="line-height: 107%;">Pranayam</span></i><span style="line-height: 107%;">, or Love, is such an
emotion that cannot be limited. <i>Pranayam
– Limited Version</i> gathers Jayasree T.’s reflections on unlimited love expressed
through very limited number of words and lines of poetry. The poems are
inspired by photographs captured by the poet herself as well as by other nature
lovers, some of whom are photographers by profession and some for diversion. Jayasree’s
poems in Malayalam have been translated into English by Sujatha Warrier. What
began as a light-hearted exercise of creative camaraderie grew into a
collection of pictures, poems and their translation.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b>Readers’ Reviews:</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Love as ‘Limited
Version’ speaks a lot ironically. The capacious nature and manifestations of
love, and its kinship with nature and human nature lends a dimension which is
immeasurable, thus rigidly limiting the interpretation of love. The many shades
and infinite permutations and combinations of love, the essence of the
abstract, remind me of the “melakartha ragas” and their infinite “janyas”…the
chromatical brilliance of colours, the chiaroscuro of myriad shades.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Yes, the very idea of
translation is a daring “tread on a tightrope” as graphically stated by
Shreekumar Varma.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Jayasree has stretched
it and Sujatha has covered the stretch.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">PRANAYAM – an e-book
with a difference…intellectually challenging, visually pleasing.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 150%; text-indent: -18pt;">-<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;">
</span></span><span style="font-family: georgia; line-height: 150%; text-indent: -18pt;"><b>Professor Rangarajan G.</b></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span face=""Nirmala UI", "sans-serif"" style="color: #222222;">ആദ്യമായാണ് ഇത്തരത്തിൽ ഒരു ഇ ബുക്ക് പണം മുടക്കി വാങ്ങി വായിക്കുന്നത്. ഒട്ടും
മുഷിഞ്ഞില്ലെന്നു മാത്രമല്ല ഏറെ സൗകര്യപ്രദവും... ജയടീച്ചറുടെ 'സാരമില്ല' വാങ്ങി വായിച്ചിട്ടുണ്ട്.
അതിനും മുൻപേ ടീച്ചറുടെ ചിത്ര കവിതകളെ പിന്തുടരുന്നും ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നു. ഇതിലെ കവിതകളും
അതിന്റെ വിവർത്തനവും ഒരേ പോലെ ഭംഗിയായി തോന്നി. ഇതിലെ ഒരു കവിതയുടെ വിവർത്തനം ഓഡിയോ
ആയി കേട്ടിരുന്നു. ഇതിനോടൊപ്പം തന്നെ മുഴുവൻ കവിതകൾക്കും ആ ഒരു ഓഡിയോ ഭാഗം കൂടി ഉണ്ടായിരുന്നെങ്കിൽ
എന്ന് മോഹിച്ചു പോയി </span><span face=""Segoe UI Symbol", "sans-serif"" style="color: #222222;">❤</span><span face=""Nirmala UI", "sans-serif"" style="color: #222222;">️ അഭിനന്ദനങ്ങൾ സുജാത വാര്യർ 🥰 ജയടീച്ചർ 🥰</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 27px; text-indent: -18pt;">-<span style="font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><span style="line-height: 27px; text-indent: -18pt;"><b>Sudheer Peringode</b></span><span face=""Nirmala UI", "sans-serif"" style="color: #222222;"> </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 150%;"><br /></p></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-80451736487153218402024-02-10T02:34:00.000-08:002024-02-12T23:08:20.123-08:00Book Launch at Kochi: Pranayam - Limited Version<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgysoWS-UjLJxjnLZa93qnZjfgh_epEcK00B9F1zce-y8LV6LmVC54zfXP0o-Zjtd3Q2hlBM6ow1vIS1fiGeB1sJik6f3_Ofw5SKzzRF9pbtN2rTlTWWPpCOXcRpZiXj5tksQPVT9NjkPT7LJqWTOXqlX07uJVrFuyp-jMn_ZgH9QPoMkdjPzsSEd7ZkS5b/s1439/Pranayam_BookLaunch_Backdrop.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1439" data-original-width="775" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgysoWS-UjLJxjnLZa93qnZjfgh_epEcK00B9F1zce-y8LV6LmVC54zfXP0o-Zjtd3Q2hlBM6ow1vIS1fiGeB1sJik6f3_Ofw5SKzzRF9pbtN2rTlTWWPpCOXcRpZiXj5tksQPVT9NjkPT7LJqWTOXqlX07uJVrFuyp-jMn_ZgH9QPoMkdjPzsSEd7ZkS5b/w215-h400/Pranayam_BookLaunch_Backdrop.jpeg" width="215" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENW9sUzfQl_EekDfqP9ba2g0UmSgn_P8_NQWufAAao-jzj6sOpnnF64SSv0UCYnTEcQS9HrRosAAKbvyu0NOSGbrfCCkQI7v5Z76mGIHR2qrxJ5m2wrdqWjv0JN32VNIbVyqsg_eeiVtDjYc31iKx6fgXSmrw4e7ql44Xd7c-XFXtRJxwMOhznH27hN-z/s1264/WhatsApp%20Image%202024-02-08%20at%2014.56.29.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1264" data-original-width="720" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgENW9sUzfQl_EekDfqP9ba2g0UmSgn_P8_NQWufAAao-jzj6sOpnnF64SSv0UCYnTEcQS9HrRosAAKbvyu0NOSGbrfCCkQI7v5Z76mGIHR2qrxJ5m2wrdqWjv0JN32VNIbVyqsg_eeiVtDjYc31iKx6fgXSmrw4e7ql44Xd7c-XFXtRJxwMOhznH27hN-z/w114-h200/WhatsApp%20Image%202024-02-08%20at%2014.56.29.jpeg" width="114" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Rammohan <br />Paliyath</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Following the
initial release of <i>Pranayam (Love) – Limited Version</i> at Mysuru on January 6, the e-book was
launched at River Bourne Center, Kochi, by Author and Columnist Rammohan
Paliyath on February 4, 2024. The audience </span><span face="Calibri, "sans-serif"" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">–</span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"> a coterie of bookish people </span><span face="Calibri, "sans-serif"" style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 107%;">– </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">was
looking forward to the "Webinivesam" author’s informal and delightful oratory,
and it was as effortlessly engaging as expected. </span><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJEPwntiNzCNSQ9C39aOfnLEBR5fkWMNpTBNL0cvFZA6m9OV4OgXZKhYk73-uG9-x6PZsbjI4lIBBqwhz8VXNp8ab4DoKbcChmtgqxtj6zaBdShV_E8SaSb8XWybp0XrDnJk1mSDp55mwSwqzI7Zy6l__ideJUi9h6EiwXr_E65jKpmDjLZ8l8s6c6TyN-/s791/Screenshot%20(98).png" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="791" data-original-width="501" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJEPwntiNzCNSQ9C39aOfnLEBR5fkWMNpTBNL0cvFZA6m9OV4OgXZKhYk73-uG9-x6PZsbjI4lIBBqwhz8VXNp8ab4DoKbcChmtgqxtj6zaBdShV_E8SaSb8XWybp0XrDnJk1mSDp55mwSwqzI7Zy6l__ideJUi9h6EiwXr_E65jKpmDjLZ8l8s6c6TyN-/w127-h200/Screenshot%20(98).png" width="127" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Shreekumar<br />Varma</span></td></tr></tbody></table><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">Playwright, </span>Author, Poet, and Columnist Shreekumar Varma shared his thoughts on the three-dimensional
creative collaboration of poetry and photography, and the individual and collective experiences of the pictures and poems. Poet,
Artist, Curator and Researcher Kavitha Balakrishnan, who was expected to but
could not make it to the event, made her virtual presence
felt. </span></p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">An
introduction of the photographers and their pictures along with poetry rendition by the poets was well received by
the audience. Not to mention the musical rendition of a select few Malayalam poems </span><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">by Lyricist, Composer and Short Film Director Krishnakumar Varma.<o:p></o:p></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5eNIaig7tsZ8XxLpr4HcI-sa9OC_-OWhTJUFCbO2GqTP7P3j0UsFNQMfDK3xxVYcG-aVVQcAtGdU_3xXJ00KON3XU-zuSxWq2eSsU9SxpIFVVMTFQFgxz8OXErir-cHWZe7gNIUwg35F4XMFF-94BI4h3GIiZKYulmXoWPO71SwMFxy1oOUQirYbBLGeX/s761/Screenshot%20(99).png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="761" data-original-width="477" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5eNIaig7tsZ8XxLpr4HcI-sa9OC_-OWhTJUFCbO2GqTP7P3j0UsFNQMfDK3xxVYcG-aVVQcAtGdU_3xXJ00KON3XU-zuSxWq2eSsU9SxpIFVVMTFQFgxz8OXErir-cHWZe7gNIUwg35F4XMFF-94BI4h3GIiZKYulmXoWPO71SwMFxy1oOUQirYbBLGeX/w126-h200/Screenshot%20(99).png" width="126" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Rangarajan G.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"><i>Pranayam –
Limited Version (Love – Limited Version)</i> is a flipbook of pictures and poems in
Malayalam and English. Jayasree T.’s Malayalam poems are inspired by photographs captured by Basanth Peringode, Manikantan Mundakkal, Poornima G., Riya Anes, Sudevan and
Zakariya, and translated by Sujatha Warrier. </span><span lang="EN-GB">The e-book, designed by Bharati
Varrier, has been published by Writers International Edition. The e-book is available on Google Books. For your copy of
the e-book, please click <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jayasree_T_Pranayam_Limited_Version?id=3P_lEAAAQBAJ" target="_blank">here</a>.</span></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLX2TJfp3p-uRyfHh2ev12KcWqCMmF64SaG00B0QiY-6Fx3pEWY6ZrgUdkOuN_VXNZYbU0-Oda-pOOBENF2w7-4o-9tGRBxtxI7bBK-lXrOmF9HzRIHjX9xwZlYZvXHU7jrnCWmO75jDr-8bCk4B80kamjLImXEKJ_NC8Cdj5zIx4JYMwaVMARk1xK8_FQ/s773/Screenshot%20(100).png" style="clear: right; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgLX2TJfp3p-uRyfHh2ev12KcWqCMmF64SaG00B0QiY-6Fx3pEWY6ZrgUdkOuN_VXNZYbU0-Oda-pOOBENF2w7-4o-9tGRBxtxI7bBK-lXrOmF9HzRIHjX9xwZlYZvXHU7jrnCWmO75jDr-8bCk4B80kamjLImXEKJ_NC8Cdj5zIx4JYMwaVMARk1xK8_FQ/w129-h200/Screenshot%20(100).png" width="129" /></span></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Jayadas. T.</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The concluding session, which was an interactive one, turned out to be thoroughly entertaining as well with the participation of Poet, Professor and much-more Rangarajan G. and Jayadas T., a teacher of math who is full of mirth. The evening ended with amazing twilight waterfront photo opportunities well exploited by the guests and participants.</span></div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQdvfkr29i6EVkIov3cNhuWvAdX1YatNdSqgrvAmJHAvthqpfsrbMyn2pru4-_nFvgvNsyGmwm8TFXex8gT6xPLXVevZ5Q32ZxWo7p1U_Tmb5_x8BEwJFlGkyF0bkDOJGiLyCTK4kAmNGA9VpdUjEStMJWKBDAoRHiZTkJrEHVZ1mY2jE9x_WwkZ-09Zm/s133/Kavitha%20Balakrishnan%20(2).jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="122" data-original-width="133" height="122" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxQdvfkr29i6EVkIov3cNhuWvAdX1YatNdSqgrvAmJHAvthqpfsrbMyn2pru4-_nFvgvNsyGmwm8TFXex8gT6xPLXVevZ5Q32ZxWo7p1U_Tmb5_x8BEwJFlGkyF0bkDOJGiLyCTK4kAmNGA9VpdUjEStMJWKBDAoRHiZTkJrEHVZ1mY2jE9x_WwkZ-09Zm/s1600/Kavitha%20Balakrishnan%20(2).jpg" width="133" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Kavitha<br />Balakrishnan</span></td></tr></tbody></table></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqC4Z4FNKuQAieurLzBmKOa94ArsKvVdvE8cjis90xO4iUifDgNlrXvHO8EkHTc28pMzBaagOw-cvVcCDtZfbpqOd3tnj4glaEgw15mEzZ3iUMs_He9Dotd7fbcIBSEa9KMDI2Pc0CljyIzBQIqpP9gVSzcBy1aUjchbBzbdg2gkAewyHjyTcSDTZrMjd/s206/425966109_10159537821991456_6163662480818235188_n.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="206" data-original-width="206" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEqC4Z4FNKuQAieurLzBmKOa94ArsKvVdvE8cjis90xO4iUifDgNlrXvHO8EkHTc28pMzBaagOw-cvVcCDtZfbpqOd3tnj4glaEgw15mEzZ3iUMs_He9Dotd7fbcIBSEa9KMDI2Pc0CljyIzBQIqpP9gVSzcBy1aUjchbBzbdg2gkAewyHjyTcSDTZrMjd/w142-h121/425966109_10159537821991456_6163662480818235188_n.jpg" width="142" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Krishnakumar<br />Varma</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div> </div><br /><div><br /><div><p></p></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-79823122433148981812024-01-11T05:58:00.000-08:002024-02-08T22:00:13.361-08:00Book Launch at Mysuru: Pranayam - Limited Version<p style="text-align: center;"> </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_1gaOXOs3sorhzBthnC94CO6cJ7VpDj694EYNzur0lzmYZ89zdA-MytISA92scMaVzggbNpv1WNCPSzCr2gWF-cSnZ9abSH8eH7b4C2-rcUgAvlroubte4_hnsiAMJby8oG7J2dTPpI5YX3xJ0mgxLCnGPTyUZHAOXvn9tpj1KQA-ZZmYz_XF8h9pTQlr/s848/capture_1704973310100.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="848" height="226" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_1gaOXOs3sorhzBthnC94CO6cJ7VpDj694EYNzur0lzmYZ89zdA-MytISA92scMaVzggbNpv1WNCPSzCr2gWF-cSnZ9abSH8eH7b4C2-rcUgAvlroubte4_hnsiAMJby8oG7J2dTPpI5YX3xJ0mgxLCnGPTyUZHAOXvn9tpj1KQA-ZZmYz_XF8h9pTQlr/w400-h226/capture_1704973310100.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Introduction to the e-book by Sujatha Warrier</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Pranayam –
Limited Version</i> was launched by Geethanjali Dilip, Poet and Curator, Yercaud
Poetry Festival, at the 6<sup>th</sup> edition of the Festival held at Royal
Orchid Brindavan Garden, Mysore, on January 6, 2024, in the presence of the
Chief Guest of the event, Prof. B. N. Balajee, Sai Baba University, along with
the Guest of Honor, Shubha Sanjay Urs, Chair Person, Mysore Literature
Festival, Rotary Dist. (2982) <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqk8lGoGPaXyzmUdYkSC_8Fh9ZovzYfl8nP3Y7fEORHlRfn6wrYai84_sGZSdxPPFOdDOJoETXgo9QYSiGTqiV_fxbOk2cKQYOdWsS4g6q-CQW8JD88WwMg39wp1d9QJfTJkAYNKmXh6Mmdt4uWAOAErz2uo5_Hf63BfbvS29o7doZFGnF8ZKUM8fGSnBI/s628/capture_1704973704137.png" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="628" height="153" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqk8lGoGPaXyzmUdYkSC_8Fh9ZovzYfl8nP3Y7fEORHlRfn6wrYai84_sGZSdxPPFOdDOJoETXgo9QYSiGTqiV_fxbOk2cKQYOdWsS4g6q-CQW8JD88WwMg39wp1d9QJfTJkAYNKmXh6Mmdt4uWAOAErz2uo5_Hf63BfbvS29o7doZFGnF8ZKUM8fGSnBI/w200-h153/capture_1704973704137.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: x-small;">Geethanjali Dilip</span></td></tr></tbody></table>Governor 2023-24, Rtn. S. Raghavan, the leading
members of Rotary Club of Salem Galaxy who were the sponsors of the Festival, a
physical gathering of poets from different parts of India, and a virtual
participation of poets from different parts of the world. The Festival was
organized by the Soul Scribers Society, Salem.</span><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"><i>Pranayam
Limited Version</i>, an e-book, was launched with a click on the link to the book by
Poet Geethanjali Dilip on January 6, 2024, the first day of the Festival. </span>A
screening of the e-book was done on the second day, January 7, 2024. </span></p><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAe_V3uVY0i6kItJcaamG0GO2yMjZF4vOt-RrQBr_IUgog-3yxJSLn0nPxWKPcL81M1ms_iguXkQgR84cyuyyeu7NiJlPBAOiUhv5J-lVGN-R6LJBp72cHJGZSXskouqnfN3_6j5Zy3kFlMrkQV9nAe398IYdfkSGeOwavvDVBrHSv3TjukwKStwjxwEyN/s848/capture_1704972779597.png" style="clear: left; display: inline; font-family: georgia; font-size: large; font-style: italic; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="480" data-original-width="848" height="181" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiAe_V3uVY0i6kItJcaamG0GO2yMjZF4vOt-RrQBr_IUgog-3yxJSLn0nPxWKPcL81M1ms_iguXkQgR84cyuyyeu7NiJlPBAOiUhv5J-lVGN-R6LJBp72cHJGZSXskouqnfN3_6j5Zy3kFlMrkQV9nAe398IYdfkSGeOwavvDVBrHSv3TjukwKStwjxwEyN/s320/capture_1704972779597.png" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Ashish Godya, Soul Scribers Society<br /><br /></span></td></tr></tbody></table>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"><i>Pranayam - Limted
Version (Love – Limited Version)</i>, published by Writers International Edition, is
a collection of photographs, short poems in Malayalam, </span>and their translation in
English.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Jayasree T.’s poems in Malayalam have been translated into English by
Sujatha Warrier. The photographs, which have inspired the poems, are by Basanth
Peringode, Manikantan Mundakkal, Poornima G., Riya Anes, Sudevan and Zakariya.
The book has been designed by Bharati Varrier. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMrCnuTkBsR8xh8922PRAF1u8IlIC5lTKJGtt7QhproMja5wPxmpLn01GsPWoJVDwAu3MCCGwtc5jbJ4jJnjfB6A3NOuN9b5xBaLSjRbKQfRUq2ZAE8kfH3Gebi-zOIHwIjtmWAYjokqOqvji0P7FTmaQhdqMsvb_d3CWXgmjiCfuAavorLy-AJ7uIbhJ/s265/Cover%20Photo.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="265" data-original-width="189" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjOMrCnuTkBsR8xh8922PRAF1u8IlIC5lTKJGtt7QhproMja5wPxmpLn01GsPWoJVDwAu3MCCGwtc5jbJ4jJnjfB6A3NOuN9b5xBaLSjRbKQfRUq2ZAE8kfH3Gebi-zOIHwIjtmWAYjokqOqvji0P7FTmaQhdqMsvb_d3CWXgmjiCfuAavorLy-AJ7uIbhJ/w143-h200/Cover%20Photo.jpg" width="143" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The e-book is
available at <a href="https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Jayasree_T_Pranayam_Limited_Version?id=3P_lEAAAQBAJ" target="_blank">play.google.com</a> </span></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-3163658721836583462023-12-11T12:34:00.000-08:002023-12-13T10:26:01.343-08:00The Bing Bang Theory<p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaACfrDD8ryh445kB8wNu74768L_K6-f9uzDOu5ER98s8F7XtmZ16qJ-Y4lrnt6K1NVaajUM_go__X1EhjGsCAXtIcPdXQ1fOq-5P9vA3pXLI8VG8KyHcm3t-Dl7w25kMlNTzB539u1VlGHe3CPz40K38zdanH_FDfr241D8lmMFk8QkdCtoh3Fhu1wtZY/s639/The%20Bing%20Bang%20Theory.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="636" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaACfrDD8ryh445kB8wNu74768L_K6-f9uzDOu5ER98s8F7XtmZ16qJ-Y4lrnt6K1NVaajUM_go__X1EhjGsCAXtIcPdXQ1fOq-5P9vA3pXLI8VG8KyHcm3t-Dl7w25kMlNTzB539u1VlGHe3CPz40K38zdanH_FDfr241D8lmMFk8QkdCtoh3Fhu1wtZY/w398-h400/The%20Bing%20Bang%20Theory.png" width="398" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">pc: craiyon.com</td></tr></tbody></table><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></p>If this planet is my home...</span></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">If my home is this planet and if I throw the waste – the garbage – generated in my home
out the window of my home, where would it fall? Perhaps it would continually
fall in the infinite abyss called space. The gravitational forces of all the
heavenly bodies would push and pull it. In the end, it would be forced to follow its own elliptical orbit, and it would have to rotate and revolve around the
heavenly bodies just to avoid collision, just to stay in space, just so it
won’t fall.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Think of all
the garbage thrown from all the windows of the planet, rotating and revolving in
space! In a snowballing effect, they would grow to become as gigantesque as a
planet. And there would be all those vermin living on it unhindered, in bliss,
making their own heaven of it.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Piles of
garbage would continue to heap up, forming spheres and moving in orbits of their
own. Vermin of infinite kinds would live on them. Pollutants would co-exist,
react, and evolve. More and more, and newer, emissions would pervade the universe. Humans
would learn to breathe all kinds of gases.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">In time,
man would discover these new "planets". Forging ahead with his scientific
searches and researches, he would send rockets to explore the possibility of life on
these new planets. He may eventually turn these planetoids into space tourism
destinations, disturbing the peaceful lives of the vermin, making life
difficult for them…<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Indeed,
there would be no stopping us.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-7974747856845259822023-10-28T05:22:00.003-07:002023-10-28T12:04:46.407-07:00Fences<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">While in the nightly hours...</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sDjjXJXH9Pzps8eDbKWGgON0Bvp-rFMM_VJeM55s8mvXMH7UyEMzmejHOhv0VODZp9kW17ss0EuMVDVMvUTs0oiFbs9MOITbAIX8slcQnY4Dz1bUZrZv5qPr_eGjcCMFYBLQhOewl5KRbmQg2OO1bcNzbEXF3VFbMuFz8DL5-SQ6BeGooys__cPD6XU7/s1031/Fences%204.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="773" data-original-width="1031" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg_sDjjXJXH9Pzps8eDbKWGgON0Bvp-rFMM_VJeM55s8mvXMH7UyEMzmejHOhv0VODZp9kW17ss0EuMVDVMvUTs0oiFbs9MOITbAIX8slcQnY4Dz1bUZrZv5qPr_eGjcCMFYBLQhOewl5KRbmQg2OO1bcNzbEXF3VFbMuFz8DL5-SQ6BeGooys__cPD6XU7/w400-h300/Fences%204.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Sparkles<br />
of the vinous,<br />musky moonlight<br />
spill o’er<br />
the urns<br />
of the skies,<br />
speckle<br />
the nooks<br />
and crannies<br />
of the night,<br />
cling<br />
to the fences<br />
of my senses,<br />
and my sleepy eyes.<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>©</i><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-52200225367337845362023-10-20T08:23:00.004-07:002023-12-13T10:59:38.998-08:002023<p style="text-align: left;"><br /></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUw4yIfDcNJBA-ReaOiHqwt-Q1M0j-cmVus5qaDlUdtsM0En77ZFOEQSzFqFcC38ow9WBly6AjCt8uIDEWSFkQwXOMXK8v9QAgHE90gh50OLziF_BFMzt3eMxvqPCEOvKS-5mHmyWSfVNb2MhDpGPUWk-HfdPs2al_GUYOCfGIXwK9O0mSdtFxAAZLejPm/s1280/2023%20(Hosny%20Salah%20-%20Pixabay).jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="853" data-original-width="1280" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUw4yIfDcNJBA-ReaOiHqwt-Q1M0j-cmVus5qaDlUdtsM0En77ZFOEQSzFqFcC38ow9WBly6AjCt8uIDEWSFkQwXOMXK8v9QAgHE90gh50OLziF_BFMzt3eMxvqPCEOvKS-5mHmyWSfVNb2MhDpGPUWk-HfdPs2al_GUYOCfGIXwK9O0mSdtFxAAZLejPm/w400-h266/2023%20(Hosny%20Salah%20-%20Pixabay).jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: small;">Hosny Salah - Pixabay</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">A rumble of
terror<br />
on the horizon,<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span><o:p></o:p></i></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A
fluttering of fear<br />
in the air,<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A
foreboding,<br />
looming<br />
sense of doom,<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A dread of
loss<br />
of what never was,<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A colossal
outburst<br />
of molten rage,<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A drumbeat<br />
of faith and fear<br />
at war,<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A shuffling
retreat<br />
of peace<br />
in defeat,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A crackling
meltdown<br />
of hope<br />
in its own embers,<o:p></o:p></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i> </i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A littering
of life<br />
gasping for death<br />
under the debris.</i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><br /></i></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A year dies out<br />smothered<br />in its own ashes.<br /></i>
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-54914898799665814592023-09-18T08:50:00.005-07:002023-09-20T12:28:21.340-07:00Isolation<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITWrwi7hlo-nMEx2LbmFxODpEKynZoMtytqmzEpAATNa8Q-NAt505AnZ65N-yVCZJSLY8MyKwStAY1eww9tYE4gIOuSa4SrKdeFSkmmTvdrWSvEAUNyW-QYEN2FryNiKdySxyg9S-4pBslA4ecXgYoLgz49oWvFpI_ufggo1jxUFMbLr1-2uOFNhTpwX8/s1191/Isolation.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="745" data-original-width="1191" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgITWrwi7hlo-nMEx2LbmFxODpEKynZoMtytqmzEpAATNa8Q-NAt505AnZ65N-yVCZJSLY8MyKwStAY1eww9tYE4gIOuSa4SrKdeFSkmmTvdrWSvEAUNyW-QYEN2FryNiKdySxyg9S-4pBslA4ecXgYoLgz49oWvFpI_ufggo1jxUFMbLr1-2uOFNhTpwX8/w400-h250/Isolation.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Phillip Island, Melbourne</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This
isolation that enwraps me in a crowd. Holding me captive. Exiling me from the
world. Or the world from me. An incarceration. That turns into an armour.
Occasionally.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This
desolation that fills within me. Volatilizing and then raining down on
me. Soaking me. Drenching me. Seeping into my depths, empty them as I may.
Relentlessly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">These
heaving surges that crash against my shores. Dissipating me. Into umpteen pieces.
Drowning bits of me. Carrying them away. Far away from me. Irretrievably.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">These
thoughts that storm into me. Whirling my emotions. Dashing them on the ground. Filling
all my spaces. At last dwindling down to a word. Just a word. Irreducibly.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">This word
that remains. Unread. Unheard. Uninterpreted. Glare and bare, scream and shout,
decipher and decode as I may. This word that’s me. Quintessentially.</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A word falls apart<br /></i><i>Syllables stray unspoken<br /></i><i>Sounds hang together.</i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0cm;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-38609851404494552332023-08-08T04:10:00.004-07:002023-08-11T03:57:29.551-07:00Survivor<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And to no applause.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPd3qN-1iTgKaHTT5tDi4eM5V4KHnwLierZNDmk303hTA18xoAl2E3q14O9o-YcxDFiaG8JRwvJcDxbpIl7Z-7PgJAjeUc5kQ_5HeqmXm7KAGqCNDoa3BH-nrkcbiIx1DsePbJ7QDpd7_78SylXJWZsPnRjpucgZjOo7MOkLrYG4h8h--UztvB_CC6Y78f/s1044/The%20Lone%20Survivor.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="783" data-original-width="1044" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPd3qN-1iTgKaHTT5tDi4eM5V4KHnwLierZNDmk303hTA18xoAl2E3q14O9o-YcxDFiaG8JRwvJcDxbpIl7Z-7PgJAjeUc5kQ_5HeqmXm7KAGqCNDoa3BH-nrkcbiIx1DsePbJ7QDpd7_78SylXJWZsPnRjpucgZjOo7MOkLrYG4h8h--UztvB_CC6Y78f/w400-h300/The%20Lone%20Survivor.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>The lone
survivor.</i></span></div><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Though lone, survivor.</i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><i>Though survivor, lone.</i></div><o:p></o:p></span></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-68872061772674768302023-07-13T12:40:00.021-07:002023-07-15T05:14:19.777-07:00Arddhanagnar - The Half-nakeds<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-dTtp388d6-bn0q_K1Y1cw818BHcFBHRiHLV2xTWCVNHb3MKPJLnIR7ac6nh1zcLR7GKuYxZ-vDrZjrKV_abfbydO0voaNsGN7wzCqRCBerYZz14Y42Nt1P2l1GBt4ur4JcRHsQpBH_Et2OqX-BoA6NlSO_ilt1f-Pr_JpTbU5eFVEU9kA7YpkxcvSCT/s600/Arddhanagnar.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="400" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhM-dTtp388d6-bn0q_K1Y1cw818BHcFBHRiHLV2xTWCVNHb3MKPJLnIR7ac6nh1zcLR7GKuYxZ-vDrZjrKV_abfbydO0voaNsGN7wzCqRCBerYZz14Y42Nt1P2l1GBt4ur4JcRHsQpBH_Et2OqX-BoA6NlSO_ilt1f-Pr_JpTbU5eFVEU9kA7YpkxcvSCT/w266-h400/Arddhanagnar.jpg" width="266" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Book Title: അർദ്ധനഗ്നർ (Arddhanagnar)<br />Author: Puzhankara Balanarayanan<br />Publisher: Current Books</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">കൃഷ്ണൻ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">നായർ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ആദ്യ</span><span lang="EN-GB">വരിയെഴുതി</span><span lang="EN-GB">: "</span><span lang="EN-GB">മൈ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഡിയർ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ലിസ്സ്</span><span lang="EN-GB">" </span><span lang="EN-GB">അത്രയും</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">എഴുതിയപ്പോൾ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">മനസ്സ്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">സ്വസ്ഥമായി</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">തുടർന്നെഴുതി</span><span lang="EN-GB">:</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">"</span><span lang="EN-GB">ഒരുമിച്ചൊരു</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">മുറിയിൽ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">കിടന്നുറങ്ങി</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">പാതിരാത്രി</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">കഴിഞ്ഞപ്പോൾ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">പെട്ടെന്നെഴുന്നേറ്റ്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഉറങ്ങിക്കിടക്കുന്ന</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">പ്രിയതമയോട്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">മൗനമായി</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">വിടപറഞ്ഞിറങ്ങിയ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">സിദ്ധാർത്ഥഗൗതമൻ്റെ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">കഥ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">നിനക്കറിയാമല്ലോ</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">പലപ്പോഴും</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">നാമത്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ചർച്ച</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ചെയ്</span><span lang="EN-GB"></span><span lang="EN-GB">തിട്ടുള്ളതുമാണ്</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">അങ്ങിനെയൊന്ന്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">സംഭവ്യമാണോ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">എന്ന്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">എത്രയോ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">പ്രാവശ്യം</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">സംശയിച്ചതുമല്ലേ</span><span lang="EN-GB">? </span><span lang="EN-GB">എന്നാൽ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അത്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">സംഭവ്യമാണെന്ന്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഞാൻ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">മനസ്സിലാക്കുന്നു</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">പെട്ടെന്ന്</span><span lang="EN-GB">, </span><span lang="EN-GB">തികച്ചും</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അപ്രതീക്ഷിതമായി</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഞാൻ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">നിന്നോട്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">വിട</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">പറയുന്നു</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">സിദ്ധാർത്ഥഗൗതമനും</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഞാനും</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഒരേ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">തരക്കാരല്ല</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">പക്ഷേ</span><span lang="EN-GB">, </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഒരു</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">വലിയ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അന്ത</span><span lang="EN-GB">:</span><span lang="EN-GB">ക്ഷോഭത്തിൽ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഞാൻ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ചെന്നുപെട്ടു</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">വിടപറയാൻ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">നിർബ്ബന്ധിതനായി</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">നിൻ്റെ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">കത്തുകളിൽ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">പ്രകീർത്തിച്ച</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അർദ്ധനഗ്നനായ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഫക്കീറില്ലേ</span><span lang="EN-GB">? </span><span lang="EN-GB">ആ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അർദ്ധ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">നഗ്നൻ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">എൻ്റെ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">മനസ്സിൽ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">കയറിവന്നുനിന്നു</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">അതുപോലൊരു</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അർദ്ധനഗ്നനാകണമെന്ന്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">എനിക്ക്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഉൽക്കടമായ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ആഗ്രഹം</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">അത്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">സാദ്ധ്യമല്ല</span><span lang="EN-GB">. </span><span lang="EN-GB">പക്ഷേ</span><span lang="EN-GB">, </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഞാനിന്ന്</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അദ്ദേഹത്തിൻ്റെ</span><span lang="EN-GB">
</span><span lang="EN-GB">ആരാധകനും</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">അനുയായിയുമാണ്</span><span lang="EN-GB">." <o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Some books
make you wonder what took you so long in getting around to reading them.
Especially when they were lying so close within your reach that you could have just stretched
your hand out to pick them up. But you always thought they were downright
serious works and you wished to spare enough time to do full justice to them.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And
then one day you open one such book – Arddhanagnar (The Half-nakeds) by Puzhankara
Balanarayanan – and no sooner than you begin turning the pages, you find yourself getting wrapped up in them. You realize that the book is unputdownable. You sit up
late in the night reading it. And the first thing that you do in the morning
along with getting your cuppa is getting back to where you left off reading the previous
night. You don’t realize your coffee is turning cold. Indeed, you don’t even
realize you are not drinking it in the first place.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And then after the brisk, marathon poring-over and the nail-biting finish, you feel the satisfaction of a
good read and the contentment that you have, after all, done full justice to
the voluminous page-turner packed with a plot that has kept you on the edge of
your perch from beginning till end.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And to
those who have not read the book – no, this is not a suspense thriller. This is
fiction closely interwoven with the history of India during the times of the
Raj and the Freedom Struggle. The history is true and the fiction could as well
have been true. For, the story reflects the socio-political economic context of
those times. Travel back into the era, and you will meet up with different
versions of Velu Nair, Krishnan Nair, Sekharan, Madhavi Amma, Gouri, Elizabeth
Trevor, Kurup, etc. who lived similar lives in similar circumstances.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The novel is about native landowners discovering too late that they themselves were owned by the (British) Empire. It is about Indian aristocracy vying with the English aristocracy only to lose their own inherent charm and integrity. It is about the different circumstances that roused the sleeping Indian out of their prolonged stupor to break away from the shackles of serfdom, to be bound to the cause of freedom. It is about the <i>desi</i> turncoats stripping themselves of their garbs of delusion to don the nakedness of truth. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-size: medium;"><span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">The
author, Puzhankara Balanarayanan, has interwoven fiction and history so
smoothly that there are no complicated, confusing knots, or loose, dangling
threads in the narration. While the story moves you, the historical anecdotes inspire
you even today – more than 7 decades and a half post independence. Take, for
instance, the author’s step-by-step detailing of the Salt March – you, the
reader, wait with bated breath as the "half-naked fakir" marches from station to station </span></span></span><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">until
he reaches the final destination </span></span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> – Dandi. So what if you have always known the
culmination and the aftermath of the Movement anyway? Adding to the reading experience is the author's exceptional
expertise in building up climaxes and then taking you off on completely
unexpected tangents.</span></span></p><p>
</p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Today, days
after reading the book, this reader still remains caught in the web of the
author’s spellbinding and powerful narrative.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB"></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-31756169859668839192023-07-06T13:47:00.009-07:002023-07-07T09:53:34.452-07:00Saaramilla – It’s Okay<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWS0jpwpoY2WVj7PyjMmHj7Tij5XCTcpO5vMhIrePTlDmY3yIU89dnEDvgV7Whr9cIVbDLBsaOHAxFFgtL5LtVCPtrK1Odoiqm0KUE28AsR-u8rqzU-gasou-DB5_6Q7_L4Zrt542XzkBaZlnz8AgfHmjz-ozUAZ8WGJrbFKEBpgs8upl0rcWfUYeC9Ud4/s789/Saramilla.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="514" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWS0jpwpoY2WVj7PyjMmHj7Tij5XCTcpO5vMhIrePTlDmY3yIU89dnEDvgV7Whr9cIVbDLBsaOHAxFFgtL5LtVCPtrK1Odoiqm0KUE28AsR-u8rqzU-gasou-DB5_6Q7_L4Zrt542XzkBaZlnz8AgfHmjz-ozUAZ8WGJrbFKEBpgs8upl0rcWfUYeC9Ud4/w260-h400/Saramilla.jpg" width="260" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Book Title: സാരമില്ല (Saaramilla)<br />Poems by: Jayasree T.</span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Illustrations by: Basanth Peringode<br /></span><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Published by: Thinkal Books</span></div><div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I had been losing myself in the pages of <i>Saaramilla</i> (It Doesn’t Matter) when I came
to and felt that I should put down here a few of my thoughts on this amazing book.
However, I feel slightly awkward, writing in a foreign tongue about a
profoundly beautiful collection of poems in Malayalam, my own mother tongue.
But, as the poet says, it doesn’t matter. It’s okay. <i>Saaramilla</i>.
I’ll do this my way.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Most of Jayasree’s poems in this collection are short. Some
are shorter. The shorter her poems, the more powerful and potent they are. Let
me throw in here a few of her verses along with a quick and free translation of
them just so that I can connect with my non-Malayali readers as well.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">വെളിച്ചമടിച്ചാലും<br />
ഒരു പുറം<br />
ഇരുട്ടിലാവുന്ന<br />
തിരിച്ചിലാണ്<br />
ജീവിതം. (രാപ്പകൽ)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><b><i>Much as light falls/there’s a
side/that slips into the dark/in this whirl/of life</i>.</b> In this poem, <i>Rappakal</i> (Day and Night) the poet, in a
brilliant stroke of a single sentence, brings out the laborious cycle of life
and the passing of time. A few words put together connect the subtle contrasts
of life. The lines are powerful and they hit you before you know it. The poem
is like the tip of the metaphorical iceberg. There's massive truth submerged beneath the surface layers.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">വാക്കുകൾ<br />
വരിവെച്ച് പോവുന്ന<br />
നിൻ്റെ ഉൾത്താളുകളിൽ<br />
എൻ്റെയൊരു<br />
പാഴ് വാക്ക്<br />
വീണു പോയിട്ടുണ്ട്<br />
വായനക്ക് കരടാവാതെ<br />
അതെടുത്ത് കളഞ്ഞേക്കൂ. (വായന)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Another
brilliant verse – <i>Vaayana</i> (Reading) –
that made me stop short and go back to reading it again and again. <b><i>Amidst the words/that
line up/in your inner pages/a wasted word/of mine/has randomly fallen/pick it up and throw it away/lest it spoil your reading</i>.</b> The
deeper I dive into the layers of these lines, the higher I soar in the skies of
my imagination. This is the kind of poem that once written, a poet would feel
content forever.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">വെയിൽ പൊട്ടിത്തകർന്ന<br />
നിഴൽപ്പൊട്ടുകൾ<br />
പെറുക്കിപ്പെറുക്കി<br />
കൂട്ടി വെച്ചാണ്<br />
പകൽ<br />
രാത്രിയുണ്ടാക്കുന്നത്. (രാത്രിയുണ്ടാകുന്നത്)<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Raathriyundaakunnathu</span></i><span lang="EN-GB"> (The Making of the Night) presents a
chiaroscuro with words – and yes, that's possible. <i><b>Sunlight broken up/into bits of shadows/are picked up one by one/and
put together/by the day/to form the night.</b></i> The poem at once brings to mind
a thousand collages of light and shade, each like a jigsaw puzzle, breaking up
and joining back again to make a new picture. The poem ends too soon leaving
infinite pictures forming and re-forming in your mind.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><span lang="EN-GB">എത്ര</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">ഇല</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">വിരിച്ചിട്ടും</span><span lang="EN-GB"><br />
</span><span lang="EN-GB">പൂത്തുലഞ്ഞിട്ടും<br />
ഞാൻ</span><span lang="EN-GB"> </span><span lang="EN-GB">പിഴുതെറിയപ്പെടുന്നു</span><span lang="EN-GB">. (</span><span lang="EN-GB">കള)<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span lang="EN-GB">Kala</span></i><span lang="EN-GB">
(Weed) could be a nature-lover’s lament. Especially my kind of lover who is perpetually
fascinated by the weeds with their perennial blooms and die-hard foliage. <b><i>Spreading leaves aplenty/blooming all the
way/I am still plucked and tossed away</i>.</b> But rake the lines a bit, and you see
much more than weeds lurking between them.</span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And so on and so
forth. Jayasree’s poems have many such gems hidden in their depths. The poems are well illustrated by Basanth Peringode. The book is well designed and well produced by
Thinkal Books. I wish Jayasree’s book wide readership and her pen more power
and poetry.</span></span></p><p><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span></span><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"></span><p></p></div></div></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-74606006410812048652023-06-16T21:29:00.003-07:002023-06-17T05:24:15.047-07:00Canvas<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYoUFFO_GFJSrzYWMZQFWk-Wkaxa4lqQKUYTvQVKXD4yshr1aAa491gufweti9Rz00NFg2OSOflugO_gBZQ2BR792Y88CNXmTUZ3yK6wlxYCWD9R_JNZ1T6OeCptonQ9JueW_dbqZZg7Wl7vtvacdYuFdbKYkirgiGH3VkGAgMa1q-4k9vp4Ci4Nm9A/s732/South%20Bank%202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="549" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUYoUFFO_GFJSrzYWMZQFWk-Wkaxa4lqQKUYTvQVKXD4yshr1aAa491gufweti9Rz00NFg2OSOflugO_gBZQ2BR792Y88CNXmTUZ3yK6wlxYCWD9R_JNZ1T6OeCptonQ9JueW_dbqZZg7Wl7vtvacdYuFdbKYkirgiGH3VkGAgMa1q-4k9vp4Ci4Nm9A/w300-h400/South%20Bank%202.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South Bank, Melbourne</td></tr></tbody></table><br /><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The horizon is a blotting canvas. The ink of the sky spreads in layers. The earthy hues roll out and halt all at once in blobs. And before the sun can dry out the misty sky and seep into the sopping earth, the twilight spills over in spatters.</span><p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Seasons come at their own pace, mostly alone or even in pairs. Sometimes they all rush in together, erasing entire patterns as they go, leaving a new picture in their trail.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Time often stands still, watching the art in progress.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Blotting canvas<br />Earthy dollops, inky skies<br />Spattered twilight.</i></span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="line-height: 107%;">©</span></span></p><p><br /></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-72970973926363221582023-05-13T05:05:00.001-07:002023-05-15T03:27:04.709-07:00If You Must<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Caught on the run.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxZnF0k7pfkIXDgtRfgaPwfZXrjafQ9BjVG-x_ZWoJ6ul-_WJahw0S4a6W0aE3WmPHZ9AbqtoyqZwpP4o3yLBAcLUmm0mTAN2Bjtqq_1IIq-an0HD-pO9Fn9XOysiMOq6c7Jxzs4LAClGelXHZ7FlGBRUNVt9Of7EWDHBdhl0BQ-KgUMtgwY1idzQKA/s922/If%20You%20Must.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="922" height="343" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNxZnF0k7pfkIXDgtRfgaPwfZXrjafQ9BjVG-x_ZWoJ6ul-_WJahw0S4a6W0aE3WmPHZ9AbqtoyqZwpP4o3yLBAcLUmm0mTAN2Bjtqq_1IIq-an0HD-pO9Fn9XOysiMOq6c7Jxzs4LAClGelXHZ7FlGBRUNVt9Of7EWDHBdhl0BQ-KgUMtgwY1idzQKA/w400-h343/If%20You%20Must.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i><span style="font-size: medium;">Call it not
dusk</span></i></span></div><span lang="EN-GB"><i><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">nor call it dawn,</span></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;">call it if you must</div><div style="text-align: center;">a twilight daylong</div><div style="text-align: center;">slipped and fallen</div><div style="text-align: center;">off the horizon.</div><o:p></o:p></span></i></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;">
<span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>©</i></span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-67554401629439210322023-05-04T02:56:00.001-07:002023-05-04T02:59:53.682-07:00Hibiscu(p)s<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">One for the road.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAtuuLU1--zvPa0qLpO50jrErkpKtvbryqzY8EAam3pUnrmKhfPz8bF60TftI_G9wqa2RpZAc9KIGXLxs1ZE5Qfvkr6Bc0rJhd6NlxR64ZjO_hfY81Gp0GLhHBn51YFB5TrPjCSf9MnVtOJUjTlQZ-HorGvufvJXRvpnjRWLY6jxdUQx-YgyyI1Pr_g/s1166/Hibiscu(p)s.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1166" height="271" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzAtuuLU1--zvPa0qLpO50jrErkpKtvbryqzY8EAam3pUnrmKhfPz8bF60TftI_G9wqa2RpZAc9KIGXLxs1ZE5Qfvkr6Bc0rJhd6NlxR64ZjO_hfY81Gp0GLhHBn51YFB5TrPjCSf9MnVtOJUjTlQZ-HorGvufvJXRvpnjRWLY6jxdUQx-YgyyI1Pr_g/w400-h271/Hibiscu(p)s.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>A cupful of
sun</i></span></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><div style="text-align: center;">gathered to last one</div><div style="text-align: center;">for the rest of the run.</div><o:p></o:p></i></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>©</i></span><o:p></o:p></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-42465660242895029872023-02-28T10:58:00.005-08:002023-02-28T11:22:07.462-08:00Corridor<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">It's a tale of contrasts.</span></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbu4s3tUoG-d3q1NlUez4X-GPY4fzw4W5TQ804rKdUcFHqj3Bnbok7WtcYLXLFLEsoM9ap7Y5IkdHYNFErrntmR42GrMJMahjwgS7m14t3q8bHtty9frybII-E8V6YaqY1T3bSihIyv_tY6QEweoYDsV6R_xAc7tznlp22T1v6At0LN8ioMomYAL0ww/s976/IMG_20230212_102215152_HDR.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="976" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhHbu4s3tUoG-d3q1NlUez4X-GPY4fzw4W5TQ804rKdUcFHqj3Bnbok7WtcYLXLFLEsoM9ap7Y5IkdHYNFErrntmR42GrMJMahjwgS7m14t3q8bHtty9frybII-E8V6YaqY1T3bSihIyv_tY6QEweoYDsV6R_xAc7tznlp22T1v6At0LN8ioMomYAL0ww/w400-h300/IMG_20230212_102215152_HDR.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Day peeps
in,</span></i></div><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: georgia;">night lurks, time unseen</i></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>meanders.</i></div></span></span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-size: medium;">©</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-72083813089356762232023-01-19T02:27:00.003-08:002023-05-04T03:21:18.628-07:00Words<p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrDrxcl7I3Ts4vdwB-guZj40jDPDF_eb51ifp_isgwQBkSmMqEZ1iw1e0djy6wKJCPDS8gxG5L7Sn6Y11CUB7CcgC5GTWVkmw7hI1PRk-u5-U5q8P37Fqy4uE__vuRBLqV7RecXX1eYGtNl2HViL9us7EPXNO9AfHG3cdQxYn8OKal-fzQ7E_5k6Xhw/s500/Sue%20&%20Rue.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="500" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEggrDrxcl7I3Ts4vdwB-guZj40jDPDF_eb51ifp_isgwQBkSmMqEZ1iw1e0djy6wKJCPDS8gxG5L7Sn6Y11CUB7CcgC5GTWVkmw7hI1PRk-u5-U5q8P37Fqy4uE__vuRBLqV7RecXX1eYGtNl2HViL9us7EPXNO9AfHG3cdQxYn8OKal-fzQ7E_5k6Xhw/w200-h200/Sue%20&%20Rue.png" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">pc: pngtree.com</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /> <p></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sue & Rue</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rue: As times change, words take on a different meaning.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sue: Meaning?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rue: Often they mean the opposite of what they are
supposed to mean. <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sue: Like?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rue: When you say something went off without incident,
it could just mean there was no violence to report.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sue: But when there really is none to report…<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rue: When you say there was no untoward incident to report, it would just mean nobody reacted or resisted.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sue: So what do you really mean?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rue: I mean, when “peace” becomes “lack of war”, “war” would become a “cry for peace”.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Sue: So what would you choose?</span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Rue: War or peace?</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-10838952692017124972023-01-05T07:14:00.007-08:002023-01-05T08:57:06.115-08:00Serendipity of Sorts<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRStwY-CIJqytXeniaRvesp8hqI5npa8D4yXCdiMmdlHDhFPtqwVgnVKvOGTfLSItMnQO4F8jCuaOQ1rmXtXtJ2mV3MDmyeq_vS7M7QKnb70uf3_hTfNvCnVnKuYVCc6p8qnUS_TKyUum1nOd618wb1fLAroiXm_YTByqjTIk2e1yBGxoBu-zQwp6uQ/s976/IMG-20221222-WA0017.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="976" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjRStwY-CIJqytXeniaRvesp8hqI5npa8D4yXCdiMmdlHDhFPtqwVgnVKvOGTfLSItMnQO4F8jCuaOQ1rmXtXtJ2mV3MDmyeq_vS7M7QKnb70uf3_hTfNvCnVnKuYVCc6p8qnUS_TKyUum1nOd618wb1fLAroiXm_YTByqjTIk2e1yBGxoBu-zQwp6uQ/w400-h300/IMG-20221222-WA0017.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><p></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">My visit to the Wax Museum in Kolkata brought back to me the
memory of a day I had spent narrating poems to my (poet) father. This was just over
a couple of months before he passed away. Age had impaired his vision, so it
was a strain for him to read. Therefore, I had these long and delightful
sessions of reading and discussing poetry with him. He had this amazing ability
to listen to poem after poem for long hours at a stretch. And he would respond
to even the subtlest of nuances in every poem. Rarely, he would ask me to stop
reading and we would discuss things unrelated to poetry. After a short
interlude, he would ask me to resume reading.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">At the end of several hours of reading, my father would be
thoroughly drained from listening, and my throat would be painfully parched from
reciting. However, both of us would be elated in a way only poetry could make one
feel elated.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">My visit to the Wax Museum was, by the way, happenstance.
Especially when I didn’t know a wax museum existed in Kolkata (Newtown).
Surprisingly, most of the people I met in Kolkata – all of whom belong to the city –
have not been to the museum.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">On this particular day, he had asked me to read out the
entire series of my (forthcoming) collection of poems, The Eternal Garden.
Writing those poems was in itself a stroke of serendipity. As though they had been waiting to be written by me, they flowed out all on their own. Added to that
was the instant connection Achhan had with those poems. All in all, that would always be counted as a special day in my life. Those moments can never be re-lived –
not even if Achhan were not to pass on, not even if I were to write another series of
poems. That experience can never be revived – not even if I were to put back the
clock. It’s like a one-time password. There you have it! Live it or leave it.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">After the reading session, my father said the collection was
one of my best ever and the concept Tagorean. With all humility, I accept this
as inspiring words of encouragement from a father to his daughter, and a
generous blessing from an accomplished poet to a still aspiring one.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">An excerpt from the collection, The Eternal Garden:</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I lose<br />
and<br />
rediscover myself<br />
in you.<br />
At a loss again,<br />
I wonder<br />
where you begin<br />
and I end? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal">©<o:p></o:p></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-5747056469148633922022-09-13T04:34:00.004-07:002022-09-13T04:35:03.160-07:00Unfurling<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The never-ending narrative.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbXrdifl1xSBWJglBXbhP2w76TNUK2GEWNmbfDuBCH3_u1EjzMOhnqGzLgqFP8dlkmvcILU2zzNc_8Z2-d3N0xDkrn3GVHpap1sVdXr46VwybDALvLE71G3EsMyX4cOejcocjsxMCYkKplvW_kUoFbRdMKXK7g--AVXktXFwy1-TK5GqO1GyT-lukgw/s1052/Unfurling.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1052" height="386" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgJbXrdifl1xSBWJglBXbhP2w76TNUK2GEWNmbfDuBCH3_u1EjzMOhnqGzLgqFP8dlkmvcILU2zzNc_8Z2-d3N0xDkrn3GVHpap1sVdXr46VwybDALvLE71G3EsMyX4cOejcocjsxMCYkKplvW_kUoFbRdMKXK7g--AVXktXFwy1-TK5GqO1GyT-lukgw/w396-h386/Unfurling.jpg" width="396" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <i style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Life unfurls</span></i></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>around every curve</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>in slow swirls.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">©</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><br /></div>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-76872763527703681342022-08-17T20:51:00.006-07:002022-08-21T05:29:30.144-07:00Matter or Maya?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsHSY_JHPLXU7noDs2XG3ASrTdkpeLOZ7d-IfqDnUyaE0-0vZViKu-Oo06FSwhSYBP1oAXOyE-oH-JRfUoxzrMt71rFidBVd4ZmN6WE7r4T_w1rfnBODPEf5nLAOQc4TPOQ_cpadWc04nVqK8O5uZAsD3aIz5qoG_Cg4v08Vf8gcPPEfdrNbYHJyXHw/s732/Boudhanath%20Stupa%2015.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="412" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgUsHSY_JHPLXU7noDs2XG3ASrTdkpeLOZ7d-IfqDnUyaE0-0vZViKu-Oo06FSwhSYBP1oAXOyE-oH-JRfUoxzrMt71rFidBVd4ZmN6WE7r4T_w1rfnBODPEf5nLAOQc4TPOQ_cpadWc04nVqK8O5uZAsD3aIz5qoG_Cg4v08Vf8gcPPEfdrNbYHJyXHw/w360-h640/Boudhanath%20Stupa%2015.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">PC: Smitha Keeran Warrier</span></td></tr></tbody></table><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">[A Souvenir Shop at Boudhanath Stupa, Kathmandu, Nepal]</span></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><div style="font-size: x-large;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><span style="font-size: medium;">This little
shop. And its pretty wares. Made from the grossest matter, by gifted hands. Such
divine creations too! The artisans would have created them with so much love. So
much care. And how they would have revelled in this process of creation! In that way, aren't these craftsmen quite next to God? But of course! It’s only second
nature to them to mould such beautiful stuff while they go about their life and
its more serious businesses.</span></span><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: medium; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">I wonder what they feel about displaying their handiwork </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">–</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> these pieces of their heart and soul </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">–</span><span style="font-family: georgia;"> right out there in the market. </span><span style="font-family: georgia;">For millions of pairs of eyes to watch them and
furtively look at the price tags. For as many hands to fondle them with desire,
grab them at the conversion rate that's so favourable to the wallets they hold, or
just flick them back and return them on some pretext or the other. By the way, who
are we to speculate and haggle over the value of such priceless creations? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And what are
these works of art made of anyway? Clay, wood, metal, cloth? Ropes, wires,
threads, beads, stones? But they – the jewels, artefacts, prayer bowls, and all
– beckon all our senses. They catch our eyes and we remain captivated. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>We pick them up and caress them in our hands.
We breathe in the smell of their earthy newness. We listen in rapture to the
prayers that swirl and vibrate within them. What are they after all? Just matter?
Or, <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">maya</i>, as per the beliefs the Stupa
stands for? <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Yes. <i>M</i><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">aya</i>. The name board confirms.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©<span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-25675382197935404672022-08-03T06:30:00.002-07:002022-08-03T06:50:59.182-07:00Fall<p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">The finale.</span> </p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfQzQEDBSM2ccAlazV4SFyMyUCgzJOc0J0zWDdlaFZlcbQMIYQcyJpgvtgrofeyusP_fsp93H4EUSGeTfR6AlboAFiEqqmalTqLe9V-nrzGTthXtfQ6MNpalm0ppWffjK946MebT2H8MnxM8nVCN4Q295qTCjAUovBwXqjI1y-2IMffSXVGE1ThhG2Q/s1255/Fall.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="789" data-original-width="1255" height="251" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTfQzQEDBSM2ccAlazV4SFyMyUCgzJOc0J0zWDdlaFZlcbQMIYQcyJpgvtgrofeyusP_fsp93H4EUSGeTfR6AlboAFiEqqmalTqLe9V-nrzGTthXtfQ6MNpalm0ppWffjK946MebT2H8MnxM8nVCN4Q295qTCjAUovBwXqjI1y-2IMffSXVGE1ThhG2Q/w400-h251/Fall.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><p></p><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: georgia;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Watched for long, waited</span></i></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><div style="text-align: center;"><i>all 'round the wall, breath bated,</i></div><i><div style="text-align: center;"><i>for the final fall.</i></div></i></span><p></p><p style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span></span></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-58489085996085020592022-07-05T02:42:00.001-07:002022-07-26T04:53:57.624-07:00Life<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Intro... Drama... The End.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEposjHOJHVDfDXGmr07y3XivqHKx_CiPVTHDaWy-UJBF4-LmZ0y6iuVzck3tHNDmw9NgPzrdJUyD8qe3Kn58NbVBFGXUx_VrFxPrnIKuN3Ia0ioW4dKvPoWuLavqJP1najGrYB4UYpTul1TpRkg8Dl-JbIW8Wc92E4_l4CiZTeiX5JbaH_5dRtf-E0g/s740/IMG-20200905-WA0102.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="740" data-original-width="555" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiEposjHOJHVDfDXGmr07y3XivqHKx_CiPVTHDaWy-UJBF4-LmZ0y6iuVzck3tHNDmw9NgPzrdJUyD8qe3Kn58NbVBFGXUx_VrFxPrnIKuN3Ia0ioW4dKvPoWuLavqJP1najGrYB4UYpTul1TpRkg8Dl-JbIW8Wc92E4_l4CiZTeiX5JbaH_5dRtf-E0g/w300-h400/IMG-20200905-WA0102.jpg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"> <span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><span style="text-align: left;">A matinee<br /></span><span style="text-align: left;">unreeled and wrapped up<br /></span><span style="text-align: left;">by destiny.</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span></span></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-15106956107934403582022-06-29T12:54:00.009-07:002022-07-28T01:18:48.877-07:00Moving Stillness<br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinpFhfopwNu1TPZxdBTmO0igHAgicffWXzn2wI9HHIdrM0hZ2KRSn79XTpn3IXYK-yGwgD12qa-AYA55KGiieM9ZumVKg7G6gehefNa9yRY3rxYFo2HHj-Ca5KPJCuYvE1H6y55H7nfTZ3_wuh-gjZMCA35t_fO01rxzlbRbiMm7M0_Xdr2wp5BQkrbA/s976/Sarangkot%203.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="976" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEinpFhfopwNu1TPZxdBTmO0igHAgicffWXzn2wI9HHIdrM0hZ2KRSn79XTpn3IXYK-yGwgD12qa-AYA55KGiieM9ZumVKg7G6gehefNa9yRY3rxYFo2HHj-Ca5KPJCuYvE1H6y55H7nfTZ3_wuh-gjZMCA35t_fO01rxzlbRbiMm7M0_Xdr2wp5BQkrbA/w400-h300/Sarangkot%203.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Sarangkot, Pokhara, Nepal</span></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">"The stillness in stillness is not the real stillness; only when there is stillness in movement does the universal rhythm manifest." - Bruce Lee.</span></p><p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">I never could get the actual sense of Lee's words, try hard as I might to figure it out in the context of his own field of action. But his words made sense to me as I, along with my co-travellers, stood atop a hill at Sarangkot, watching the horizon, hoping to catch a glimpse of the rising sun. It eluded us anyway, hiding itself behind vivid cloudy folds.</span></p><p><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Moving Stillness</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Stillness. It manifests in different ways. Sometimes it's frozen and hard as a rock. Sometimes it drifts by like a gentle zephyr or a sailing wisp of a cloud. At times it's quiet like still waters. And at times, deafening like a roaring sea. Now and then, it would shed all its hues and yet again wear a vibrant collage of colours.</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Stillness. Occasionally, you discover it within you. More often, you come across it around you, enfolding you, trickling into you, little by little, slowly, steadily. This stillness. This moving stillness.</span></i></p><p><i><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">Still silence<br />seeps, fills, overflows<br />hushed stillness.</span></i></p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©</span><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p><br /><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-37164306164491942922022-06-13T04:16:00.003-07:002022-06-13T04:16:43.875-07:00Time<p></p><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">And the wheels roll on.</span><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix3FYtOTqAgd4lMPjGjrzXsJk2XD5fMjz20L5SrmCtax38HTFL6xgKesVGuEUjJOBx3hNF6WbN0x0P-pPtGgOd9wArQ4yKR7m6odMuzil0Ih7Bm9hf1v0_tsoa_Hw3jgaRW7Ynv6Bqiha_9fUnVSxmGQu_D_SjhKSHNxEGBDebw3sfQFq40-8Vcq1TbQ/s732/TIME.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="549" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEix3FYtOTqAgd4lMPjGjrzXsJk2XD5fMjz20L5SrmCtax38HTFL6xgKesVGuEUjJOBx3hNF6WbN0x0P-pPtGgOd9wArQ4yKR7m6odMuzil0Ih7Bm9hf1v0_tsoa_Hw3jgaRW7Ynv6Bqiha_9fUnVSxmGQu_D_SjhKSHNxEGBDebw3sfQFq40-8Vcq1TbQ/w300-h400/TIME.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: x-small;">Sujatha Warrier</span></td></tr></tbody></table><span style="font-family: georgia;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Endless road</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>infinite journey</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>travel light.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"></div><span style="font-family: georgia;"><o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB"><span style="font-family: georgia;">©<o:p></o:p></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"></div><p style="text-align: center;"> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-75578634811807786332022-06-08T03:23:00.004-07:002022-06-13T04:15:07.007-07:00Space<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;">When the storm passes on.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6dVjc_KET7-2ITjfs3n0HxjNGWJMJn7T4ovA0WdgRD-JWbdhJ70ql-wvdkwzK1VWXvhqgBaUUacmfzZahAgbUtVs58NTJHUOJicb0bJGipcz_epmHJptMqyTuawzoppONl_fn4UrUU57D0HT4Zev5bGB1T03_-k89UJSsAnnWfgV5iYOc0FuofrBUA/s976/SPACE.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="732" data-original-width="976" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiM6dVjc_KET7-2ITjfs3n0HxjNGWJMJn7T4ovA0WdgRD-JWbdhJ70ql-wvdkwzK1VWXvhqgBaUUacmfzZahAgbUtVs58NTJHUOJicb0bJGipcz_epmHJptMqyTuawzoppONl_fn4UrUU57D0HT4Zev5bGB1T03_-k89UJSsAnnWfgV5iYOc0FuofrBUA/w400-h300/SPACE.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><i style="font-family: georgia; text-align: left;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The
essence,</span></i></div><span style="line-height: 107%;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">the vital substance,</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">the absence.</div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Calibri","sans-serif"" lang="EN-GB" style="font-size: 11pt; line-height: 107%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">©</span></div></i></span></span><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7113541850768576369.post-76357093462149914182022-06-05T04:21:00.006-07:002022-08-22T01:38:33.424-07:00Air<p style="text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;">And it's another day.</span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dz0ZFUhg9Cw-dvzBqjfdxPOUaPYIcYgZI3jhjAYlo8HcFZ83HohEphbuOE4mHJabZLFQdPF5-4k0IGLnG3aHQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><br /><p style="text-align: center;"></p><p class="MsoNormal"></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>Vagrant breeze</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>breathes a lazy pace,</i></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i>a new tale.</i></span></div><span style="font-family: georgia; font-size: medium;"><i><o:p></o:p></i></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span lang="EN-GB" style="mso-ansi-language: EN-GB;"><span style="font-family: georgia;"><i>©</i><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0