Daisy Zacharia Kozhupakkalam - the girl who ran with the wolves

Nymeria should have been her name, or wildfire or something like that.

I cannot say some days how I found a girl like her in the most ordinary of places – college

For her place and her demeanor spoke of a battlefield.

On the best of days, her hair like her temper would run amok

Yet, you could see the flash of a grin and her nose-pin in the sun as easily if you knew her well

A friend, a child and a counselor all rolled in one.

A poet, a warrior, traveler and comrade!

A woman to love, and a force to reckon with, she was my champion when even I wasn’t.

Thank you, for being my friend Nymeria, the girl who runs with the wolves and happy birthday, here is to two more glorious years with you.

PASSENGERS

To the shaken middle aged wide eyed lady on the train – breathe fully.
As you see the rain pouring down on the city you love,
Dragging each breath in quick successive gasps to escape the aftershock, of being alove.
To the children playing in gutters carefree –
Let no one tell you you ought to be sad.
To the handsome youth hanging from the rafters and living each day in the ecstasy of staring down death – grip stronger to life.
To the transgendered prostitute and her pimp traveling alone in the last compartment in the dimmed lights – I see your tears.
The strength though lies in your bodies that break a little each night, comes from your uncatergorized unfettered heart-
Let no one ever reduce you to a tick mark in a box.
To the countless heavily pregnant women who don’t push and squabble for a seat like others do –
Let your children be born in a world with more space but less distance.
To the 777 potential soul-mates looking out for me in all the wrong directions –
I’m here. I’ll wait. Keep looking.
To my friend, looking a little lost, a little annoyed at the general mayhem and with ironic disdain at me-
Look around, take it all in.
This city’s nervous system, its firing cells.
Look at my people.

Farewell?

I can feel you, you know, you are not gone.

Like before, when you were an idea in my head.

Now again, you have that place.

There is the creeping, and peeping from the edges

Of my solitary social life.

There is the quiet exultation in my little bits of living that I get done.

Not much has changed except the words between us-

Before they were innumerable, now they are numberless.

Before they were loud and proud, now they’re a whisper, almost a secret.

You wouldn’t enter my life again, but for an idea.

Perhaps there is a defeat in learning to respect myself.

Perhaps there is victory.

But I am still alone. Not all alone. I have an idea. An idea of you.

A glimpse into the history of Tamil language

Any person who is familiar with Tamil as a language and a culture would tell you, how long and complex the literature of Tamil Nadu is. Though Tamil is the mother of many southern languages, over the years, distinct languages have taken birth out of her, just as Tamil herself has undergone changes evolving and taking on words from other languages and sometimes remaining pure and excluding influence just as its sister language of Sanskrit in the north. Together both these languages are the oldest ones, with Tamil remaining the one which is still spoken and written. If one traces the origin of this language in its written form, then we would go on a journey thousands of years ago, to the texts which first recorded the script. Sage Agastya is considered to be the father of Tamil language who created the first comprehensive dictionary of words as well as the text of Siddha medicine which is the indigenous system of medicine entirely based on locally available herbs and produce in the Tamil forests. The classic text of Tolkappiyam served as the grammar text then which is dated to the Sangam golden era of Tamil literature between 1^st century BC and 4^th century A.D. However poetry and literature are certainly known to precede a grammar text and are claimed to have existed several millennia before Tolkappiyam.

Land was divided into five parts and ruled by three dynasties of rulers – Chera, Chola and Pandyas who were good administrators and patrons of literature, architecture and art. Elected local chieftains existed under the kings whose strength and sense of justice was responsible for holding much of the kingdoms together. In terms of conquering land, one of the Tamil rulers was named the “conqueror of Ganga” for his victories in the north. Well known poets included Elangovadigal, Thiruvalluvar and Auvaiyyar in the period of the flourishing of these dynasties. The first poet was known as the author of one the five major epics of Tamil literature – chilapathikaaram which is a poetic tale of a husband and wife whose lives span across the three kingdoms with rich descriptions of the prosperity of the land and the keen sense of justice of the ruler who upon realizing his mistake gave up his life in place of the one he had taken. Apart from traditions of the followers of Shiva and Vishnu, the religious influences of Jainism can be seen in the text of Manimegalai which is also another epic out of the major five called Aimperumkappiyangal.

Thiruvalluvar’s merit is mostly appreciated in the precision and wisdom of his pithy couplets composed which total up to 1330 spread across three sections of 133 chapters with ten couplets each about Aram– or way of living righteously, Porul – way of earning material prosperity, and Inbam - way of achieving success and enjoyment. This collection of poetry is called Thirukkural. Today, a statue of 133 feet in height of this poet bard can be found in Kanyakumari at the southern-most tip of the state which incidentally saved a lot of people when Tsunami struck in 2006.

"The mark of wisdom is to discern the truth from whatever source it is heard." - (Tirukkural)

The next important development for the literature of this language is the rise of the Bhakti movement which gave birth to saints Kabir and Namdev in the north as it made a host of Tamil poets popular among the masses in the name of Shaiva and Vaishnava traditions such as Andal, Nammalvaar, Thirunavukkarasar, Njanasambandhar and Sundarar amongst others. Their work is seen in two major texts of Thevaaram, Thiruvampavai and Thiruvasakam of Shaiva tradition, and Divyaprabandham and Thiruppavai of the Vaishnava tradition.

The international relations with the Tamil people involve Christian missionaries who learnt the language and translated stories from the life of Christ, and older texts indicate a flourishing trading route between Tamil hinterlands and Greece, Rome and beyond which captured in the older epics of Tamil literature.

The social movements of contemporary times whether it is that of Bharathiyaar and Bharatidasan during the freedom struggle of India or that of Periyaar who was a social reformer, the leader of the Dravida Kazhaga movement for the empowerment of oppressed castes, conservation of the Tamil language against being overtaken by other languages of the north, against superstitions and so on. He also changed the script of Tamil language and influenced the masses through his writings in the newspaper which he published.

It is from these varied literary traditions that the politics and cinema of this land have also been influenced and Tamil has sustained itself in the homes of rich and poor alike.

Food, philosophy and Marco Pierre White

Let me say this upfront, I’m not a cook/chef/foodie or even a food blogger. I like reading about people’s experiences, and usually they are pleasant with food. There have been movies which transform food or cooking into a life changing element in people’s lives. Movies such as Julie & Julia, No reservations, Chef and so on. I haven’t had anything as major. Yet.

This time I returned home after two years of my education in the amazing city of Bombay with whom I had fallen in love utterly. Sometimes when I read what I wrote for my love for Delhi quite a few years back, it now feels like a betrayal. But nevertheless, like a seasoned lover or master, Delhi has quite forgiven me now, it hasn’t driven me crazy or punished me like it used to punish the poets of yore like Meer Taqi Meer by driving me into starvation, depriving me of patrons. Yet.

So when I came home from battle and betrayal, losing my heart to Bombay, it simply put me on house arrest and cranked up the heat to slowly boil me in her heat. I accepted it gracefully, by surrendering to a decadent and flawless laziness which involved cooking, eating, reading, watching and sleeping, sometimes writing. No talking to friends and compatriots from Delhi who did not know the transformation of my battered self, nobody got to know of the lessons learnt.

So while binge watching and binge eating to make myself whole again, I came across the sinful pleasure of Masterchef. Wow, the best of the best talking, making and eating the best of the food. The one guy that takes the cake and who surprised me through it all was Monsieur Marco Pierre White. The guy who terrifies and pushes the cooks to go beyond their limits and give the food that extra soul which makes it heavenly. Suddenly amidst the crushing of the garlic and the marinating of the chicken, there is life advice! His advice though was every bit as relevant to me who was watching as to the chefs cooking under him. He says, to a person who worked very hard but had to leave the show in elimination, “It is very easy to beat yourself up, I did it for years! What you need to do is to pick yourself up. Because what is inside of you (talent/skill) has to come out. You have a responsibility unto yourself. You have to learn from each mistake, and from every fall, everyday.”

And just like that, I forgave myself for all that I thought I had done wrong in the past months, the stress and the setbacks and the crashing and burning which had made me nothing less than a warrior. Success and achievements were there, hiding under the shell shock of what life had brought me. The external appearances I had to put up for normalcy had finally crumbled in the privacy of my own room, as I took deep breaths to tell myself, you made it back alive, stronger. Back from the little ways you hurt yourself and let others hurt you, back from holding back your pain, anger and frustration.

And so this month I healed, I started painting, coloring, writing, reading and cooking again as I used to in childhood, realizing the great privilege in being able to take that time out for myself again. Colors, flavors and words became friends again. From a point where staying alone by myself had become a burden and stressful, I started enjoying my solitude once again. I’m very happy to say to myself now, I’m still here, I haven’t lost myself like I thought. And surprisingly I am happy and content. The fears of everything going wrong and panic of not having done everything that I am supposed to be doing is slowly fading away as I take one step at a time. I say to myself, even if I don’t know where I am going from this point onwards, I will be able to make a life for myself and take care of my responsibilities as well.

The rule that Marco’s words highlighted both about life and food was to keep it simple.

And so I am. So, I cooked for my mother’s birthday for which my friend had come over. It was a very simple pasta, lovingly prepared, over a much needed conversation with a dear friend. And three of us sat down after a wonderful movie and ate it up. It was sheer pleasure. Here is the picture of how that went.

Nanciness and Tonnu - baba

It's been quite some time since I wrote something off hand which was not a poem or a story or a letter. Ever since I began this blog I had vouched that I would try new things so I could write about them or maybe I could write about things that I want to try.  Most importantly I wanted to create an interface between readers and myself. Not everyday is an inspiration, so got around to thinking about inspiration and I found myself remembering this friend called Nancy.

Nancy is a friend of mine who is so incredibly full of energy and things to discuss with. But most importantly she is a person who goes out there in the world and makes a difference without being afraid of failing. I think that is inspiring. She went to a observation home for children and taught them employment related life skills. She went to a winter school and enrolled herself to learn for as long as 12 at night. she visited NGOs and schools in remote corners of the northeast and Maharashtra. she went to a farm in Ahmedabad. She makes all these amazing friends who do even more amazing things like cycling across the country, being the first woman to travel and speak about psychology across states and so on. all young people with the spark of wanting to make a change in themselves or around them doing what they love to do. Nanciness is all about linking people and admiring their strengths, learning from them and letting them be on their path with good will in your heart. I was so inspired by this state of being that I gave it her name

Another friend of mine is Tanushree who recently started working in a school. She returned after completing her course on social and cultural psychology from London which meant that she had to pack up and shift to another country for her education. She did amazingly well, fell in love, made a difference and came back to struggle it out to work on what she likes best - education. her passion, determination and single-pointedness has always inspired me professionally. as an individual she is warm, confident, unafraid to be assertive, curious and playful at the same time. she is one of the few intelligent and young persons who does not take themselves so seriously and has a fantastic sarcastic humor which does not include conceit or grandiosity. So Tonnu-baba is the archetype of a ever playful child and a youthful spirit to learn in all of us.

Both these individuals represent two sides of me which I think need to be developed even more - curiosity and openness to try something new and optimism which translates into perseverance of seeing or learning something from each experience and person. While talking to these young women, I realized how important these discussions are and as Tanushree once put it, what an important role it is to be a receptacle. 

A receptacle is someone who absorbs and is able to emotionally as well as intellectually hold the fragile and raw idea which a transmitter emits. We need a receptacle because the ideas that we come up with are new, not fully formed, not flawless and may be a victim of fleeting memory. 

So this post is to remind myself and to tell my readers, to not be tamed by the wild waters of time, find inspiration and a receptacle for yourself. Try and be a receptacle for your friend because once a person finds one, then the ideas start rolling out as easy as mice behind cheese...

Good day!

DIABOLICAL

Okay, so this one is from an often referred genre of my writing called angst. Hope it helps some people connect with their own existential angst. As always, comments are welcome.

Diabolical.

I do not have the monopoly on wrath

But I can cut a fair share of revenge on the world.

I make no deals with death here, 

But I've seen enough people play poker with their lives.

Of all the violence I've seen women's bodies carry 

There is none worse than that of a shattered silence.

In the marketplace of perverse pleasures

where each man delves into his personal hell

and each woman into her impossible fantasy,

where pain and loss are currency to be carried but never spent,

and love always inherited not earned.

choice smells of destiny's cards 

and Tarot seems a better predictor of Change than Talent.

There, in that diabolical world I bear witness to 

the poetry of what is called humanity

it is not sunshine and daisies and beautiful rivers,

mountains nor forests that we take inspiration from anymore.

Hell, if only we could see them once in a while we could remember,

what a human being was supposed to create instead of destroy.

It hurts to bear our legacy, in the heaviest of sense,

we die by slow poisoning in our own cages made of gold,

A slip, a tremor, a trip or a drip, fatal errors of living -

Thus does life end.

But Human must make His-Story count,

For the diabolical world does not go round,

it goes in spirals with or without meaning 

And the slip or a trip can push you off center.

Can you find yourself again?