Wonder why clouds wander so much across the skies?
Is it because they have lost track of where they belong?
Maybe they cry because they are so lost...
Maybe that is what rain is!
This is just a short excerpt from a movie song called "Ilaya Nila" (Young moon) by Kaviarasu Kannadasan, which I have traslated to the best of my ability. It sounds much better in Tamil, of course, and to complete the beauty of the song, it is sung by a lilting, young SPB, who kinda plays with the words. The way in which Kannadasan has taken off from something as simple as clouds scurrying across the sky caught my imagination.
Kannadasan has been heralded as one of the greatest and most influential writers in the Tamil language. He is best known for his song lyrics in Tamil films and contributed around 5000 lyrics besides 6000 poems and 232 books, including novels, epics, plays, essays, his most popular being the 10-part religious essay on Hinduism.
This is from his official site, but it captures his essence very well:
"He is supposed to have 'dipped into' everything that Tamil Nadu could offer - wine, women, drugs, politics, polemics, atheism and religious sanctuary. After enjoying everything, what he did was remarkable - he composed verses about all his experiences, with reflective self-deprecating humour, irony, and biting sarcasm".
He had 3 wives and 13 kids.. Phew!! No wonder he could write so much about women!!
:)
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Monday, August 3, 2009
A Bubble called Faith
Belief in God, in supernatural forces, in astrology (and other numerous -ologies I won't bother listing), all bewilder me at some level.
I had gone to Sringeri and there is this belief that doing a Puja at a temple near Sringeri, called Kigga, will bring rain to the place which was invoked in the puja. Balderdash, says my mind on one side. On the other side, I am absolutely baffled by educated people who have such a strong belief in this whole phenomenon that they regularly do the puja, every year. Including my parents!! There is so much faith, that the poor isolated process of the annual South West Monsoon is not given its due credit.
When I was younger, I had accepted all this without saying anything, without allowing my mind to have the slightest doubt. I am different now, after 2 years trying to be critical about things around me. Maybe this trait of mine is an occupational hazard that my parents did not quite bargain for! But I love the level of understanding they have; mom quite simply said, "faith is something that cannot be forced, it will happen naturally if it has to".
Completely 'antonym' to all this is the feeling I had on the bus back.
It was a Volvo with its characteristic high windows, through which you can look up at the sky. A silvery orb of a moon suspended dreamily in a cloudless sky, just above the tree line of the Agumbe ghat. As the bus wound around hairpin bends, the moon swam in and out of my field of vision with a periodicity that was mesmerising to say the least.
The world is so different at night; silvery streaks of moonlight fill the earth with a mysterious enchantment, "felt in the blood and felt along the heart" as Wordsworth would say. Everything looks surreal; everything on grayscale; nothing is clearly defined; beautiful silhouettes that leave the true form to limitless imagination; there is a pleasant sense of anticipation that wells up deep inside about what is going to unfold next - a mercurial lake, a shimmering stream, a rustic wooden bridge, an owl, the simple, clean lines of a tall tree; every thought is laced with wonderment, with awe, about the inexplicable beauty of things.
I was listening to some good music and my mind was filled with a kind of peace that made me involuntarily inhale deeply; I could feel a wave of relaxation start at the core of my body and radiate outward to the very pores of my skin, ending in a contended laugh that convinced the lady next to me that I was, absolutely crazy.
A different kind of faith; a deep faith in the enduring beauty of Nature, in the ability of the odd human mind to allow her to enchant and hold sway.
I had gone to Sringeri and there is this belief that doing a Puja at a temple near Sringeri, called Kigga, will bring rain to the place which was invoked in the puja. Balderdash, says my mind on one side. On the other side, I am absolutely baffled by educated people who have such a strong belief in this whole phenomenon that they regularly do the puja, every year. Including my parents!! There is so much faith, that the poor isolated process of the annual South West Monsoon is not given its due credit.
When I was younger, I had accepted all this without saying anything, without allowing my mind to have the slightest doubt. I am different now, after 2 years trying to be critical about things around me. Maybe this trait of mine is an occupational hazard that my parents did not quite bargain for! But I love the level of understanding they have; mom quite simply said, "faith is something that cannot be forced, it will happen naturally if it has to".
Completely 'antonym' to all this is the feeling I had on the bus back.
It was a Volvo with its characteristic high windows, through which you can look up at the sky. A silvery orb of a moon suspended dreamily in a cloudless sky, just above the tree line of the Agumbe ghat. As the bus wound around hairpin bends, the moon swam in and out of my field of vision with a periodicity that was mesmerising to say the least.
The world is so different at night; silvery streaks of moonlight fill the earth with a mysterious enchantment, "felt in the blood and felt along the heart" as Wordsworth would say. Everything looks surreal; everything on grayscale; nothing is clearly defined; beautiful silhouettes that leave the true form to limitless imagination; there is a pleasant sense of anticipation that wells up deep inside about what is going to unfold next - a mercurial lake, a shimmering stream, a rustic wooden bridge, an owl, the simple, clean lines of a tall tree; every thought is laced with wonderment, with awe, about the inexplicable beauty of things.
I was listening to some good music and my mind was filled with a kind of peace that made me involuntarily inhale deeply; I could feel a wave of relaxation start at the core of my body and radiate outward to the very pores of my skin, ending in a contended laugh that convinced the lady next to me that I was, absolutely crazy.
A different kind of faith; a deep faith in the enduring beauty of Nature, in the ability of the odd human mind to allow her to enchant and hold sway.
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