Love is not a one-man show!

(A conversation I want to record here as a constant reminder to this amateur writer who, in his real life, often contradicts the advice he offers)

My friend and I were riding to a theater on his motorbike. We were not wearing helmets and a pleasant evening breeze was kissing our faces constantly. After a 5 minute silent ride, we came to a halt at a traffic signal. 
"I am scared of what is going on between me and X", my friend said, as vehicles in the opposite lane began rushing past us.
"Is something actually going on?!", I joked.
Landing a punch with his elbow, he continued. "I feel that we are going to end up in a relationship but I am scared of it". 
I remained silent. He turned to look at me like a determined teacher who would not proceed till an answer is given. 
"Let me tell you from personal experience. We feel a lot of things inside. But only a small - a really small - portion of those feelings actually happen in real life" I told him.
It was evident from his face that he had not wanted that answer. So he proceeded with his side of the story.
"I am scared because I keep thinking about my ability to maintain a relationship. And I do not know if I will be really good in putting in the effort".
"What effort?", I asked him.
"Being there for her always. Understanding all her pleasures and problems. Being really possessive yet not too controlling. All the usual effort", he answered.
"But it is not that you are going to be the only one putting in all the effort, right?", I asked him as the traffic signal changed to green. 
My question shocked my friend. It shocked him so badly that he was unable to start the motorbike, frustrating the cars and lorries behind. Somehow, a few seconds later, he managed to start the motorbike and a few hundred meters further, he stopped the bike at a corner. 
"Repeat your question", he told me, bending forward to rest his head on the speedometer of the bike. 
"It is not that you are going to be the only one putting in all the effort, right?", I obediently repeated. 
Hearing the question, my friend let out a hearty laugh. I placed my hand on his shoulder and patted it a few times because I understood the realization that had hit him. 

The same realization had hit me only a year ago. 
I had always been worried if I had had enough love, if I had had enough time, if I had had enough talent that I had failed to think that the other person would also be contributing.
Love had always been thought of as a one-sided effort. 
And it pained me to know that a few of my friends continue to think so. 

"Did you understand that love is a two-sided game?", I asked my friend, a minute later, shaking him up from his epiphany. 
He nodded with a smile. "But even if she does not...", he started but I did not let him complete. I knew what he was about to say.
"You do not become God", I told him in a raised voice. "Trust me. You do not have to prove anyone that you can love a person unconditionally."
My friend turned to look at me and understood that I meant every word of it. 
"Anyways.." he started again but I placed my hand over his mouth.
"I care immensely about you and your love life but we have a film that is going to start in 15 minutes. And I really do not want to miss the titles" I said firmly. 
My friend gave me an angry stare and started his motorbike. 
Fifteen minutes later, I sat inside the theater a happy man - Happy that I had been able to guide my friend and happier that the titles of the film had not yet begun.

Can I be your O2?

I sharpened my pencil to write this poem

The lead broke and went rolling across the paper

That beautiful mole of yours - Can that go rolling too?

Your mole reminds me of the universe

Galaxies, stars and planets.. Rotations and revolutions..

Does the sun have to rise every morning?

I maintain peace with its routine for a simple reason

My favorite part of every day - Waking up before you, to see you try to wake up

Chuck your bindi. Chuck your mascara. 

That unruly hair, those un-opening eyes and that uncontrollable yawn

You are a princess all the way from the bed to the washroom.

Yesterday, during my walk, I came across a flock of birds

All pigeons but for a solitary dove

Like that single strand of grey hair on your head

Remember that day I discovered it and you broke down?

I try imagining you old and wrinkled

The affection does not diminish a bit

Reminds me of the stagnating water in our kitchen sink

To hell with all the utensils while you wash them

Why do you hold them so dearly?

To hell with the coffee mug - That beautiful ellipse is mine

Can I gift you a packet of straws instead? But wait!

To hell with the straws too. And also your toothbrush.

I have sharpened my pencil again

The pencil shavings show me an exciting version of your eyelids

Can I reroute the path to my office between your eyelashes and eyebrows? 

I have a confession - I threw away your previous pair of eyeglasses

You did not lose them at the restaurant

But the eyeglasses deserved it, spending more time with you than I do

Kindly hide away your new contact lenses

And your comb and your wristwatch and your slippers, especially your favorite pillow

I have already contacted a buyer to dispose all our furniture

I now need to worry about only one problem

How do I turn a part of myself into oxygen?

You are my random variable

For quite some time now
When, at office, I have been asked to solve problems
When I have been asked to battle it out with equations
I have started feeling happy
Not because I have started liking Math
You know my Math skills better than my Math teachers
You know how I fumble while counting your eyelashes
I start counting them from either corner and halfway,
I lose my way and end up kissing the eyelids
So its not the Math
Its just that, for quite some time now
You have become my random variable.

On days I am asked to help with programming
When my screen can get egotistical with so many 'i's
When the algorithm can represent literature with an array of semicolons
I look at my R Studio or SQL Server with a naughty smile
Shall I assign my factor to your set of sparkling teeth?
Shall I group by your moles?
Shall I order by your favorite colors?
Your right ear is my lead, your left, my lag
I try avoiding loops as much as possible
But when I have to use them, my 'i' becomes you.

Some occasions demand data visualizations from me
As markers tumble, red, blue and black
As numerous graphs adorn the whiteboards
Like the white rangolis adorning the December doorsteps of a Brahmin agrahara
I start understanding the patterns
There exists a normally distributed graph
Happiness as its y-axis and the people in my life as its x-axis
Who do you think can be the mean, if not for you?
On happier days, the graphs get interesting
The bar graph shows me your slender fingers
The colorful pie chart, your starry eye
The bubble chart shows the purpose of your pimples
And the line chart on the rise
Captures my heartbeat as our lips hug each other..
Let us plot a graph for ourselves
I will be the x-axis and you be my y
As for the legend, let it not be a list, let it be this poem.

Beans, potatoes and a mature romance

It was a vegetable market. 

He wore a striped t-shirt, faded jeans and canvas shoes. She wore a saree and her hair was tied back into a ponytail which looked beautiful with her gold-framed spectacles.

His age would have been any number between 60 and 70. The same could be said of her.

I secretly wished that she was elder to him.  

His mildly trembling hands moved over the vegetables kept in display. He then gave her a questioning look which received her smile as the response. Watching him carefully choose beans after that made me wonder about the various meanings smiles exchanged between couples hold.

How amazing would it be to understand a preferred vegetable by a smile? What else would they communicate with just a smile? Preferred dress in a textile shop? Preferred dish in a restaurant? Preferred reply to a relative’s question?

I could not take my eyes off the couple. 

How much would their relationship have gone through in the 40-50 years since it had blossomed? How many fights and how many little consolations and patch-ups? How many times would have either one of the two fallen ill and intense affection would have been medicated? How many walks would their legs have enjoyed? How many words would have been wrongly uttered? How many words would have been wrongly never uttered? 

I experienced a feeling of envy. 

How great would it be to begin a relationship from such a point, with 40-50 years of understanding as the base?

But then I realized that the beauty of the romance lay in the very process of building up that understanding. It lay in figuring out if a smile meant beans or carrot. It lay in figuring out if a smile meant a blue shirt or a black shirt. 

I walked closer to the couple. The husband noticed me. I smiled. He reciprocated. 

His smile had an inexplicable charm. I wondered what his smile would signify to his wife at that moment. But the potatoes that lay before me caught my attention more than the thought. 

“Priorities!”, I told myself and started focusing on the potatoes. Love could wait.

In the mood for love...

Rain evokes a gamut of emotions within me – joy, melancholy, pride, anger, fear. The very same concoction the remembrance of my college romance evokes.

The building up of the grey rain clouds. The first time I noticed her writing something on her note book, holding the pen in her left hand – just like my mother. The slow, gentle drizzle. All the class hours I spent looking in the direction of her bench rather than at the black board. The heavy downpour with the occasional thunder. The late midnight hours I spent resting on my hostel corridor, contemplating a lot of ‘What if’s. The water drops dripping from an old, battered asbestos sheet. The very few words I spoke directly to her face. The glassy appearance that the drenched leaves put up for an hour or two after the rain. The evening hours in my third year of college when I started digging up my buried love for writing, to capture the most beautiful phase of my life on paper. The pale grey sky that appears after all this drama ends. The lonely walks I gift myself wondering how my life would have changed if I had not fallen in love.

I step outside my home to observe the aftermath of the rain. Most of the emotions take leave as joy and sadness linger around. Joy, due to the birth of the new life around me. Sadness, due to the end of something enchanting. I feel glad that a rainy day serves as a metaphor for my romance.

I look at the tiny puddles. I remember all the tears. They would dry up soon.

As I see my reflection in a puddle, I ask myself – Do I want the rain to start again? Or do I want the sun to come out?

I do not have an answer. After all, I love both equally. The rain helps me appreciate a bright, sunny day. The sun’s warmth helps me recall how adorable rain was. How can I choose? Or perhaps, I do have an option. A rainbow.

I look around at the aftermath of the rain. The water dripping. The glassy appearances. I notice a caterpillar slowly wriggling over a leaf. I smile. Everyone seems to be in the mood for love.

A painful purchase!

His glance ahead was nothing special

Just like on any other day, on any other road

The mud and gravel grabbed his attention

Trees and birds too, but people not much

The color of the dresses, the accessories that accompanied

Mattered lesser than the least to him

But the pointless glance fell on a dress

A dress that made his heart a bungee jumper

For he knew the dress, its color and fabric...

The embossed dots at regular intervals by the sides

The thin threads that hung by the ends of the dupatta

The color of the dress - a color he loved

For it reminded him of his favorite ice cream flavor

Even the smell of the cloth, he remembered

The same smell as his mother's starched sarees

And his glance slowly raised 

From the threads to the embossed dots to the face

And there he stared into the eyes

The eyes that had kept him alive for days.

Months had gone by since their last encounter

And he looked at her speechless

Like he had done the first time

Like he had done the last time

And she spoke the first word, her smile hugging her word

He replied, his smile failing to hug his'

The result - her smile's ego was hit by his smile's failure to show up
Her lips came to their normal

A moment passed as he looked at her

And unconsciously was placed an order with 'Memory' by his heart..

She looked at him, her smile peeping out again

But this time hugging the wave of her hand

And he looked at her helpless, as she walked away

Like he had done the first time

Like he had done the last time.

A pat on his shoulder made him turn

It was the delivery robot from 'Memory'

The order was handed out

It had bold letters printed on it - 'Pain'.

He received it with a smile 

After all, frequent deliveries of the same item 

Had made the delivery robot from 'Memory' his friend..

He was handed the feedback form

A minute it took, to complete his statement and hand it over

By when a delivery robot from 'Reality' had landed.

He looked at the 'Reality' delivery robot 

His mind filled with suspicion

"Why don't you start ordering from us?"

The robot meant business

But its question did not fetch a reply

"We offer you happiness.

We offer you opportunities. Why not buy them?"

The 'Reality' delivery robot pleaded..

He turned away, his stare falling on the 'Memory' delivery robot

"All they can offer you is pain! Why do you want that?!"

The pleading had become anger

The 'Reality' delivery robot was not at fault 

It was missing out on a valuable customer

"At least, let us know why you keep continually preferring 'Memory' over us"

It asked of him, the business strategy perhaps needed improvement

"It does not have anything to do with you"

Finally came his reply, his glance now on his received order

"Does it have anything to do with her?"

The 'Reality' robot asked, pointing its steel hand

He turned to look at the way it pointed

She was walking at the far end of the road

And he turned towards the 'Reality' robot

Replying a 'no' to its question.

"Why then? Why then? Why 'Pain'?"

The delivery robot shouted, its 'Reality' logo shaking with its frustration

"Calm down!" said the 'Memory' delivery robot

And handed its counterpart the feedback form he had filled

The feedback form had a question

"What makes you constantly order 'Pain' from us?"

And below it lay the answer he had written

The answer for the 'Reality' robot's question

The answer for his continuing relationship with 'Memory'

And the answer read,

"'Pain' reminds me of us."

Love and its labors!

"I don't believe in love at first sight." 
This is one of the many statements my friend told me after watching the film Kayal. We had a lengthy discussion later about love at first sight and the problems that came along with it. My friend felt that love at first sight was something that belonged to only films and was never applicable in real life. 
And so do many people. 

Following is a simple description of an experiment conducted by the psychologist Nalini Ambady.
A group of students were given three two-second videotapes of a professor with the sound turned off and the students were asked to come up with a rating for the professor's teaching effectiveness. She collected these judgments and she compared them with the ratings given by the students who had had the same professor teach them for a full semester.
The result - The judgments were very much similar.

I learnt about this experiment thanks to a fascinating book titled 'Blink: The power of thinking without thinking' written by Malcolm Gladwell (I thank you Malcolm for helping me out in a second post with your findings!).

The experiment above shows that instinctive decisions can be as effective as the ones taken over a longer period. The instinctive decisions, a result of our adaptive subconscious, though made in a matter of seconds are a result of all our lessons learnt over our entire lifetime. Why is it that we believe then that a partner chosen carefully over a long period of conversations and understanding would be better than the one chosen at a single glance?

As I try very hard to dig into my memory, I find that I still have very similar opinions about most of my friends at college as the ones that took birth when I first laid eyes on them except a few guys who turned out to be complete opposites. But still, we being a species that always prefers considering the 'majority', I guess it would not be wrong of me to support instinctive decisions.

We do have a lot of close friends but what is it that makes someone 'special'? 
A 'special something' perhaps.
I do agree that it might take time for a person to notice the 'special something' in another person to start dishing out more love but is it not possible that the 'special something' might be visible, though not in its clearest form, but as some sign of a charm at first sight?

And these instinctive decisions, as mentioned earlier, are a sum total of lessons learnt and with respect to love, they might as well bring in the characteristics of our parents we observe, according to the great Sigmund Freud. 


But on a completely different and even a contradictory note, a general problem that we face is our tendency to try to believe that there might not be a reason, after all. 

It is obviously easy to say that 'Love is magical' or 'Love is divine'.
But why is it that we fail or try very rarely to show interest in understanding a feeling that has its roots in our own brains (Fine! Maybe a part of it in the heart!) and try to mix up the cause with the effect?

Instead of spending more time in understanding the cause (the reasons that make us fall in love) we spend more time in understanding the effect (the emotions that follow up with love). And therein lies the root of all romantic problems.

Once the cause is understood properly or to put it clearer - once 'our' expectation we had had of the partner is understood in depth - an obvious revelation would occur as to where we went wrong (in the instance of something going wrong) and if possible, where things could be made right.

Even science suggests something similar.
The beginning is the end of all problems. 
A main reason 'Big Bang' has its prominence increase day by day.

I have a few friends who suggest kindly that I stop analyzing about love and learn to experience its magic instead. And I do agree that the feeling of being in love is unmatched. But understanding the reason behind it seems even more fascinating. 

After all, would you prefer knowing that you fell in love with a boy/girl because of a closer resemblance to the characteristics of a parent or would you prefer a pure miracle?
Would you prefer knowing that you fell in love because the 'special something' was a collection of all the things that had affected you in life or would you prefer a divine intervention?
I leave the choice to you.

Because love would always be love, be it fact or be it faith.

The hopeless romantic

As I saw them fallen
Brew an anger inside uncontrollable
A sight, not the first time, to my eyes
But the blood boiled nevertheless
'How vile an act!' my mind screamed
I kept staring at the culprit
My heart filled with despise
Despise for a being so rid of love
And I determined to question him
Question how he could be so loveless..

Looking above at his face, I screamed
"Do you not know love? Is your heart so wooden?"
There came not a reply
"Speak out, you big fellow!
Do you not feel an iota of attachment?"
There prevailed silence
"Why hold back now? Not the first time, is it?
Every year happens this cold act. And you seem not a bit affected."
The leaves rustled a bit now
"See how close they stay to you. 
And what in turn do they get? Separation under the veil of autumn!"
A branch squeaked somewhere
"And now these poor ones?" my hand pointed to the fallen flowers
"Were you burdened by their beauty?
Did you sell them out to the wind and the rain?"
The burning anger in me was expressing itself
Every single word, its play
But not came even an alphabet in reply from the big fellow
And I scorned at him
This was after all, a routine to him
A big old wooden tree that he was
Why then would he care?
And I walked a few steps ahead..

But I stopped and looked up at him again
I needed not a reply from the cruel fellow
But I wanted justice and I walked towards him
Looking above, I raised my leg
Pulling it backwards, I directed all the energy to my feet
And landed a blow on his wooden heart
A blow so solid and strong
Oil would have sprung out had it landed on earth
But on this guy, it had no effect
Or so thought I for a moment
Before happened something unexpected
A reply for all my questions he gave
Not in words, but by that act -
A shower of tears poured down
A shower he had been holding back for long
A shower he had been holding back in his leaves
A shower he was so relieved to have poured out
Intermittent were the tears for a minute
And as they slowly stopped
My feet took a few steps back..

Drenched in his tears, I looked at him..
The blow I had landed had shook him
But his response had shook me, my perspective now altered
And as I looked at him now, I understood
Why he had been silent
Why his heart had become wooden..
I thought for a moment the pain he would face every year
Letting go of the ones he had so long cherished
Be it for the season or be it for the wind
And having to start over all anew
Year after year after year after year
And I closed my eyes
A silent prayer that never should one be faced with such a love affair..
I apologised to him, a terrible blunder on my part
And slowly walked away
Only to turn after some distance
And see the poor guy silently standing there
Rooted by the grave of his loved ones!

Aaromale and its aftermath!

As the clock struck 4 pm, I was totally clueless as to what to do. Sleep seemed to evade me and for some reason, there was not the seriousness to watch a film. I decided to lie down on my cot for some time but I knew that lying down staring pointlessly at the roof of my room would only lead to an onslaught of thoughts which I needed not. All I needed was peace. And so, I resorted to the only option I could think of - AR Rahman.

As the playlist played on from the playful 'Pennalla pennalla oodhaa poo'  of Uzhavan to the soul-stirring 'Naetru aval irunthaal' from Maryan to the out-of-the-world 'Thirakaatha kaatukullae' from En Swaasa Kaatre, I could feel a sense of serenity spreading over the stretch of my mind. And only if it had continued the same way. Alas! The strumming of guitar strings began. The slow buildup began. And 'Vaamalayeri varum thennal' in Alphons Joseph's voice began. 

It was Aaromale from Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya.

And I let out a sigh. 

Not because I disliked the song. But because I loved it beyond description. And I loved the scene that followed the song in the film beyond description. Every single time I listened to Aaromale, I needed to play the scene that followed it on my laptop. I just couldn't resist the song. The scene, even worse.

The scene - a sequence where a man and a woman come across each other three years after their break-up (if it could be termed one in the proper sense) and sit down at a bench at the Central park to have a chat that begins with the pair discussing their current lives and ends up with the pair returning to their forlorn romance- is probably one of the best shot romantic scenes of Tamil cinema. 

Right from its start - the sound of the birds chirping heard at the background as fallen leaves lay spread on the ground with Trisha's Jessie seated facing Simbu's Karthik who is shaking his legs (symbolizing his restlessness as well as the joy on seeing his loved one again) as the first dialogue begins - the scene assumes greatness. 

As the camera slowly zooms in on the characters, one cannot fail noticing the slightly bent-about and damaged fence behind Karthik's back - a probable reference to the state of the relationship of the characters. The conversation begins with Karthik thanking Jessie for not walking away and as it slowly proceeds with Jessie mentioning about his dream of becoming a filmmaker coming true, comes a nod - a meagerly shy one from Karthik, putting forth the delicacy. And as Jessie continues with queries about Karthik's family, comes an abrupt 'Hmm.. Nalla irukaanga' (They are fine) from Karthik who quickly turns away, reflecting a sense of disinterest with the trivial chat. His hand hits his lap and Jessie turns away as the score - the strumming of strings with the magical piano touch (as only Rahman could) - begins, peaking the uncomfortable silence that prevails.

Jessie breaks the silence finally asking him if he wants to say something or ask, perhaps. And Karthik looks down slowly and turns away for a moment, signifying so beautifully that anything said or asked might probably have no positive outcome. As Jessie proceeds with the intruding 'Vera yaarum irukaanga la.. Enna Karthik?' (There is someone else right.. Karthik?), Karthik who keeps looking at the ground till then looks at Jesse abruptly, his eyebrows faintly raised, indicating an angry 'How could you?' and as Jessie continues, trying to iterate strongly that he must have moved on and there must definitely be another girl in his life, Karthik's mouth opens and closes momentarily depicting a silent sigh with him nodding in agreement and admitting to Jessie that there is indeed another girl. And now happens the so beautiful 'surprised and shocked' reaction of Jessie's to his statement which she quickly tries to hide with a forced laugh and silence. 

Karthik goes about with his story of how he had met the other girl and as Jessie inquisitively persuades him to describe her, begins the slow zooming in on Karthik (building up the mood) as he describes the girl (every trait of her's matching with Jessie's) and comes to the 'defining' trait - 'Padam paaka avaluku pidikaathu' (She doesn't like watching movies) - with a momentary silence paving way for the melancholic Hosanna background score as Jesse's eyes widen in slow realization beginning to make our hearts heavy. And Karthik goes about with the description, his eyes slowly becoming teary and as he desperately looks at Jessie and delivers the final statement - 'Ava peru Jessie, Jessie!', any boy/girl who has suffered the misery of losing a loved one to the culprit called life would cease to live for a moment. 

I try to remember any other scene that I have so fallen in love with. I try to think about the reason behind the immeasurable attachment towards this scene and as the scene plays again in my head, I find it hard to keep my heart beating at its proper rhythm.

I have faced the ridicule of many of my schoolmates who would call the scene a sappy one and would add that I was trying to over-worship it. But to me, it is one of the most plausible and sensible romantic scenes written and crafted depicting the helplessness of the characters as opposed to the regular norm of the Tamil cinema to always provide a way out of improbable situations for the leads. And moreover, when describing love, one can never be right to the fullest. Because, love in itself is a complicated issue.

And the heavy feeling that the scene left me with would have probably carried on for long if not for my decision to stop the film and continue with my playlist.

The next song turned out to be a continuation of the melancholic setting yet an absolute gem in its own right - the female version of Aaromale.

And I closed my eyes letting myself drown in Shreya Ghoshal's heavenly chants of Aaromale, slightly wishing at a corner of my heart that I had laid down on my cot staring pointlessly at the roof of my room in the first place instead of causing this chaos and this post.

Kadalinu karayodiniyum padan sneham undo?

Mezhukuthurikalayi urukan iniyum pranayam manasil undo?!

Some things are best left, unexplained.

Learning love the hard way!

I woke up suddenly disturbed by a sound. I couldn't locate the sound but as I slowly turned over on my pillow and looked at my mobile screen, the screen flashed '5:43 am'. I let out a sigh and got up, pushing aside my blanket. It was only when I walked over to my shelf to grab my tooth brush that I realized it.

My mom's birthday.

I had decided the earlier night when I had laid down at about 11:30 pm as to wake up about 20 minutes later so that I could wish her at midnight. But I had slept off and it was only the sound in the morning that had woken me up. I immediately placed down my tooth brush and picked up my mobile phone to call her. About 10 minutes later, I ended the call with a large smile spread over my face. 

But the phone call is not the reason I typed up this post. 

It was a thought that struck me afterward as I kept staring at myself in my hostel's bathroom mirror, lazily rotating the toothbrush in my mouth that made me type up this post. It was a thought that kept disturbing me so much that it was all I could think of when one of my professors reviewing my mini-project today asked me to explain about 'Low complexity filter' in BLAST. 

Why is it that we never try to respect the love that comes about easily?

It was my mom's birthday that had triggered the thought.

My wishes, when I had called her, had made her happy. But she was more focused on stressing that I dare not miss my breakfast. It was a love so pure that it had absolutely zero expectations. And it was the same love with the zero expectations, I guess, that had been the reason that I did not take any extra efforts to wake myself up at midnight in case I accidentally fell asleep. I knew within my heart that I did not have the necessity of taking an extra step to make my mom love me more. 

And this was the thought that hurt me.

Why do we always keep trying so hard to satisfy someone who seems very difficult to be satisfied when we don't even care about a person who showers love constantly despite whatever we do? 

I have had the opportunity of observing this scenario more than often in these three and half years of college life. I have seen many of my friends spend hours planning a surprise birthday party and spend hundreds on a gift for the birthday of a loved one (I have also been a culprit on 2 such occasions and the only reason I continue with this post is because of my 'realization' later) whilst so casually wishing their moms and dads on their birthdays only on the evening of their birthdays, that too in many cases, only after having been reminded by their moms and dads about it.

Why does the extra effort go into making a birthday special for a loved one when there is not even an attempt to remember the birthday of a person who loves you dearly?

I would be a fool saying that one must not plan surprise birthday parties and hand over intimate and meaningful gifts for a loved one's birthday. The joy of seeing a loved one smile at your gift and the feeling of having made a loved one happy is inexplicable. Agreed. But why is that these extra steps taken to make a loved one stay in your life not continue on to people who will never ever let you go? After all, aren't the latter people the ones whose love should be reciprocated more?

But I guess that this outlook not just exists in love. Though it seems to be very explicit in love, it seems to exist in most of the other affairs of human life too. A school situated close to the home and a school wherein the admission seems easy is not even given a chance before a school where getting an admission seems impossible (and I often wonder what attracts the people more - if it is the quality of the education or the simple fact that the admission is just difficult). A completely sufficient 'Maruti Alto' is never given the equal respect as a 'Mercedes-Benz B class' (and I often wonder if it has anything to do with the mileage or the simple fact that a 'B class' is much harder to own). A simple yet delicious meal prepared at home is eaten so simply when a meal at a posh restaurant or a foreign dish at a very expensive eatery seems to be worshiped (and I often wonder if it really has anything to do with the taste).

Being attracted to things that are hard to attain is not a crime. But why not give, if not more, at least the same level of respect to things that automatically come your way?

The face of a mom or a dad might not always come to the mind while listening to a melody like a loved one's does but they still require a part of the love they shower, don't they? A grandmother or a grandfather might not always talk interesting stuff like a new friend does but they still require a part of the love they exhibit, don't they?

The human mind, just like its desire to love things that are hard to attain also has an uncontrollable urge to try everything practically rather than just in theory. So perhaps, it would probably not hurt giving the opportunity of making special the birthday of a person who showers love on you a try. 

The trial might probably even lead to a very beautiful realization - the love, which exists so abundantly and in so easy a way all around you is in many ways more heartening and fulfilling than the love that comes the hard way.

Romantic trips with Rahman

"Thevai ethuvum thevai illai

Thevai enthan thevathaiyae! "

The above lines, a part of the deeply moving 'Ennodu nee irunthaal' song from the movie 'I', which when translated mean - I do not need any need of mine. All I need is my angel - finally succeeded in bringing a tear as I listened to it for the 3rd time.

I once came across this line in a film - "Unfulfilled romance is the best romance". It seemed a great piece of writing then but very soon after, I realized that writing was very different from living. There are many things that writing could glamorize which living could possibly never. A long and a beautiful poem written about a lonely guy on a bench could never even come close to the warmth of sitting near a close one on the same bench. A mouth-watering descriptive piece about an Indian dish could never become a substitute for sharing the same dish with a close one. 

And so there are two things that I have started to believe in, with the passage of time - first being that 'tragedies make for good writing but never for a peaceful life' and the second being a slight alteration of the above mentioned dialogue - "Unfulfilled romance is never the best romance, unless probably there is a Rahman 'sad melody' (since I couldn't come up with a better term) to accompany you". 

So, does a Rahman 'sad melody' make up for a lost love? Definitely not.

But for something that cannot be got back, it does provide a soothing companion. Yes, it does bring about a few tears. But then, why hold back them? 

For some reason, the lyrics of a song attract our attention more when we are sad in contrast to the happy times when it is the music that keeps us glued. 

"Nilavinai ennaku arugil kaatiyathu nee thaane.. arugil kaatiyathu nee thaane..

Malarin mugavarigal sonnathum nee thaane..."

(I would be committing a conscious crime if I tried to translate these priceless lines)

"Veesungindra thendrale... velai illai nindru po...

Pesugindra vennilaa... penmai illai ointhu po..."

" Kaatril kaneerai aetri.. Kavithai senthaenai ootri.. Kannae un vaasal saerthaen..

Oyum jeevan odum munnae, ododi vaa... "

" Paal mazhai'ku kaathirukkum bhoomi illaya.. Oru pandigai'ku kaathirukkum saami illaya..

Vaarthai vara kaathirukkum kavignan illaya.. Naan kaathirunthaal kaadhal innum neelum illaya..."

The lyrics of every sad melody of Rahman's have imprinted themselves in my otherwise pathetic memory so badly that some random song in its entirety comes rushing in my head at a moment's glance of the close one. And the result, I wouldn't complain as to be a devastating one. Rather, the song and the tune in my head make me cherish the moment more than it ever calls for. And the misery at heart does get embroiled in serenity which readily becomes a more than welcome relief then. 

I read long back in a newspaper article about a little girl in comatose state who had been made to listen continuously to Rahman's melodies by her mom which doctors believed had been the main reason for her recovery when she had come out of her comatose six months later.

I would never be able to forgive myself if I compared myself with that little girl who had fought those six dark months with grit and determination and Rahman. 

But I guess that I could probably say that Rahman has been one of the main reasons that I survived a phase I very strongly believed would be my last and Rahman still continues to be one of the main reasons that I overcome a sudden flood of haunting memories with a tear and a smile, a song later.

Even as I finish typing this post, plays one of my most favorite Rahman sad melodies through my earphones.

"Izhaitha kavithai nee.. Ezhuthu pizhaiyum nee.. 

Iraval velicham nee.. Iravin kaneer nee..

Ennadhu vaanam nee.. Izhantha siragum nee..

Naan thooki vazhartha thuyaram nee....

Oru dheivam thantha poovae...." 

And the song/my life goes on...

Writer, by love...

"The earth turned to bring us closer.
It turned on itself and in us , until it finally brought us together in this dream."

When in love, every love scene in a film, every romantic song composed and every line in a poem about love seems written just for our heart rotating around that so powerful universal emotion.

Neuroscience says that love is just the result of over secretion of 'Dopamine' by the A-10 cells - a phenomenon that generally occurs while taking in cocaine (no wonder then that most of us feel ourselves flying above the ground when in love). But the feeling of love, when it occurs, does not seem like just the result of an over-expression of a group of cells. It seems something more, sometimes even everything in life and rightly so. No other human emotion seems so singular and so powerful in its expression that it makes a hero out of a coward and a romantic out of a ruffian. The sense of belonging, the intensive possessiveness, the inexplicable helplessness - a human could never possibly become one without going through these.

'Love makes a poet out of everyone it touches', they say. I still find my poetry quite appalling but it did definitely make an average writer out of me.

There are a very few moments that occur in life that remain etched in our memory. Many many beautiful moments get lost by our terribly weak retentive capacity. When in love, for some reason, every second that passes in the company of the loved one seems special and every day that is spent in the romantic relationship seems to be begging you to record it. It never strikes you as you write down every single memorable moment as to what would these memories mean if the romance never works out. The mind just seems in a hurry to capture those greater-than-life happenings and it is only that which matters then.

When things go well, the written pieces seem priceless. But when read on a day - a day of a memorable occasion (love creates many of these) or the birthday of the loved one perhaps - a day well beyond the end of things, they shatter your heart. 

You start wondering as to how could so beautiful a thing become so cruel that even a happy moment in the past could cause only suffocation. And a feeling of anger overtakes the mind for having foolishly recorded all those moments to be torn apart later.

What did I gain from those pieces? Not happiness. Not warmth. A writer, perhaps.

But the realization only seems to make it worse. Would writing ever become a substitute for love?

The meaningless text messages exchanged then seem more meaningful than the Russian literature read to enhance the ethnicity of writing now. The completely absurd arguments argued then seem more pleasing than the constant nagging of ideas in the brain now. Staring continuously at the mobile screen and jumping out in joy at the beep sound of a message received then seems more preferable than the occasional visits to the dash-board of this blog with the tiny bursts of happiness when the page-view count increases now.

Who would want to write at the cost of love? What has writing given me that love could not have?

As all these thoughts accumulate together to form an emotional rain cloud ready to burst, you feel so desperate and devastated that you want to let the cloud burst and let it pour.

And then you realize - you do have a chance to pour it out. 

By writing.

And a tiny helpless smile appears on your face.

Love works in mysterious ways. More so does life!

The priceless touch

A chilly evening it was
Scarves and sweaters were all around the park
I sat there shivering in the cold
Sitting beside me was she, enjoying the sight of the mischievous kids playing..
Not withstanding the cold, I grabbed her hand
The warmth of her soft palm pressed against mine was bliss
I moved myself closer to her, making her cheeks turn a shade of pink..
Resting my head upon her shoulder
I shut my eyelids to open the gates of heaven
Blew a cold breeze then
Her hair caressed my face gently and spread a smile
My grasp on her hand tightened
A moment's fight to take back her hand from mine
But she soon gave in, her palm growing warmer by every minute..

"Shall I ask you something?" she whispered
I tilted my head
And looked into those two beautiful black lotuses floating in the white sea..
"Which is the touch you like the most?" came the question
The eyebrow rose up above my eye
 "The touch of my palm or the touch of my hair?!" she completed it..
I let out a chuckle
But those black lotuses remained stationary determined for an answer
What was love without such silly questions?
And I decided to give her the answer..

Raising my head, I took it closer
Our breaths battled against each other
The mole beside her right eye looked like a star in the endless sky
The lotuses in her white sea had grown bigger
And I placed a kiss
A kiss on her cheek!
Even a botanist would have mistook them for roses
So blushed were they
She had gotten her answer for my most favorite touch
And she looked away, smiling and letting me rest my head on her shoulder again..

But I felt guilty
As guilty as a child with a broken toy
I hadn't told her the truth
The kiss was just a cover-up
But how could I tell her?
The warmth of her palm
The way her hair stoked my face
Her rosy cheeks
All were my top favorites
But there was a touch I loved more than any
An addiction from my birth
A touch she might not understand
A touch with a power of its own
A touch that fed and cared and blessed me

The touch of my grandmother's wrinkled hand!!