Let me be the walls of your house...

Deep inside you love the world,

But strangely, you act cold.

What’s with this loneliness?

Nah, doesn’t make me love you less.

I 'm not asking for much

Just some room with some kitsch.

Let me be the walls of your house

Will give you room and the much needed space

I want to listen to the conversations in your mind

Walls have ears, haven’t you heard?

I want to see you, day and night

Walls are insomniac too, right?

I want to throw in some light

Walls hold windows tall and straight.

I want keep your secrets safe

Walls are solid even when you chafe

I want to cherish your memories, always.

Portraits, photographs, walls have their ways.

I want to see you smile, laugh and cry

Walls hold you when low and high.

I want to stand with you against all odds

Alas, walls can’t shut out your thoughts.

You choose to stay away

Afraid of the dreams at the bay.

You choose to stay stuck

Unsure of beginners luck

Make room for me,

Set the uncertainty free.

Let me be the walls of your house.

Will call it home and take vows. 

A FOR ART

Life begins with the typical A for Apple (for some it is the apple till the very end), and after some roti, kapada and makkan on the way, not necessarily in that order, we all crave for art. Art is happiness, peace, the universal language understood across boundaries.

With arts, it is always an affair of frequent break ups, hot and sour. Sometimes with colour, sometimes in black and white, sometimes a portrait, sometimes an abstract, sometimes its pencils, sometimes is with pens, sometimes on paper, sometimes on wall, sometimes on the cover, sometimes on last page, sometimes with brush, sometimes with fingers, sometimes its typography, sometimes its illustration, sometimes its scenic, sometimes its graphic, sometimes on canvas, sometimes on walls, sometimes on clay, it all began as child’s play.

Not all of us are inspired by Da Vinci or Ravi Varma, Frieda Kahlo or Antonio Gaudi, M F Husain or Michelangelo, but in the mundane daily thing called life, for it still has codes to be cracked and rules to be crossed. The sketches in the pre historic man’s cave say it all. It speaks of history, life and dreams. Every piece has a told untold. Be it a child’s scribble or an artist‘s doodle. All of us are fascinated by stories and art is the best medium of expression which we indulge in, knowingly or unknowingly.

கலை  சொலஂலி  தாரீரோ,  கதை  சொலஂலி  தாரீரோ.

Both the art and the artist are mysterious things often with layers of thoughts and stories entwined within. Also both an artist and his art, is immortal, as rightly said- Fall in love with an artist, you will never die. They light your heart or break your heart. As human and artists we take our subjects as nature, fellow human beings, future, the unknown, relationships and feelings. We express things had have happened to us and more often things we wish happened. Art is the freedom we seldom express. The more of art we create, the more we feel liberated on one side and the more we reach to explore the unknown.

When we create art, we leave a piece of us in it and that makes it close to heart and sometimes a masterpiece. It is something so much ours.  Sometimes we find happiness when we can totally relate to someone’s piece of art and understand the story behind it.

Good art inspires, good design motivates.  With one half of us wanting to have what the rest of the world has, the other half of us craves for thing customized, personalized. We go in search of handmade, original and artistically delivered products. More of the art vs artist’s revolutions and forums for people to exhibit their individual skills need to be made. With millions of artworks dying and scores of artists finding it difficult to make living, it is the right time we start loving arts again and give artists what they deserve the most- Respect.  We should give more space for freedom of expression and understand the importance of being an artist as a career option.

So let us all stop being closet artists and proudly display our piece of works (and also others). Let’s not stop and stare at them just in galleries and studios.  Let them adorn the walls of our rooms, the clothes we wear, the food we eat and the roads we travel. Paint on the fingers is more beautiful than manicured and painted fingers.   Let’s break stereotypes and relearn our alphabets. This time it is – A FOR ART.

It's me.

I am the creator of my destiny,

And it boils down to me.

The blame on the society is a blatant lie,

Lack of time, a dumb try.

Friends and family, a false cry,

It is inside me I need to pry.

The lines on my palm are no road maps;

They don’t show the bridges for the gaps.

The time of my birth is no flowchart;

to predict my dreams and thoughts exact.

It’s never too late,

to make peace with fate.

My life is no blame game

And being me is no shame.

I am the creator of my destiny,

And it boils down to me.

Walks of life - 1

Walking is like breathing to me, more like a lifestyle and sometimes a therapy. I have the best memories of my life in its various walks. It is damn nostalgic as I recall some of them. Some walks are breathtaking and I know it that very moment, while some are just walks for a while and then they become the best experience ever had.

The walk to the office. I should shout out this is the best decision ever made by me, ever. Though it is not a very walk able distance, this daily walk to the office spanning over thirty minutes clears the mind and makes me office ready. It is actually a tough walk meandering the morning Chennai traffic, loaded with a backpack, a market road to pass and two signals to cross. But as I race past, I notice the same things, mundane things and new things every day and start my day.

The strange lady with umbrella who smiles at me without fail every day, the traffic police who holds the honking traffic till the old man with a loaded tri cycle crosses the road long past the signal turns red, the school girl who walks the blind man to the bus stop, the crowd at the roadside teashop draining down fresh brews of tea, the “avatar” kid who holds his grandmother’s hand tight as he nears the school, oh yeah I nicknamed him that way as he is smeared with talcum powder, holy dots and carries a lost look, the” pogai podara bhai” who walks ahead of me and then suddenly disappears into the crowd leaving behind a waft of smoky sambrani smell, the bougainvillea tree that lays a purple carpet to walk on and forget all blues, the aircraft that hover over the head as it makes to the airport reminds me of the travel life makes you make, the aroma of baking bread around the radius of the bakery makes me hungry,  the lazy street dogs that stretch yet refuse to move and make way for pedestrians, the cool girl who drives past in a bullet and finally the thatha at the market who unloads the vegetable sacks and his kickass attitude to (y)earn for a living.

So much in so little time, from watching people to arching the neck to catch the flight on the sky, all en-route the walk to office. Didn’t someone rightly say that the journey is more important than the destination?

Valai oosai..but why?

Something that makes all of us pause and ponder and sometimes wonder is our inner voice. At times so loud that the whole world hears out, in the form of art, literature, movie, music etc, sometimes it’s so gentle and let out as a tear and most times unheard off or rather suppressed.

I keep thinking why do I write this blog and what made be call it valai oosai. Many I times it’s just a sudden outburst of thoughts that are so difficult to let go. They haunt me unless I express them and pour my heart out. Sometimes it’s more meaningful and emotional than my many real loud words and heated arguments.

It’s my on the go legal adviser, all times tricking my brain. It’s the no Wi-Fi Google that makes understand  any understandable life situations. The gentle push which spreads my wings and the gentle pull that keeps me grounded. The inner voice, that all of hear atleast at point of time in life (For me at most times) is so magical that it helps us forgive ourselves, discover ourselves and make choice and helps us make peace with ourselves. This constant running commentary helps make decisions and vent out. What would life be without this inner voice and Valai without valai oosai.  The only match for my extravagant communication skill is my inner voice.

The most underrated psychotherapist that keeps the brain going and the heart ticking and life kicking awesome is this good old damn inner voice. An ode to my intuitions, that see my dreams even when I am awake, like real wide awake, blank and clueless. 

Cock a doodle do – (A)wakening call

A long phone call, a boring lecture, never ending client meetings, the dentist appointment and at times a bad Wi-Fi connection ends up with a rather beautiful and soulful doodle. So personal, so easy, so ours, that most times we ending loving it. The collections of doodle memoirs from last pages of school almanacs to travel tickets are keepsake memories and at times are more powerful than photographs.

Geometric, typographic, organic, graphical, abstract to zentangling they are absolute stress busters, time killers and manage to give unexpected eureka moments some times. The prehistoric man’s cave, the graffiti walls of cities to the google doodle, they are so raw, so much humane, bringing out the child in us, sometime without meanings and sometimes with millions hidden.

The artist in me awakens,

At the sight of paper and pens

.

Black and white is my cup of tea,

Sudden rush of colours sometimes surprise me.

Oh, I go on and on,

And do mundane things along.

Wake up, work, eat and sleep

And take a breath, deep - deep.

Sun, rain, moon and stars,

Or memories, happiness, pain and scars.

Conspired and inspired by the sky

But when I am low, it’s so high.

Verbal, visual or combined

Straight, complicated or refined.

In canvas of all sizes and shapes,

Set in portraits and  landscapes.

You are wasting paper, cries the conservationist in me,

But they are thoughts, inner conversationalist sets free.

What would I be without paper and pens ?

Thoughts don’t wait, no offence.

Dare to dream..Really?!

Dreams..the actual ones that occur during sleeps , the ones that don’t let you sleep and then there are haunting nightmares. Dreams are the in thing now, chasing dreams, living lives and whats life without them. From the time we learn to think and talk every one wants to know what are our dreams and if we are working towards them. Years end with the dreams made true and new ones begin as resolutions to keep.

Its so easy to dream when young, we plan out everything perfectly and neatly, without any ifs and buts. Fictional and perfect without a back up plan. Perfect career, perfect relationships, perfect partner  and long vacations and all of these happen at the right time and right place and we dream about them repeatedly as though rehearsing and re rehearsing dreams actually help in turning them real.

Throughout my childhood , all I wanted to do was to grow up fast so that I could relish my dreams and it happened eventually too. I grew up fast and even that was not the case, I acted like one nerdy desperate fellow with glasses and books all around me, boring serious type scoring good grades all the time. With proud parents and happy teachers I seldom had time for friends . I was competing hard and overdoing things at times, fighting myself only to win the battle and lose the battle eventually as someone famous who dreamt like me wisely said.

Lately over a conversation with a friend we discussed how we were given pencils and papers, encouraged to do things and erase and mend mistakes (remember I said pencils). But back then all I want I wanted was to pass out of primary school years so that I could own my own fountain pen and have my share of ink stained fingers. Ironically life wasn’t and isn't all that easy in the fountain pens years. Mistakes are mistakes, of course we move on striking them to continue the journey but the scars remain faithfully.

The charm of living the present is lost in urge to fast forward things, dreaming (aka worrying) about future. Let the horoscopes, astrology, numerology, tarrot reading and psychic  reading rest in peace. What is with chasing dreams , running races.

So I’m here, not dreaming (BIG) any more. Happily reading till sleep calls, writing about that the conversations that happen in my mind, talking endlessly, chewing my food before I swallow, enjoying the mornings and the nights. What is the point of living a life with no time to stare at the night sky and get lost at the awe of the stars and talk about their mystery but instead worry about tomorrow’s mysery?!

Henry Miller knew it right-I have no money, no resources, no hopes. I am the happiest man alive.

(PS – Shhhh…..Nobody knows about that secret notebook in which I write my bucket list. Writing this was one of them, harmless you see!)