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!)

@ HOME

Drawing a house with a tree and an ocean (actually a water body, thanks to my poor sense of scale and perspective as a kid) was my favourite sketch during art classes and boring Sundays all through my school days. Later I convinced myself that maybe deep inside I always knew I would become an architect someday. I wonder what my concept of a home was, as we literally lived out of suitcases, packing and unpacking, shifting to close to a ten houses spread over five states, before settling to life in hostel for close to a decade.

May be it is a human  instinct, for most of us , this would have been our first piece of art work or rather the only piece, which lay stuck above our study tables over ages. The raising sun over the hills, sometimes the shining sun above the roof, the inevitable “v” shaped birds  hovering over the cotton candy clouds, the clover shaped trees, grass detailing, the flowing river with me fishing, the laid path to the door of the sloped roof house, the windows with curtains on sides, the smoke from the chimney, sometimes I used to add books and a swing to the sides…ah  pictures made truly from  the heart, they speak, so much, even  today. A perfect home with a garden and a library along the beach, I don’t think beyond it for a dream house even today after years of architectural training.

I never realized the connectivity, memories and sense of place and security this picture holds in every person’s mind until today. The talk by a architect cum volunteer working with Syrian refugee children in Austria said it all. The images she showed about the drawings made by children during an art therapy session was heart wrenching. It was all the same. Later drawings made by the refugee adults who joined these children were shown. It was all the same, again. Everyman had a child inside him, which came out as art, as an expression of pain, loss and longing. Most of them drew what they loved the most, their home. It was more than a mere drawing of one’s home, homeland and memories. It was an expression of life. Period.

I guess I can never again look at a child’s sketch of its house just as a drawing. It’s going to haunt me for life. House is not just a place to stay, stories begin and end here, nothing can be like @ HOME.

கல்லும் மண்ணும்  வீடுகளில்லை
 அன்பின் வீடே  அழிவது இல்லை

x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-Invisible boundaries-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

சொர்க்கம் சென்றாலும் சொந்த ஊர் போல்சுகந்திரம் வருமா?வருமா?.....Are a few lines from the refuge song from the movie Kannathil Muthamittal. But a post on a famous page in Facebook recently on the Syrian crisis made me think twice on those lines.

Terribly tiny tales had this post online, and I am sure all those read it, had no escape. Its like the words of the young boy whose lifeless self was flashed on all channels and printed on all newspapers and remains etched in our memories for ever. 

Civil wars, ethnic conflicts , socio - economical crisis, we see all of it, everywhere. True, all of them may not have instant solutions but what is more humiliating and painful in life more than being uprooted, shattered dreams, lost jobs, broken childhood and what is it like when a family faces all of this emotional struggle together with no food and no shelter?

Words fail this time, we call ourselves globalised than civilised and that the whole world, a global village. Then suddenly we remember we have this invisible boundaries called geographical lines which actually separates us. Global oneness is long forgotten and we  lay fresh barbed wire fencing to reinforce the invisible and Oh yes, they are electrified too this time, we put the best use of technology during crisis management. Shame on us. We are busy building walls without doors so that we hear no knocks. We don't realise this situation makes sure no one hears our cries when we lay trapped in this safe walled home(land). Its time we knock them down and build new ones, this time with plenty of doors and windows.

மண்ணில் தானே எல்லைக்கோடுகள்....மனதில் கோடு யார் போட்டது??