Dedicated to the long list of men folk my relatives have unearthed to date- a rap song in Tamil, English and an occasional Hindi word, for the sake of national integrity. ;)
Hey there, Mapillai,
What are you thinking, puriyavillai
ponnu paaka variya?
bajji thinna poriya?
no chance, machaan,
wheres the romance, bachaa?
what d'you think I am?
some bloody program?
waiting for your rating
a number 1 to 10
like a laboratory specimen
your amma in her seat
the same maternal bleat
nalla ponnu, nalla payyan
beedi no, dhammu no
suyya budhi, double no.
I.T. job, U.S slob,
pakka local makku blob,
then I hear, loud and clear
your appa on the side
with your cv bonafide
caste is his pride,
all he wants in a bride
whips out a white sheet,
says raagu's in retreat,
rasi, nakshatram,
why are people still so dumb?
your aunty and your uncle,
escaped from a jungle?
head to toe, stare at me
I should charge a bloody fee
listen baby, listen well,
I don't want to go to hell,
no more jokes
dump the folks
hit the street
thats where we'll meet
dig deep, find your feet
takes courage to be offbeat
you don't have to, not for me,
build your own philosophy,
take a risk, look inside,
let awareness guide your stride,
stop the crap, flee the trap
you don't need no friggin' map
Gotta go, gotta grow,
see ya buddy, say hello.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Sunday, May 8, 2016
A Question of Language
There are many contexts for the existential crises that plague me from time to time. One of them that had been on my mind of late is language. To be more specific, the question that arose was, "Am I a language snob?"
Some history is required to put this in context. I grew up in a foreign country. English was the language I predominantly used- the books, movies, TV shows, friendships I had - I learnt to think in English. On the other hand, I adore Tamil, my mother tongue. I taught myself to speak it, and even today continue to perfect my vocabulary and pronunciation. I learnt to read Tamil and developed an appreciation for its poetry. To sum up, any language, for me, is a beautiful act of expression and must be respected for what it is- the hundreds of years that it has lived and evolved, its fascinating etymology, the rules of grammar that have striven to make it uniform across people, its idiomatic usage, the dialects.... everything about language is amazing. When you consider that unless we all become telepathic or attain nirvana thereby making language redundant, it's pretty much all we have to make sure we get each other.
So why was I battling this question? I do not look down upon people who have not mastered any language. But I do find it amusing. I studied in a college where not one of the staff members could speak fluent English, Not that that was any cause for complaint. From the electronics professor who said, "The atmosphere will collapse if you do strike," to the physics sir who talked about "sofa-stication", the only thing that I found bearable in those four years was this ability to be entertained by the systematic murder of English. Does that sound stuck up?
After that, the whole dating/matrimonial scene opened up a can of English worms. The 'good boys' my parents wanted me to meet had never seen an episode of Friends or heard of Wodehouse. They said 'can able to' and spelled Hi as 'Hai'. It was inconceivable to even contemplate life with them. That's when the question arose- these fellows may be extremely intellectual, spiritually deep, humorous and kind chaps. Yet, to this day, I balk at considering them in a romantic light.
When I visited my uncle recently, some intuition prompted him to bring up this topic. He mentioned his niece whom he had convinced a few years ago to marry a man who spoke broken English with a pronounced, almost rural accent. She has two kids now and still grimaces when her husband says something in English, frequently calling him 'country brute!' I laughed out loud at that, but it brought back my own dilemma to me.
When I came back to India in the turn of the century, I met with a lot of language fanaticism. Tamil people were openly critical of me, in some cases, derisive. I would have been accepting of this if their ire had been directed at my faulty Tamil. But what baffled me was that they had a problem with my fluency in English. One of the derisive labels that was in vogue then and still hasn't died away is 'Peter'. I'm guessing it's a nod to the British influence on language in India. I hated that term. Even as a teenager, I sensed that deep down, these people were ashamed of their broken English, which is why they adopted fanaticism- as a defense.
Last month, I was visited by the man who installed the fibre sheets on our car shed. He wanted to learn English, was enthusiastic about it even. He talked about being able to speak fluently in meetings and conducting business deals with style. I administered an assessment to see where he needed help. His performance was worse than poor. A college graduate, he could not construct a full sentence. I looked at his mostly empty answer sheet without expression. But before I could say anything, he started off on an analogy of how car driving is similar to language; how he couldn't maneuver hair pin bends before but can now, how a gap of a few years can make one rusty... He finished by saying in a tone of derision that after all, Tamil was more important since we are Tamilians. That's when I knew how ashamed he was. He insisted on taking his answer sheet with him and he never turned up again. In all this, he didn't let me get a word in.
As a teacher, one of the most important qualities I value in the field is being non-judgmental. The job asks us to impart knowledge, not to make people feel bad about their lack of it. That is simply ridiculous. Yet people have their own deep rooted shame. I've come to understand that no one who can appreciate the beauty of their own language could ever look down upon another. It's their shame which makes them defensive and derisive. An added dimension to this in Indian culture is the hostility leftover from British colonial rule. It doesn't help at all that their language has become global and needs to be used if one must survive in so many economic areas locally.
Coming back to me, and where all this began, I realized that when we talk about language, we're talking about culture. And culture is not region specific or race specific, in these times. I am Tamil and I am English, in different ways. Like many people today, I am an amalgamation. It is not impossible to connect with someone who's had a totally different upbringing. I have wonderful friends who are culturally different. But when it comes to a partner, my personal priorities do not include the vast gaps between cultures- territories would have to be left untouched, territories that are important to me, that someone I live with must have embraced in their own lives to understand. So no, to my relief, I've come to understand that I am not a snob. I love languages irrespective of their origins, I respect people irrespective of their linguistic skills and I connect with people irrespective of their mother tongues. I won't apologize for my priorities- to want to sit across from someone over a breakfast table and debate with them about quantum physics and its implications on spirituality- something I cannot do in Tamil, is not wrong, it's just me.
So there you have it. Not a snob. Phew. On to the next question.
Some history is required to put this in context. I grew up in a foreign country. English was the language I predominantly used- the books, movies, TV shows, friendships I had - I learnt to think in English. On the other hand, I adore Tamil, my mother tongue. I taught myself to speak it, and even today continue to perfect my vocabulary and pronunciation. I learnt to read Tamil and developed an appreciation for its poetry. To sum up, any language, for me, is a beautiful act of expression and must be respected for what it is- the hundreds of years that it has lived and evolved, its fascinating etymology, the rules of grammar that have striven to make it uniform across people, its idiomatic usage, the dialects.... everything about language is amazing. When you consider that unless we all become telepathic or attain nirvana thereby making language redundant, it's pretty much all we have to make sure we get each other.
So why was I battling this question? I do not look down upon people who have not mastered any language. But I do find it amusing. I studied in a college where not one of the staff members could speak fluent English, Not that that was any cause for complaint. From the electronics professor who said, "The atmosphere will collapse if you do strike," to the physics sir who talked about "sofa-stication", the only thing that I found bearable in those four years was this ability to be entertained by the systematic murder of English. Does that sound stuck up?
After that, the whole dating/matrimonial scene opened up a can of English worms. The 'good boys' my parents wanted me to meet had never seen an episode of Friends or heard of Wodehouse. They said 'can able to' and spelled Hi as 'Hai'. It was inconceivable to even contemplate life with them. That's when the question arose- these fellows may be extremely intellectual, spiritually deep, humorous and kind chaps. Yet, to this day, I balk at considering them in a romantic light.
When I visited my uncle recently, some intuition prompted him to bring up this topic. He mentioned his niece whom he had convinced a few years ago to marry a man who spoke broken English with a pronounced, almost rural accent. She has two kids now and still grimaces when her husband says something in English, frequently calling him 'country brute!' I laughed out loud at that, but it brought back my own dilemma to me.
When I came back to India in the turn of the century, I met with a lot of language fanaticism. Tamil people were openly critical of me, in some cases, derisive. I would have been accepting of this if their ire had been directed at my faulty Tamil. But what baffled me was that they had a problem with my fluency in English. One of the derisive labels that was in vogue then and still hasn't died away is 'Peter'. I'm guessing it's a nod to the British influence on language in India. I hated that term. Even as a teenager, I sensed that deep down, these people were ashamed of their broken English, which is why they adopted fanaticism- as a defense.
Last month, I was visited by the man who installed the fibre sheets on our car shed. He wanted to learn English, was enthusiastic about it even. He talked about being able to speak fluently in meetings and conducting business deals with style. I administered an assessment to see where he needed help. His performance was worse than poor. A college graduate, he could not construct a full sentence. I looked at his mostly empty answer sheet without expression. But before I could say anything, he started off on an analogy of how car driving is similar to language; how he couldn't maneuver hair pin bends before but can now, how a gap of a few years can make one rusty... He finished by saying in a tone of derision that after all, Tamil was more important since we are Tamilians. That's when I knew how ashamed he was. He insisted on taking his answer sheet with him and he never turned up again. In all this, he didn't let me get a word in.
As a teacher, one of the most important qualities I value in the field is being non-judgmental. The job asks us to impart knowledge, not to make people feel bad about their lack of it. That is simply ridiculous. Yet people have their own deep rooted shame. I've come to understand that no one who can appreciate the beauty of their own language could ever look down upon another. It's their shame which makes them defensive and derisive. An added dimension to this in Indian culture is the hostility leftover from British colonial rule. It doesn't help at all that their language has become global and needs to be used if one must survive in so many economic areas locally.
Coming back to me, and where all this began, I realized that when we talk about language, we're talking about culture. And culture is not region specific or race specific, in these times. I am Tamil and I am English, in different ways. Like many people today, I am an amalgamation. It is not impossible to connect with someone who's had a totally different upbringing. I have wonderful friends who are culturally different. But when it comes to a partner, my personal priorities do not include the vast gaps between cultures- territories would have to be left untouched, territories that are important to me, that someone I live with must have embraced in their own lives to understand. So no, to my relief, I've come to understand that I am not a snob. I love languages irrespective of their origins, I respect people irrespective of their linguistic skills and I connect with people irrespective of their mother tongues. I won't apologize for my priorities- to want to sit across from someone over a breakfast table and debate with them about quantum physics and its implications on spirituality- something I cannot do in Tamil, is not wrong, it's just me.
So there you have it. Not a snob. Phew. On to the next question.
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Leaping Frogs
In my favorite sitcom Frasier, there's a sketch where Frasier is inspired by the leap year to take 'leaps', by which he means doing something new, or those things that you've always held back from attempting. After all the people he encouraged to take leaps crashed and burned, he chickens out from his own leap- by deciding to sing a simple ditty instead of the complex aria he had originally planned on live TV. When confronted, he frantically spits out, "It's an unwise man who doesn't learn from his own mistakes but it is an absolute idiot who doesn't learn from other people's." It's a really funny bit, especially since he forgets the words to the ditty and bungles his way through it. (Do watch!)
One of the reasons why I so cherish this show is because of these little bits of wisdom that are so breezily inserted into the seemingly light-hearted script. This line, about learning from other people's experiences, for example, is gold.
There are times when we shamelessly exploit this. In school, especially. If a teacher had to be approached, how many of us haven't selected a sacrificial lamb from among our friends, led the poor creature to the door of the staff room, and shoved them in with, "You go first, go ask, go!"? If the specimen came out roasted alive, battered and bruised, then the entire group would scatter like ants. That's how we first learnt to learn from experience.
It also happens when you're in a queue, doesn't it? You're standing in line, looking ahead and you see how the people in front of you get treated by the teller. If it's a disgruntled government employee snapping at everyone like a pitbull on a diet, you know there's no point smiling at the person when it's your turn. You also find out that you'll get a dirty death glare if you don't tender the exact change. Many are the times I have been terrified into digging into my purse for coins long before I reached the spot.
In spite of all this experience, however, I recently decided to take a leap of my own. I joined Tinder.
For those of you who aren't familiar with it, it's a dating app that displays people who have signed up to it within a certain radius of your location. Swiping left rejects the profile, swiping right can lead to a match, and you start chatting.
Three days in, and I feel like one of Frasier's unfortunate friends. At first, I took one look at the dozens and dozens of men lined up to chat and seriously considered "It's Raining Men" for my ringtone. In fact, I felt a growing inferiority complex reading the descriptions. 'Entrepreneur', 'Adrenaline Junkie', 'Designer', 'Free Spirit', 'Nomad', 'Adventure freak'... sometimes all in one profile! It sounded like these hordes of men were all jumping off cliffs, flying through the air with makeshift wings, wading through rivers teeming with life, catching fish with their teeth and still making a few lakhs a month by selling their incredible designs. Reality is not just an eye-opener, it also spits in that open eye. For this, I blame evolution. Maturity should have had an organ all of its own. Then at least some people could get transplants. Now, there's no hope for them. None at all.
So now, it's not raining at all. Or rather, I curled my lip at the whole scenario and went indoors. Goodbye, Tinder! Leaping isn't for everyone. For frogs, yes. For all the Tarzans on Tinder, yes. My feet's on the ground for now.
There are times when we shamelessly exploit this. In school, especially. If a teacher had to be approached, how many of us haven't selected a sacrificial lamb from among our friends, led the poor creature to the door of the staff room, and shoved them in with, "You go first, go ask, go!"? If the specimen came out roasted alive, battered and bruised, then the entire group would scatter like ants. That's how we first learnt to learn from experience.
It also happens when you're in a queue, doesn't it? You're standing in line, looking ahead and you see how the people in front of you get treated by the teller. If it's a disgruntled government employee snapping at everyone like a pitbull on a diet, you know there's no point smiling at the person when it's your turn. You also find out that you'll get a dirty death glare if you don't tender the exact change. Many are the times I have been terrified into digging into my purse for coins long before I reached the spot.
In spite of all this experience, however, I recently decided to take a leap of my own. I joined Tinder.
For those of you who aren't familiar with it, it's a dating app that displays people who have signed up to it within a certain radius of your location. Swiping left rejects the profile, swiping right can lead to a match, and you start chatting.
Three days in, and I feel like one of Frasier's unfortunate friends. At first, I took one look at the dozens and dozens of men lined up to chat and seriously considered "It's Raining Men" for my ringtone. In fact, I felt a growing inferiority complex reading the descriptions. 'Entrepreneur', 'Adrenaline Junkie', 'Designer', 'Free Spirit', 'Nomad', 'Adventure freak'... sometimes all in one profile! It sounded like these hordes of men were all jumping off cliffs, flying through the air with makeshift wings, wading through rivers teeming with life, catching fish with their teeth and still making a few lakhs a month by selling their incredible designs. Reality is not just an eye-opener, it also spits in that open eye. For this, I blame evolution. Maturity should have had an organ all of its own. Then at least some people could get transplants. Now, there's no hope for them. None at all.
So now, it's not raining at all. Or rather, I curled my lip at the whole scenario and went indoors. Goodbye, Tinder! Leaping isn't for everyone. For frogs, yes. For all the Tarzans on Tinder, yes. My feet's on the ground for now.
Wednesday, April 27, 2016
Hear me Rant!
Ranting is very satisfying. Personally, I could rant for pages. Whenever I write, I stop myself when the piece takes a turn towards that area and track back. For as much as I would love to indulge, I know how difficult it is to read/listen to a rant. Sometimes, I log into Facebook and look longingly at the small rectangle that says, "What's on your mind?" Oh, if you only knew...
Ranting and righteousness go hand in hand. It's a symbiosis with the tag line "I'm SO right, the world MUST know!" It's a childlike instinct that is quite amusing. When Indians indulge, it's downright hilarious, but in an endearing way. With our emphatic head nods, exaggerated expressions, large sweeping hand gestures and faulty volume control, witnessing one of our own justifying their side of the story is nothing short of dramatic entertainment. I've often played the part of the sympathetic listener, so I know.
My mom is usually the person I rant to. But even she lets her eyes glaze over midway. It's a huge blow to the concept of unconditional love, I tell you. As to what I rant about, aah, now we get to the meaty bit.
This is the part where, if you have any sense, you'll stop reading and make a run for it. But then, drama beats sense any day. I hope.
Of late, I've been meeting people who seem to have one goal- inducting me into their faith. Since I deal with these people officially, and because I like to think I'm a nice person, I don't tell them to shut the heck up, for the love of God! I don't understand faith that needs propagating. Seriously. To me, faith is the silent smile of a true saint, the steadiness of gravity beneath my feet, the strength that comes from help given and received, the perfect contentment of knowledge gained by experience. It is never heard, only felt. It cannot be spoken, only radiated. And please! Just because I don't speak about faith, doesn't mean I don't have one. Which brings me to my second rant.
When I ask many people their opinion about a topic, they seem to think I'm an ignoramus seeking enlightenment. It's SO infuriating to be lectured to like a child when I've been reading voraciously since the age of 4 and hello, living life since I was born! I think that's one of the reasons I really love talking to my brother. He's the only person I've ever met who always, ALWAYS, tells me what he thinks and then turns around to ask me what I think. What is intelligence without open-mindedness, confidence without humility? Infuriating. He taught me that.
And this is how a rant usually ends if you're lucky. You realize you have something or someone who lifts you out of it. My mom, who never insists I follow her religion, siblings who give my thoughts weight, friends who share without shame...
You know, sometimes, silver linings come in the form of golden people.
This is the part where, if you have any sense, you'll stop reading and make a run for it. But then, drama beats sense any day. I hope.
Of late, I've been meeting people who seem to have one goal- inducting me into their faith. Since I deal with these people officially, and because I like to think I'm a nice person, I don't tell them to shut the heck up, for the love of God! I don't understand faith that needs propagating. Seriously. To me, faith is the silent smile of a true saint, the steadiness of gravity beneath my feet, the strength that comes from help given and received, the perfect contentment of knowledge gained by experience. It is never heard, only felt. It cannot be spoken, only radiated. And please! Just because I don't speak about faith, doesn't mean I don't have one. Which brings me to my second rant.
When I ask many people their opinion about a topic, they seem to think I'm an ignoramus seeking enlightenment. It's SO infuriating to be lectured to like a child when I've been reading voraciously since the age of 4 and hello, living life since I was born! I think that's one of the reasons I really love talking to my brother. He's the only person I've ever met who always, ALWAYS, tells me what he thinks and then turns around to ask me what I think. What is intelligence without open-mindedness, confidence without humility? Infuriating. He taught me that.
And this is how a rant usually ends if you're lucky. You realize you have something or someone who lifts you out of it. My mom, who never insists I follow her religion, siblings who give my thoughts weight, friends who share without shame...
You know, sometimes, silver linings come in the form of golden people.
Wednesday, April 20, 2016
Question everything.
Me: I think I may have been deceived today...
Ego: I know! The outrage! It is unacceptable, humiliating, unbearable.
Me: It is?
Ego: Yes, it is. We feel bad.
Me: My chest feels tight. There's a sinking feeling in my stomach now. You're right, I feel bad.
Ego: See! See what they did to us? They made us feel bad! We must heap curses on them. We must make our outrage be known. Think about what they did!
Me: I am.
Ego: Replay it, over and over.
Me: That just makes me feel worse.
Ego: Further proof of how much they've hurt us!
Me: Their deception doesn't really harm me though, does it?
Ego: Yes it does! We feel bad! Bad!
Me: Um... I know there are people of questionable character out there. So why...?
Ego: So? It's US! They deceived US! We're humiliated.
Me: I'm not. You seem to be.
Ego: Us! US!
Me: No. You're making me feel bad. Not them.
Ego: It's them. All them! Humiliation. Bad. Feel shame. Us. They did.
Me: Stop ranting. Tell me this- what purpose does humiliation serve?
Ego: What?...
Me: In fact, what purpose do you serve? I feel my heart and it does not hurt. I touch my mind and it is at peace. You are making all the noise here. So tell me- what purpose do you serve?
Ego:
Me: Silence suits you. Step back, and stay there.
Monday, March 14, 2016
Cure
Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. But then there comes a time when life demands that you arm yourself with knowledge. I never thought that cancer was a word that would become a part of my family's vocabulary, but it did. We armed ourselves, but we ran out of time. We lost.
In retrospect, I wish I'd had some basic knowledge so that that period of time hadn't caught me so unawares and afraid. But we Indians are a superstitious lot sometimes. We imagine not knowing means being safe :) I did too.smile emotico I did too.
In retrospect, I wish I'd had some basic knowledge so that that period of time hadn't caught me so unawares and afraid. But we Indians are a superstitious lot sometimes. We imagine not knowing means being safe :) I did too.smile emotico I did too.
This is just a short write-up of what I found. Putting it out there just so its there, for someone.
Cancer is a mutation of normal tissue cells. It is not a virus that shuts one down. It's not a monster. That's the message that pharmas have propagated, just as they've suppressed knowledge of all the natural cures that are available. If ever the need arises, then these are the cures that one must research. Of these, the first has excellent reviews. The next three, I've heard of successful cases. The last three may help; I do not know much except what I read online.
1) Cannibas oil
2) Black strap molasses
3) Sodium Bicarbonate
4) Aloe vera, with honey and brandy.
5) Carrot juice
6) Shimoga ayurvedic cure
7) Soursop fruit
Cancer is a mutation of normal tissue cells. It is not a virus that shuts one down. It's not a monster. That's the message that pharmas have propagated, just as they've suppressed knowledge of all the natural cures that are available. If ever the need arises, then these are the cures that one must research. Of these, the first has excellent reviews. The next three, I've heard of successful cases. The last three may help; I do not know much except what I read online.
1) Cannibas oil
2) Black strap molasses
3) Sodium Bicarbonate
4) Aloe vera, with honey and brandy.
5) Carrot juice
6) Shimoga ayurvedic cure
7) Soursop fruit
I was told that some of these cures can themselves be used for prevention, especially the natural ones like aloe vera or even the molasses. Of course, purity of diet is important. That's physical. At the emotional level, if that is part of your belief system, the best prevention for any dis-ease is healing internal hurt. If you would like more specific details of what causes what dis-ease in the body, you might be interested in this- Causes of Dis-ease: Alchemy of healing .For cancer, it arises from "Deep hurt. Longstanding resentment. Deep secret or grief eating away at the self. Carrying hatred."
Saturday, March 5, 2016
Sadhguru
I've never read something so true for me coming from another person before, except that I am still entangled. Beautiful and simple words.
"If you are looking for justice, you will die of anger, believe me. There is no other way because there is no such thing in human societies, unless you believe what other people tell you. If you are able to see how people function, what they do within the family, in the social structure, in the nation, in the world, you will only die of anger. So, [as a youth] I was raging within myself. Fortunately, my involvement with finding expression limited itself to attending revolutionary meetings and sticking posters at the university. I did not go to the extent of picking up the gun. A few of my friends did and they went all the way, one of them became a prominent leader and was killed about two years ago. I was so angry with the way the world functions – how much deception, how much injustice, how many uncaring ways of functioning, how human beings treat each other, how human beings treat every other creature on this planet. All this made me suffocated and angry.
"If the coolness of enlightenment did not happen, I would have died of anger. There was so much rage in me. I did not display it in my daily life but I think my blood was not at normal temperature. Inside every vein in my body, every artery in my body was burning because I saw discrimination, injustice, deception, just in everything. It took a certain dimension of perception to look at the other aspect of life – not just of human beings – but of the creation and the source of creation. How beautiful it is, how compassionate it is, how absolutely incredible it is. If that dimension had not opened up for me, whatever expression my anger found, I can assure you one thing – I would have been efficient and that would not be good. That is why the spiritual process is so vital for our existence. Either you have to be insensitive or spiritual, otherwise you will only be angry.
"If you become sensitive, conscious and not enlightened, it is a horrible place to live. If you are absolutely ignorant, it is quite fine. If you are enlightened, it is fantastic. In between – I have been there – it is not a good place to be. So, what does it take? The spiritual process has always been associated with renunciation. Again, one badly misunderstood word. People think to renounce means, ‘I have to give up everything.’ No, it is like you renounced your mother’s womb to become an infant, you renounced your infancy to become a child, you renounced your childhood to become a youth, you renounced your youth to become middle-aged, you renounced your middle-age to become old age, you renounced old age to become the grave; unless you are already a very grave person. You will anyway do it. If you do it consciously, gracefully, then we say that is renunciation. Otherwise, we say it is entanglement. If you are constantly renouncing – that is, something smaller is falling away and something larger is becoming apparent to you – this is renunciation. Renunciation means you gave up petty things and moved on to bigger things and you continue to do it. This is renunciation; that you are not an entanglement."
- Sadhguru JV
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