Kuruntokai, Verse 42

The verses of the Kuruntokai are beautiful, I couldn't resist posting them
especially on Valentines day :-)

Verse 42 :

What her friend said to him -
"Even if passion should pass,
Like the great midnight rain which beats down
with thunder and lightning
and makes a waterfall resound through a cave,
would our love also pass
with passion ? "
Poet: Kapilar

Translation, courtesy AK Ramanujam

Perfection

My favourite book, without a doubt is Siddhartha, that is an answer I will give without blinking.
Here are some of my favourite passages from Siddhartha -

The world, Govinda, is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a long path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment; very sin already carries grace within it, all small children are potential old men, all sucklings have death within them, all dying people – eternal life. During deep meditation it is possible to dispel time, to see simultaneously all the past, present and future, and then everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman. Therefore, it seems to me that every that exists is good – death as well as life, sin as well as holiness, wisdom as well as folly. Everything is necessary, every thing needs only my agreement, my assent, my loving understanding; then all is well with me and nothing can harm me.
He saw the face of a newly born child, red and full of wrinkles,
ready to cry. He saw the face of a murderer, saw him plunge a knife into
the body of a man; at the same moment he saw this criminal kneeling
down, bound, and his head cut off by an executioner. He saw the naked
bodies of men and women in postures and transports of passionate love. He saw corpses stretched out, still, cold, empty.-Chapter 12, pg. 121
He saw all these forms and faces in a thousand relationships
to each other, all helping each other, loving, hating, destroying each other
and become newly born. Each one of them was mortal, a passionate,
painful example of all that was transitory. Yet none of them died, they
only changed, were always reborn, continually had a new face: only time
stood between one face and another. - Chapter 12, pg. 121

Of tongue-twisters and baby-speak

Recently , at a lazy Sunday lunch with friends, when the sky was overcast and we had an endless day ahead created just for idle conversation, the topic turned to kurals.
To me, the Thirukkural brings back memories of hearing my classmates reel off tongue twisters, verses which we imagined were created just to torture our tender six year old vocal cords.
Those of you who, like my friends, have mastered the art of saying "vazhapazham" imagining that they were repeating "waterplum" with mouths full of water, take note. This is an Olympic-scale version of that battle.
Maybe it is the nostalgia induced by living faraway, changed literary sensibilities, or a renewed love for the mother tongue, but the Kural verses have begun interesting me. Many of them fall in the gray areas between poetry and scripture, reflection and teaching, how-it-is and what-should-you-do. Although it is very different from current day Tamil,the words of the Kural exist as time capsules of the language that was spoken two thousand years ago.

One of the offbeat Kural's that I love is this one :

"Kuzhal inidhu yaazh, inidhu enbatham makkaL,
Mazhalai sol keLaadhavar. "

(English Translation)

"Those who speak of the sweetness of the flute and lute
Have never heard the lisping speech of a child."

The translation is close but it fails to capture the (fittingly)
musical syllables in the verse, nor is there a good
English equivalent which conveys the poetry of the word "Mazhalai".

However, for the phonetically-challenged folks who simply cannot forgive the sadistic Stone Age linguist who created the "zh" sound , the translation would do just fine.

Rest in Peace, Dr. Slatton

I just heard the tragic news that my professor and Master's research advisor passed away.It is tough to imagine how his family- including five very young children, must be feeling right now. I still can't believe that this brilliant person and amazing human being who was standing before our class and teaching us the intricacies of machine learning just one year ago is now no more.
I can never forget my most unusual Master's Thesis Defense - Dr.Slatton was so sick with advanced chemotherapy that I had to present the defense at his house. His children, 4 active boys and a sweet girl were very curious about my presentation,and his little girl was my main audience.What remains in my mind is his enthusiasm about my research and interest in my further education even when he was in such intense pain. It must have been a tremendous effort to forget how the vision blurred in your right eye or how painful it was to even move your hands to focus on a graduate students first fumbling attempt at doing research.
Dr. Slatton, you were really a brilliant professor with many of the highest awards and feathers in your cap at a young age.But what also set you apart were the human qualities that you retained even when death was so close.The patience and attention you gave to all your research scholars.The kindness, humour and firm-gentleness with which you dealt with your class even at trying moments.The humility and lightness with which you carried your gifts even after achieving so much, so early.
You will be missed, may you rest in peace.

Peace my heart...

Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet.
Let it not be a death but completeness.
Let love melt into memory and pain into songs.
Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest.
Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night.
Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence.
I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.

~Rabindranath Tagore

Haiku #4 : Fireflies

The dim verandah lamp
Fireflies move in circles
Seeking larger suns.

Haiku #3

Home,just a notion
Even stars move their places
In the night sky.

Winter Thoughts : Haiku Resumes :)

Winter Thoughts

Silence (powdery/granular/white)
settles;Burying everything
These conversations with the sky.