Bharathidasan's poem...

கூடத்திலே மனப்பாடத்திலே - விழி
கூடி கிடந்திடும் ஆணழகை,
ஓடை குளிர் மலர் பார்வயினால் - அவள்
உண்ணதலைப்படும் நேரத்திலே,
பாடம் படித்து நிமிர்ந்தவனின் விழி - தனில்
பட்டுத் தெறித்தது மானின் விழி,
ஆடை திருத்தி நின்றாள் அவள்தான் - இவன்
ஆயிரம் ஏடுகள் புரட்டுகின்றான!

He sits in the court-yard
down-cast eyes engrossed in study;
She arrives, a flower in a cool stream,
casting her gaze upon the handsome vision,
overwhelmed by a desire to imbibe the moment;
Rising from his notes,
his glance falls upon doe-like eyes;
Startled, her bashful hands guard her slipping veil,
as a thousand pages flutter past!

Having a resident Tamil expert enables me to go crazy with my translations! My mom remembered the last four lines and the first line of this poem by Bharathidasan. She said her Tamil Professor's words still echo in her head :) And to make up for my lack of originality (w.r.t writing poems), I attempt to translate what I admire in the original...

Some of the allusions and charm in the original Tamil poem have been altered because of the translation. Apologies for the same.

Note: The Tamil font here is best viewed in Internet Explorer. Personally prefer Firefox but not sure how to get Quillpad and FF to join hands!

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Mr. and Mrs. Iyer

What is it about the wild and the unpredictable that inspires a kind of wonder? Is it an illusion that movies attempt to create just because, well...it is different, curiously romantic perhaps or is life worth-while because of these strange, inexplicable moments created by a different class of men in a different set of situations? Consider the dependable husband who works nine to five and takes his wife out maybe on a Saturday to a movie, his attempt at the art of "romancing" - his character is often discarded as the mundane, the ho-hum role in a movie worth five minutes of screen time. That's understandable I guess because this poor guy's character is so common in life. Every second or third man probably does that. But then, consider the rash and undependable college chap who sports a never-shaven-before chin at all times and now you have a character worth focusing on (or at least used to be before that too became routine)!

Or consider the pensive, intelligent wild-life photographer who falls in love with a traditional Tamil Brahmin girl in Mr. & Mrs. Iyer. Now, we have a story! And what a story it is! The tangible chemistry that fills the space around them leaves me mesmerized each time I watch the movie. I watched the movie a second time today and it reminded me of Bridges of Madison County (a woman quite contended to be a wife to a husband who loves her the best he can, the only way he knows to love her and enter the "mystery-man" who she can relate to in a way she knows she never can with her husband - now, there's something that doesn't happen often in life or does it?)...what is it with wild life photographers anyway that make them so special? All the travel makes them perceptive, sensitive, intelligent in an irresistible sort of way(?). In movies at least.

The scene in the train when Rahul Bose leans towards Konkana Sen and she stutters and speaks incoherently while trying to mask her own feelings is so real...I can almost feel what she feels at that moment.

"Menakshi..."

"That's not the way my name is pronounced, you know?"

"How is it pronounced dear?", with a smile to kill.

"Meenakshi. Meen in Tamil means fish..."

"M e e n a k s h i...", there can be beauty and tenderness even in the way a person says your name. And Rahul Bose says it the way a lover would to his beloved. A wistful sigh, a whispered melody, unsaid dreams, in that one word.

"I have that lens in my bag...fish eye lens"

and we understand the turbulence, the conflicts Meenakshi experiences just by catching a glimpse of her eyes. Words cannot match what she emotes. Each time I watch that scene, I hold my breath wanting them to say something, anything at all, to hug tightly, to weep on each other's shoulders...

Or the other train sequence where he describes his next photography assignment to Meenakshi and she asks worriedly,

"Will you be alone?"

He watches her closely and asks, "Why do you want to know that?"

And she looks away unable to admit what she feels for him. A few minutes of conversation later, she asks the same question and he says,

"Alone. Unless you come with me..."

It takes a strong woman not to agree to go with him, that moment...(and somehow if she had agreed to go with him, the essence of the scene would have been lost).

Or the scene in the forest,

"The caretaker told me you had packed and left..."

And he asks calmly, "And did you believe him?"

Now, that's romance. Classic. Subtle. Powerful.

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The I-dont-know-why...look

Having your in-laws stay with you and working at the same office makes for some interesting situations. So, for the past few days, k has been working pretty late into the night. Every evening k's mom makes hot tea for all of us and "bete ka raah dekhkhe" she waits for us to return back home. And she is pretty disappointed that her poor lil' son does not get to drink his evening tea. I understand now where k gets his "I-prefer-to-be-served-while-staring-at-favorite-spot-from-couch" attitude.

Anyway, in the afternoons she has super-thin rotis, daal and subji waiting for us. Past few days I have been driving home alone for lunch (There is no way I am going to eye a subway when I have this kind of food waiting at home :p). And today too, I drove back alone and after lunch, we packed a hearty meal for k.

After I reached work, k's dad called up to remind me about their India ticket booking. And then he asked, "Did Kamal have his lunch?"

I walked over to k's cube and saw that he was with his manager, no doubt discussing the numerous bugs in k's code (To be fair, he is a much better programmer than I am but for the purposes of this narration, it's more fun to assume otherwise :p).

So anyway, I change my mind and am about to walk away when the evil-me in my head (rubbing hands in glee) tells me to go ahead anyway and interrupt their discussion. So, I walk over and k acts all I-don't-know-why-my-wife-interrupts-me-when-am-busy-at-work and ignores me. So, I clear my throat and go, "Hey Kamal"

His manager stops talking and they both stare at me. I get the feeling k is getting ready to throw his "Do-I-know-you?" look, call it intuition but am pretty sure I got that right, considering that I have now been exposed to almost all of his "looks", you know the ones that go all hyphenated...So, k and his manager both give me the "Duh, don't you see this video bug is far more crucial in the grand scope of things?!" look.

And then I say,

"Your dad called me to remind you to have your lunch."

And I look pointedly for a second at k's perfectly packed lunch bag and then walk back with a flourish to my cube, but not before I catch his manager grinning at k and k's face just beginning to turn all flushed and sheepish (surely in the realization that he should perhaps not ignore his wife the next time she interrupts him. Especially not with a "I-don't-know-why...etc" look :)

What fun. Work rocks, sometimes.

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The Art of Entertaining.

I miss the simple world. Where people said what they meant and meant what they said. Where words stood true to their meaning. Where things were black or white...

I was watching Shree 420 with my family (Finally I have enough people at home to count as a solid family, somehow 2 just didn't cut it) and the simple scenes and clean humor brought back a kind of old world charm to life. Where people could laugh at Charlie-Chaplin style routines and dialogues were simple yet powerful and could evoke merriment without double-entendres and...loudness. I enjoyed seeing the "Do aane ka theen-theen aane ka do" dialogue for the umpteenth time.

Anyway what I miss are not just surreal moments on screen; I miss the life our parents describe. Where people would sit on the thinnai and talk, when people had the time to do it. The time to not be so self-absorbed. My mom says my thatha often said, "Oorar kozhandaiya ooti valatha, thann kozhanda thaana valarum", I wonder if people still believe in that adage? It seems to me, we have a dull and defined formula we have imprisoned ourselves with - Study, get a job, car, then the American dream house and then kids-daycare-job-India-trips... later, we will probably find ourselves right where we left...wondering if there should have been more to "life"?

My parents often used to talk of times when my patti used to cook for the whole town. My thatha had this habit of bringing home unexpected guests for dinner and while my thatha and his friends talked into the night, my patti would somehow manage to make dinner for the household (which was big to begin with - my thatha's sister and her kids stayed with my thatha, patti and their three kids) and the additional guests. Sometimes they didn't have enough to cook that night, but they somehow managed to cook and feed good food to the family and guests. And this was daily routine. This art of entertaining.

It seems to me, we are losing this art. While adding levels of convenience to our own routines (Can you please call before you come? How about a potluck? Can we get together weekend instead of weekday? I doubt I'll have time to cook on Monday!), we have lost the spontaneity and I guess...simple happiness that comes from sharing, from putting in a heart-felt effort to please someone expecting nothing in return.

After all, what is defined as happiness I guess is just the ability to lose oneself in a process...to be so involved that our senses are engrossed in that one thought and rhythm, like cooking. What better than the colors, texture, little measurements and aroma of our kitchens to create the zen that we read about in magazines?!

What if the whole point of the meeting is to entertain, to attempt to bring a little bit of joy to someone else, to kick back and settle down to the comfortable sounds of laughter and good humour. Not with an agenda - not for a baby-shower, reception or a "planned" event in a "planned" life. Just a get together to meet.

What if we meet just once and forget to look at the time? If it's late, it is and maybe we just don't care? Maybe we don't have an agenda planned for the next day, maybe we just eat ice cream and settle down for another movie? And maybe we just relax in good company...

To talk. Of simple things. To eat. To laugh. To entertain. That's it. Nothing more. Nothing less.

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Lost in translation.

k's mom: "Why does your mother call me mummy?"
RS: "She does?"
k's mom: "Yeah, mummy, mummy, that's how she calls me"
Just then, my mom enters the kitchen and says, "Oh maami already made tea"

I have an aha moment and I attempt to resolve confusion. After hearing my explanation,

k's dad: "So younger people can call older people maama and maami?"
RS: "Yes, also older people"
k's dad to k: "So younger people can call older people mama and maami. Like we say kaaka and kaaki"
k: "No" (he usually refrains from playing 20 questions with his parents and my mom. He goes back to staring at his favorite-vacant-spot-on-the-wall from the couch)
RS: "Also older people..."
k's dad: "So everyone can call everyone maama and mami?"
k's mom: "Whose maama?"
RS: "Not everyone..."
Meanwhile, k's mom and dad laugh at their joke, "Whose maama?" (Kiske maama?)
k's mom: "So, if Deepak kaka and Mahesh kaka are in the same room, we would have to say Maama, maama, maama"

K's mom and dad giggle again.

(I am reminded of a very similar conversation earlier that week,
k: "Ramya's patti..."
k's mom: "Patti?"
k: "Means grandmother..."
k's mom: "So it is patti and patta?"
k (looks confused): "I think so...no, wait a minute"
And after fifteen minutes we resolved that confusion.)

(Yet another conversation transpired like this:

RS to mom: "Amma nee kathala oatmeal saapdu..."
k's mom: "Teri mummy ko abhi oatmeal chahiye?"
RS: "Subah ko oatmeal khayegi"
My mom: "Adhu awkwarda irukum"
RS: "Yen?"
My mom (shaking her head): "Subha veetla edukku naan oatmeal sapadnum?"
k's mom: "Teri mummy ko oatmeal nahi chahiye?"
RS: "No oatmeal for anyone!")

Back to the current vernacular topic of discussion, I wait for them to stop laughing and then explain again,
"Younger kids and older people can call older people maama and maami"
k's dad: "Ohh, like uncle and aunty"
RS: "Exactly!"

A day later, we were getting ready to leave the house and k's mom had to call my mom; she hesitated for a few moments, cleared her throat and said, "Maaaami!"

And that moment is when k decided to stop-staring-at-vacant-spot-on-wall and take a few pics :)

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