The dance

I have written multiple times about our daily walks through our neighbourhood, and posted photos to prove just how beautiful it is to live surrounded by nature. But, it is not always peachy.  When living in the middle of nature (even if fast depleting), one cannot avoid close encounters with wild life.  While larger life forms (monkeys, deer, jackals that eat kittens (heartbreaking story, not be written), bandicoots that steal cat food) etc. don’t pose a threat (unless you are eating an icecream in the open), the smaller ones can be a nuisance.  For example, the “krrrrrrnnnnnccchh” noise that results when you stamp a millipede, while walking with your head in the air can make you sit cross legged for days.  Now and then, especially after it has rained heavily, your footwear, even open ones, could be resting grounds for life forms that biteth like a serpent and stingeth like the adder.  Sometimes there ARE serpents and adders, that engage in combat dancing outside your yard, which fascinates and freaks you out simultaneously. Very often, a caterpillar (kambili puchi in tamil) could have taken a stroll along the outdoor clothes line, and when you wear, what appear to be squeaky clean and fresh smelling clothes, your body could break into a thousand hives that itch and burn that you wonder if deforestation may not be a bad idea after all.

Sometimes when you walk alongside an avenue of trees, and you are at the age when your eyes take a couple of seconds to shift focus from long-to short-distance vision (and you refuse to see an ophthalmologist), you may not really notice the tiny green worm that is hanging ahead of you by a near invisible thread from the branches overhead, until it strikes your face.  By some divine intervention, the worm usually misses the eyes, but may brush against your hair or cheeks and leave you itchy for the rest of the day.  But when you are lucky, what hangs at the end of the line of spider silk is not a worm, but a leaf, and if you had the leisure, as W.H. Davies would say, to stand and stare, you can see it dance in air, to the music of the breeze.

Yesterday, when dude and I were on our walk, we saw one such leaf.  Dude videotaped it and gave it music to which to dance (romantic fellow – Dude, not the leaf).


Isn’t it beautiful?


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Fruitful monsoon


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A thousand words

hopeI recently read a profound (which means, obvious, but oft forgotten) quote in a blog on my WP reader that went “Privilege is invisible to those who have it”.  That quote is applicable to practically every good thing on earth – health, wealth, happiness, love…name it.

I live in a beautiful neighbourhood, whose beauty is often overlooked in the humdrum of daily existence.  But when the sun peeps out after a bout of monsoon rains, it is impossible to overlook the beauty.

During our walk this morning…




play of light


Can you see a neem leaf that is hanging by a spider’s thread in the foreground?

hanging lea


More pictures of our life at the dude’s Instagram.  Hop over.

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காதல் கணங்கள்


Verse in Tamil by the dude…

Originally posted on அருண் நரசிம்மன்:

அலறும் மலரைப் போல
அலர்ந்த அருணனைப் போல
நீலவண்ணக் குளிரைப் போல
நீந்திவரும் நெருப்பைப் போல
நேற்று ஒலித்த கனவைப் போல
நைச்சிய நிழலைப் போல
காதல் கணங்கள்.

காத்திருந்த கன்னிவெடி போல
கால்மாறிய நாட்டியம் போல
பொங்கிவிட்ட பொழுதைப் போல
புன்னகைத்த புலியைப் போல
பகலிற் புகுந்த கள்வனைப் போல
புத்தம்புதிய பாக்குவெட்டிப் போல
காதல் கணங்கள்.

சிக்கிமுக்கிச் சிறகைப் போல
சிலந்திவலை சீற்றம் போல
பரமபத சோபனம் போல
பங்குசந்தைப் பதாகை போல
பாய்ந்துவரும் பட்டொளி போல
பாதி நமுத்தப் பழங்கதை போல
காதல் கணங்கள்.

நலுங்கிவிட்ட நளினம் போல
மழுங்கிவிட்ட மௌனம் போல
நாற்பதைக் கண்ட நாய் போல
நாலும் தெரிந்த குழந்தை போல
மேகதூத மேட்டிமைப் போல
மேலைக்காற்றின் மௌட்டீகம் போல
காதல் கணங்கள்.

பயமிலா கவிதை போல
முகமிலா மோட்சம் போல
பொருள்படா புதினம் போல
போன சென்ம புத்தன் போல
மரத்தில் மறைந்த மாமதம் போல
மனத்துள் மணந்த மன மதனைப் போல
காதல் கணங்கள்.


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The Ballad of the man with the curly hair

Preamble:  Trying my hand with Ballads.  The grammar for Ballad, as gathered from Wikipedia is thus:

Most northern and west European ballads are written in ballad stanzas or quatrains (four-line stanzas) of alternating lines of iambic (an unstressed followed by a stressed syllable) tetrameter (eight syllables) and iambic trimeter (six syllables), known as ballad meter. Usually, only the second and fourth line of a quatrain are rhymed (in the scheme a, b, c, b)


The ballad of the man with the curly hair


I sit before a pile of tomes

Trying so hard to read

Afore me sits a handsome man

Paying me quite no heed


His fiery eyes down on his book

A frown upon his brow

I wonder what the books did say

That keeps him focused so.


His curly hair in swirls and whirls

Dark as the land of Hades,

A smile appears on his thin lips

But soon after, it fades


I wonder if he saw me stare

I wonder if he knew

With the handsome face he has,

It just couldn’t be new.


I drop my gaze back to my book

Lest my ogle burns through him

But words in it find wings and fly

And some grow fins to swim


I look up from my book again

Against my will’s rebuke

That moment as if by chance

His eyes give me a look.


Two pairs of eyes, all burning bright

A moment’s all they stayed

In stock still time, all noise did cease

A moment, fully made


But just that time, walks up to him

A woman, sweet and young

Her face lights up at the sight of him

As if spring just had sprung


Her light bounces from his face too

His smile speaking of loves

As he and she rise up to leave

I see they fit like gloves


They’d be together, through thick and thin

Till death will do them part,

They’d see together, good and bad

They’d know the other by heart.


And then when life’s monotony

Did hide their love from them

When kisses lose their heat to time

Like siblings they become


Then the man with the curly hair

May think in love of me

That moment when the world stood still

Would appear as his key


As they leave the room this day,

I pity the pretty dame

She has him now, but when she fades,

I’ll remain the flame.


Consummate love, as legend goes,

Can bind and swathe you see

But in this world, it is but true

Unfulfilled love is free



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The apple does not fall far from the tree, does it?
PS: For the uninformed, valar is the pseudonym of my offspring.

Originally posted on Valar's blog:

A very cool thing is Joblessing

Joblessing is a heavenly blessing

when we feel bored and sad,

grumpy, scared, agonised or mad

Joblessing is here to save the day

So come on and jobless away

The beauty of this art is there re no rules

Your brain and curiosity are  the only tools

Research a movie’s critical ratings or

Find some blogs galore

If internet’s down make a doodle book

There’s something to do, take a good look

I am the queen of the joblessing trend

If you like it then you’ve found a friend,

With us joblessing will never end

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Words scamper in and out

For a tale to carry through

To give them meaning, reason and rhyme

A vision, a point of view.


A story, an epic, a legend, or yarn

Of despair or of strife

Of tears, of joys, of pleasure and pain

Man and woman, death and life


The lust to tell a tale aloud

Ignites my soul and scalds my mind

Words wound for want of break

And run amuck, completely blind


If words be bricks, they’re here to build

The builder stands all heady,

The ground is cleared, the tools are fine

The plan is what’s not ready.


But words do other things, you see,

The being tries to plead

The funny text, the winsome rhyme

Why does your heart so bleed?


A story is the depth of words,

All else mere surface waves

A story is word’s liberation

Of all else they are slaves


Of what use are words all strung

If not a myth to tell

Words live not in other homes

In fables they do dwell


When there is not a yarn to spin

Words are but squandered

Without a plot, they are quite lost

Like a vagabond wandered


Someday I will tell a tale,

And words will find release

And on the day I’ve told the tale,

My words will rest in peace.



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