Chaos.. chaos...

I am in one of my infamous rambling and grumbling moods tonite... Why is that my books have to be in my bookshelf and why not just strewn around in my living room? After all I live there. and why is that my office binny should be neat and spotless with everything arranged in their places? why is that my whiteboard should make sense to all and sundry? Am I not allowed to write my own crypts? What I whiteboard makes sense to me!!!Why should I always take the shortest route to my mailbox? Why not walk a new route every now and then? Why must I be organized when I can perfectly make sense out of the nonsense I create? And why must I work from 9am-5pm and not 9pm-5am when I am wide alert???

I love the chaos I create arnd me...books arnd me, my cds closeby, my papers scattered haphazardly - everything within a hand's reach. Yeah, I sometimes misplace my stuff but thats ok since I always manage to locate them. I have to endure lectures from all and sundry abt my so-called sloppiness and laziness and then help them locate their missing stuff!!!! If organized means they can find what they want when they want it, then I wonder why I am often called to help find things my 'organized' friends/family keep misplacing.

Grrrrrrrrrrrrr......

Subha has tagged me and here I am..

He thought it would be an ordinary journey. Standing behind the pillar he watched the train snort arrogantly into the station. With each snort he was reminded of his grandfather's words "You will fail in the city and return penniless"; with every heavenward whistle, he heard his cousin, "Don't worry. Come here and I will get you a job at the construction site." Now he had a 34-hour journey to prove one of them wrong, and he expected the excitement at the end of the journey. He looked at his ticket once again: compartment S9 berth 23.

Pushing his luggage under the seat, he sat close to the window. "Papa, when will you be back?" - his four year old daughter Munni asked innocently. He stared into those soft brown eyes of the motherless kid. He held her frail palms in his, through the window. "Munni, Papa will get you a nice gudiya from the city..Say tata," his sister spoke to the kid, to avoid an emotional outburst. In a minute, the train pulled forward, and Munni's little fingers parted from between his. "I need to go..", he thought, "I have to, at least for Munni's sake.."

The humid summer breeze and the rattling train coaxed him into an uncomfortable state of drowsy consciousness. He dreamt that Munni ran away, the closer he ran to her, the farther she was, like a mirage. He woke up with a start and squinted at his watch."What is the time please?"A smallish woman, a meek voice as if she was scared that her existence would annoy someone. Her only noticeable feature was her rather large, expressive eyes."4.30"Something made him look at the woman again. He had stopped noticing women long back. Ever since Meenakshi passed away...

But this woman was different. He She reminded her him of someone he knew. In an instant he realized who and the painful memories came flooding back. She looked exactly like his childhood sweetheart Madhu. As teenage lovers in a conservative society, they had often met secretly and had declared undying love for each other.Then someone had found out and all hell had broken loose. The elders in the village Panchayat had ostracized Madhu's family as she was from a lower caste. Unable to bear the humiliation, she had committed suicide by drowning. That was twelve years back...

Back then, he had thought that the world would stop for his grief; that life would still for his sorrow. He had learnt the hard way that Time's relentless march had little sympathy for anyone. Life had indeed gone on. He had met Meenakshi, loved her, married her, had Munni and lost Meenakshi too, all in a span of 7 years. Suddenly his small town and its confines seemed suffocatingly oppressive. He wanted to immerse himself in something bigger than his life and its problems and his little town offered nothing by way of distraction. He had decided to move to the city, to try his hand at new things and shake away the cobwebs of the past. So here he was on the train to the city. He started thinking about his new career in the city....

While he was drifting back to sleep, Sharda was wondering what fate had brought her to this juncture. Here she was, alone and penniless after her parents untimely death. Her father’s debts had eaten up her ancestral house, her mothers jewels. Ostracised in her village, all she now had was a few hundred rupees and a train ticket to Raji’s place. Raji had promised to help her find a suitable job in the city. Sighing, she turned back to the man sitting opposite to her. A pang of loneliness engulfed her. Even her pyari Madhu didi had left her…drowning herself.

I now tag
Sujan
Devi

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Hmmmmm.... its 2.30... and still 3 hrs to go home.... and a load of testing to be done yet :(
Anyways was listening to ARR's Vellai pookkal... from Kannathil Muthamittal and now is a good time to try translating it...

Let the pristine flowers bloom anew
Let the magnificient dawn usher in peace
Let the golden sun light the earth
Let the flowers wake up rejuvenated
Let the children wake up in their mothers warmth
Let the glorious dawn alight
In the smile of every child.

Would the music of the winds
And the thunder of the rains
Ever match the depths of silence?
Would a million songs and mere words
Ever equal the power of a few tears?
Where the child beckons you
Would you not ascend the skies, oh moon?
Where the wars have fled humanity
Would not the doves sing the music of peace???

The lyrics is one of my favs.However I try, I dont think that I can capture the essence as beautifully as its in Tamil... as in the language it was written... I remember the days in school when I attempted learning Bengali to read Gitanjali in Bengali...Maybe its time my mom sends me my Bengali in 30 days book!!!!

A lot of times these past few weeks, I have wanted to just go home... back to madurai, longing for the fights, the teasing, the bantering and 1001 mundane stuff i do with my bro and sis. a webcam and fone can't replace flesh and blood - of being there when my sis is reciting her day at college or my bro just grumbling and glowering at me when I ask him to study his lessons or my mom sitting down with me and gossipping abt her latest frend or my dad complaining abt his boss or my thatha sharing his puns with me..I do it everyday on the fone.. but...
I wonder everyday at what i am missing - I have not listened to even one of my mom's famous speeches at the sivananda ashram. I know she would have been in seventh heaven if i had but taken the time to come and see her in her elements when i was in chennai..... my sis when she wore her first saree to college... my bro when he was sick last month..
I keep counting these moments and yearn for the familiarity of my home again..and again and again.....