The Formula to God

பின்னூட்டமொன்றை இடுக

The mystic was back from the desert.
“Tell us.” they said ,”what God is like”

But how could he ever tell them
what he had experienced in
his heart ? Can God
be put into words ?

He finally gave them a formula – so
inaccurate , so inadequate – in the hope
that some of them might be tempted
to experience it for themselves.

They seized upon the formula.
They made it a sacred text.
They imposed it on others as a holy belief.
They went to great pains to spread it in
foreign lands.Some even gave their lives
for it.

The mystic was sad. It might have
been better if he had said nothing.

-From the book “The song of the bird”


ஒரு தவளையின் மரணம்

பின்னூட்டமொன்றை இடுக

ஏப்ரல் கவிஞர்களின் மாதமாம். என் வீட்டின் அருகில் உள்ள ஒரு பழைய புத்தக கடையில் ஒட்டியிருந்த விளம்பரம் சொல்லியது. கடைவாசலில் ஒரு சிறிய டப்பாவில் அச்சடிக்கப்பட்ட கவிதை துண்டுகள் , யார் வேண்டுமானாலும் பொறுக்கிக் கொள்வதற்கு தோதாய் வைக்கப்பட்டிருந்தது. நான் பொறுக்கியது Richard Wilbur எழுதிய The Death of a Toad .படித்தவுடன் கவிதை பிடித்துவிட்டது.கூடவே தமிழில் மொழி பெயர்க்க வேண்டும் என்ற ஆசையும்.தட்டுத்தடுமாறி ஒரு வழியாக பெயர்த்திருக்கிறேன் , கவிதையை.

ஒரு தவளையின் மரணம்

மின்சார புல்வெட்டியின் சக்கரங்களில்
சிக்கிய ஒரு தவளை
நசுங்கி கால் இழந்து
தத்தித் தாவி தோட்டத்தின் ஒரத்தில்
சினரேரியா இலைகளின் இதய
வடிவ நிழலுக்கடியில் ஒரு
இருள் படர்ந்த ஸ்தலத்தில்
அடைக்கலம் புகுந்தான்.

அந்த அரிய நிஜ ரத்தம் ஓடியது,
பூமியின் மேற்பரப்பில் , மடிப்புகளில்
சுருக்கங்களில் தங்கி ஓடியது.
முறைக்கும் கண்களின்
வடிகால்களில் பாய்ந்து ஓடியது.
அவன் விழுந்து கிடக்கிறான்,
கல்லாய் சமைபவனைப் போல்
சத்தமில்லாமல் கவனித்துக்கொண்டு , மரணித்துக்கொண்டு –

ஏதோ ஒரு ஆழ்ந்த சலிப்பூட்டும் ஓற்றைக்குரலை,
ஒரு பனி படர்ந்து ஒளிரும் கடலை அதன் கரையை ,
இழந்த தன் நீர் நில சாம்ராஜ்யத்தை .
நாள் கரைகிறது.அமிழ்கிறது.நீண்டு
முடிகிறது.அந்த விரிந்தஆதி விழிகளின்
பார்வை மட்டும் மலட்டு புல்தரையை தடவிச்செல்லும்
கடைசி கிரணங்களின் வழித்தடங்களை பார்த்துக்கொண்டு


A toad the power mower caught,
Chewed and clipped of a leg, with a hobbling hop has got
To the garden verge, and sanctuaried him
Under the cineraria leaves, in the shade
Of the ashen and heartshaped leaves, in a dim,
Low, and a final glade.

The rare original heartsbleed goes,
Spends in the earthen hide, in the folds and wizenings, flows
In the gutters of the banked and staring eyes. He lies
As still as if he would return to stone,
And soundlessly attending, dies
Toward some deep monotone,

Toward misted and ebullient seas
And cooling shores, toward lost Amphibia’s emperies.
Day dwindles, drowning and at length is gone
In the wide and antique eyes, which still appear
To watch, across the castrate lawn,
The haggard daylight steer.


பின்னூட்டமொன்றை இடுக

அறையெல்லாம் புத்தகங்கள்
புத்தகமெல்லாம் அறைகள்
திறந்து செல்ல கதவுகளும் இல்லை
உடைத்தெரிய சுவர்களும் இல்லை
அடைப்பட்டிருக்கிறேன் அறைகளுக்குள்.

Bless you !

1 பின்னூட்டம்

அட யு.எஸ்ல தான் தும்மினா வாழ்த்துவாங்கன்னு பார்த்தா , நம்மூர்ல கூட இந்த பழக்கம் இருந்திருக்கு போல. சாட்சி கீழே உள்ள குறள்

ஊடி இருந்தேமாத் தும்மினார் யாம்தம்மை
நீடுவாழ் கென்பாக் கறிந்து.

அதிகாரம் : புலவி நுணுக்கம்.


2 பின்னூட்டங்கள்

Sometimes I wonder looking at sea ; They are lapping against the shore vainly to transcend ; or may be roaring impatiently proclaiming their existence to the otherwise indifferent world; or they are just tumbling with joy for what they are !

A Punctuated Story !

2 பின்னூட்டங்கள்

An Indian gentleman named Karthick Santhanamoorthy landed in John F Kennedy airport on an uneventfully snowing February afternoon. When many men from India fly to the land of opportunities to pursue their highbrowish motives like
earn money,
earn an education ,
earn freedom – all types : social , economical and sexual( America being hotchpotch of all nations offers a wider variety of women(should I say slash men to sound unprejudiced ? ) for men to ladle from),
earn a lady-love,
earn a house in India- yes yes ,a house in India requires a lifetime of sweating in American soil ; God’s curse to men in general on geneis 3:17 is little harsh on Indian men.May be they have a tendency to listen to their wives more than others,
earn enlightenment – some indians find America to be their Bodhi,

Karthick Santhanamoorthy’s motive is altogether different.Even I can say unprecedented in the history of Indian diaspora to US. He has come to seek his brother. Biological , to be precise.That might strike as odd as a Bolly/Kolly/Tolly wood actor seeking a career in Military services instead of Politics, to serve the nation.With all their six packs and iron pumped muscles ,I think they will make good Soldiers. Dont you think so ? Well, I digressed. I am very much prone to this disease. So readers feel free to hoot whenever I go wayward.

The Immigration officer , a women in 40’s , eyeballed his papers in an earnest abandon. He reciprocated the same abandon in eye-balling her. It seemed to him that her eyebrows were dancing to every gesticulation of her face forming mathematical shapes – Can you believe it , this whimp is looking at her eyebrow – collinear , hemispherical , parabolic , skewed lines and at last it came an inch closer to forming a continuous sine wave touching each other. But she cleared and looked up.

“You are from India ? Right ! Are you actually an Indian”

I know this might sound foppish , readers. But this is not said without any significance. Every damn thing in the world is significant and happens for a purpose. Courtesy : Chaos Theory. A geographically sensitive eye would have catched the oddity.He is 6.2 ft tall tanned white skin with golden hair and azure eyes. His aquiline nose and the thin skinny lips will be at right angles whenever he grin .Yes he has an American appearance and an Indian name.To end it all, he was born and brought up in a small town of Tamilnadu and never have ventured out. This is his first trip abroad.

Now the clever lot among you will be seriously guessing what the story behind this Indian boy trapped in an American body.I tell you guys you got it. It is no different from any sentimental-sick stories churned out by Bolly/Kolly/Tolly wood at a rate of 100 per year.An american girl in a student transfer program or in red cross mission or as a tourist …….falls for a local guy….. they couldn’t get married due to inter-national differences….girl becomes pregnant .gives birth to twins …..leaves one child in an ashram…takes the other to America…..children grow up….the ashram head spill the beans in his dying bed about his mother and brother..mother is already dead…embarks on a journey to meet his brother ….blah blah blah.If you find this unconvincing , chart your own story.

Many could have noticed that I have no knack of handling a nostalgic subject. Yes , nostalgia nauseates me. I don’t like looking back.See I again digressed.Let us get back to our hero. Damn, I missed him. Where is this tall american guy with Indianness written all over him? There he is.! He has been captured by an awaiting taxi driver near the exit.I could never understand how these taxi drivers always get the right guys and the fresh-landing-Indians always get the wrong ones. I am sure our hero would lose a good amount of dollars.

The driver walked him to a blue mini-van. They stowed the luggage in the rear seat . Karthick Santhanamoorthy handed over a nicely folded printout. May be, address. The van farted , reversed and fled.Inside the van he was fumbling with the seat belt. Noticing his fiasco , the driver buckled the belt in one hand for him.His other hand carefully steered the wheel. Without taking his eyes off the road,he asked “Where are you from ?”

This might be the 10th time Karthick Santhanamoorthy is facing this question.Still untired ,he recounted his sobbing story again to the 10th listener more avidly.After a 30 minute of feet drenching story-telling ,the perceptibly swollen driver – may be sorrow made him turgid- avowed to take him to his brother as soon as possible. But the falling snow and the bumper to bumper traffic in US Route 1 South played the villain to this unusual reunion.Instead of flying they crawled.The driver noticing his hand bands (actually sacred threads) asked him what they are. You know Indian men are heavily threaded than any body else in the world.They have threads in their wrist , arm , neck , waist and across the torso , but still the feminists in India ask these men to wear the ‘Mangal Sutra’ to be in par with women. God save them.Wait a minute , I see a blue mini-van pulling into my driveway. Excue me guys ! Let me check who the hell is that.

Shutter Island

பின்னூட்டமொன்றை இடுக

Sea-sick DiCarpio retching his gut out in a ferry, gray clouds obscuring the sky , a portentous hurricane impending in the horizon, an isolated island housing the criminally insane headed by a bald ominous Ben Kingsley – what else is needed to set the mood for a psychological thriller. In spite of all these initial gear-ups and a pretty fast paced first half, the movie sags down in the middle as any average movie-buff would have known by then who the 67th patient is .No need for any Delhpi’s oracle. But still , I would say the movie is worth the time and money for two reasons ,

DeCarpio : the metamorphosis of meek ,sly Jack Darson of Titanic to a mature ,fully-grown actor is stupendous. He is perfecting himself in every film. His acting in Shutter Island is pretty dense with multiple layers which I think will peel off in subsequent viewing.
Scorsese : It is not easy to hold the audience in a nearly 2 hour movie whose suspense is fore-closed.But this master movie maker , with his intelligent craftsmanship weaves the plot, intertwining reality and delusions in very close proximity that sometimes they overlap. He does it with everything at his disposal – images , music , dialogues. Especially the dream sequence when Decarpio’s wife appears is a definite masterpiece in the light of the climax . I might watch the movie again just to appreciate more of Scorsese’s and Decarpio’s talents.

Dennis Lehane , author on whose novel the movie is based , has an impressive oeuvre. Mystic river, Gone Baby Gone and Shutter Island. One more addition to my ridiculously long reading list.

A Must watch for cinema lovers as this is a post-modern adaptation of a film noir genre with the name Scorsese etched all over it. Even though it is not his best.

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