Thinking Out Loud

For some unknown reason, I like to take photos of dried branches. What does that say about my psyche? Especially with a grey background. On a clear day, I may take such a photo, but I'll be put off at the sight of even a hint of cloud; I just want the pure untouched blue sky. I haven't taken many since. Sunlight seeping through, making a cinematic feel. These kind of photos are rare; I was just testing my phone camera. It was all about the shaky effect, nothing in focus. If these were the photos that summed up my life, I'm pretty much screwed, I think.

After the bitter disappointment that was the weekend (after much planning and preparation had gone into it), I decided to watch " The Grand Silence - Il Grande Silenzio)" by Sergio Corbucci. How delighted was I as the credits came on. The premise maybe simple - the good fighting the bad - but the execution and the shattering climax has made The Grand Silence one of my favourite films ever. A mute gunfighter aptly named "Silence" (Jean-Louis Trintignant) is hired by a woman to avenge the death of her husband who was killed by the bounty hunter Tigrero (Klaus Kinski). The story is set in Utah during the great blizzard of 1899. Trintignant plays Silence to a fault and Kinski is brilliant in his usual sneering self as the cold-hearted Tigrero, who leaves his bounty kills (to collect them later) knowing the bodies will be preserved in the heavy snow fall. I feel the silence personified is the silence after the staccato of bullets; the deaths of many in the name of the l

கடந்த கால அசரீரிகள் அழிந்து போன கால் தடங்கள் மறைந்து போன மனப் படிமங்கள் தீக்கிரையான கனவுகள் - நான் என் மழைக்குக் காத்திருக்கிறேன் வெறிச்சோடிய பார்வையில் விரிந்து செல்லும் சமவெளி விரக்தியில் ஓயாத வார்த்தைகளில் வருங்கால அச்சம் கொண்ட சாபங்களில் தொலைந்த வருடங்களை எண்ணி - நான் என் மழைக்குக் காத்திருக்கிறேன் மரங்கள் முணுமுணுக்கும் மாலைப்பொழுதில் அலைகள் ஓய்கின்றன ஆளில்லா கடற்கரைகளில் வானம் விடைபெற்று கண்ணீர் வடிக்கிறது இது என் மழை எனக்கே எனக்கான மழை என் காதல், என் நட்பு மழையின் தாளத்தில் மனம் லயிக்கிறது...

My great uncle, on his deathbed, breathing his very last, motioned me to come closer and whispered in my ear. (He could not speak and any speech was a whisper; I was rather unsure of what to feel of my great uncle's impending death. I was in awe of the guy but at the same time I pitied him - as Mr. T would - for dying alone, literally alone. You see, the rest of the family had gone out on a picnic leaving me to care for him, not that I cared for picnics but it stung a little, but for the last two days I was down with a strange fever, strange because I would be hot and bothered one minute and cool as a cucumber, the next. Also I'm not sure as to how I contracted the fever.) My great uncle whispered "Book 'em, Danno". For some strange reason he always called me Danno. What was he trying to say? I was told that people in love, let's call them lovers (the word "romantics" is too romanticised and if a cold hard cynic like me ever used that word, (s)he wou

Have you ever seen a movie where you wish the ending was different? Have you ever thought, if I had done it, I would have done it differently? Maybe Ilsa ends up with Rick in someone's version; maybe Neil McCauley does not end up dead at the hands of Lt. Vincent Hanna. It is this sinking feeling that infuses my thoughts each time I listen to "Stan" by Eminem. I wish Stan would treat his doting girlfriend ("your picture on my wall, it reminds me, that it's not so bad") better and stop wishing that he and his idol should "be together". Dido sings a haunting melody and I feel a sense of dread (even though I have listened to the song many times) and the car crash at the end of the third verse brings a melancholic feeling no matter how cheerful I was prior to listening to the song. How far would our obsession with the celebrities take us? Do we really want to worship the celebrities and be like them so much that our identities end up disappearing? What

Go to: Part 1 | Part 2 Why should we not ignore religion? We have witnessed an extreme of religious fundamentalism in the September 11 attacks. Why regard the extreme? How about the moderate ones? RD argues that the majority of people who directly influence social policies and political procedures can be regarded as religious moderates who promote religion as a way of life and when this 'way-of-life' contradicts with another, we see incursion or at least unrest. Religion without resilient obstructions thrives and develops into fundamentalism, where humans sacrifice themselves for martyrdom. Martyrdom is mainly made possible by turning impressionable young minds against other religions/beliefs and the most alarming issue raised by RD is the indoctrination of children. One of the traits of human evolution is the children look up to the adults to fashion their lives which becomes dangerous when parents (try to) force their religious ideals onto their children (see Exhibit B: Jesu

Go to: Part 1 I found an article (in relation to TGD) criticising science with the advent of the atomic bomb. Well, allow me to retort: why was the a-bomb invented in the first place? Where did it start? Did it not start with the bloody crusade of this one guy with a funny moustache who wished to avenge those who killed Jesus? Call me crazy, I'm just clutching at straws here. Science at the hands of humans can be used for good and evil. I have never seen or heard of any instance when rationalists declared war in the name of atheism. Albert Einstein who did not "believe in a personal God" had said "I believe in Spinoza's God who reveals himself in the orderly harmony of what exists, not in a God who concerns himself with the fates and actions of human beings". God as a 'soul' to the universe makes sense to me. It would be reasonable to assign an 'animus' to lifeless entities such as the sky or nature that accompanies humans throughout their li

'Why should I care' was the general attitude I shared with my friends and peers when it came to religion. "It is pointless" usually put a stop to any theological discussion that cropped up. I believed that God would mind his business and just leave me alone. And then I read "The God Delusion" (TGD) by Richard Dawkins (RD). As the book has been reviewed by many erudite scholars with a greater knowledge on the subject matter, I dare not presume to write one of my own. The following rather are my observations, proverbial lit bulbs to think of a lesser example and the effect the book had on me. First of all, I am of the opinion that instead of placing our trust in a priest or a theological scholar or RD himself, we should use the power of independent thought to find out the existence or non-existence of God. RD has printed his opinions and we may use TGD as a tool to seek out the truth ourselves. For example, as RD has pointed out, this higher power that is God

Mondays determine my rest of the week. The events of the week and their outcomes depend so heavily on Mondays that I become a victim to Monday-bashing, also popularly known as Mondayitis. If I see and talk to no one on the way to work on a Monday, rest assured, it will be a week of birds-singing, dew-dropping, sun-shining, jazz-listening days of wine and roses minus Jack Lemmon and addiction to alcohol. On the contrary, if someone said something as harmless as "good morning" on a Monday, I blow my top and read Nietzsche or Dostoyevsky and blame everything on everyone and think about genocide, a lot. But, as the song goes, I pick myself up, dust myself off and start all over again as I cool down with a Red Bull (yes, it relaxes me; yes I'm weird) on the train which proves to be quite amusing at times. There is a story of how I drank a 473 ml can of Red Bull and fell asleep on the train, but that's a whole other story. I commute to work via train. Most of the days, I am

It was a mixture of emotions, more of a pleasant contradiction as I realised while reading " The God Delusion " by Richard Dawkins , I had "Thiruvasakam" by Ilaiyaraja playing in the background. The music was providing a beat (in my mind) to the words of Dawkins. I have heard that music brings people closer to God (the unspecified God; who knows what people really believe in) and I could not help but smile. Usually it is either a book or a song blaring from the earphones, but on this particular day I was engrossed in Dawkins's words about the ontological argument and this person sitting next to me proceeded to talk on her phone and as the conversation progressed she became excited and her voice levels grew to an alarming pitch. As Peter Finch said "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!", so I put on my earphones and chose random and what should play but Thiruvasakam (Thamizh hymns written by poet Manikkavasakar about world

மறுபடியும் உயிர்த்தெழுந்து உணர்வுகளின் ஒரு பகுதியில், உறவுகளுடன் ஒரு உரையாடல் கொண்ட கண நேரத்தில் காலன் தவறை உணர பலியான கனவு உண்மை தெளிய, எதுவும் அன்றி பொய்யாக விழிப்பின் விளிம்பில் ஒரு உரையாடல் எவரிடமோ என்பதல்லாமல், பயணங்கள் தெளிவற்று வெளிச்சத்தில் நிலையற்று, இருட்டின் தேடலில் மறந்து போன, மறைக்க நினைத்த வாழ்வின் முடிவில் மரணம்…

I first heard about "I Heard You Paint Houses" when Robert De Niro and Martin Scorsese were planning to adapt the book into a movie called "The Irishman". Needless to say I was excited by the fact that De Niro and Scorsese were re-uniting after more than ten years (before they had collaborated to make "Casino" in 1995). One lazy Sunday afternoon I was browsing the web and decided to buy the book, on an impulse, from Book Depository . I have never heard of Charles Brandt before so I was not familiar with his style of writing. To say I was pleasantly surprised from page one would be an understatement. The book was never tedious as I had predicted (I had read a few non-fiction books before, and were not keen on them). The book reminded me of the time I watched " GoodFellas " for the first time (I could not watch any movies completely for a long time after GoodFellas because they could just not complete with it). I will say the same about I Heard You

"It's all over after Phuket" said my friend, "I am all sexed out". Some people may find this amusing, others not so. I belong to the latter category because my friend has been saying this for the last 5 years. That's right, five fucking years! Put aside the feelings of jealousy and read on. If I can write this, surely you can read it. Some background info on my friend. For those who don't know him, let's just leave it at that. For those who are familiar with him, you know that he has faults like other human beings, refuses to accept those faults like other human beings and juxtaposes those faults on his 'partners' so he can have a clean break-up once the sex is over and he is "sexed out". Like other human beings? I honestly don't know the answer to that one. When asked why he behaves like a bastard, he says "better to be a player, before being played, 'cos you are gonna get played, anyway". Hmmm, food for thought,

காலத்தின் படிகளில் பின்னோக்கிச் சென்று உற்று நோக்கி, உண்மையான உருவத்தை ஒரு கேள்வி கேட்க கண் விழித்து கனவுகளைத் தொலைத்து தொடங்கும் ஓர் ஆன்மீகப் பயணம் நிகழ்கால என்னை, கடந்த கால நான் எதிர் கொண்டு, பேசத் தயங்கி, உள்ளம் நடுங்க, கேட்ட ஒரே கேள்விக்கு விடை என்ன? "எங்கே என்னைத் தொலைத்தாய்?" விடை தேடி மீண்டும் தொடங்கும் ஆத்மார்த்த யாத்திரை கட்டுங்கடங்காத காலம் எட்டுத்திக்கிலும் எண்ணம் தட்டுத்தடுமாறி தொடங்கிய வாழ்வின் முடிவில் பயணம் எவனோ ஆகும் முயற்சியில் முதல் தோல்வி இவனோ எனும் கேள்விக்கு விடை தேடி அவனும் அப்படித்தான் எனும் சமூக விதிக்குட்பட்டு வரையறை தாண்டியவர் கண்டு பெருமூச்சு விட்டு இதுதான் எனும் தொடக்கத்தில் முடிவுறும் பயணம்

கண் முன்னே கொடூரங்கள் அன்றாட வாழ்வில் அத்தியாயமாகி இயலாமை எனும் அரணின் பின் மறைந்து இரக்கம் ஒரு சொல்லாக நீதி ஒரு துணுக்காக மனிதம் ஒரு புறம்; மனிதன் மற்றொரு புறம் காலத்தின் போக்கில் வாழ்வைக் கழித்து அநீதி கண்டு பொங்கி எழுவது அநீதி என்று நீதி அளக்கும் தராசில் ஒரு புறம் கனம்; மறுபுறம் கனக்கும் மனம் எப்போதாவது என ஒரு சொல் சாபத்துடன் வாழ்வில் முற்றுப்புள்ளி அற்று தொடரும் பல சாபங்கள் இயலாமைதான் வாழ்க்கையோ?

What keeps us going? What is our driving force? I have tried to search for that factor that is the driving force. What is it that drives me? Well, Scotch Whiskey is the driving force of my uncle, and it drives my aunt mad. Whenever I feel the urge to do something, I often wonder what makes me feel that way. Too much Red Bull and coffee or both may cause these drivinisms (or drivinations?) but they may also have side-effects of diarrhoea and insomnia (or both)? People have driving factors ranging from money, stardom to downright lunacy. Not me. I do not have any ambitions. Why should I have any ambitions? What if a Tsunami struck, the day I come up with an ambition? What then? I was about to make plans but the recent Queensland floods have made me a sceptic. Until I get a clear answer, I won't have an ambition. I'm not one of those, who plan everything ahead; well not planning in the long run anyway. I do not know what I will be in 10 or 20 years time. So what does that make me?

I awake and contemplate a lone bird singing a tuneless song over a cup of tasteless coffee as the death of dew drops announce an unwelcome morning. A connection becomes lost in the vastness as I search in vain; compelling dreams of constant darkness. I want to forget the night full of cold kisses from warm lips; the smooth satin covers your figure and I shiver. Caring, loving eyes full of hatred as your frozen smile has torn me to shreds as each piece of my broken heart reflect our wonderful, not-so-wonderful life together. I die every moment, thinking of you the ghost of a future life I wake up to die again your love was poison, so was it remedy I abide by the laws of this land of disbanded memories as I am free to be chained, trapped in a maze, in labyrinths, in caverns and I find the lost souls that roam the hills and fall madly in love where the spiritual lust is pure as the driven snow. Lost but never finding a solution nor do I want to as my search ends where my life begins and I

Poets croon, lovers swoon As the moon rises The sky deep red, like the wine Over many fine hours spent Among wails, broken-hearted tales For sale, dime a dozen Regrets, heartfelt greetings Met with cold eyes Set on destruction of the soul In whole, an empty shell Dwell on your fear, as you hear Mere words that torture As the life you borrowed A boon that will soon disappear Disown this life As others judge in disdain Ease the pain, of living A dying flame flickers Hope In a dark world of stark truths and spectacular lies World weary men, slaves born To the corporate throne, mourn As they watch a new dawn, alone The horizon darkens Awaiting the storm Torn between death and depression Turn your back to hacked limbs and severed lives As the pack of wolves descend Dissolving redemption, evolving mankind Blind according to the maligned doctrine Gaze at the stars and cry over the endless sky In smoke filled bars Behind closed doors As Religious Wars of Commercial Gods rage on The world as it