Given the spate of disasters damaging the world recently, my friend and I were discussing how 2012 might, after all, actually happen. We were musing on how terrible it would be that millions of people in our age-group would be dying before seeing so much in life, and how it's even worse that kids were coming into the world without seeing anything at all. As horrific as it sounds, I thought it was ok, because if the whole world was dying anyway, there won't be any life - no one - to think back on this and feel sad about the billions of life that were lost in the catastrophe. To think about the billions who didn't live to see the many wonderful things life had to offer. Life, and indeed, existence itself, might be a concept that's lost to the universe - we still haven't come across life forms anywhere else, and everything might stop existing as we know it, because there is no one to prove the existence of anything. Such a Sophie's World-like thought.

And then we moved on to discuss what would be our preferred form of dying, if 2012 did happen. My friend preferred inhaling some gas that would lull her to a peaceful sleep that she would never wake up from. No water, I said, drowning is terrible. Fire is painful, not that either. None of the choke-for-air-and-die types for me. Earthquakes are terrible too - I don't want to be crushed by some heavy pillar and die a slow death. I finally settled for a nuclear bomb explosion. One explosion, and poof! we are dust. Wiped out, meaningless, the very fact of existence in question.
It's stupid of me to want and write now. I've just come back from a photography class that lasted three hours and was led by one of the most can't-teach-for-nuts-and-is-uninspiring teacher ever. Worse, it was a photo critique class, I had lost my photos because my desktop decided to fail the day I brought a new laptop home (it was as if the desktop, my 7-year partner in crime, knew...), and had to pull some old photos from Facebook to take something to the class, all of which had problems (I cringed as we went through each photo, finding one issue after another, amazed at how much difference a few weeks of lessons can make to composition and all that...)

Anyway, on my way home from the class, I cursed myself for being over-ambitious and loading my life with so many things. Work is unimaginably hectic already, and I insist on doing things outside of work just to make sure there's more to life than work, but ruining any chances of free time in the process. I want a weekend with nothing to do, and I don't think I've had that for over a year! All the same, with my typical indecisive air, I tell myself I'll never be happy if I don't have enough things for my mind to think about. I want to work hard, learn something new, sing, read, write, swim, try to take good photos, travel, work on Spark and spend a weekend afternoon yapping away with a friend. How can I want everything!

I have no way out other than to wear myself out doing all of the above, take a breather and get back to the manic mode of doing it all, all over again. And that's just what I'm doing. I lull myself into sleep reading a book. I effortlessly shift from Harry Potter to Milan Kundera to Nikolai Gogol to Ruskin Bond to my current massive project, reading Ponniyin Selvan in Tamil. I make my computer/iPod want to cry out in pain with endless repeats of Norwegian Wood, Rehna Tu and Pudhu Vellai Mazhai. I work till I feel like I never left the office and have exhausted all the 'take-away' lunch and dinner options. I read the newspaper on the way back from work, enjoying IHT's brilliant stories, and read a book on the way to work, dozing off mid-way. I crave for tea every four hours, but restrict myself to green tea instead. I fall asleep thinking of walks with ice-cream in hand, of spending an hour updating my diary on this manic life, and of packing the tripod one Saturday and going to Little India for a photo shoot.

I've probably said this countless times before, but I think this is the busiest I've ever been in my working life. It's also the most exciting, though, thanks to the umpteen things I've managed to cram it with. Anway, at 12.04 on a Friday the 18th of March, things can't be looking any better: I'm watching Rahman perform some 20 hours from now, a dream come true (I'm probably going to burst into tears of joy when I see him, or screech till I lose my voice). And Greece is barely a month away, and hopefully there are more things to look forward to.

Oh, what the heck. I'll survive. And survive well, that I know.  
1. to be able to sleep at 11.30 and wake up at 8 in the morning
2. to finish Milan Kundera and HP7 in one night's stretch
3. to swim ten laps. Like NOW.
4. to not think about work for 2 days. Just two.
5. to have a peep at what life will be like, say, 6 months from now.
6. to eat rasam sadam and vendekkai
7. to be a violinist. Or some kind of eccentric musician.
8. it to be Mar 18 soon, and then for the month to fly by and reach mid-April
9. to spend two hours selecting the songs to put in her special 'Greece' iPod playlist
10. to watch Pete Sampras play. Again.
11. to go to NTU and take a walk down that deserted stretch of road with an ice cream in hand
12. to go on a photo shoot to a beautiful place
13. people to not fret about things that aren't going to kill them
14. to be able to listen to at least three songs in a loop, all at the same time.
15. to sleep NOW.

Am I some dissatisfied individual or what!
... here's more on the violin since my last crazy post.


(after 40 sec - check out the wacky, brilliant violin in the background)

Done for the day :D

... take the most amazing turns. Starting off with how the day went, and what I did (‘Did you call your cousin? How did the practice go?), the conversation turned inevitably to, yes, food. 

'What did you cook?'
 'Cabbage curry yesterday, and rasam today.'
'How was the rasam?'
‘Err…’
‘Let me rephrase. Did you eat it?’
‘I eat anything I cook, ma… I had to cook on Friday because all stores were closed.’
‘Excellent! What did you make?’
‘Dal… there wasn’t anything else at home…’
Resigned sigh. I can feel it sitting thousands of miles away. I decide to perk the conversation up. 

‘Oh, and guess what, I think they sell chow chow at Fairprice here… but I’m not sure if it is that…’
‘What does it look like?’
‘Like chow chow, but with fewer ridges…’
‘Oh, just buy it anyway, what’s the harm. You know what, it might be sorakkai…’
‘I thought sorakkai is smooth, like a cucumber?’
‘No, no, they do have pear-shaped varieties too, very healthy, it’s a pity we don’t eat it at home!’
‘Oh, I’ve had it at university!’ I quip, remembering the first time I’d ever heard of the vegetable a few years ago. ‘Or wait, was that noolkol…’
Mom loses patience, I think. ‘Then?’

‘I should start working on the next issue of Spark… it’s on womanhood, totally up my alley!’
‘Speaking of Spark, what’s this story you’ve written?! Living Together?! I read the title and I knew it had to be yours…’
‘So what?’
‘Writing about gay relationships, then this.. un poakke seriyilla…’
‘Part of being a writer is to be able to think up scenarios and transfer the emotions…’
‘Yeah, yeah, porum…’
‘It’s ok, one should experience everything in life, you know… writing about it doesn’t mean anything…’ my voice trails. I sense she’s ready to move off the topic. 

‘Did you go swimming?’
‘Shit! It’s 8!! I wanted to go at 7.30. Now it’s too late…’
In the short span of ten minutes, I realize I’ve disappointed and annoyed her, got her amused, and shake her head in disbelief. Boy, shouldn’t she be happy to be entertained by me like this! 

PS: shameless plug: read the stories mom mentioned here and here! 

Aren’t violins simply amazing? Their versatility, their ability to add emotions and a whole new colour to a song are unmatched, I think. Seriously, very few instruments can sit smugly in western music and Carnatic music! 

I’ve always been fascinated by violins and the entire strings family.  As I grew to understand and appreciate the nuances that instrumentation brings to a song, strings became my favourite. I quickly grew to like Lalgudi and Kanyakumari’s renditions and got annoyed with Kunnakudi Vaidyanathan’s weird antics with his violin. And Ilaiyaraja was a demigod, what with the liberal and unassuming ease with which he slipped the violin into his songs and background music – be it the unbeatable Mouna Ragam title tune (oh, I could sink to the floor in joy listening to the orchestration in the end) or the way it cruises throughout the song ‘Kadhalin Deepam Ondru’ (throughout the song, but especially the first interlude), or the loaded violin in ‘Poongatru Pudhinadhu’. And of course, ‘How to Name it’ and ‘And We had a Talk.’ Or the lovely interludes in ‘Valai Osai’ from Sathya. And sample the violins in MSV’s ‘Chittukuruvi’ in Pudhiya Paravai – brilliant! My memory fails me – but Ilaiyaraja really was the master when it comes to violins – I think he really made the most of them. 

And enter Rahman. He brought in a whole new dimension. Be it the rich orchestration in some songs (say, Pacchai Nirame, Oru Deivam Thandha Poove, or Veerapandi Kottaiyile), or the exuberance in Hosana (the last stanza – brilliant!), its utterly cute presence in Omana Penne, or the ridden-with-goodness-and-hope strings in Iruvar’s Aayirathil Naan Oruvan. I am especially a big fan of the way the violin teases the listener in ‘I’ll be Waiting’ from Jhootha Hi Sahi – check out the violin which creeps in the first time Vijay Yesudas sings ‘I’ll be Waiting…’ – it’s just the perfect complement to the mood of the song – enough to make me swoon to the beauty of it all. The beautiful Waltz for a Romance from Lagaan. The emotionally charged bits in Vennalavin Theril Yeri – giving the saxophone a breather in the movie (Duet is one of Rahman’s really, really exceptional albums – purely for the way instruments lead the way). The sheer joy of realization that the violin helps to achieve in Netru Illadha Matram, and conversely, the realization of what you’ve missed out that it brings about in ‘Azhage Sugama.’ The goosebump-raising bit in Pudhu Vellai Mazhai at the end of the second interlude.  And the big daddy of it all, the orchestration in the Bombay Theme. 

I have racked my brains for over an hour trying to think of the best ones from Ilaiyaraja and Rahman that the only non-Indian ones I can think of now would be the bit towards the end in Baba O’ Reilly, The Verve’s Bitter Sweet Symphony, and I think it’s not really the violins – but Kashmir. The start to the Golden Eye theme song also has interesting strings – I love the rapid movement! The theme music in The Last of the Mohicans and Shawshank Redemption are totally amazing too!

Phew! I’ve been wanting to write this for ages, and I’m glad it’s out of the system. I’ve been going crazy trying to want to listen to every single song I’ve written about here. I read this now and it sounds absolutely disjointed and random, and I’m not going to attempt to bring any order into the chaotic thoughts.

P.S.: How on earth could I forget 'Kya Kare Kya Na Kare' - brilliance! 
The blog turns SIX.

AND. 

SPARK TURNS ONE!

I owe a LOT to both these outlets. As ironical as it sounds, I can't express in words quite accurately how they have both made a difference to my life. One prompted me to write to get used to the new place I was in, sharpened my curiosity and helped me make some really good friends. The other was my proud entry into the publishing space, my first attempt at serious literary writing, my avenue to realizing the abundant brilliance in the world and what really has convinced me that passion not pursued means it's a life wasted.

Thanks so much if you're among the few ones still reading my blog. You have no idea how much it pleases me.

And if you haven't already done so, check out Spark!