I have this irrational fear of dogs. Something which dates back to the day I was a single cell old. Back in good old Chennai, I used to meticulously skirt past the scrawny beleaguered and perennially thirsty low-breeds, rampaging the empty streets of a sleepy Chennai, cursing passionately the way too early (by my terms, of course) of the college bus. Some of them got so used to my chastisement that they chose to leave me alone to mind my own business. But still these pampered poodles peeping out of their kennels in the neighboring bungalows, got an inane kick out of barking and sending me racing from their gates…  Gave me a taste of ragging even in my final year  of college..

 

Now in Bangalore, I stay in an area so infamous for its teeming canine community matched in numbers only by the IT professionals who reside here. The road I stay in is in no way less in stature than my area in Chennai, when it comes to the snob squad. An absolutely silly looking long bodied duo, a dumb bully as big as a calf, and an obnoxious sadistic spoilt brat, all democratically taking turns in harassing the scared-of-dogs, over worked, and pre-occupied by passer. But its not these guys who rob me of my peace, because I know they are there, and they will scare me day in and day out. It’s the rowdy group of street dogs, who feed on the scraps from the multitude of “juice junctions” and “bakeries” that I lose my sleep over. Polar opposites of their Chennai cousins, these dudes and dudettes are well built and sturdy. They amble around with an air, stirring fear in the depths of my heart. All of a sudden, from nowhere, someone picks up a fight and there is pure, unadulterated commotion in pack, and I either stay put, paralyzed or try something stupid in an urge to flee. This is my lot, every time I venture out alone on the streets.

 

Today was exceptional. I woke up early, smartly got ready ahead of my usual time to work, and was tempted to take the early morning bus. I made it to the bus stop without much ado, but it is here that the catch lay. The number of people in the stop, were few, and scattered. The Ruffians arrive in full style, parading their silken coat to their dames.. Fear of the mortal kind, started to build up. Carrying more bags than I could manage, the realization that an attempt to flee was ruled out, was more than painful. Despite the chill, sweat began to pour down my face. Though my hands were full, I was desperately searching for my nails, biting them always calmed my nerves. Praying fervently for heaven’s grace, I was edging towards the nearest human, as surreptitiously as I could manage with all my bulk.

 

“Bark!”, “Wham”, “Howl!!”… The much anticipated pandemonium broke out. I almost saw doom leering around the corner, when my knight on white horse came by, the office bus swished past the warring factions and stopped in front of me. Pushing people around, (although, there weren’t any people to push around) I scrambled on to the bus..

 

Setting my many bags in an intricate fashion adhering to the tomes of feng shui, I took a deep breath. Immense peace engulfed me. The sweat evaporated as a cool breeze blew. Looking out through the window, I finally fell safe. They cant reach me here. Nothing can harm me.

 

 

Just then, the driver applied a sudden brake. And I hit my teeth. On the same metal bar. Again*.

 

 

 

 ___________________________________________________________________

 

 

*: I had a nasty accident, sometime back, last year in the same bus to office.

Owing to the sudden blocking of my alternate (till now active) blog , I ve decieded to come back to my trusty steed at blogdrive...

As for the ban, I dont understand the raison-d-etre`, so I shall reserve my comments.. But , undeterred, I shall plod on, fight for my survival in blog-o-sphere...Galloping my way to glory (or oblivion).......

Please visit :

http://silenceofthesea.blogspot.com

 

 

The long bus journeys to work and back, marred by the traffic troubles, give me the time to gaze endlessly and reflect. Rain washed streets, foggy cold mornings, being cleared and pushed aside by the Rising Sun. The flora gearing up for a new day, the landscape bathed in Gold. A small tribute to the Great Star of our lives….

 

 

The Sun.

 

Life flowing in Golden rays

Lighting up the misty haze

Showering divine grace

 

They..

 

Divide the skies

Partition the lands

Invisible walls on the waters

 

But you…

 

Smile on humanity

Arms encompassing

All Creatures alike.

 

 

Color up the canvas

Glistening diamonds

The diminutive drops of dew.

 

They..

 

Deified and worshipped.

Ra, Surya, Apollo, Shamash.

The Thanksgiving many.

 

For you..

 

Invigorate the green behemoths

That feed the widening mouth

The gluttony and the avarice.

 

 

 They..

Discover your past,

Predict your future,

Morbid and macabre

 

I…

 

Dance in your warm embrace

Celebrating existence

Yours and mine..

                                                              - Sukanya the Lunatic Bard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Some of the most beautiful books I have read so far speak of the soul’s journey to meet its mate. The feeling of completeness, an ultimate ecstasy is what the soul longs for ever since its inception.  A fleeting desire to reach out to that sole soul mate, consumes one every now and then. With the deepest strains of the heart echoing this dire want, the weary traveler yearns for his final sojourn….

 

My Sojourn Finale

Gazing beyond the horizon

Peering over the setting sun

Fiery, Blazing and Crimson

Transcending pastoral stretches

Spreading the soul’s tentacles

Alas! Vicissitudes of fate’s clutches…

 

Breaking free of shackles..

Cleansed of the stains of yore

Soaring higher and higher

Floating….

                   but with a rudder.

 

Victims of this ravenous desire

Yearning for that elusive cadence

Defying all known prudence

Led by the light of Providence……..

 

A fuelling thrust in the gut

Revealing along the strut

Doors that were shut….

 

Doubts plague and daunt

Fears gnaw and taunt

But retreat I can’t…..

 

Souls divined to commune

To thwarts and failings are immune

Uniting in heavenly tune…..

 

Relentless, my search will be

Reveling the glory of “We”

Following the footsteps of destiny

My beckoning beacon lit by Thee……….

 

Eyes of the heart full of cognizance

Tacit words echoing in silence

Pristine purity sans pretense……

 

Untouched by the thorns of Time

Hearts beating in Rhyme

Beings fitting like lock and key

Your soul filling me…..

                                                      Sukanya – The Lunatic Bard

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Of all human emotions, I value pride the most. From time immemorial, pride has been shunned as a vice, a sin beyond pardon. Having rooted in such values, ingrained by education and by quintessential middle class upbringing, I held humility as a virtue par excellence. But when humility bestowed humiliation upon me, my pride came to my rescue. Pride not of the material kind, but of the spirit. A strength that the meekness of humility couldn’t provide, my pride instilled in me. When the blows of the world penetrated the feeble cover of modesty, Pride stood as a solid armor mitigating my woes. Who said, pride is an offense? Righteous pride is the essence of humanity. Swami Vivekananda, Subramanya Bharathi, Ayn Rand are some of those who extolled the glory of pride. Self-less pride brings meaning to chaos. Arrogance adds beauty to Greatness, and demands homage to the Doers.

The funny thing about pride is that it is dormant when left to itself, but when hurt, when battered, when it is smashed to smithereens, it resurrects in its entire splendor, resplendent in its re-birth.

The spine that slouches is made to extend to its full length, the head that is bent, raised to scale the firmament. The eyes that wander will see beyond the walls of time, envisioning a future that invigorates every strand of life.

 

                                 I, The Great.

 

A fortuitous union of cells

That is not my beginning

Hark! Chime the bells

I have come to do my doing!

 

A creature of chance

Is not how I came to be

Worth more than a second glance

Words fall short to describe me

 

I have a purpose, a task at hand

Plodding on every time I fail.

Etching my name on air, water and land

And blazing my own trail.

 

Many came and Many went

One amongst them is not me

Marching ahead, my head ne’er bent

Sweat and toil filling me with glee.

 

Tall and stately I will stand

Aristocracy in my stature

Dreams and plans so grand

Greatness imbibed in my nature

 

 

Death will not ebb my fame away

Phoenix-like I shall bear the heat

Graves never my place of stay

Ever rising from the embers of defeat

 

As I embellish everything I see

Jeers and mockery escape my ears

Men shall one day look upon me

For on my shoulders I will carry the New Years.

 

                                                             ---Sukanya the Lunatic Bard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

One fine morning, on my way to work, saw a school bus with the sign "Silicon Valley School"...
Silicon Valley, some remote place in the US of A, being eponymic of a school in another corner of the globe.. This led to the following train of thought which I attempted to record in Rhyme.

 Dare I Dream....

Generally insomniac at half past eight,

My blurred focus took this bait.

Something bright and yellow,

With words difficult to swallow.

 

Carrying scholars and toddlers

As well as charming cradlers

Was this bus riding away to glory

To a school by the name of Silicon Valley

 

A smirk crossed my face

Breaking the early morning daze

Bangalore they say probably

Is India’s Silicon Valley

 

So goes the Metaphor

Without much of vigor

And Coimbatore lackluster

India’s own Manchester

 

Why not  USA's Bombay

A place, par remarkable, to say

A Calcutta of Germany,

Residence of wonders so many.

 

When will the day come?

Pioneers will call India their home.

Searching hither thither for the answer

I concluded on this bouncer.

 

Grappling with new found liberty,

Anxiously asking alms of Almighty

Our fledgling democracy,

Had an education system that was hazy

 

Second hand technology

Handed down after a lengthy eulogy

To the wealthy, powerful nations

While we were groping for rations.

 

Little did our young minds mind

Devouring all that they could find

Dutifully mugging and memorizing

Getting scores that were mesmerizing.

 

In came the Information Highway

Creating magic in its sway

Throwing open doors

Enlightening the crores.

 

Every Tom , Dick and Harry

Had a degree to carry

But there remained an aspect to be sorry

Yet no one bothered to worry

 

Years of submission to the Whites

Had left even in the brightest of brights

A sense of servitude

That was inherited in their attitude.

 

The guts to stay afloat

Sunk by the habit of the rote

The ability to think

Nullified by the coin’s clink

 

Innovation committing suicide,

Strength visible only in genocide

Sadly, towards doom

We head, shrouded by gloom.

 

When will we awake?

Giving our creativity a shake

Great things for us to make

Conventions that we must break.

 

Anguished and Cynical,

I looked up the bus at the spherical

Young faces , chattering,

Oblivious of things that need mattering

 

Talking the language of the American Soaps,

Scaling the skies with high hopes,

They still haven’t broken the thread

Extolling the ersatz that I dread.

 

 

 

                                                  Sukanya- the Lunatic Bard.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Huh huh…

Being tagged by a good friend is stimulus enough to make me blog on a frustratingly occupying day…Except for the fact that it involves writing about my favorite books…

 

Well, if some intends to doze off at the very beginning, your wish is my command. With  a congenital inclination towards history , I apologize for having to recount my tryst  with the tomes..

 

As a matter of coincidence, I started this blog to just record the pleasure I m bound to have when I read a good book ( Ref: the side panel intro.) Somewhere along the way, this purpose morphed into one where my reflections took predominance.

 

I am a precariously tasteless creature when it comes to books, but I do develop repulsion when things get monotonous. No particular genre captivates me for long. That is perhaps why whenever I discuss books with anyone I know, i could just relate to one or two of their favorites.

 

I could probably list out flavours of the moment, but asking me to pick my favorites is bound to leave me in an infinite loop of indecision… But, nevertheless, there are a few books that have left and indelible mark in my way of thinking…

 

So Here goes nothing…..

 

Total Number of Books I Own:

 

Right Now, not many.. couple that I have stolen from my cousin, and a couple that I picked up from the pavements of the erstwhile Garden City. As long as I was a dependent, monetarily, I never had the habit of purchasing books, found borrowing a simpler way, and the local library a holiday resort.. As a matter of trivia, I ( proxy for my Dad, who has the membership) was the first member of that library which is around a coupla decades old.. Using this privilege, I made it a habit to return the books late, escaping the fine after a long argument of sorts which included emotional blackmail.

 

Last Book I Bought:

 

Zen and the art of motorcycle maintenance (yet to read it)

A coupla VHDL and Verilog books  (after a lengthy admonishment from the boss for my in competency in that area).

 

Five Books That Mean a Lot to Me:

Hmmm.. Five is a humungous number for someone as fickle minded as me.. Let me give it a try.. Random Pickings…

 

The Man – Irving Wallace

 

A powerful novel, the only one of Wallace that I have read so far.. A test of endurance and true mental strength portrayed with poignancy.

 

The Home and The World (Ghare Baire ) by Rabindranath Tagore, translated by Sudindranath Tagore

 

A tale of drama, told in the eyes of three people, the lady, her husband and her lover. A metaphorical statement of India back then, and the hypocrisies that hold good till date. A joyous read.

 

The Riot – Shashi Tharoor

A different style of writing, and a storyline that hits you hard with its ironical end. Religious riots and the damage control measures taken by the civil servants captured in vivid detail. The struggling neo-Indian caught in a web of tradition and thirst for modernity contrasts with the western fascination of  Indian intelligentsia. Leaves a    lasting impression.

 

Three done, two more to go…

 

Enough of serious stuff, now for some lighter vein

 

The Hitchhiker’s Guide to Galaxy – Douglas Adams

Zany , hilarious, dripping with humour of a different wavelength. I am sure, the “good friend” who tagged me into this, would agree with this one. One book I picked up on recommendation, and didn’t regret the decision. Does make one ponder, if not atleast wonder..

 

Tintin Comics – Herge

 

Who said comics arent classy? This is one with which I grew up and still continue to do so.. Pick up the same ones, again and again, despite nasty stares from the librarian. My fascination of Captain Haddock, Bianca Castofiore, Thompson &Thomson, Cuthbert Calculus, is immortal. Ever enthralled by the illustrations. Learnt a lot about civilizations around the world.. Maybe this is what they call Fun Learning…

 

Ufff.. That was tiring… Got my Fav Five out there at last…

 

Tag five people and have them do this on their blogs:

 

Well, This is embarrassing folks.. I read many blogs although I shamelessly advertise mine. And the only one that I follow up regularly was the one that roped me in this chain blogging.  So this area has to be left uncovered.. Perhaps I am an early termination to this sequence. All apologies are duly made.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A LYCANTHROPIC LORE

By

Shiva Gopalan

Suganya Chandrasekaran  

The knock on the huge wooden door at midnight was as eerie as the illusory shapes creeping along the walls. I opened the heavy door to find a crouching figure by the pines and was about to wave off the image supposing it to be the gardener on his nightly rambles when suddenly I thought I heard a faint growl. Shaken out of my wits, I switched on the porch light to find myself staring out into the night. I rubbed my eyes and pinched myself to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I’d have sworn to God that I heard something out there. “Could it have been that loony gardener as I had initially assumed?” Thinking of him, I gave a mirthless laugh. The kind of tales these people spin to entertain the tourists…..sightings of a werewolf on the island, warnings against venturing out alone at night……….promethean indeed. “Was it really a growl?” I chided myself for letting that nitwit of a gardener’s ramblings get into my head.

 

I had always looked forward to a vacation like this, away from the pressures of my job, away from the mechanical existence in a concrete jungle. I looked up at the sky. The moonlight filled me with calm. I turned back to go to bed, resolving not to let a local folklore ruin my holiday. I climbed up the rickety stairs to the bedroom. The branches of the willow were rhythmically rapping at the window. I stared out at the beautiful scene that lay ahead of me and was reminded of her. I couldn’t believe I had spent one whole day without her. “She’ll come back”, I assured myself. “All she needs is some time of her own”. Only the thought that she was on the very same island comforted me.

 

I saw the moon, all round and bright, smiling at me. The full moon……“wait!!! Isn’t that when the werewolves are roused?”…….The thought sent a chill down my spine. I was overwhelmed by a new sense of alarm. I feared for her safety……. and mine.

 

Almost in an instant, the surroundings became ominous. The gentle tattoo of the willow, amplified manifold, sounded cacophonic to my ears. The moon hid behind a pall of dark clouds. A blood curdling shriek interrupted the myriad thoughts of foreboding in my mind. “What was that?” I felt a lump form in my throat. “Are my ears playing tricks on me today?” Then it came again, unmistakable this time. It sounded more like a desperate cry for help and came from the outhouse. “The Gardener !!!” My fear transformed into a sense of responsibility and instinctively I raced out of the house towards the source of the sound. The moment I came out, I regretted my decision. Darn! I had left my revolver behind..….but there was no time to lose. Breaking the low branch off a tree, I proceeded gingerly towards the outhouse. The wind was howling like a banshee. “A werewolf’s growl would easily be lost in this... ”. My ears cocked up to pick up every single sound.

 

The outhouse door was ajar. It was dark inside. I pushed the door open calling out to the gardener…..no reply. Suddenly something came rushing up to me and engulfed me in perpetual darkness “Shriek!!”, “Wham!!”, “Clang!!”……..I thanked heavens that it had just been a dusty curtain that had blown over my face. I called out again. An owl screeched in the distance. I gulped hard. No sign of anyone inside.

 

I stepped out and scanned the area. I heard dry leaves crunching behind me. I turned around and squinted into the darkness. My blood froze at what I saw…..a few yards away stood a beast, almost invisible in the eerie shadows of the pines. Like a phantom, it sprang at me. Shaken out of my momentary stupor, my legs impulsively took control as I bolted towards the house. I could hear panting behind me. I almost tripped and fell over a root…….I ran for my dear life. I felt its heavy breath on my back. I didn’t stop until I reached the house and shut the door tight. Climbing two steps at a time, I clambered onto my huge bed.

 

Still petrified, I was calming down when “Scratch…” “Scratch... Scratch...” my heart skipped a beat when I realized it was coming from downstairs. “The backdoor!!!” I panicked as I  remembered that I hadn’t locked it……….too late………I heard it swing open……….a low growl……

 

A bundle of nerves, I thought of defense…… I remembered a movie in which silver bullets killed werewolves……. “I hope this works as well…..”  I reached into my desk drawer and pulled out a loaded gun. Downstairs, the floorboards creaked. “Creak”, “Creak…” “Thud…” It was coming up the stairs sensing my presence!!! Despite the chill I broke into a sweat. “Thud…” It was close. My whole life flashed before my eyes. I shuddered as I thought of the gruesome end awaiting it. I took aim. “Thud…” I felt an ache in the pit of my stomach. “THUMP”… in a sudden rush, it came bundling up. Blinded by my fears, I kicked about wildly, fumbling for the revolver………I felt numb….A vein at my temple throbbed……..My face felt wet, wet from my own blood……NO…..the smell………I opened my eyes to see Steffi all over me “Steffi!!!” There was relief in my voice. “Where the hell had you been?”, “you gave me quite a scare bad girl”, “don’t you dare run off like that again!!” I hugged her close refusing to let go. How safe I felt with her around.

 

Out in the night, an owl hooted. The crickets went into a silent spell. The quiet could have drowned any noise. It was broken by a bloodcurdling howl… A pair of bloodshot eyes gazed up with insatiable hunger as master and his pet rejoiced their reunion…. As he moved towards the house, the gardener gave a knowing smile…with its sharp teeth glistening in the moonlight, white and moist…………..

Disclaimer:
This was an entry to a story writing contest, that me and my collegue endeavoured to enter.. Didnt win the prize though.. Guess the style was too eclectic.. ;-) .