*From To Sathish* - Thread 3

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@satish_2025

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Posted: 8 years ago

#881

RIP Bill Paxton 1955-2017

Thank you for all the great movies like Twister,Titanic,Aliens,Apollo 13.Godspeed to a better place.

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@satish_2025

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+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#882

Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter... and Spring

"I do an awful lot of thinking and dreaming about things in the past and the future - the timelessness of the rocks and the hills - all the people who have existed there. I prefer winter and fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape - the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show." Andrew Wyeth

In my spring,a sprig was i ready to spring
and i did like a monkey from one branch to another
non stop running,playing as if the very air gave my limbs wings to fly
the earth was solid and yet it felt like the very sky
run everywhere,fly everywhere,laugh everywhere
A tender sprig was i in the spring of childhood

Summer came and as does the sun with its fire
so came the trials and tribulations of life
bummer for life was hotter than the face of the sun
and arms and legs that once flew,ran and sprang
now weighed heavy and every step was a ton

fall is here with one step through the door
and summer is one step out of the door
now as the older tree,older branch
i see the new sprigs in a new spring
and remember all the things
that spring and summer brings
i look at my limbs now and i really look at them
and i realise that all the running and flying
is just a step towards knowing and being
and feeling and understanding
that sometimes i need to fly for those that cannot fly
run for those that cannot run
for we are all ruled by the seasons under the sun

winter will come and i will surely hum
and the lines will go come winter come
for the the tender sprig of spring
is ready for it now knows the meaning
that spring,summer,winter,fall
is once again followed by spring,summer,winter and fall
tall will fall,sprig will bloom
and limbs will once again run,flap and fly
for they rest in me all the seasons of the sun.

Edited by deepak_satish - 8 years ago

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love life

@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#883

"You touched my heart...ever so softly
and I realized
tears had never been...merely salt

and the rain
Oh the Rain!
had never been merely water."
Sanober Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest

"When clouds of pain loom in the sky
When a shadow of sadness flickers by
When a tear finds its way to the eye
When fear keeps the loneliness alive
I try and console my heart
Why is it that you cry? I ask

This is only what life imparts
These deep silences within
Have been handed out to all by time
Everyone's story has a little sorrow
Everyone's share has a little sunshine

No need for water in your eyes
Every moment can be a new life
Why do you let them pass you by?
Oh heart, why is it that you cry?"
Javed Akhtar

"I prefer Winter and Fall, when you feel the bone structure of the landscape- the loneliness of it, the dead feeling of Winter. Something waits beneath it, the whole story doesn't show." Andrew Wyeth

"the intensity
in your eyes burns my pen
as i write."
Sanober Khan, A touch, a tear, a tempest

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@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#884

Crutches of life

the crutch called pain is on the right
the crutch called memory is on the left
and with the help of both of them
i march right and left and sometimes it is left and right

she did not and even now does not
see the crutches or believe that i use them
she plants her lips,soft and tender
her breath,my breath and soon we breathe as one

mockingly she steps back and begins to fly away
and then stops,turns and whispers a question
are you going to miss them,my lips and my hips

i smiled,still smile and say miss you,yes,maybe,maybe not
for you are safe as pain and locked inside me as a memory

puzzled " don't you love me,don't you wan't me"
i smiled again " i do love you but just that i love the feeling of being in love a bit more"

so,to crutch or not to crutch
to clutch or not to clutch

death came with arms wide open and i laughed
death huffed and puffed and rose black and tall
i looked at death and said " are you going to or not?"
it looked and whispered " not today but surely someday"
death danced and i danced along and death went away
threatening to come back another day

i looked at love and looked at death
and looked at the pain of my broken soul
and both looked and felt the same
as if they were they one and had a single name

so,its back to those crutches again
well,the crutch called pain is on the right
the crutch called memory is on the left
and with the help of both of them
i march right and left and sometimes it is left and right

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love life

@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#885

Jannal oram-6

It's true about the eyes being the window to the soul. Your face can be etched with worry, and twisted by ageing, but the eyes tell the true story of who you are.

He " do you know how much i love you"
She " yes,i see it in your eyes"
He " my eyes,really"
She " yes,your eyes reflect that which is in your soul"
He " my eyes,my soul,god,what else"
She " that is enough for the light in your eyes is now the light in my soul"

Jeeva stood looking at the large monitor and yet her eyes saw nothing for she had travelled back in time and then came the sound of a knock on her cabin door and she looked up and saw Hema's head popping in " yes,hema"

" ma'am,just wanted to remind you that the boss is coming in at about 12."

Jeeva looked at her wrist watch and its hands showed 10.15 a.m and nodded " thanks hema and yes,i do remember that K.K. sir is coming in today and that too after nearly three weeks.I hope the conference room and the slides for the projector is ready for he might want to go through everything as quickly as possible.And please,print out the half yearly report and also make a separate folder with all the liabilities and my personal report on the health of the company.Thank you."

Their boss K.K sir and his wife and had gone on a tour to Europe for nearly two weeks with his entire family and had returned just a few days back.But jeeva had kept in constant touch with him and updated him regularly via video conferencing.After the down sizing of the company's portfolio,jeeva's workload had diminished by half but since her boss was a director on many boards,she was also entrusted to keep an eye on those companies for he did not want his name and reputation to be dragged down into disrepute by the actions of the members of those companies.

Jeeva's thoughts flashed back to nearly eight years ago and to those moments she sat with others in the crowded conference room and out of nearly 200 applicants,she and nine others had been chosen for the final interview by the boss himself.

Jeeva had been the fourth of the final ten applicants to be ushered into K.K Agarwal's cabin by one of the elderly secretaries and since her bio-data was already on his table and before him,she calmly sat down and waited for the questions.

K.k had looked up " miss.jeeva,you are not yet 21 and you have just completed your graduation exams and yet here is your application before me for the job as my personal assistant."

Jeeva not batting an eyelid " I am sorry sir but could you please be more specific with your questions for i am not sure how my age is relevant here for your requirements clearly stated that you are looking for a person who is well spoken in english and one who has a degree in economics."

K.K. looked at her and then slowly leaned back " Okay,let us forget the topic of age for just a moment but let us dwell on the topic of your graduation for you are not a graduate but a student who is still waiting for her results."

Jeeva nodded " very true sir and a valid question.sir,my results are due in a months time and if you see my grades for the first two years,it will show you that i stood first in both of them and in all subjects and if you go back to my board exams,you can see that i have come fifth in the state rankings.So,with all these precedents you can safely assume that my results will be really good.And adding to that is my NIIT certificates that reflect my two year course in visual basis and c++ and also my high scores in programming."

K.K. Agarwal looked up amused " Miss.jeeva,are you always this clear and forthright with your views and explanations."

Jeeva smiled warmly " always sir for that is the rule in our house and set by a great soul who happens to be my dad."

K.K. hurriedly looked down for he felt something touch his soul when he heard jeeva speak about her dad and composing himself " Miss.jeeva, earlier i broached on the topic of your age and it was not in context of whether you are competent or skilled enough for the job but for an entirely different reason.You see,there are nearly thirty people working here and all most all of them are above 40 and some even above 60.Unlike other companies,my company has no age limit and everyone here is allowed to work as long as they are able to work properly.Unlike other private companies,my company gives pension and other benefits to those who retire.Now,the reason i am telling you all this is because if i hire you,a lady who is barely out of her teens to be my personal secretary,then you will be dealing and coordinating with much older people and sometimes there can be friction and needless tensions which i want to avoid for this is not just a company but a happy family."

Jeeva looked at him and K.K could she that was processing the question and then just when he thought she was going to reply,she turned and looked through the glass panes of his cabin and he saw her eyes travel the length and breadth of his office and then she turned to him " sir,i am confident in my abilities and also in my people skills but how do you expect me to predict how your staff will react to me.And then again,if you do appoint me do you think anybody will disrespect your choice of me as your secretary."

K.K.Agarwal shook his head " now i am truly stumped for a reply and i guess that is the best answer anyone can possibly give for my question."

His eyes went back to her bio-data and then looking up at her " what does your father do,miss jeeva?"

" dad worked for the railways but retired recently and my mum is a housewife."

K.k. " railways.That is a central govt job and it means that the pension must be pretty decent and yet here you are in my office looking for a job."

Jeeva shrugged " well sir,circumstances and stuff."

" But what about your future education and pursuing dreams or goals for i am sure a person like you has some or more."

" Oh,of course.I do plan to resume my education but through correspondence and i promise you that it will in no way diminish or affect my work and duties here if i do get the job."

K.k. had closed the file and looked at jeeva " okay.we will get back to you in a couple of days.Thank you for coming in for the interview.I wish you the very best."

Jeeva thanked him and quietly left the office and had gone to meet Bharat and her other friends at New woodlands where they were meeting for lunch and were also going to finalise the details of their trip to both ooty and kodaikanal.

There is only so much one can hide from their close friends, someone with whom you have spent a lot of time and everyone sitting there knew immediately that something was off with jeeva but bharat shook his head and they subtly refrained from asking her what was wrong and thus making her feel more uncomfortable.

After lunch,she and bharat had stayed back and then jeeva had told him that she wouldn't be able to make it for the trip and Bharat got irritated and upset but then calming down gently asked her what the problem was.

Jeeva had slowly explained the situation at home and also told him about the job interview that she had attended earlier that day.

Bharat laughed aloud " you silly fool.And here i was really worried and expected worse."

He threw his arm around her " sweetie,i have all the money in the world and it is more than enough for the next twenty generations.I am the only son and heir to everything that my parents own and my own personal bank account always has enough money to buy a village.It is all yours and we will get your dad treated in the best hospital in india or we can even fly him abroad."

Jeeva who was fiddling with a napkin on her lap sharply and angrily looked up " Bharat,please,this is a very serious and emotional situation for me and i want you to really listen to me and try to understand my thought process."

Bharat raised both his hands in surrender " okay ma'am,i am sorry for being frivolous and for giving you the impression that i was taking your problem lightly.But i am not,believe me and i meant every word that i just said."

Jeeva " dei poda,don't repeat those words again for it is of no help to me right now.Just stop and think about my parents,especially my dad.You think he will ever accept help from his future son-in-law when he doesn't want his own daughter to go to work."

Both remained silent and then in unison they began to speak and Bharat waving his hand " princess,go ahead."

" Bharat,i am going to take up a job for it is the right thing to do at this moment and my only priority.We still have a few years to go before we can talk about marriage and our future.I plan to resume my studies and also finish my MBA through correspondence while i work and support my dad through his illness."

Bharat agreed and told her that she had his full support and things were well at that moment.

Next day,jeeva got a call from K.K.ENTERPRISES and was informed that she had been appointed as K.K.Agarwal's personal assistant and was asked to come to work from Monday of the next week.

That gave her three days until then and she decided to share the good news with bharat and her friends and gave him a call but could not reach him.

Next day,Bharat called her urgently and told her that they had to meet for he had something important to discuss and so jeeva met up with him in the usual place,the ice cream parlor in hotel amaravathi.

Bharat looked at her and she looked at him " jeeva,i spoke to my dad about us and also showed him your photo."

Jeeva in frustration ' che,what's wrong with you? we spoke and more or less planned on what we were going to do and here you are telling me that you have spoken to your dad about us."

Bharat stared at her and for the very first time she saw anger flare briefly in his eyes and then controlling it he smiled gently and sadly " you worry about your parents and in the same way i worry about my love and my future wife.You think i want you to be travelling in a bus everyday and go to work in some office as a secretary or something when i can buy you a few companies for you to be run at your whim and fancy."

Jeeva patiently " bharat,it is not about what i or you want at this point and it is what needs to be done for the good of my family and the health of my dad.Forget it.now tell me what did your dad have to say about us."

" Well,dad feels the same way that i do and even insisted that we get married in the next few months.He said,that once we are married we can help your dad and then there won't be too much opposition since we will all be one family."

Jeeva felt for the very first time the tremors that cause rifts and cracks in a relationship and felt helpless and frozen.

" Bharat,all your money is useless and can't buy everything and i want you to first understand that point for someday you will realise that.

" What do you mean by that jeeva? am i supposed to be ashamed that i was born rich and am i supposed to feel guilty that i want to help my future in-laws.I just fail to see the point you are trying to make for i feel like i am in some black and white film with shivaji in it."

Jeeva tried to reply but bharat raised his hand " wait,just wait.Let me try talking to your dad and let me make him see reason and then maybe he will undersand the situation."

Jeeva looked down and before she could stop them the tears flowed and rained on her white churidar bottom and she hurriedly wiped her eyes and looked at bharat " i love you bharat but never before this moment have i felt the vast abyss that lies between you and me.Now i know what it is to be rich and what it is to be born to a middle class family.There is so much that you take for granted that i cannot and there are some things which cannot be spoken off and must be never spoken off."

She stood up and gently ran her fingers through his hair and looked at him with a beautiful smile " i love you more now than i have ever loved you before.But i think we need some time away from each other to think and decide on what is best for our futures.Because,sitting here and sitting somewhere else and talking about this situation will not solve anything and we will end up fighting and hating each other.I don't want us to be like that for i would rather die than see you sad and unhappy.So,let us say bye for now and meet up a few days later and see how things stand.Okay."

Bharat nodded and without even knowing that he was crying " Jeeva,you are the most important thing in my life and i cannot think of even breathing without you in my soul."

She saw his tears and her heart broke and she felt a tremendous pain light up her whole body and not knowing what to say or do slowly walked away from the other half of her soul.

He sat watching her go taking with her his very life and purpose to be alive and placing his face in his palms let the tears flow smoothly and without inhibition and they came carrying with it a taste of anger,frustration and a sense of unknown desperation.

But I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name, your name!

ADELE-set fire to the rain

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ri7-vnrJD3k

I let it fall, my heart,
And as it fell you rose to claim it
It was dark and I was over
Until you kissed my lips and you saved me

My hands, they're strong
But my knees were far too weak
To stand in your arms
Without falling to your feet

But there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew
All the things you'd say
They were never true, never true
And the games you play
You would always win, always win

But I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming Out your name,
Your name

When I lay with you
I could stay there
Close my eyes
Feel you here forever
You and me together nothing gets better

'Cause there's a side to you
That I never knew, never knew
All the things you'd say
They were never true, never true
And the games you play
You would always win, always win

But I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming out your name,
Your name

I set fire to the rain
And I threw us into the flames
Well, it felt something died
'Cause I knew that that was
The last time, the last time

Sometimes I wake up by the door,
That heart you caught must be waiting for you
Even now when we're already over
I can't help myself from looking for you

I set fire to the rain
Watched it pour as I touched your face
Well, it burned while I cried
'Cause I heard it screaming Out your name,
Your name

I set fire to the rain,
And I threw us into the flames
Well, it felt something died
'Cause I knew that, that was the last time
The last time

Let it burn
Let it burn
Let it burn

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@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#886

Hi people,

I found this interesting article about writing and the process a writer goes through on facebook and thought i would share it with you people.I have to admit that the content is rather difficult to read and the thought process of the writer himself a bit like watching an art film.

George Saunders: what writers really do when they write

A series of instincts, thousands of tiny adjustments, hundreds of drafts ... What is the mysterious process writers go through to get an idea on to the page?

The writer is that person who, embarking upon her task, does not know what to do-Donald Barthelme

Many years ago, during a visit to Washington DC, my wife's cousin pointed out to us a crypt on a hill and mentioned that, in 1862, while Abraham Lincoln was president, his beloved son, Willie, died, and was temporarily interred in that crypt, and that the grief-stricken Lincoln had, according to the newspapers of the day, entered the crypt "on several occasions" to hold the boy's body. An image spontaneously leapt into my mind - a melding of the Lincoln Memorial and the Piet. I carried that image around for the next 20-odd years, too scared to try something that seemed so profound, and then finally, in 2012, noticing that I wasn't getting any younger, not wanting to be the guy whose own gravestone would read "Afraid to Embark on Scary Artistic Project He Desperately Longed to Attempt", decided to take a run at it, in exploratory fashion, no commitments. My novel, Lincoln in the Bardo, is the result of that attempt, and now I find myself in the familiar writerly fix of trying to talk about that process as if I were in control of it.

We often discuss art this way: the artist had something he "wanted to express", and then he just, you know ... expressed it. We buy into some version of the intentional fallacy: the notion that art is about having a clear-cut intention and then confidently executing same.

The actual process, in my experience, is much more mysterious and more of a pain in the ass to discuss truthfully.

An artist works outside the realm of strict logic. Simply knowing one's intention and then executing it does not make good art. Artists know this. According to Donald Barthelme: "The writer is that person who, embarking upon her task, does not know what to do." Einstein, always the smarty-pants, outdid them both: "No worthy problem is ever solved in the plane of its original conception."

What does an artist do, mostly? She tweaks that which she's already done. There are those moments when we sit before a blank page, but mostly we're adjusting that which is already there. The writer revises, the painter touches up, the director edits, the musician overdubs. I write, "Jane came into the room and sat down on the blue couch," read that, wince, cross out "came into the room" and "down" and "blue" (Why does she have to come into the room? Can someone sit UP on a couch? Why do we care if it's blue?) and the sentence becomes "Jane sat on the couch - " and suddenly, it's better (Hemingwayesque, even!), although ... why is it meaningful for Jane to sit on a couch? Do we really need that? And soon we have arrived, simply, at "Jane", which at least doesn't suck, and has the virtue of brevity.

But why did I make those changes? On what basis?

On the basis that, if it's better this new way for me, over here, now, it will be better for you, later, over there, when you read it. When I pull on this rope here, you lurch forward over there.

We often think that the empathetic function in fiction is accomplished via the writer's relation to his characters, but it's also accomplished via the writer's relation to his reader. You make a rarefied place (rarefied in language, in form; perfected in many inarticulable beauties - the way two scenes abut; a certain formal device that self-escalates; the perfect place at which a chapter cuts off); and then welcome the reader in. She can't believe that you believe in her that much; that you are so confident that the subtle nuances of the place will speak to her; she is flattered. And they do speak to her. This mode of revision, then, is ultimately about imagining that your reader is as humane, bright, witty, experienced and well intentioned as you, and that, to communicate intimately with her, you have to maintain the state, through revision, of generously imagining her. You revise your reader up, in your imagination, with every pass. You keep saying to yourself: "No, she's smarter than that. Don't dishonour her with that lazy prose or that easy notion."

And in revising your reader up, you revise yourself up too.

Any work of art quickly reveals itself to be a linked system of problems. A book has personality, and personality, as anyone burdened with one will attest, is a mixed blessing. This guy has great energy - but never sits still. This girl is sensitive - maybe too much; she weeps when the wrong type of pasta is served. Almost from the first paragraph, the writer becomes aware that a work's strengths and weaknesses are bound together, and that, sadly, his great idea has baggage.
Susan Hill: Can I be a serious writer, keeping such casual hours?'
Read more

For example: I loved the idea of Lincoln, alone at night in the graveyard. But how is a novel made from one guy in a graveyard at night? Unless we want to write a 300-page monologue in the voice of Lincoln ("Four score and seven minutes ago, I did enter this ghastly place") or inject a really long-winded and omniscient gravedigger into the book (we don't, trust me, I tried), we need some other presences there in the graveyard. Is this a problem? Well, it sure felt like one, back in 2012. But, as new age gurus are always assuring us, a "problem" is actually an "opportunity". In art, this is true. The reader will sense the impending problem at about the same moment the writer does, and part of what we call artistic satisfaction is the reader's feeling that just the right cavalry has arrived, at just the right moment. Another wave of artistic satisfaction occurs if she feels that the cavalry is not only arriving efficiently, but is a cool, interesting cavalry, ie, is an opportunity for added fun/beauty - a broadening-out of the aesthetic terms.

In this case, the solution was pretty simple - contained, joke-like, in the very statement of the problem ("Who else might be in a graveyard late at night?").

I remembered an earlier, abandoned novel, set in a New York State graveyard that featured - wait for it - talking ghosts. I also remembered a conversation with a brilliant former student of mine, who said that if I ever wrote a novel, it should be a series of monologues, as in a story of mine called "Four Institutional Monologues".

So: the book would be narrated by a group of monologuing ghosts stuck in that graveyard.

And suddenly what was a problem really did become an opportunity: someone who loves doing voices, and thinking about death, now had the opportunity to spend four years trying to make a group of talking ghosts be charming, spooky, substantial, moving, and, well, human.

A work of fiction can be understood as a three-beat movement: a juggler gathers bowling pins; throws them in the air; catches them. This intuitive approach I've been discussing is most essential, I think, during the first phase: the gathering of the pins. This gathering phase really is: conjuring up the pins. Somehow the best pins are the ones made inadvertently, through this system of radical, iterative preference I've described. Concentrating on the line-to-line sound of the prose, or some matter of internal logic, or describing a certain swath of nature in the most evocative way (that is, by doing whatever gives us delight, and about which we have a strong opinion), we suddenly find that we've made a pin. Which pin? Better not to name it. To name it is to reduce it. Often "pin" exists simply as some form of imperative, or a thing about which we're curious; a threat, a promise, a pattern, a vow we feel must soon be broken. Scrooge says it would be best if Tiny Tim died and eliminated the surplus population; Romeo loves Juliet; Akaky Akakievich needs a new overcoat; Gatsby really wants Daisy. (The colour grey keeps showing up; everything that occurs in the story does so in pairs.)
Sebastian Barry: Eventually, a serviceable first line is rendered from the heavens'
Read more

Then: up go the pins. The reader knows they are up there and waits for them to come down and be caught. If they don't come down (Romeo decides not to date Juliet after all, but to go to law school; the weather in St Petersburg suddenly gets tropical, and the overcoat will not be needed; Gatsby sours on Daisy, falls for Betty; the writer seems to have forgotten about his grey motif) the reader cries foul, and her forehead needle plummets into the "N" zone and she throws down the book and wanders away to get on to Facebook, or rob a store.

The writer, having tossed up some suitably interesting pins, knows they have to come down, and, in my experience, the greatest pleasure in writing fiction is when they come down in a surprising way that conveys more and better meaning than you'd had any idea was possible. One of the new pleasures I experienced writing this, my first novel, was simply that the pins were more numerous, stayed in the air longer, and landed in ways that were more unforeseen and complexly instructive to me than has happened in shorter works.

Without giving anything away, let me say this: I made a bunch of ghosts. They were sort of cynical; they were stuck in this realm, called the bardo (from the Tibetan notion of a sort of transitional purgatory between rebirths), stuck because they'd been unhappy or unsatisfied in life. The greatest part of their penance is that they feel utterly inessential - incapable of influencing the living. Enter Willie Lincoln, just dead, in imminent danger (children don't fare well in that realm). In the last third of the book, the bowling pins started raining down. Certain decisions I'd made early on forced certain actions to fulfilment. The rules of the universe created certain compulsions, as did the formal and structural conventions I'd put in motion. Slowly, without any volition from me (I was, always, focused on my forehead needle), the characters started to do certain things, each on his or her own, the sum total of which resulted, in the end, in a broad, cooperative pattern that seemed to be arguing for what I'd call a viral theory of goodness. All of these imaginary beings started working together, without me having decided they should do so (each simply doing that which produced the best prose), and they were, it seemed, working together to save young Willie Lincoln, in a complex pattern seemingly being dictated from ... elsewhere. (It wasn't me, it was them.)

Something like this had happened in stories before, but never on this scale, and never so unrelated to my intention. It was a beautiful, mysterious experience and I find myself craving it while, at the same time, flinching at the thousands of hours of work it will take to set such a machine in motion again.

Why do I feel this to be a hopeful thing? The way this pattern thrillingly completed itself? It may just be - almost surely is - a feature of the brain, the byproduct of any rigorous, iterative engagement in a thought system. But there is something wonderful in watching a figure emerge from the stone unsummoned, feeling the presence of something within you, the writer, and also beyond you - something consistent, wilful, and benevolent, that seems to have a plan, which seems to be: to lead you to your own higher ground.

George Saunders

You and find the entire article here on this link.

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2017/mar/04/what-writers-really-do-when-they-write

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love life

@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#887

To all the women in this forum,

I man,we men are a part of you and life starts with you as the very word men begins with wo.Even if many don't realise and never understand this,i and many others do.

On this woman's day i bow to you with folded hands and pledge that everyday is a woman's day, for the very earth that we all live in must be a woman since a man cannot be so beautiful,bountiful,plentiful and so patient for all that qualities surely are the essence of a woman and hence everyday is a earths day and a woman's day.

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love life

@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#888

Jannal oram-7

"Most people want to be circled by safety, not by the unexpected. The unexpected can take you out. But the unexpected can also take you over and change your life. Put a heart in your body where a stone used to be."

Ron Hall

The funny thing about life,love and so much of daily happenings is that we think that we are in control but only when life throws you a sucker punch right in your jaw and knocks you out does one and all realise that how much ever we prepare for eventualities,there will be something bigger than you imagined that will huff and puff and blow your door down.

After their minor confrontation between her and Bharat,Jeeva had quietly taken up her job in K.K. enterprises and nearly a week had passed when Bharat called her back and said that he needed to talk to her about something very important,Jeeva had agreed to meet him on the sunday which was just around the corner and they met at Marina beach.

Both jeeva and bharat sat in his car and since the evening breeze was cool,she had asked him to switch off the AC and open the windows.They sat in an uncomfortable silence as life on marina beach happened around them.

Vendors were fanning the coals on which corn cobs were being grilled and the embers flew into the air like the exhaust of a rocket taking off.The beach was overflowing with people sitting and eating molaga,onion and potato bajjis all the while dipping them in an assorted varieties of chutney.

A young couple passed their car with a tiny tot in the father's arms and both looked at the family and bharat whispered " that is all i want in life.Marry you,have a few children,live a quiet life and hopefully die peacefully."

Jeeva smiled and nodded " I too want the same thing and you know it is true but the situation is such that i cannot think of marriage for a few years at least.So,i beg of you to be patient and wait until the time is right and then we will do what we want."

" jeeva,don't you think that you are being slightly selfish for you are thinking only of your parents and not about me,our love and your future-in-laws.While i am thinking about you and your family's welfare and am offering you a way out of this sticky situation."

Bharat paused and continued " But that is not why i called you here.My dad wants me to go abroad for further studies and i will be leaving to u.s.a in a months time.If you happen to change your mind,i will drop my plans and marry you and stay back working in my dads company.So,please take some time to really think about our situation and come to a good decision."

Jeeva took bharats hands and kissed them softly " No,there is nothing to think about and maybe you going abroad will work to our advantage and will give me time to sort out my family situation."

Bharat shook his head and then gently kissed her and jeeva accepted hsi kiss and then she leaned back " do you want to make love to me before you go away .will that make you feel better and help deal with the pain of being away from me."

Bharat " the thought did cross my mind but no.If we had gone on our trip to ooty and kodai,maybe we could have had sex but not now,not when things are so messy and confusing for that is not what i want from you and most importantly that is not who i am.I plan to be your husband,your friend,your life companion,one whom you can trust,love implicitly without any doubt."

Jeeva stared into his eyes and gently wiped the lip stick smudge from his cheek.

The days passed into months and the season changed and jeevas father's condition became worse and now sujatha was getting ready for college and the burdens only increased along with her responsibilities.

But then things took a turn for the worse when bharats father found a great alliance for his son and the talks of marriage began in earnest.Bharat tried telling his father that he was not ready for a marriage and in the end he was forced to tell his father that he was in love with jeeva and also revealed the entire situation to her.

Bharat's father who was suffering from high blood pressure took this news pretty badly and rather than yelling and fighting with his son,remained quiet and withdrawn.The stress that he bore quietly reared up and he suffered a mild stroke and this is when bharats mother finally put her foot down and raised hell.

She looked at bharat " tell me just one thing.Is your love more important than your parents love for you and is it more important than your dad's life."

Bharat who was already suffering from jet lag couldn't handle these pointed and brutally frank questions and slowly sank to the metal seat of the chairs outside the ICU and placed his face in his hands.

His mother sat next to him and threw her arm around him " Child,think hard after you hear my words.The lady you love is fighting for her fathers health and her family.But who is fighting for your dads health when he really needs your love and support.Please don't think that i am emotionally blackmailing you into this wedding for that is not my intent.But just in case your dad dies,do you think you will ever be able to escape the guilt and the sadness.So,just marry this girl whom we have seen and trust our choice for she will make you very happy."

He spent the whole night thinking about jeeva and then in the morning decided that he would get married to the woman his parents had fixed and the marriage preparations started in a grand manner.

Bharat neither had the face nor the voice with which to face jeeva and just lay low and locked in his room,refusing to come out and jeeva heard about his upcoming marriage from her friends.

She knew and understood the position that bharat must have been pushed to for him to crumble and agree to the wedding and at that moment jeeva only felt more love and respect for him.

The years ran away taking with it her love,memories and desires and suja,her younger sister was now all grown up and doing her final year in medicine and would soon be flying away to America for a course in genetic engineering.Her dad had both his arthritic ridden knee joints replaced in an expensive surgery and the insurance policy had covered half of it and the loan from the company had covered the rest of it.

Jeeva stood near the window as her mind finished running through her life and that of her parents and hearing her boss calling her name,hurriedly turned around and faced him.

K.k Agarwal stood with a smile " jeeva,we hear so many beautiful film songs and just enjoy it for the voice and the melody but rarely do we ever dwell on the real meaning and the pathos behind it.Seeing you stand there with so much sadness on your shoulders reminded me of a scene of rajesh khanna in the movie " Anand" when he is told that he has very little time left to live and a beautiful song follows.I did not know the depth of those lyrics then but i know it now."

Kahin Door Jab Din Dhal Jaye

Sanjh Ki Dulhan Badan Churaye, Chupke Se Aaye

Mere Khayalon Ke Aangan Mein

Koi Sapnon Ke Deep Jalaye

Somewhere far away when the day retires

The dusk sneaks up, shyly like a bride

In the courtyard of my thoughts,

Someone lights up lamps of dreams..

Kabhi Yun Hi Jab Hui Bojhal Saansen

Bhar Aai Baithe Baithe Jab Yoon Hi Aankhen

Kabhi Machal Ke Pyaar Se Chal Ke

Chhuye Koi Mujhe Par Nazar Na Aaye

Nazar na aaye..

Kahin Door..

Sometimes when without a reason my breath become heavy

When my eyes well up just sitting there

Then with a flutter, moving with love,

Someone touches me, but I cannot see her..

I cannot see her..

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=kooq2WqEdG8

Quote

love life

@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#889

REDEMPTION 176

It had been nearly a week since Buddha the tiger had mentioned to Thenmozhi that they would be crossing a hidden danger and that their way forward to their eventual destination lay only through that encounter.

The flat of the forest had been steadily rising in an incline and slowly everyone were beginning to feel the fatigue of climbing through the mountains.Then they came to a small waterfall and Thenmozhi decided that they would halt for the day although the sun was still high in the sky.Cupping her hands she gathered the sweet,falling water and drank greedily from it.

She sat on a fallen tree trunk and gathered her thoughts for they weighed heavily with the words of Buddha and hearing the dry leaves crackle,she looked up to see the tribal leader and his men slowly approaching her.

Thenmozhi flashed a gentle and kind smile and asked the leader to come forward and sit next to her and tell her what he wanted to and with which he had been struggling for the past few days.

The tribal leader although much older than her,refused but Thenmozhi looked into his eyes and spoke to him and the mans eyes opened wide for he understood her and knew that she could understand him and they conversed via telepathy.

" Mother,my queen,me and my people have lived here in these lands for a very long time and time is something that we measure with the seasons and the stars in the skies.Over hundreds of years,my ancestors have gathered much knowledge about these forests and i as the oldest of my tribe am now the vault in which everything resides.Soon,when my time comes,i will impart all the secrets and knowledge to the next in line and will help them carry our life forward.But now,for the very first time i am going to bare them for a stranger,one who is not from our tribe and yet i see no one more deserving nor capable than you for this trust that i now bestow upon you."

Thenmozhi looked deep into the old tribal leaders eyes and he in return saw a flare of green fire in her eyes and nodded " Among the many secrets that i am privileged to have known,there is one that will be of importance to you for i know like you and the tiger do that we are on course to crossing a place that poses a great danger for you and all of us."

Seeing Thenmozhi's silent look,he continued " soon,in the next few days,we will climb and crest this mountain range and then we will enter the valley of the warriors who worship the sun.they are a mighty race and also very savage in their dealings with strangers and others who trespass their lands.But the one who you should be really worried about is their leader for he is a mighty warrior and they say he carries the very sun in his body.Many great warriors from my tribe and others near us have gone bravely to face him,challenge him and have lost their lives.So,i am warning you to be on your guard and also informing you that we will not be able to proceed further than the top of the mountain for the land of the sun worshipper's begins from that very crest that is on top of the mountain."

" My queen,i do not know the purpose of you being here and of the others who gave travelled with you across the mighty sea but let me tell you that it could be the very end of the journey for all of us and we will be lucky to escape with our lives."

Thenmozhi sat in silence while she took in and understood everything that she had just been told and then gently gripped the old mans left palm and whispered in his soul " old father,i am in debt for all that you have already done and i don't want to burden you and your men anymore.Give me some time to think over all that you have just told me and let me decide what to do.But please,promise me one thing and that is that you will watch over my people while i go on alone to face this danger on my own.Wait for my return and i promise you that i will return for all of you and we will go forward in our quest for our final destination."

The afternoon slowly turner to evening and soon turned to night and darkness covered the land but a light flickered deep in her soul and Thenmozhi rose in her dreams to meet Azhagan.

" My lord,what will you have me do? should i go on or turn back?"

" thenmozhi,there is no turning back our destiny and you know in your heart as to what needs to be done.but know this and that is,that there is nothing to stop you or defeat you if you fight with the light on your side."

She came awake and slowly sat up and saw that everyone were fast asleep.Quietly she gathered her weapons and began to slip away from her camp and soon she was well and truly up into the mountains and even from down where she stood,she could see the peaks that rose into the skies.

Then hearing a faint noise she swiftly turned around and there stood Buddha the tiger " what,you thought you could slip away without me knowing? we are in it together and to the end we will both remain one in thought and one in light."

Thenmozhi smiled kindly " i thought i would be able to fool you and make a quiet getaway but i guess i was wrong.Okay then.let us go and see what has to be seen and that which has to be faced.come."

By the time,thenmozhi and buddha climbed and stood on top of the mountain,the eastern horizon was beginning to flare into an orange hue thus announcing the coming of the sun and daybreak.

Quote

love life

@satish_2025

Rocker

+ 5

Posted: 8 years ago

#890

Books,more books and now boxes and boxes of books

Not even two years and my landlord who had assured me that i could stay in his flat for five years called me and asked me very kindly,softly if i could move on in a couple of months time.I held the phone closer wanting to make sure that the words that i heard were actually heard right and all i could muster in reply were not words of defiance or irritation but not surprisingly those that could be answered in such a manner that could make sense for the abrupt decision " Why? what happened? Is everything okay?"

Well,the young landlord( he is only the son of the real landlord )replied " well,personal problems and in a nutshell said maamiyaar and marumagal issues."

Resigned,depressed and feeling a match being struck to a fuse that would,could or just might never explode,my first concern was for all the boxes,dozens of boxes that would have to be brought down from the lofts and trucked and placed once again in a new loft,in a new house.

I slowly walked,paced and paced and understood a long known fact and that was that most of the boxes were filled with books.Most of the books are from the time when i rather go to the library threw money away and actually purchased them brand new and well,there was no YELOOR back then.

I carried a cane chair and using it reached into the loft and brought down one rather bulky bas***d of a box and well i ripped open the tape and removing the newspaper that i had sealed them with to protect them from dust(fat chance),i sat gazing at the books in various colors,various shapes and in various sizes.

I looked at them and spoke to myself " you are not just books.You are not just paper with print and bounded together,but you are my friends,my fellow travellers in this journey of my life."

I reached and the first book that reached for my touch was wilbur smith's " Eagle in the sky" and my lips bloomed a smile and i looked out of the window as the characters David and Debra came alive and recounted the story of a super rich american with killer looks and how he falls in love with a Israeli woman.

I read the book sometime in the early 80's when i was 14 or 15 and well i too wanted to fall in love and feel real love like they did.

I gently placed david and debra back again into the box and whispered to them " no,i will not let you go.At least not the ones who really mean something to me for you were there during my first kiss,my first love and also all those times when i cried for i felt lost and lonely and had no clue as to why life was so bad and so goddamned hard.

Stephen king who taught me to fear the dark.Tom clancy who taught me all about spies,nuclear missiles and submarines.wilbur smith who taught me all about africa,the dark continent and that too much before National geographic and discovery channel came to us.Ayn rand's fountainhead and howard roark.John connolly who gave me the will to write.Brad thor,vince flynn,tolkien,arthur conan doyle,lee child,dennis lehane,stephen donaldson,brian haig and so many more and my oldies,sydney sheldon,arthur hailey,irving wallace,james herriot etc.

So,here i am,once again in a new house and once again all my friends are back in their boxes,in the lofts and they sleep like vampires in their coffins and wait for the time when darkness will descend into my soul and when they will wake to shine on me and bring light into my life.

Someday,hopefully someday,i will find the best chair,a chair i can really lean back,put my feet up and start a new voyage of discovery with my favourite books once more.Just me with the window streaming light onto the pages and when i am ready,ready for one more round,one more adventure.

But until then,my books,sleep soundly in the loft and sleep well for i will sing,mumble passages from your stories as i pass in and out of the room and i hope my lullaby will do,for now.

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