Monday, February 27, 2012

Complications

Acutely aware of my age when I see something written nearly a decade ago.
But the operating principle is: Have blog. Will archive.

Complications


He thought about that day back then.

She had lain there sedated. Her lithe frame propped at an angle in the hospital bed. Her head dropped on one side as she slept with her mouth open.She didn't look particularly attractive with her hair forcibly bunched together and with the ugly polka dot hospital gown losing her gentle curves.The angled bed caused an unnatural lump near the tummy that was unlike her. I.V.s were running into her left arm making a show of the greenish veins in her pale white hand.

In her right arm there was gauze strapped over the wrist she had slit.

He sat to her right looking fixedly at the bandaged wrist. The gauze was a turning a faint yellow near the veins. That is where she wore the face of her watches: on her right hand and facing inwards. He thought she was an intelligent girl.

"I can't live without you" she had cried. He was disgusted with himself for thinking she was only professing her affection.He didn't expect this. He had also felt the brutal pain but could think of nothing. It was all for their best, he had been telling himself as he took those unnecessarily long walks home to trick himself into a weary sleep.

He wept. Not in a loud dramatic manner, but just letting the tears flow.He slipped his right hand into the huge right sleeve of her loose gown and gently pressed her biceps.He knew without looking that even with such a gentle press she was turning red leaving his finger marks.

The doctor walked up behind him and patted him on his shoulder. He didn't quickly take his hand off her arm but kept it there and wiped his face with the other palm. He was still looking at her weak face.

" She will be just fine. Don't worry....Just sign here" the doctor said handing over a pad with some papers.
" Sure.....?" he asked half-croaking, tearing his eyes off her and looking into the doctor's glasses.
" Sure. There'll be no complications. I promise. .........just sign here"

Years later he was able to recall that vividly as he signed the form, below her signature, and returned it to the divorce clerk.

Saturday, February 18, 2012

In which I do Nothing

A writer is supposed to be just a regular guy with an eye open for irony and meaning. Fine. But then he needs to be able to handle the question he asks himself 'If so, then what do I bring to the table?'

I went to two libraries today. Nothing ironic thus far.

The Anna centenary library was exceedingly well stocked. It seemed to stock even those books that academics would write to keep tenure and you feel special for sniffing out and reading. Just that they are not open to membership yet. You are welcome to park yourself in their excellent premises for the day, browse through shelf after shelf and try and read as an enviable view of the city competes for attention. But no borrowing. And the folks were clueless about plans to open up memberships. 'Check the newspapers' I was told.

Wednesday, February 15, 2012

Of Can't Stands and Just Deserts

I find it amusing when people get annoyed by imprecise use of words and sloppy analyses in what they read. It's like they feel the world owes them sense and consistency. All these angry people are likely to call their expectations 'reasonable'. They are disappointed with people who talk without knowing what they are talking about. And they go ballistic when the said writer is, say, a journalist, who is 'paid to write'. That line of argument is something I am particularly uncomfortable about.

Of course I have my own things to rant about -sloppy Tamil in advertisements, to name one. But I never ever find myself arguing with a columnist/blogger too much about the point he makes. Making fun behind his back - sure, count me in. Arguing/confronting - no.

Thursday, February 2, 2012

Beware of Satirists


Rama knocks off Ravana's crown with a single arrow. And then,..

மாற்ற அருந் தடமணி முடி இழந்த வாள் அரக்கன்,
ஏற்றம் எவ் உலகத்தினும் உயர்ந்துளன் எனினும்
ஆற்றல் நல் நெடுங் கவிஞன் ஓர் அங்கதம் உரைப்ப
போற்ற அரும் புகழ் இழந்த பேர் ஒருவனும்-போன்றான்

The powerful demon stood having lost his peerless crown (in a whiff), much like someone of great wordly standing, losing fame and stature, due to a single satirical piece of a gifted poet.

Whoa!