Anecdotal Evidence

  உங்கள் குடும்பமுன்னோர்கள் பற்றி ஸ்வாரஸ்யமாக எதாவது சொல்லுங்கள் என்றொரு கீச்சிழை .  கதை சொல்வார்கள் என்று பார்த்தால் ,  எல்லாரும் கர்மஶ்ரத்தையாக அபிவாதயே சொல்லிக்கொண்டு இருக்கிறார்கள். ஐயகோ!  எப்படிச் செய்யவேண்டும் என்று காட்ட இவ்விடுகை.

I have never been able to understand where people got the idea that democracy was in some way opposed to tradition. It is obvious that tradition is only democracy extended through time...It is the democracy of the dead. Tradition refuses to submit to the small and arrogant oligarchy of those who merely happen to be walking about. All democrats object to men being disqualified by the accident of birth; tradition objects to their being disqualified by the accident of death. .... Poetry is sane because it floats easily in an infinite sea; reason seeks to cross the infinite sea, and so make it finite. The result is mental exhaustion... To accept everything is an exercise, to understand everything a strain. The poet only desires exaltation and expansion, a world to stretch himself in. The poet only asks to get his head into the heavens. It is the logician who seeks to get the heavens into his head. And it is his head that splits. - GK Chesterton, Orthodoxy  ஜனநாயகம் பாரம்பரியத...

'Tis not to see the world   As from a height, with rapt prophetic eyes, And heart profoundly stirred; And weep, and feel the fulness of the past,   The years that are no more!   It is to spend long days   And not once feel that we were ever young. Growing Old - by  Matthew Arnold 30 ,  29 ,  28 ,  27 ,  26

“If I had that much money, I’d retire. Do you think I would come here and bother teaching all of you?” I am not sure we understood that. Teachers weren’t supposed to say such things – atleast not good ones, at any rate not to twelve year olds. But she did, in a balmy post-lunch English class to all of us in that eighth standard. She was one of the best teachers who could stir your curiosity without pandering, who could exude erudition while still being approachable.She was probably in her forties and had a generally unhurried manner, which, were it a story, one would be encouraged to infer a worldview.  While she introduced us to stories, poems, plays and generally yanked our language into shape – she was at her very best when she indulged in rarest of rare raconteur sessions.

30 சமயத்தில் மாமா என்றும் கூப்பிடத் தொடங்கிவிட்ட சிறுவர்கள் தொலைவில் கண்டால் கூச்சலைப் பொறுத்துக் கொள்ளத் தவறினேன். கிழவனானேன் முப்பது வயதாயிற்று  முதுமையும் வரலாயிற்று வெயில்களை, மழையைக், காற்றைப் பனிகளை பயந்து கொள்ளப் பெரியவர் சொல்லித் தந்தார் முப்பது வயதாயிற்று  முதுமையும் வரலாயிற்று கண்கள்மேல் கையைப் பாம்பின் படமெனக் கவிழ்த்துக் கொண்டு (தெருக்களில் தன்னை யாரோ அழைத்ததாய்க் கருதித் தேடிப்) பார்க்கிற வயதில் பாதி கடவுளே வந்தாயிற்று - ஞானக்கூத்தன் கணையாழி, நவம்பர் 1971 29 ,  28 ,  27 ,  26

"Komitet gosudarstvennoy bezopasnosti" said my cousin. And with that I will pause to set up context. I am told interruption is the thing, these days.  I am told that, you dear reader, are not likely to be interested in what I tell you, unless I tell you why I am telling you what I am telling you. I shan't  - been a while since I said that (which is smugger than last season’s 'always wanted to say that') – protest, saying the context is invariably such a flimsy apology. You know that. And a concise explanation of context does not do justice to my usually cosmic intent. Now, having anti-sold well enough, I will appear to yield. One of the many reasons why I liked Manu Joseph's 'The Illict Happiness of Other People ' is the depiction of the anguish of the weak and not-so-smart Thoma, who desires, among other things, appreciation. He nurses the ambition of being a writer, but is terrified by the problem that 'even writers need to know facts...

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.

Every poet really writes only one poem over and over again - Theodore Roethke A certain critic — for such men, I regret to say, do exist — made the nasty remark about my last novel that it contained ‘all the old Wodehouse characters under different names’. He has probably now been eaten by bears, like the children who made mock of the prophet Elisha: but if he still survives he will not be able to make a similar charge against Summer Lightning. With my superior intelligence, I have outgeneralled this man by putting in all the old Wodehouse characters under the same names. Pretty silly it will make him feel, I rather fancy. P. G. Wodehouse - Summer Lightning, Preface (1929) 77ல் எழுதின என் கவிதைகளைப் படிக்கும்பொழுது ஒருவிதமான சந்தோஷமும், பெருஞ்சோகமும் சூழ்கிறது. ஏன்னா, அதிலிருந்து நான் பெரிய அளவுக்கு வளரவில்லையோ எனத் தோணும். தோணுது. அப்ப சொன்னதையே தான் இப்ப சொல்றேன். ஒரிவிதமான கட்ட அமைப்பு வந்துடுச்சோன்னு தோணுது. அதுதான் நிஜம்கிறதால அல்ல. நான் அதை நம்புகிறேன் -...

"He is.." In my opinion, there is no way to finish this sentence truthfully. Any way to finish that sentence is a rather impolite approximation that we make do with.

" சென்லூயிஸ்ல ப்ளூஸ் ம்யூஸிக் ரொம்ப ஃபேமஸ். ஒரு நல்ல ப்ளூஸ் பார் எதுக்காவது கண்டிப்பா போயிடு " என்று சொல்லி அனுப்பி இருந்தார் ஒரு நலவிரும்பி. இருக்கப்போகும் ஒரு வாரயிறுதியில் அவ்வூரின் கலாசாரத்தை எல்லாவிதத்திலும் சுவைபார்த்துவிடும் திட்டத்தோடு இருந்தேன். மார்க் ட்வைன் எழுதிய மிஸிஸிப்பி நதி, லூயிஸ்-கிளார்க் பயணம் அருங்காட்சியகம், அறிவியல் மையம் போன்ற தேர்ச்சி எதுவும் தேவைப்பாட, பயணிக்குறிப்புகளுக்கு ஏதுவான இடங்களெல்லாம் முடித்தாகிவிட்டது. உள்ளூர் கார்டினல்ஸ் பேஸ்பால் அணியினரின் ஆட்டத்தைப் பார்க்கும் நூறு டாலர் ஆர்வம் எல்லாம் இல்லை. அதனால் அன்றிரவு ப்ளூஸை ஒரு கை பார்த்துவிட வேண்டியது என்று முடிவு செய்தேன். ஊரே பேஸ்பால் பார்த்துக்கொண்டிருந்ததாலோ என்னவோ, அன்று மாலை சகல உணவகங்களும் வெறிச்சோடிக்கிடந்தன. பசியோ, கால்வலியோ வலுக்கும் வரை தேடி நடக்கும் உத்தேசத்துடன் நடந்தேன். லைவ் ம்யூஸிக் என்று விளம்பரப் படுத்தியிருக்கும் இடங்களாக ஜல்லடைப் போட்டு கடைசியில் ஒரு இடத்துக்கு வந்து சேர்ந்தேன். பேஸ்பால் மைதானத்திலிருந்து உற்சாகக்குரல்கள் கேட்கும் பந்தெரி தூரம்.அது ஒரு சின்ன வீடு போல் இருந்த...

Don't despair even over the fact that you do not despair - Franz Kafka I have had my share of encounters with evangelists. Spooky uncomfortable ones, hilariously silly ones, engrossingly earnest ones. But there was one which got me thinking. It was in LA in the street where the Kodak theatre is. Christmas time shops decked, its all sale mood. There is Scientology church there and there were bunch of relatively young guys sitting with some tomes of Ron Hubbard spread on a table. They had a contraption that measured the pulse as we answered questions. As I was chronically jobless that evening I thought I'd give the guy a chance. He was asking a bunch of questions in the general direction of :"what are you missing in your life ?", what do you think you have it in you to reach out to but can't, how do you feel about living a life of non-greatness etc. While I understood the direction was to finally sell "the book would fill the hole in your life", I tried t...

Long autobiographical blurb ahead. Blame mutruppuLLi's nice post for spurring this confessional. There is an RK Narayan story aboout a man who spends his fortieth birthday in a park (not going to work !) thinking of how nothing has actually changed in his life as he grew older. He had the same tendencies, weaknesses, joys and fears but just cloaked differently. Magician that he is, somehow RKN made it sound like a happy realization ! I am hunting for that story. June '00 Q: Why economics after PCM ? A: I hate physics. I refuse to submit to it. Three years of being looked at with eyes of pity by uncles who were considering the calamity had befallen my parents Jun '03 Q:What now ? A: Masters in Economics I guess Q: Why ? You like it so much ? A: Hmm... actually I learnt squat these three years so I am trying to justify my past.... Q: ....!?! A: You'll atleast have to grant me the freshness in that argument Jun '05 Q: What now ? A: I like this reading and writing stuf...

Like the philosophically inclined kitten which is carried by the mother cat by the scruff of his neck, I lazily await enlightenment. I hear it is a tradition that is rooted in humility as it passes the buck to powers that be to care enough. But the central issue is, how can I care about, let alone long for, what is allegedly an acutely I-less, scheme of things The first story I remember writing, was written with crayons. Not drawn, written. I was in a school that believed children's hands are too soft to wield a pencil till they were seven. Where are those places now ? Anyway,the story ended with the words "...then I died" . I seem to have had an early understanding that sorrow was the cornerstone of serious literature. Atleast that's what I plan to say when the NY Review of Books interviews me. It was set in McDonald type farm and it wasn't much of a story as much as it was a description of the grim melee of animals pitted against each other - which in retrospect...