Thursday, July 23, 2009

My name is Anbukarasu... V.Anbukarasu IAS

That was a catchy dialogue from one of the movies - "Pasanga". This is not certainly a review of the movie. Instead, this is about a spark that stroke us when we were browsing through friends' profiles in orkut. Didn't I say us? It was Bharanidharan and me, spending our time with a sip of Mc-Whisky after a long time! The main intention of our glance through orkut, was to pick out few unknown girls and try to resolve the girls who were in out-of-focus; of course, not by software but just mentally. Accidentally, we realized something. There was a common notion among 70% of the crowd to post photographs, for which they wanted to be applauded.

I suppose the brilliant idea of having photos in orkut was to share the apparently valuable memories. There was a commonness in the photographs that were chosen to be remembered. It was a Foreigner. People felt happier to pose the time they spent with foreigners. I cynically felt if it was the residual effect of the 400 years of slavery, that we see every white skinned man with awe! Though my altruistic alter-ego left me a feeling of denial, my caustic side was vigorous. The west had always spent time in dominating us and have successfully kept our proficient men under the dark. May be, I should correct my verse - The west have made everyone believe that they were the best.

This wasn't any profound fact, but just that we didn't spend time to remember what we knew. Rather, we were busy running like everyone else on the run. And, to ascertain that we are a step ahead, we need some kind of proofs to our vantage point - we took photographs. Certainly, there are times when we need others' attention. But, every way, there is nothing wrong with this and it is perfectly alright. As I took a closer look of the same, I realized that we were mentally lame. We want some kind of a boost, occasionally or frequently depending up on how lame we are!

Another set off photograph was peculiar. It was peculiar to see the lead man of that piece of art, in a way he is totally not! Or something to blow that he is very artistic. And, that he is ardent in photography, especially doing something that he believed is out of the blue sky. He was doing all that to keep him, watched always. Now, I have questioned myself, is that true - 'Orkut lets us share photographs that were valuable'?

If the answer is yes, then the value that everyone gives for a piece is different from the other. And, if the answer is no, then it should be corrected as 'Orkut lets us share photographs that we feel like showing others'! First is a sense of preserving valuable memories while the later is the sense of choosing what to be preserved. Though it is not the subject, it seems a valuable point to me! :D

This was the point when I understood the lead role of the movie "Pasanga" - V.Anbukarasu, as how he had enjoyed every time he was appreciated. May be, my cynical mind would have been a product of my thinking set - the way we pursue things. But, I am clever enough to keep in mind that it is after all a perception. It is not a question of good or bad and it is not definitely bad as long as it is away from ones' nose!

Finally, what is the sole idea of this post? It is just to remind you that you should appreciate whatever you do and realize what you really did with a keen sense of why you did!

P.S.: While creating the collage pasted here, I chose the people who can take this criticism in a easier and broad-minded way. It certainly includes the people who really deserve to hear this and sadly, it includes myself and Bharani too. We realized that we too had done the same!

Saturday, July 18, 2009

One night at the Elliot's Beach...

disclaimer: This photo does not belong to me. I found it over the net but failed to note the owner.

It has been twelve days since I landed at the Anna International Airport at Meenambakkam, chennai. The runback home may not be for this; may not be for that. But, it was also a part of the desires that drove me all the way, across some 4000 miles. It was about my brother...
As brothers, our thoughts and beliefs seldom contradicted unlike our physique. We had been discussing, over the past ten instances that we spent at Elliot's Beach, regarding the way we see things around us. I am not sure as why my brother was rebellious about being amicable at home. Still, I understood that he never wanted to. It was a kind of a compulsive personality disorder that he had developed, just the way I had had when I was of his age. I was even worse being compounded with the Cognitive Disorder of Progressives and a Borderline Personality Disorder (Comorbid). In spite of that, I managed to keep myself alive at the worst of my situations with extraordinary supports from the most valuable friends and impeccable love.
It was 10.30 PM the last time we reached the Elliot's Beach Corridor. In the previous nine visits, we had been little earlier to our spot, somewhere around 9 o’clock. May be, it is the breeze at the beach, which fuels our mutual passion of being sagacious. I ever had a feeling that I was something different and am waiting to something that is totally radically enlightening. Nevertheless I had the respect for every single soul around me. It was the one that I learnt from the past love-life. (Learning can be from the insight of either – others’ best or their faults. I don’t prefer to express how I learnt it! J) I believed that this brother might also be a victim of a delusion of that kind.
It took me four hard years to complete the book on “Life for Dummies”. And, now this soul was not left alone and hence, restrained from reading that book. I was given the chance of reading it, only when I was alone. I started walking through it, only when I had the time to do – being bored by a zero chance to perform the rebel-rituals! It was when, I didn’t have anything more to be rebellious about!! There was nothing around me and that gave me everything that I wanted. This brother didn’t have that kind of space around. So, I felt the duty of showing him the book, in that critical hour. All I could understand was that it was time for my brother to realize the wonderful book on his hand. He had the pages but didn’t find the time to read. And, I realized that Elliot’s Beach might give him the privilege of looking on to his palm.
I decided to give him an abridged version of what he had to know from them. The past nine visits to Elliot’s laid the foundation. And, I never knew that this night – I would build it, until the minute before I built it. It started with a very silly question from my brother, “What would you change in your past, if you had been given a chance to that? You can use it just once and only once!
I replied, “I would wait for a worse past that might happen someday in future.”

Then he added a constraint that the gift of change was valid for just that day. I said, “May be, I would use them to change the mind sets of my love’s parents for whom I had to give up the most important thing of my life”
He gave a smile and stayed silent. May be, he wanted me to post him the same question. I did.
He said, “I wouldn’t have taken Biotechnology and I would have changed that option. But then, I had a spark only when you told, ‘You cannot always make the right choice, but it is up to you to make the choice right!’ So, I would have asked for my mom, the way she is today, to have been from my childhood.”
It was my turn to post a smile and added, “May be, you should have been 21 years old when you were that kid to get the mother that you have today.” I wanted to tell him that nothing was wrong now and nothing would have been any better.

He gave a smile again, seeing his silliness shattered. I realized that I should tell him about one of most important lessons that I had ever learnt - the love life. I had been in search of love from people who were resilient about it. I was almost deaf to the people who poured love on me. There were thousands, who cared about me, and yet all my senses were praying for her love to sprinkle on me. I almost forgot that there was my mother back at home, praying for me and fighting all her odds, just for the sake of keeping me happy. There were times when she needed a shoulder, and I had been mean to that even. Infact, I believed that it was her destiny to suffer, giving birth to a child like me – the worst prodigy.
I started with a question, "Have you ever felt that you know it is wrong but you cannot skip it?"
He interrupted, "Like what?"

"Like you always have a guilt that you shouldn't have done that; like you were reluctant to listen to your senses which keeps telling you that you are wrong about something - still sticking to it just for the sake of sticking to it!"

His reply was just, "Nope!" I know he is still fooled by his senses. I replied, "May be, if I tell what it is, you will feel like raising your consent to it!"

"We always search for love in others and you stick to the one who is hard for you to be approached. You seldom see the people around you who love you more than the one you are in search of. Have you felt it?"

He was dumbstruck. The best of things comes out of nothing, the way the universe was born. Steven Hawkins knew that. I remembered what he knew. I didn't want him to be drowned in thoughts; instead helped him, "What about your mother and father? Don't you feel guilty of not being responsive the love they shared? May be, they loved you just because you are their son. But, they spent their life thinking about you. And, what is your gratitude to that?"

I saw his eyes irritated. His silence was the acknowledgement of his compulsive reluctance against listening to his inner voice - the guilt that he neglected to keep himself free from being eaten up.

I thought of giving him an example with a movie, a common subject that he can see for himself. I asked, "Tell me your favourite movie?"

He replied without a pinch of doubt, "V for Vendetta"

I was litterally startled with that answer as it was far away from the love that I wanted to screen before him. But, then, I had a spark. I just asked, "Why would you say that?"

He was eager to explain, "It was a story of a forgotten hero. A hero who had been less celebrated. One like Netaji Subash Chandra Bose. He did not get the right recognition when he had to!"

I saw his eyes glittering and bright as he had explained one of his deep concerns about society. I just interrupted him, "You speak of V with the mask of Guy Fawkes and the less recognized hero Subash chandra bose. Do you know of the man who lived in Chennai and mostly attributed as a paranoid? He was in pondicherry as a refuge from the British government for someday. He was born in ettaiyaburam!"

As I told that, he said, "Veerapandia Kattaboman?"

I laughed. I replied, "It is Subramania Bharathiyar. 'Thaedi soru nithem thindru, chinanchiru kathaigal paesi, pirar vada pala seiyalgal seithu, Manam vadi thunbam migavulandru, nirai koodi kizhapparuvam yethi, kodunkootruku iraiyena pin maiyum pala vaedikkai manitharai pol, naanum veelvaen endru ninaithaiyo?'"

I didn't expect him to be ashamed of his incompetency, as he can be excused for choosing Hindi as his second language. I added, "There was also another man who is not much recognized in spite of the sacrifices he made. He had lived for almost 54 years and have remained a rolling stone, without gathering a mass for his sake. He was, is and will be working for his most valuables. Do you know of that man? It is none other than your Father."

"Hmmm... You cry for the recognition of people you don't know and never thought about recognizing the extraordinary soul near you. So, how far is it fair on your part to fight for the recognition of Netaji Subash Chandra Bose? What do you think you deserve to ask people and insist them about their faults, when you are faulty by yourself?"

" I am sorry about saying this but it is time you should be listening to this!"

His eyes were still glittering not in excitement, but by the internal reflection and reinforcement of reflected faint light of the surroundings, between the watery layer on his eyes - a film of tear!

I knew this tear will never make me guilty unlike the tears that demands me to realize, 'I shouldn't have done that'. This tear was the acknowledgement of my effective transfer of the abridged version of the book, I read - "Life for Dummies"