Bala Iyengar writes...
Thursday, 15 August 2013
Sunday, 4 August 2013
Chithiram Pesudhadi - 1
1991...
"Bala, don't sharpen the pencil too much. I bought this only yesterday and now look at what you have done to it." my mother snatched the pencil from me and held it in her hand. The pencil which was whole and new in the morning was now the length of my little finger.
I found the act of sharpening a pencil to be really interesting and I liked writing only when the lead was totally sharp and pointed. So, whenever the lessons get monotonous or the lead gets a little blunt, I start sharpening the pencil.
2001..
"I am so glad that you are not asked to use pencils to write anymore." my mother said and I grinned.
2011..
"Amma, Look!! I drew this today. Tried sketching on my own. How is it?" I asked excitedly.
My mother looked at my first pencil sketch and clicked her tongue impressively and said with a smile, "Happa!! at last you have found how to use a pencil properly."
And here it is, my first pencil sketch,
Kaarmughil vannaa...
Karumai nira Kanna...
Kann kavarndha manna!!!
More to come..!!
---Bala Iyengar---
Wednesday, 5 June 2013
Six Word Memoir - Tagged Post
As
a part of Six Word Memoir Tagged posts series, CBC has given the complex task
of describing one's life in just six words. I am obsessed with giving detailed descriptions; so, I found it pretty difficult to confine my own life in six short words.
Well, I have tried my best.
Special
thanks to Purnima Gopalakrishnan, who had successfully completed the task of
describing her life in six words. She had handed over the responsibility to me
now.
So here it goes,
Harmonious Blend of Rhythm and
Grace
(P.S: Not able to believe that the post is over)
The next post will be by Sylvian Patrick who blogs at http://www.sylvianism.com. He is famous for his posts on Raja sir's songs under the name "Projekt Ilayaraja".
---Bala Iyengar---
Monday, 13 May 2013
Thulasy to Daisy - 2
Note:
Every day morning, I wake up listening to the “Nachiyaar Thirumozhi”
(hymns of Goddess Andal describing the dream she had about marrying
Ranganathar) at home and it leaves me wondering about her love for the God. I
got a sudden inspiration today and here I am, writing a story based on their
love. I have modified it to fit the modern age. Pure imagination of how the
love would have been in the present age. No intention to offend anyone's
sentiments.
Please find the previous part here (Part 1)
The street
was a typical example of what people called an ‘Agraharam’. It was a long,
broad street extending from the palatial entrance of a grand temple; it had
lines of houses built following some uniform pattern. The early morning sun was
rising, bathing the houses and people on the street with dim yellow light.
Venkatesa Suprabhatham rose in the air and blended itself with the ‘sarak
sarak’ sounds when few women swept the street and with ‘slukk slukk’ when
people sprinkled water on the street, preparing their house’s
entrance for the daily routine of ‘kolam drawing’. In front of few other
houses, women were bending down to draw kolams on their door step.
Athuzhaai
was sitting outside one of the houses on a stone bench (read as ‘thinnai’)
wearing a light green long skirt, pink blouse and pink half saree. Even while
sitting, people would easily be able to judge that she was quite tall. She had
a slim yet perfect figure with an oval shaped face on a willowy neck. There was
some inexplicable attraction about her almond shaped, dark brown eyes, her
slender nose and her dense black eyebrows. Her lips looked like they were
chiseled by the finest of artists available under the sky.
From her
expression, it was transparent that some serious thought process was going on
inside her beautiful head. Her long, thin fingers were pressed hard against the
stone bench and there was a rhythmic jingling sound lingering about the air as
she was tapping one of her legs absentmindedly.
“You can go
in.” – grandmother said as she stepped out of the old Brahmin style house.
Somehow realizing that her grandmother was referring to this house as temple
and wondering why God should be inside this house, she ascended the steps
silently.
The house was
just like every other house on the street. It had three long rooms constructed
one behind the other. The first room was empty. Athuzhaai walked along the hall
and was about to step into the next room, but froze on the spot with one leg on
the small step that separated the two rooms, for the scene she witnessed in
that room was completely unbelievable and remotely sane.
She saw
Lord Ranganathar sleeping on a battered old wooden bench with his back facing
the door. He was in a complete human form wearing a blue dhoti on his waist and
white pearl strands around his neck. He was tall and lean with dense curly
black hair and adding mystery to the already insane situation, He was
breathing.
Athuzhaai
convinced herself that she had gone completely mental and turned to leave the
place but her heart stopped beating when she felt a hand enclose her thin
wrist. The warmth and gentle pressure of the hand made her turn automatically.
She saw that the Lord had woken up and had stopped her from leaving by holding
her hand. Too shocked to react, she looked blankly at his face.
He looked
at her with so much love that her heart forgot to pump blood to her brain and
the brain stopped thinking. With an endearing smile curling on His flimsy lips,
He sat bolt upright, pulled her close to Him and made her sit on His lap.
Chuckling softly at the shock on her face, He looked deeply into her eyes and
ran His long fingers along her cheeks slowly and lovingly. He touched her lips
with the tips of His fingers and embraced her totally.
Athuzhaai
was dumbstruck and couldn’t react when He dug His face deeper into her
neckline. She felt remote with her own self when she felt His heaving chest against her own. After few
minutes of silence, God lifted His face up and whispered in her ears –
“Athuzhaaii, Give me your anklets.”
Now, she
couldn’t have heard him right due to her slow processing brain, her anklets?
Athuzhaai pulled back and looked into The Lord’s face. He smiled softly and
said – “Athuzhaai, Give me your anklets.”
As if in
trance, not taking her eyes off his brilliant eyes, her hands automatically
moved to her legs to remove the new anklets that she was wearing. Not breaking
the eye contact, Lord Ranganatha bent sideways and held her hand to stop her.
He said – “I need your old anklets, Athuzhaai.”
Athuzhaai
got up from his lap and ran outside the house. Panting for breath, she told her
grandmother who was waiting outside – “God wants my old anklets.”
Without
stopping to see her grandmother’s reaction, she hurried into another house and
came back to Lord Ranganatha within minutes. When she came back, The Lord was
sitting cross legged on the floor. She leaned on the door frame and took deep
breaths to calm herself down, looking at the Lord.
He turned
towards her; with immense love pouring out of his flamboyantly lustrous eyes
and with a mysteriously captivating smile on his lips, he extended his hands
and beckoned her closer. When she walked shyly and stood next to him, he pulled
her by the arm and made her sit on his lap again.
He hugged
her again and the comfort and security she felt in his touch, made her hug him
back. She was astonished that she was able to feel the sweat on His skin
against her palm and the bones of his shoulder blade. Even in that situation,
Athuzhaai wondered why the Lord is so skinny.
She also
realized that the Lord’s touch wasn’t at all alien to her. It was as if Lord
Ranganatha hugs her day in and day out, a daily affair.
He
whispered in her ears again – “Have you brought your old anklet?”
She nodded
and opened her palm. Her blackened, old anklet was sitting on top of it. Lord
Ranganatha smiled and enclosed her hand with his broad, warm hand.
“Holy
shit!!”
– Athuzhaai sprang up from her bed and looked around at the room. It looked as
normal as she had seen it before she dozed off the night before. She checked
the time on her mobile. It was nearing day break.
She opened her palms and looked down
at it; the feel of His soft, wet skin was still etched on her hands. She sucked
in a lot of air and breathed through her mouth to calm herself down.
“Damn it.
The dream was so real.”
– She thought and wiped her face with her hands. She groped around for her
water bottle and drank deeply from it. She slumped back on the bed and wondered
how stupid and insane she might sound if she narrated the dream to anybody.
Nonetheless, first thing in the
morning, she narrated the dream to her father Vishnuchittan.
“and
Ranganathar asked for my anklet paa.. Why would he want my old anklet paa?” – She wondered loudly and continued animatedly
– “You know how he looked like, he had
lot of curly black hair, brilliant black eyes, thick eyebrows, small lips, long
nose, prominent ears, and big big hands.” She added as an afterthought - “skinny.”
Vishnuchittan frowned at his
daughter suspiciously as the description sounded familiar to someone he knew.
“He looked
exactly like how I have described the hero in the novel I am writing paaa. Blue
dhoti, strands of beads, thilak, tall, lean..” – She was saying with flourish.
“What????” – Vishnuchittan cut in,
totally taken aback in disbelief.
To be continued…
photo courtesy: www.exoticindia.com
---Bala Iyengar---
Wednesday, 8 May 2013
Thulasy to Daisy - 1
Note:
Every day morning, I wake up listening to the “Nachiyaar Thirumozhi”
(hymns of Goddess Andal describing the dream she had about marrying
Ranganathar) at home and it leaves me wondering about her love for the God. I
got a sudden inspiration today and here I am, writing a story based on their
love. I have modified it to fit the modern age. Pure imagination of how the
love would have been in the present age. No intention to offend anyone's
sentiments.
“Anna,
why do you have to play the Veena everyday to wake me up?”
- A sleepy voice asked, muffled by the comforter.
“It’s
the duty given to my family during your grandfather's period sir. I have to
keep up the tradition and I also love doing this.”
- Arayaranna replied politely.
Shyam
scrambled out of his comforter hurriedly and sat up, tousle haired and puffy
eyed. Arayaranna looked up at him with a mild surprise.
“Anna,
how many times should I tell you not to call me 'Sir'? Shyam would be fine. You are
almost my dad's age.” - Shyam cried, outraged.
“Had he been alive this day, he'd not have
allowed me to call you by your name sir.” - Arayaranna said.
“To
hell with your sir!!” - He
muttered angrily and got out of the bed.
Arayaranna placed the Veena back on the stand and followed Shyam.
“I'll
send your morning Chocolate drink in some time sir. Would you need anything
else?” - Arayaranna
asked in a respectful tone.
“I
am not going to talk to you till you call me by my name. Can't take it
anymore.” - Shyam
cried desperately and shut the bathroom door. Arayaranna chuckled softly for he
knew Shyam could not do that. He cannot bear the idea of not talking to
Arayaranna.
The
room did not look like any normal bathroom at all. It looked like one of the
finest you could find in a seven star hotel's top class suite. It was one of
the kinds that any average person would stand admiring for a minute or two and
then start their work in there. Shyam did not pause for a second to admire the
beauty of his bathroom though. He flicked open the tap that stood on the
gleaming wash basin, and washed his face.
He
closed the tap and checked his face on the mirror. Shyam was the kind of a guy
who had features that looked like it
was chiseled after studying the art of making a sculpture thoroughly. He had a dark complexioned, clear skin and
immensely curly black hair. His thick eyebrows were set perfectly on top of
brilliantly lustrous, beetle black eyes. He had a needle sharp nose and flimsy,
small lips and prominent ears.
He
straightened up to his full height and wiped his face on the fluffy towel
placed on the ornate towel stand and stepped out of the bathroom.
Shyam
belonged to a very rich family in the village. According to his dead parents'
wish, he completed his education in UK and came back to live in his village.
Just like every other guy who was born with a silver spoon, Shyam also had n
number of people on his command but he did not like to boss over any of them.
He liked being friendly and kind towards everyone. Of all the people around
him, Shyam felt comfortable with two. One was his care taker, Arayaranna and
the other was his personal assistant, Vishnuchittan.
Shyam
came down to the main hall, after a luxurious bath, wearing a cream colored cotton
pant and pale blue casual shirt, his curly hair bouncing as he walked. After
finishing his breakfast, Shyam entered his vast office room and found
Vishnuchittan sitting with the laptop.
“Good
Morning Uncle. Had a good sleep?”
- He asked brightly, as he walked around the table and sat on his high chair.
“Good
Morning Shyam. Yes, it was fine. And you?” - Vishnuchittan asked.
Shyam
did not answer for his gaze had fallen on the flower vase kept on his table. It
was decorated beautifully with pale blue daisies that day.
“Uncle!!
The flowers match my dress today as well. This has been happening everyday for
the past one month.” - He exclaimed. “But how?” - He asked,
struck with amazement.
Vishnuchittan
looked up and said unconcernedly - “Oh, my daughter gets them from our
garden everyday these days.”
A
mysterious smile spread across Shyam's face, he gathered the flowers in his
hands and inhaled the sweet smell of it. Every bit of him seemed to do a
somersault when the aroma of the flowers reached his smell sensors. “Daisies have such sweet
scent, do they? Really?” - He muttered.
Vishnuchittan
looked at Shyam and said - “Shyam, if you don't mind, can we look at today's
schedule please?” suggesting a little impatience in his voice. The urge to
grab those flowers from his hands was pretty overwhelming for Vishnuchittan.
Shyam's
eyes flew open at Vishnuchittan's words. He looked around with a start. He
seemed to have lost himself to the smell of the daisies. “Oh Oh yes uncle.
Go on.” - He said, placing the
flowers back into the vase and running his hand through his hair in
embarrassment.
To
be continued...
---Bala
Iyengar---
Friday, 19 April 2013
The Uproar of Silence
Note:
I wrote this one long time back for a competition where I had to restrict the
story to 500 words. Forgive me if it’s not very detailed and elaborate.
“The Uproar of Silence” was
the headline in a leading newspaper with a photograph of a girl in her early
teens posing as incandescent Natraja. It was Aruna, a Bharathanatyam dancer and
a different one in that kind.
Pavithra,
Aruna's best friend, looked thoroughly excited when she waved the paper in
front of Aruna's eyes. Aruna snatched it and looked at her photograph, tears
falling thick and fast on the paper as she did it. She pressed it to her chest
and hugged Pavithra.
With
the paper, Pavithra ran towards the small out-house where Aruna lived with her
father. Aruna slumped in front of the statue of Natraja and travelled back in
memory.
“I
touched the majestic statue and like every other day, I felt goose bumps. I
wiped his dancing feet and found solace. I touched the hand that carried fire
and felt peaceful. I observed his stance and imitated the same.
I
felt a strong hand touch my shoulder and turned, flabbergasted. It was my boss,
Dance Master Parameshwaran. Scared out of my wits, I took refuge behind the God
I adored.
He
smiled kindly and gestured at me, “Thats
okay. Come out.”
I
walked around the statue slowly and stood in front of him, head bowed. He knelt
down and gestured at me again, “Do
you want to learn to dance?”
I
didn't know how he would be able to teach dance to a girl like me, who didn't
know what sound is all about. I felt elated nevertheless and ran away to my
house.
At
home, my father gave me a dirty look that plainly wished me a painful death. He
cannot be blamed because,
We
were extremely poor;
My mother
died while I was born;
I can
neither hear nor speak;
I am
a girl;
I was
nothing short of a burden to him.
From
the next day, I started a blissful journey of dancing with my Guru and his
daughter Pavithra. First, I had to understand the concept of rhythm which
proved to be a herculean task. I observed the way my Guru played the cymbals, his lip movements
for the associated syllables and
Pavithra's harmonized leg, hand and eye movements. Slowly, with their help, I
started feeling the rhythm within me and also saw various new patterns of it in
anything and everything people did.
Though
I did not have the sound of voice, the voice of expressions was natural to me.
With the help of my Guru, my raw expressions got transformed into a soulful
language of emotions.
After
8 years of rigorous training, my Guru confidently put me on the limelight and
today, I dedicate this milestone to him and my friend Pavithra.”
Aruna's
father rushed into the hall and begged for forgiveness. The girl whom he
detested had proved that she can make wonders with life. Tears welling up his
eyes, he carried her on his shoulders for the first ever time and ran around
the street, boasting about her happily.
---Bala
Iyengar---
Friday, 5 April 2013
The Last Meet
“This
guy is ok with your TV anchoring job. He is also working as an art
director. He looks good and he's from a very good family. We all like
him and above all that, he called me all by himself. You always keep
saying that a charming prince will walk into our house and take him
with you; this guy can be your charming prince. Why don't you think
on those lines? His parents will talk to me in a day or two. I will
be very happy if you marry him.”
She sang praises about that unknown “art director guy” who had
called her after seeing her daughter's profile in a matrimonial
website.
Aparna was sitting
curled up on her bean bag, looking blankly at the ceiling. By now,
she was used to being silent all the time and did not react to her
mother's words even in the slightest.
“I
am talking to you. Do you even care to reply?”
- her mother asked.
Aparna did not
answer. She just changed her sitting posture and started staring
emptily at the floor instead. Her mother tried to grab Aparna's
attention with few more questions but gave up when she realized that
she could better be talking to a wall and get a reaction from it than
talking to Aparna.
***********
Sandeep's mobile
vibrated violently and was about to fall off the table when he
grabbed it in his hand. Without taking his eyes off the laptop, he
swiped the phone and opened the message. His eyes traveled through
the message unconcernedly and he threw the mobile on the bed. When
his brain slowly registered what his eyes had read, his heart started
racing. He took his mobile and read the message properly once more.
It
was very short and it read “I wanna meet you just once
before my parents get me married please. Don't ignore.”
He
reread the message twice and truth seemed to hit him like an iron
ball. “Getting married? What the.. but I never thought..
oh no..” - he thought and he
called her. She did not pick up the call but he received a text.
“Txt
me. Can't talk.” - it read.
“You
wanted to meet. When and whr?”
- he replied.
“Same
place where we first met. Today 6:30 PM”
- she replied.
***********
Aparna
was sitting on the same bench on which they sat when they met for the
first time in that temple. She was hugging a big cloth bag for refuge
and resting her head on it. She didn't know why she was feeling so
void and what she would talk to Sandeep. Would she hold his hands and
weep “Sandeep, my parents are trying to get me married to
another guy. I am not able to forget you. Please come and talk to
them and marry me.”? No,
because Sandeep had made it transparent that though he loved her, he
cannot marry her due to some problem. He refused to discuss anything
further with her.
“Been
waiting for a long time?” - he
asked, arriving behind Aparna's back and jerking her back to senses.
“Sandeepp..”
- she said and uttering his name brought a smile on her lips.
Sandeep sat down
on the bench and stretched his long legs and hands. He was looking
around at the temple while Aparna leaned on the bag and studied him
silently. The person who had once sat so close to her, held her
hands, hugged her safely in his arms and had kissed her lovingly was
now so indifferent and disinterested.
“What?”
- he asked when he realized he could no longer avoid her gaze.
Aparna
shook her head and smiled at him. She patted the bag on her lap and
said - “I bought T-Shirts for you and there's a small
sandalwood statue that you can stick on your new car's dashboard.”
Sandeep
took the bag from her and said - “That's so sweet of you.
Thanks.”
He looked into her
face for a second and then looked away immediately, heaving a deep
sigh. Questions raced one another in his brain but he did not want to
voice any of them. He swallowed more than necessary and kept punching
the bag repeatedly.
Aparna smiled when
she thought about the number of times Sandeep kept staring into her
eyes when they met here almost one year back. Now, he didn't even
want to look in her direction. She let out a deep breath and decided
to break the silence.
“So
well, Sandeep. Like you said, I am going to get married. Mom has
found a guy for me and I haven't said a no to her. At least, she
shouldn't be disappointed in life.”
- she said flatly.
The last line that
she spoke rang in his ears repeatedly. Sandeep opened his hands and
looked at it for almost a minute and Aparna tried not to look at him.
She focused her attention on the kids that were playing near them.
“Will
you invite me for your wedding?”
- he asked suddenly.
Aparna
didn't know what she had expected out of the meeting but a surge of
anger washed through her when he uttered that question. Without her
knowledge, a secluded corner in her heart had hoped that Sandeep
would somehow say - “Aparna, ask your mom to chuck that
guy, let's get married.”
In
order to control herself, she clenched her hands into fists and
counted from 5 to 1. She shook her head and said coldly - “I
don't want you to come. Please respect at least this one feeling I
have and don't show yourself there. I cannot bear it.”
Immediately,
she realized that her eyes were filling with tears and giving her
away. She looked at him full on the face for few seconds and said,
her throat choking - “This is the last time we meet and
never will I get a chance to tell you this anymore. Sandeep, I love
you.”
She stood up and
ran out of the temple. She did not pause to wear her slippers and did
not try to stem the copious tears that poured from her eyes. She was
not concerned about where her legs were taking her. All she knew was
that, before she could do something stupid, she should be well away
from Sandeep.
Sandeep tried to
follow her but was flattened near the entrance by a huge crowd that
was trying to enter the temple at the same time. When Sandeep shook
them off and came out, Aparna was nowhere to be seen. He tried
calling her many times but her mobile was switched off. They did not
have any mutual friends through whom he could find out what she was
up to nor did he know any other number through which he could contact
her.
Through out the
night he kept messaging her on her mobile and facebook; there was no
response. He didn't know when he fell asleep. The next day morning he
woke up with a severe head ache.
He checked his
mobile eagerly. There were no messages from her. Promising to himself
that he'll go and check in the area where she had said she lived, he
opened the newspaper. He spread it on the floor and started skimming
through the columns. His eyes suddenly fell on a small snippet at one
corner of the page and immediately, his whole body started shivering.
The headline read “Raped and Brutally killed”.
“Aparna
(25) lived in Nungambakkam, Chennai. She was abducted, raped and
brutally killed by four unknown men...”
the article went on.
Sandeep
did not need confirming; his heart somehow knew that it was his
Aparna. He read the article again and again and each time it seemed
to make more sense to him. He kept staring at the paper in a state of
shock, dumbstruck and silent. After few minutes, he read the article
again and wanted to believe that it didn't happen at all. It didn't
help. He crushed the paper in his hands desperately and tore it into
pieces violently. He broke down on the floor and cried loudly.
************
---Bala
Iyengar---
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