When love engulfs me...

It was one of my friends who asked me to write more as she wants to hear from me more. Since I have no time to write something afresh, I dusted down this poem written in early 2002, which I tried in French as I wanted to augment my vocabulary (which never worked anyway). I was in third level and it was after 160 hours of class in French (around 4 months) I wrote this poem entitled “Quand l’amour m’engouffre...” meaning “When love engulfs me...”.

I really have no clue at all about what will happen when love engulfs someone since it never ever happened to me. The Indian cupid, Manmatha, got bored of and turned his back to me very long ago, after trying with all his pretty interesting equipments: sugarcane as bow, line of honeybees as bowstring, five fragrant flowers as arrows, cuckoo and parrot as his companions and attended by nymphs, spring as his preferred season, breeze as his chariot displaying fish banner, rainbow as his horse or whatever and so on.

The poem pasted a smile on my face as I went through it. It was full of mistakes, naive and stupid words as any French can observe it from the very title, strong vocabulary in inappropriate place, etc. So, here you go. I didn’t change much while translating from the original. If it set a tiny smiley on your face, I would be more than happy.

When love engulfs me...

Melting are my heart and soul. Lakes turned tender long ago.
Arrogant are cherries of blossom. Care a damn bees.
To the humming, butterflies dance. Oh! Danseurs nobles!
I am hopping here and there. It is flower strewn trail.
Excuse me, calls someone. I scan trees for cuckoo.
I turn to see this girl approaching. Descending fresh from paradise.
Pretty shame, I lost my language. Beautiful! Just sighs my mind.
My heart does thousand leaps as she hops avoiding flowers down.
Are you lover of flowers, plays she harp. Carnivore eyes feed my heart.
Yes, never seen such huge flower say I searching her eyes.
She smiled, making flowers drop dead of shame.
We did the path together. Eyes crossed swords. Mind swung me to her.
Sun menaced to fall westward. Worried I of his envy.
It is time to go, said she making void inside me.

Sun showers gold on splendid landscapes, spreading warmth till heart.
We meet in park, speak a lot, discover days are short.
I strip my senses as her thoughts replace them, like serpent.
I occupy little space in this mighty world, but I traverse everywhere.
Day was drizzling. Sun set himself amber. There a rainbow in east.
That day, I told her I started counting all stars in sky.
I started counting all bubbles in my bread, she replied.
I live in cocoon, I revealed. Am I in your heart asked she.
Our troubled eyes met. She kissed me. I hugged her to my soul.
That moment we exchanged the parole of life. The language of heart.
Paths in heaven, clouds, moon, stars, all started to know me well.
Hillside, rocks, lakes, trees, feathery friends, started to know us well.
Fairies speak in my ears, nowadays. Always telephones speak to us.
Don’t ask me where I live. It is warmth of her heart.

Hill-scape turns sad as maples already caught fire.
Sombre clouds promenade together. Wind tries to hunt them down.
Vague desire grows like waves. Serenity disobeys.
Air is chill. Misty fogs embrace hill. But the pines seem negligent.
When rains we prefer go out under a single umbrella.
When is brumous we prefer chase-snailing inside one single jacket.
Fallen leaves ride wind-horse. Not forgetting their destiny, earth.
Some hides-and-seeks with breeze. Some plays with me. I await her.
There she is at distance. She replies me to my waving.
No, wait! She is not my girl. But she approaches me even so.
Who is she, a Venus? No doubt! Where goes the path, asks she.
I guide her. Thanking me she sends a kiss in air from distance.
I reply same. True beauty say I turning. There stands she, my other part.
Speaking null, menacing tears heavy in eyes, she left me ahead I utter word.

Sail-powered snow flakes combat storm. Pines bear whitey white caps.
Deafening silence all around. I am all alone. Worthless my explanations.
Far from her, bleeds my heart. I am no more in her heart, but head.
Frigidly frosty cruel love engulfs me. Take a pen I commence writing.
“Lakes get-go freezing. Glaciers turn emerald feeding on worthy algae.
The swan awaits his female. But, more glacial is she than icy poles.
Nevertheless he waits. Dying is he of biting cold. Bit by bit his soul faints.
Heart-mind distance pains his soul. No dreams. Painful wings. No flight.
Determined is he, will wait her forever. His life worth void without her.”
I cried aloud calling God! Fine sunshine warmth inside! Replied she finally.
“Nemesis at game. Swan turns dream, ethereal, thinning, thinks of you.
Fragile she dying chanting you. Send her breath, a word of mercy.
Present your presence, warmth of kiss. Lives she, hugging tight your soul.”
Glorious is sky. Wind opens window. Dripping are ice icicle.

Indian martial arts and Kalarippayattu

Kalari is a very tiny and surviving fragment of ancient Indian martial art called 'Varma Kalai'. Varma is the mother of all martial arts which spread across Asia through Hinduism and Buddhism.

Proof:

1. Similarities could be found in Chinese, Tibetan, Sri Lankan, etc. dance, music, martial arts with Indian arts. E.g. Therukootthu, Kathakali (flamboyant facial make-ups), Kerala Chenda drums, the rhythm all are adopted in China, Tibet, Japan and other south-eastern countries in the form of Lion, Dragon dances' flamboyant decorations, drums, rhythm, etc.
2. Similarities could be found between martial arts and Mudras (symbolic gestures) of yoga & Indian classical dances, and their movements. Probably dance, martial arts and yoga all might have evolved at the same time along with music, meditation, etc. They share the common property of being melodic.

There are several categories in Varma: NOkku (vision) Varmam, Thattu Varmam (deals with treatments and defense based on vital points), Chandra (moon) Varmam, Surya (sun) Varmam, usage of weapons on vital points, Varma treatments for animals, etc. In local tongue often Varma is called as "Marma", which may not be correct. The word "Varma" doesn't have a Sanskrit origin as in "Varn(m)a - color". Varumam in Tamil means vital points (there are other meanings too).

These techniques are extensively developed by Siddhas (well known for their Ayurvedic and alchemy works), who dwelt in mountains of South India, especially Tamil Nadu. Even today, there are legends around Courtralam, Suruli, Pazhani and Nilgiri hills, which speak about surviving Siddhas till date, who have eventually achieved longevity through their knowledge in Ayurveda, alchemy, meditation, etc.

Sadly, many of these techniques are lost due to the Guru's fear of misuse on co- species (as we humans are notorious for turning any scientific works, bar none, into weapons of destruction), and thus they refused to transfer the knowledge to others, including to their own descendants. This happened particularly, when Buddhism turned into political movement and the Buddhists started to learn these arts for their political gains.

However tiny fragments of Varma survived in the form of literature, mainly Tamil & Malayalam, and got the attention of Gurus in Kerala, a small state in south India, arround ~15-17th centuries, and became Kalarippayattu. This famous traditional training of Kalari of Kerala, is always done inside the Kalari (literally, threshing floor or battlefield), which is a specially constructed practice area. Payattu means 'exercise in arms or practice'.

A few centuries back in Kerala, quarrels between local kings were resolved by fixing an Ankam (war), a duel to the death, between two Ankachekavars (Kalari fighters), each ruler being represented by one Ankachekavar. The ruler represented by the surviving Ankachekavar was considered the winner.

For more details: Thamizhar Martial Arts

A glimpse of Kalari Payattu.

Song of a clapper from a distant evening church

Below is a poem I wrote late monsoon 2004 and got published in my former employer's magazine. It was after a trip to Koorg (State of Karnataka, India), where I got drenched till my heart content in the slapping, acupuncturing monsoon rain at Thala Kaveri, a serene place where the mighty Kaveri river takes birth and where the misty clouds give her a motherly hug. Always!

After the return, I sensed the emptiness and the deafening silence in the cities and in office, stacked with traffic, competition, politics, mud slinging, leg pulling, ignorance and the irritating long list of words which are the essential part of cities. So that goes here.

Clouds drizzle the rainy scent. Golden rays illumine the ornamental world.

There shines a rainbow.

With one single whip, greatest heights of the mighty city fall hastily

behind the noble horses.

Criers of war cry a war cry. Battle is taken as the gust of dust takes

the sand dunes.

It passes through the deaf carrion birds, the sour melody of sore death hymn.

Along goes the gentle breeze.

Not the whetted swords, the adept wrists wearing shinning bracelets

exhibit a dexterous brutality.

Flocks of migratory birds migrate. Painful wings let fall their feathers,

all the way down the windy town.

Leaving them dance a paper dance. Fingers spend lifetimes. Stanzas are re-refined.

Criticism engulfs the world.

Lungs gulp down blackened air. Gills breath heavy water. Plastics gnaw the gorgeous

lush green meadows.

Extinction is the finalized destiny for fragile species. Purpose of industry and its

revolution meet the standards.

Two vigorous arms of time slap back and forth, ensuring the everlasting

slavery of human kind.

In the name of progress and chic, under their cruel regards, traditions and cultures,

once coloured a beautiful world, vanish.

Ashes of native communities, their gods, their fairy-tale believes and even their death

beds of existence-struggle mound.

Key to beauty path is ever lost. Shattered and battered, the splendour of tireless

and timeless ancestral foundations.

Grandchildren’s dreams are devoured, letting them having nightmares of a

mesmerizing blue planet turns into red.

No innovations and inventions left untransformed into weapons. No exclusion. The

religions and even Ahimsa.

There smiles a ghastly smile, the sixth sense. And weeps the humanity.

Where hides the harmony?

Bees buzz. Trees stand in perennial blossom. Springs pass through the golden wheat.

Where goes the road to future?