Issued in public interest

I ignore beggars. I look away from them, not wanting to see my inexplicable guilt reflected in their eyes. Why should I feel guilty? It is not my fault that they are penniless! There was nothing I could have done in my past life that would have prevented them from stalking me! If I happen to eat a veg burger while they lust after clean water to drink, it is only because I happen to have been born in a well-to-do family purely by chance. There was nothing I could have done.

I also desist from giving them money. Inspite of my talking about chance and luck in a favorable fashion, I have this ridiculous notion that they need to earn their food! Why can't I just accept it as pure luck that they ask me for money when I happen to have it?

She was standing on the other side of the low fence that seperated the swanky coffee shop from the filth that populated the all-too-real sidewalk. My masala omelet was almost over save for a sorry-looking piece that I had left because it had gone cold. We were talking about going to a movie. All of us were aware of her presence - her torn saree, her brownish-red hair, the battered aluminum plate, and the heavily patched bag. I was extremely thankful that the breeze was blowing in the other direction and her stink did not carry. We continued ignoring the world on the other side of the fence.

"Hey! Chocolate! Chocolate beku!" she asked authoritatively. She was pointing at the last bit of the omelet. Either she was new to begging or she was slightly touched in the head. Her furtive glances and her changing facial expressions seemed to suggest the latter. I went through the usual feelings - the first being fear. Raw fear. She could easily reach over the fence and grab at my neck. She could try and hit me in the head for being richer. And then fear gave way to revulsion. Actually, fear and revulsion battled each other before irritation took over. I just wanted to see her go. I gave her that last piece without looking at her. She was meticulous in emptying the bare plate off even the onion pieces.

"Powder!" she said, gesturing at the sugar packet. We, at the table, glanced at each other. Omelet with sugar? What the hell! We handed over that too. She quickly got down to her unusual dinner of cold omelet with sugar to taste.

I was slightly disturbed. That was her dinner? I knew beggars went hungry for days. But somehow, the fact that there were beggars who were ready to eat a ridiculously small piece of omelet with sugar troubled me more. Before leaving the place, I handed over the cup of iced tea that was half empty. She accepted that with a I-deserve-that-tea-anyway kind of a look.

We did go to the movie that we had planned. 4 hours of pure stupidity. 250 bucks worth absurdity that went down well with popcorn and Pepsi. But in the movie hall, there was a poster that grabbed my attention.

Everyone's talking about it! But no one is doing anything about it!

PREVENT GLOBAL WARMING! ACT NOW!

Mills & Bharathiyar

Muthamittu, pala muthamittu, pala muthamittu unai serndhida vandhen.
With kisses, and more kisses, and more kisses, I revel in our union.

The above line is from Bharathiyar's Vallipaatu. I say, off with his head! I have come here, not to praise him, but to kill him.

Bharathiyar is a love-struck young man who was never able to find his soulmate. He grew up on Shelley! What else can you expect from a man like that? A sissy of the highest order!

He has, of course, given a lot more to Tamil literature through his songs with such diverse topics like philosophy, atheism, communism, spirituality and pure tongue-in-cheek-ness. But he is remembered for his mushy love songs! He is remembered for his Kannamma!

Sure, he was gifted. He came out with some of the glorious lines that still send a tingling down my spine whenever I read it. A case in point:

Kovvai ithazh nagai veesa - vizhi konathai kondu nilavai pidithaal!

I am not going to bother with the translation of that line. It can never be done justice to. What style! What grace! There is a pure fluidity in his words. The syllables simply slide off the tongue, dripping with pure nectar and venom. And pure mush!

Was he slightly twisted in his head? I think not. He was very clearly living in an illusory world. A world that he had built - just for him and his kannamma. What made him retreat to this sensory paradise? Was he too sensitive to the demons around him? He used to be a wife-beater, as astonishing as that sounds. Did the guilt of it eat him from inside? Could it be that he never was able to face his wife and apologize to her? Could it be that he was setting things right by being extra nice to kannamma?

He was a lot like Dylan in the sense that he was made a reluctant rebel. He wanted to write songs about kannamma and about shakthi. He wanted to investigate the hyped-up spirituality business. He wanted to redeem Paanjali. He wanted to hold intellectual conversations with cuckoos.

Perhaps this line is the most profound:

Nachu thalai paambukulle - nalla naagamani ulladhenbaar. Thuchapadu nenjile - nindran jothi valaruthadi!
The legendary Naagamani gleams within the head of the vilest of snakes. And your image blooms like a flame in this detestable heart of mine.

Bharathiyar was a coward, living in an alternate reality. He was a lover. Can you see my dagger through his heart?

Let's be stupid

There are always a few unsaid things.

The eyes talk a lot more, hinting at hidden mysteries. Those eloquent eyes push the words in your face. And behind such eyes, there are always a few unsaid things.

We construct bridges across rapids - wanting a human being. The bridge could lead us to death, but we plough along, braving bitter winds. Who could be behind those eyes? Is it the person that we see or is it the person's darkest desires come to life? Can the bridge hold? Can you walk hand-in-hand? "Don't go there! She is a slut!" says someone. "He is an asshole!" says another. But we look at them and say, "I know. But maybe there is more to this person! Let's just be stupid and build the bridge!" There are mishaps along the way. Those snubbed critics come back to life, spitting on our half-broken bridges. But we still plough along.

Such are the relationships that we forge. We decide to be stupidly brave and go ahead with the bridge. We are monumental risk-takers - adventure-seekers and adrenaline-junkies of the highest order! It gives us a high, to put someone through the test that we have deviced. Those unasked questions and those unsaid things - they come out as we watch the bridge shake and fumble. We - the builders of the bridge - stand on it and jump, trying to implode it. We are cruel quality-controllers, subjecting the bridge to the vilest of tests.

Why are there questions? Why should there be any answers? There were no expectations to begin with. Then why are they sprouting up? But we are past caring. We do not often realise that we are lousy builders - quite illogical actually! And as we watch the bridge succumb to our test, we pride ourselves in our victory, not realising that we lose our skills as each bridge collapses.

And the bitter-sweet irony of it all is that we were building a bridge to our own island!

But we need to be stupid throughout. We need to be stupid to start building a bridge. And we ought to be stupid and try not to test it with construction balls!

How nice it is to walk on the bridge with you. Let's just keep being stupid.