it is still a beautiful world

my last entry was in march this year. months have passed and so have moments. however, inspirations come from little things, things that hardly matter to everyone. it has always been a delight to share feelings and knowledge with people who exhibit a fervent enthusiasm in accepting them. such a person who brought this stimulation is the reason i pen this entry today. therefore allow me to dedicate this month to gaurie who has appreciated both my sense of philosophy and the simplicity that i portray in my artwork.

`desiderata' meaning desired things in latin, has inspired me long before i knew the title and the poet. and i had marked a little poem myself so i may remember what i had heard for time to come.

i had once read an extract
a few years pass the lane
am not sure where it came from
i remember it all the same

its a learning of existence
one that will stay by me
along my journey ahead
as it shapes my life to be

i will share the extract now
and will try to make it short
a summary of the whole
though there is really quite a lot

in the noise and haste of life
the silence we must feel
the love and care we create
to let the wounded heal

to ask not for affection
yet to freely give
to hear the dull and ignorant
for they too need to live

to take kindly counsel of the years
surrendering things of youth
strength of spirit in misfortune
others' despair to soothe

to discern that we are all
the children of the universe
no less than the trees and stars
as best as they are with us

the knowledge that we need not fear
though fatigue and loneliness will come
and dashes of confusion arise
a flow of pain and harm

whether it is clear or not
the universe itself will unfold
so be at peace at all times
let honesty and truth behold

even in the midst of hatred
love has often found its way
whatever aspirations we labor
we can make it ours to stay

to change those who permit
to touch the lives we can
to right the wrongs if any
to lend a helping hand

with all its shams and drudgery
broken hearts and dreams
it is still a beautiful world
no matter what it seems

i tried my best to make
this the shortest summary
hoping the message will do for you
what good it has done me.


it was only years later that i was given the extract and was told of `desired things', a poem by max erhman, an american writer of german descent in 1927. he was a deputy state's attorney in terre haute, indiana. he studied law and philosophy at harvard. desiderata reached fame only after his death. surprisingly years later in 1956, desiderata was used as a religious compilation of devotional materials for a congregation by rev frederick kates in maryland. i stress on surprising because erhman's extract specifies, `be at peace with god whatever you may perceive him to be'... and as far as i have studied of christianity, it would not have yielded to a message such as this.


i am nearing my 5th decade of life, which brings me to say that erhman has perfected our lives in that one sentence `with all its shams drudgery and broken dreams, it is still a beautiful world'. no matter how much pain i have gone through, i have never wanted to let go of those memories for they have given me a perfect life of roses and thorns.

how do we ever view the beauty of the roses if we are never pricked by those thorns?

as a young girl i have tried interpreting poems, and often have read the same poem twice and have concluded differently. therefore, instead of explaining what it means to me, permit me to let it unfold and explain itself in the approach that you see appropriate at whatever time, whatever age and whatever moment you embrace it.

thank you gaurie, for making me write my moment and expressing my life in it with whatever influences that has directed the paths i have treaded. desiderata has often given me that choice in the road less taken. with that, may you find solace and wisdom in it too.

there wasn't a need for me to complete the 372 pages to have this visceral love for hardy.

three decades ago, i first attempted the mayor of casterbridge as an optional study for my tenth year school exams. after the insufferable compulsory study of shakespeare's richard II at that time, i could not go beyond `as distinct from the desultory shamble of the general labourer.....a dogged and cynical indifference...showing itself even in the regularly interchanging fustian folds...' which was just the first page of the mayor of casterbridge. i stopped reading at the folds, and not a single year had passed by, since then, without me thinking of just one endeavour at it.

the mayor came to me on my birthday in the year 2010, as a gift from didon and he sat there on my shelf until last week, when i asked didon on the choice between the mayor and mein kampf for a first read, ...both books being on my mind as long as i have remembered them. she immediately said..hardy. and so i read him.

my journey with hardy was soulful and passionate. i read him with the entire of my entrails and was so totally soaked, i am still unable to dry myself off it.

the story in brief : michael henchard travels with his wife, susan and baby daughter, elizabeth jane looking for work as a hay trusser. he stops at a country fair, gets drunk, sells susan and the baby for five guineas to a sailor, newson.

when morning comes, on realisation, he laments his actions, enters a church vows to abstain from liquor for the next 21 years, and sets out to look for them. while continuing his journey, he lands at casterbridge. over the course of the following years, he establishes himself as prosperous pillar of the community and becomes mayor. but as hardy would have it, the shameful secret of his past does catch up with henchard.
after the supposed death of newson, susan seeks henchard, the secret being kept from elizabeth jane to spare her any disgrace or shame. henchard meets susan, courts her and remarries her.

meanwhile, henchard meets donald farfrae, a young scotchman who is passing the town. recognising farfrae's ability and talent, he persuades farfrae to stay and hires him as the manager of his corn business. farfrae outdoes henchard in every aspect. he fires farfrae and does not allow him to court elizabeth jane.

susan falls ill, and dies but not before leaving him a note saying their daughter died a little after he sold them years ago, and this elizabeth jane was newson's daughter. he becomes cold with the thought of knowing he neither has a wife nor a child now. he alienates himself from elizabeth jane.
she leaves him to live with lucetta templeton, a woman henchard was involved with in susan's absence. having learnt of susan's death, lucetta decides to come to henchard, but before she meets him, she sets eyes on farfrae who by then has his own corn business and was becoming popular. they court and marry. henchard is heart broken but meets lucetta's request of returning all her earlier love letters. jopp, the delivery man of those letters, decides to use the letters against lucetta who was not very nice to him, humiliates her through a parade and eventually she falls ill and dies of shame.

henchard grows to like elizabeth jane. but unfortunate to him, newson is alive and comes looking for her. he lies to newson saying his daughter is dead as he is afraid of losing her. newson learns of henchard's deceit and is reunited with his daughter before she marries farfrae.

i will leave the end for those who want to read the book but i want to add henchard's will here so as to remind myself the emotions that deeply seeped through me while reading those words. such feelings are evoked rarely in most books that i have read.

Michael Henchard's Will

That Elizabeth-Jane Farfrae be not told of my death, or made to grieve on account of me.
& that I be not bury'd in consecrated ground.
& that no sexton be asked to toll the bell.
& that nobody is wished to see my dead body.
& that no murners walk behind me at my funeral.
& that no flours be planted on my grave.
& that no man remember me.
To this I put my name.
"Michael Henchard"

allow me to deliberate on henchard. the ultimate ecstasy in any literature i pursue is rendering a feeling of sympathy for a near-villainous character, whether deserving or not.

hardy is a gifted author, one that you rarely come across. he brings every word alive. clear and detailed descriptions of his settings make you forget the world you are in. you float and before long you are there standing next to henchard. you see the flaws, the weaknesses and you learn to empathize with whatever choices taken.

i saw the morning sun streaming through the crevices of the canvas, felt the warm glow pervading the atmosphere of the marquee and i heard the single big blue fly buzzing musically around.

i was there.

i was there when henchard was drawn to his concoction. i saw farfrae's first gaze fall on elizabeth, i was watching farfrae pull his chair round to the fire place to speak to henchard, i was a witness in the town hall when henchard, as a justice of peace was insulted by the furmity woman of weydon fair who finally revealed his long kept secret, i heard the retreating footsteps of newson upon the sanded floor, and had dust in my eyes on the travelled road. silently i stood there watching, hearing and feeling everything that came upon henchard's life..until i finally saw him with abel whittle whereupon he wrote his will.

i am neither an analyst of stories nor a reviewer. i write what i feel. and i felt for henchard, more for hardy. one cant deny the genius in hardy. though the story was intelligently and masterfully woven, it is not the plot that filled my soul. it was hardy's mastery with expressions and language,his panache for the written word, his flair with literature and portrayals of characters. also most particularly his ability of taking me to the scene. it is beyond any appreciation that i can discuss. the effect on me was not readily discernible but it was much more insidious than i would have myself believe. does hardy subvert the concept of redemption in this book? i do not know his intention but like i said i am not here to analyze it, i am here to say that few books have stayed with me, like the book thief and the life of pi. mayor however dribbles me like no other.

i understand that the mayor has a depressing closure and most would expect a joyful ending after the turn and twists in the plots. it is, i am sure, almost disappointing to everyone that hardy cannot respect man's hand in creating happiness for himself. most will conceive that his work reinforces his perception of man as a puppet in the hands of destiny. why can it not end with the man having the power over destiny and what harm will it create to end the book in high spirits?

converse to that thought, i think a book such as this would end horrifyingly with a blissful ending and we shall lose the emotion that was worth exploring. and in being able to survey and suffer with the protagonist, one presents the perfect book. and to me, his masterpiece was created in this perfection. long after hair turns grey, i should think one would remember that he had asked for `no flours to be planted on his grave'.
in all honesty, i would have the ending no other way.

henchard, with his weaknesses and strengths, brings out a dash of sympathy and compassion in us because we face the same fears, success, defeat and guilt for our actions too. henchard is reality, and whether pessimistic or not, i think he was larger than life and a man to be admired with or without redemptions.

henchard to me was a symbol, a towering figure of determination, a man who led destiny and not as others would like to think the other way around. even though his last words broke my heart, he continues to appear heroic and majestic despite the occurrences and bubbles of defeat.

hardy's imagery will definitely give rise to further literary discussion. if it fell slow, i did not take heed, fate and man's hand in it intertwine and provide a definite, though different identity and charm.

hardy says through elizabeth jane that happiness is but the occasional episode in a general drama of pain. it is tragic but tragically beautiful. we are reminded that our appreciation of moments of success and happiness must be due before we are reduced to nothing.

in conclusion, the heroic but flawed henchard relates to us in this intense drama, his journey of life being presented to us in untold emotions and lessons. whatever hardy represents, i have loved every moment of it. would i recommend it as a good read? maybe i would go steps ahead and say that should you not read the mayor of casterbridge in your entire life time, just once, it would be one of the biggest regrets, as it would definitely have been mine.

pluto - 21 jan 2012 -27 jan 2013

pluto breathed his last at 2230 hours mst on the 27th of january 2013.. didibhai died a day earlier five years ago, 26th january 2008. i would like to dedicate my february blog to him.

pluto came to us on the 21st of jan 2012. he was a gift to putul who was rewarded for her excellent financial skills. she chose the name `pluto' for him. he lived with her and didon for a while before putul realised that he was probably lonely when no one was at home. she used to bring him to gombak whenever she came over but for most of the days he remained there until putul and ma felt he would probably be better off here with us.

and so the attachment grew with the daily feeding and cleaning. to take better care of him, i googled `hamsters' to understand them better. their diet includes dried food, berries, nuts, fresh foods and vegetables. it was said that hamster behaviour varies depending on their environment, genetics, and interaction with people.

pluto was a russian dwarf hamster. he was good looking and extremely clean. when putul first learnt of similes in school, i asked her to give me an example of one, she immediately came up with `as clean as a hamster'.

hamsters have poor eyesight; they are nearsighted and colourblind. to compensate for their poor sight when in unfamiliar territory, hamsters have scent glands on their flanks (and abdomens in chinese and russian dwarf hamsters). a hamster rubs these areas of its body against various objects, and leaves a trail of smells to follow to return to its home den. hamsters also use their sense of smell to identify phenomes and gender, and to locate food. they are also particularly sensitive to high-pitched noises and can hear and communicate in the ultrasonic range.

during the first month, he would almost always snap and bite if we were to pick him up or touch him without first making a sound. eventually we learnt to call him before opening the cage to take him out.

ma called him pulto. and it sort of became his unofficial name. didon called him plut plot. i called him all the `toes' including baby. over a period of two months, he came to recognise our voices instantly and would look up the moment we spoke to him. he knew, it was him we were speaking to. we had conversations and he seemed to understand what we were saying.

he never made a sound except when he was suffering in the heat, so we would take him out and wipe him with his wet wipes. he would sit in the corner of the sofa and dry himself, before dozing off.

he stopped eating the commercial food we bought for him. so we shared with him all the vegetables we ate, cooked and uncooked. he adored the greens. and loved chocolates and ice cream. later i read that we are not supposed to give him sweet stuff.

a behavioral characteristic of hamsters is food hoarding. they carry food in their spacious cheek pouches to their comfortable storage chambers. when full, the cheeks can make their heads double, or even triple in size.

eventually we shared with him the fish on our plates and the chicken strips. he ate all that we ate. he became family and we would lunch and dine together.

we took him out once in a while when the cage became too small for him. he would run across the sofa and be on the move until he finds solace in his cage again.

once while cleaning the cage, putul mistakenly loses pluto. he was discovered an hour later under the bench, scared and worried. all he wanted was the continuous pat on his head.

during the new year celebrations, putul noticed his face changing shape. he ate less and became thinner and smaller. i took him to mesho, our vet. he gave him some antibiotics and some meds to be put in his water bottle. mesho said he had a growth, a tumour. it might go away and he might go back to being normal but one cant say.

it did not go away, we witnessed him suffering and it took a toll on us. ma would be checking up on him everyday, every moment and she would feel regret. that sunday, i knew he was going to go, because he just refused to eat anything. i held him in my hands and thought to myself, how strrange this attachment was. i wished he would go, i did not want to see him suffer. when putul came, i told her to hold him in her hands, she did that, and not long after that, he left us. dulbuli and shobuj who were never too keen on holding him, felt the same pain.

we buried him in our garden.

i have his picture on my `skype' and `line' profiles. he was just a hamster. one would use them for experiments and care less if they died. but pluto did make a difference in our lives. our home was lively because of him and he was like this baby always in need of love and care. he kept us entertained and gave us love in more ways than i can even begin to describe.

i was glad to see him go, but only because he was so ill. whatever little time we had with him, we had the best and he will always be remembered for his wonderful company, besides his good looks and his clean nature. i still think of him everyday.

last week i dreamt he was still alive and healthy. sigh....

Life Of Pi - the movie

On 31st of January last year I had blogged on The Great Expectations by Dickens. I also had dreams and expectations that were not fruitful. I was unable to write twelve reviews for the twelve months of the year. I do nonetheless, relentlessly write in my mind. Unfortunate though, I am seemingly unable to find time to produce them here. Yet, time itself is subjective.

I started writing this during the last month of the past year. How apt, I thought to begin my stories at the beginning of the `watched' year and end it before the Mayan’s prediction of a change. To my regret, I was unable to complete it.
They say, whatever you do on the first day of the New year, you would do for the rest of the days. So believing that, I am here writing this and will undoubtedly post it in my blog before the end of the day.

After my return from Da Nang, I did embark on a travelogue. But before I could end it, it was all swiped away from me, due to my own folly, after which I was distressed and could not carry on writing. I stopped. And at that instant, conceivably in annoyance, I contemplated not writing about my travels again. I am unsure if I will change my mind some day, but currently, the thought still holds.

I completed my review on Martel’s `life of pi’ on the 30th of May 2007, at which time, I was delighted to know that Shyamalan, being born in Pondicherry himself, was considering the movie. I couldn’t have been more pleased to know that.

5 years later, it came to my attention that Ang Lee took up the challenge to form the book into a movie. Lee created the Richard Parker I imagined and felt. That was the most important thing for me.

Bold and energetic, this movie cannot be dismissed because there is too much in it. Perhaps I am biased because I am passionate about Martel’s book as much as I am about Lee. I hope though, that it will not cloud my judgment but should it in anyway, I still hope it would relate easily to others.

I watched it in 3D only because Raja recommended it. It would have been a mistake to settle for anything less. Life of pi, the movie, was wildly delightful, intoxicating and breathtaking. Lee gave me the `algaes’ as I imagined them. Being an agnostic, I still fail to understand the stress on God here, but I believe coexistence and spirituality encircle you throughout the movie.

He remains true to the book. Having just returned from Taiwan, I loved Claudio Miranda and his team, the cinematography was enchanting and I have no doubts, it would run for some nominations. It was an absolute visual masterpiece.

Life of Pi is a magical adventure, and if I may say so, a near impossible one. It is the story of a subtly profound friendship built on an inspiring survival. In my blog I had mentioned that at many times, I imagined myself to be Parker and because of that in the movie, he was perhaps the best thing for me. I was not too fond of Suraj. Kaufman says she depended on her guts while casting Suraj, she felt he was perfect for the scenes. I however, would like to differ in thought.

With a hefty USD 120 million production budget and a subject matter encompassing complex themes like faith, religion, spirituality and different cultures, it is a worrying undertaking. When I read the book I felt that only a `vision fuelled'
Shyamalan could have made this possible. But just when the project was becoming a distant memory after directors like Night Shyamalan, Alfonso Cuaron, and Jean Pierre shelved or abandoned it, Ang Lee’s zeal finally gave it a conclusion. I couldn’t have been more ecstatic.

One of the greatest contemporary filmmakers, from his first major film, also his thesis, `Fine Line',which won him the best director and best film at the NYU annual film awards, he continued outperforming himself until his last `Sense and Sensibility' before the LOP. I never missed his films whether in Chinese or English, infact, I even visited his birthplace in Pingtung, East of Kaohsiung in Taiwan. Popular for his listening skills, spongy absorption, and `the feel’ as opposed to demanding and speaking, he gave the movie a remarkable sense of authenticity when it came to facts that were a part of an entire world of fantasy.

Ang Lee is a genius.

To have insisted in Pondicherry looking like it was in the 60’s, and to have the Indian actors speaking English in the right Indian regional accent, having the kind of music that played on the radio during that era with Piscine reading the comic books at that period during his childhood, was unquestionably incredible.

Lee has a special place in my heart so I am naturally prejudiced, but who wouldn’t be about a man who is so big in success, yet so down to earth, incredibly unassuming and simple, someone who hasn’t allowed fame and wealth to change him, someone who is talented beyond his years and can still remain humble, someone who can readily give orders, yet he chooses to listen to others’ contributions.

To me, he made an unfilmable book available on screen.

Based on the bestselling book by man booker prize 2002 winner, Yann Martel, Life of Pi, the movie, tells a story of struggle and survival through seemingly insurmountable odds. Fighting against fate, and participating where the heart is reluctant, the shipwrecked inhabitants of the life boat do extraordinary, unexpected and even heroic deeds to survive. In survival, however, one performs shameful and cannibalistic actions on realization of the possibility of extinction.

An outstanding 3D epic adventure film, so alive with brilliant colours, powerful imagery, and impressive cinematography, one forgives anything, even if it appears unreal. Pi who creates a fearful intimacy with a startlingly realistic Bengal tiger, Richard Parker, spends turbulent months at sea, after Orange juice, the peaceful Orang Utan and the wounded zebra is killed by the ferocious hyena. Driven by both spectacle and substance, along with the fantasy island of meerkats and algaes, the amazing technology and special effects is so magical and mystical, it totally drowns you in its world.

Although Lee brings in the three religions as beautifully as Martel does, he leaves out an important scene towards the end, which is perhaps a wise decision since the movie would have been seen as provocative. Simply said, we choose to believe in what we need to, in order to adjust to our own absurd circumstance of our questioned existence.

Storytelling can be viewed as a lot of things. Like I mentioned in my Martel blog earlier, here too, the whole movie is about Pi’s magical adventure. Only the last few minutes he recasts his account and tells us an entirely different story devoid of animals. Do we choose to believe the reality or do we rather dwell in the adventure? Does the real content of the story matter or do we struggle to reason between the two?

In conclusion, for me, it is never easy coming across someone I can greatly admire. An auteur director, Ang Lee, to me is a master of cinema. He manifests earthly delights like no other.

As for the movie, life of pi is an elegant film that will present us various emotions, with a dash of faith to believe in. An almost near impossible feat of transforming from a book, the film does wonders to the soul. Not to be missed, the whole magic can only be felt on 3D big screen. Here's wishing all happy watching and a very happy and magical year.