www +++ clutter

The cyber gurus proclaimed that the web will make our lives and work more easier by saving time, hmmmmmmmph…. that’s true for the most part… because if you think about it, our blackberries along with google, twitter, facebook, blogging and flickr remain our must have luggage to stay in touch …

If any of the following symptoms in the ritual, stretches the corners of your mouth towards your ears…you have been infected too !

01. even though you rarely call your buddies, when you meet up you simply know what’s been going on in their lives thanks to facebook

02. you rattle on and on about a place you’ve visited and your buddies bug you for pics, no more photo albums (eeeeeeeeek what’s that ?) you give your flickr album link

03. the discussion is on about a college that has great study programmes, “what’ssa name d’ya know?’ to a response that would be ‘forget the site, just punch in the name and google’

04. the lecturer was droning on and on about so much of technical jargon that you only managed to note them down randomly instead of what they actually mean. Why bother there’s always wikipaedia ?

05. you bump into one of your old buddies whom you haven’t met for a long time, when asked for your contact number you cant say it in one go without toodling your phone

06. you don’t know a relative’s number by heart, if great aunt bertha or uncle fred asks for it, you mumble ‘hang on aunt/uncle till I look in my contact book.

07. you stay in touch with all the happenings through RSS feeders on twitter or on any feeder site.

08. you think letters, stamps and postage are weird.

09. you have more passwords and usernames to remember than anything else

10. you cant be bothered with postcards during your travel, your buddies, cousins, relatives and colleagues can see everything on virtual tourist

11. if your blackberry doesn’t beep for messages when you look at the first thing during the day, the customer service of the phone company would be the first person you would call

12. you sometimes don’t bother to talk about this and that but instead find yourself posting links on your buddies’ facebook pages ?

13. your buddy has a funny kid and he blabs about him when you meet, “wait let me post you the youtube link which has a really funny clip of Jason”

14. you don’t need wait till you meet your buddies to show something funny that you spotted, just send the nuts a mms

anymore to come ?

with gratefulness to all my 10 fingers

I don’t believe this, only after passing the 37^th mile post in my life, was I able to full fill my lifelong dream to see the North of this country. “Damn lucky” were the words that sprang out of my close friends, who just like me were die hard city mice.

To us the buzz in Colombo was what fuelled our engines. The only time we shelved it out of our rigorous average 10 hour working lives were, when we felt we were going to snap if we didn’t smell, breathe and experience difference. That’s when paddy fields, the tea hills and the deep South beaches started to hallucinate us, amidst deadlines, meetings, reports and the non stopping flow of emails, texts and calls.

The district map of Sri Lanka would suddenly be our fond accomplice and amidst many hours of armchair travel, I would always drag my finger towards the very North and lose my self dreaming of the glorious day I will be able to set foot to a place ridden with a culture, that’s a stark contrast to the rest of the country.

Having listened to many who were fortunate to have made it between the 50’s and 70’s, my ears were filled with tales of a very reserved, hardworking, intelligent community leading simples lives, to whom education occupied the seat next to God. It was common to hear the brief description of Jaffna going as “if little pebbles are flung at the door of any house in Jaffna, chances are that there would be Engineers, Doctors, Lawyers, Accountants among the people who would have to wade through plots of Brinjals, Drumsticks, Chillies and Banana saplings”. Jaffna sounded unique and was always music to my ears. I never stopped questioning my mom who was lucky enough to have made it by Yaal Devi along with my dad and his classmate from Jaffna who was their guide. I always thought that whoever who had been to Jaffna was extremely fortunate to have experienced the Northern splendour.

On the 30^th of November 2009, when I stepped down in Palaly, I had to slap myself because it was more or less like a dream come true. The first thing that caught my roving eyes, were the Palmyrah trees that seemed to dominantly envelope the landscape. From that point, I developed wheels on both my feet and wanted to experience the unique charm as much as possible. Thankfully the work I do paved the opportunity for me to grasp the uniqueness of a place that was shut down from the rest of the country for over 30 years.

As I travelled to many of the remote villages, I felt I was ripping open a treasure box that was waiting to be explored. The lagoon, coast, fort and everything looked so chic in its own way.

Everywhere I went beautiful big eyes, ebony skinned, svelte women and children returned shy smiles and the men grinned through beetle stained teeth. When I looked them in the eye and tried to connect, I sensed that many of the eyes I looked into had a deep dark tale closeted in their inner vault. Those eyes said it all. I was not going to dig up the deep wounds and make them re-live the pain. I figured a simple smile was adequate to iron out my alien look, which I knew obviously was read in their minds as ‘not from Jaffna’

The sense of respect towards people in a higher job position ranked high on their agenda. Dark chocolate coloured hands would often be held in unison, chairs provided to sit, standing when people of such positions enter were rituals that everybody adhered to. An average daily temperature of 35 degrees posed no barriers to the Jaffna folk who cycled to work, plough the fields and get on with life, despite extreme humidity. It seemed like they were born to work and that too with extreme commitment.

Shades of Amber, Turmeric, Saffron and Bright Pink seemed like the preferred choice for most women’s 6ft long traditional saree or salwar kameez. Some were decked with flowers on their head. Looking at them coming out of a temple was a real feast to my eyes. Impeccably feminine they were often accompanied by their spouses decked in trendy white sarongs with colourful trimmings.

My lessons in Tamil somewhat paid off, when I realised I understood fragments of sentences that were rattled off in lightening speed. Some parts of the signboards, road signs were retrieved in my head after learning a few letters in the tamil alphabet. That was an achievement I thought, being able to read something. My attempts to talk the few phrases were most appreciated and I felt pleased that I could connect with these folk ; all these amidst smiles which I interpreted as that’s-nice-of-you-to-give-it-a-try.

It is untiring fascination for me to marvel at the scalloped edges, stone carvings and the colourful figurines in the Hindu pantheon. Some standing erect, some seated in a lotus pose, other raising their hands to heaven and me craning habitually to see if my favourite Krishna was visible. Sadly rarely I saw the adorable flutist in Jaffna.

In Nallur I found myself carrying on the same ritual, absorbing the majestic look, while snapping up a couple of pictures.

The Fort, Library, Duraippa stadium, were other landmarks that seemed to occupy a prominent position in the city’s landscape. In the streets it was interesting to see the rear end of bicycles strapped with a variety of things ranging from several Palmyrah baskets in circular form, bananas, coconuts, some sacks of vegetables which I read as village produce finding their way to the town for selling.

It seemed there were lots more to see and experience, the 5 days I spent were only the highlights. Would I go through all the time consuming procedures to get there again to get a microscopic view ? I asked myself. Unhesitatingly my mind replied ‘Ohm Ohm’ in true Yaal Paanam style !!!!

and the cobalt flutist still continues to make me gush with awe !

in proportion to the scale Janmashtami is celebrated in the divine flutist's homeland, Colombo's ISKCON centre had only a parade that took a ebony skinned kid decked up as the divine flutist taken in a made up chariot. There was also makeshift Radha sitting cosily beside him, the passing chariot made me smile, reminding me of the hundreds of paintings I had seen on the inner ceiling of ISKCON Bangalore and Mumbai....Nobody and Nothing can come closer to the charm that the real flutist possess. Unlike in the streets of Mumbai there was no customary games of being the first

reaching for the pot of milk hung on a higher plane. The ambience was not as fun as it was in Krishna country but the fact that Janmashtami was still celebrated was nice in a way. I yearn for the day I can get to stand on the bank of river Yamuna and absorb the whole episode.

Until then I can only conclude by saying if there is a synonym for charm it is Krishna period.

Govinda Jaya Jaya

Stumped by blue boy's charm !

I stumbled upon a blue faced flutist, who graced many romantic memorabilia in a book store, and naturally driven with curiosity to know who this cobalt complexioned Adonis really was….

During many visits to craft stores, I often saw images of the slim, lanky, youth with a frisky demeanor, surrounded by many dancing damsels, swaying to the melody flowing, from this adorable looking flutist.

Oozing with magnetism, the peacock feather peeping behind his ears and the flowing sunflower coloured gown only enhanced the charm of this enchanting being. In some images a white cow stood nearby, fondly swaying towards her master….in others it was a lissome lass who leaned closer to him.

Probing further, I found that, eating butter was his childhood obsession, so much so, stealing it, was a passion, fun and frolic with the village damsels was his favourite past time.. His childhood upbringing in the dairy farming villagers, tending to the cattle, the charm he carried in his youth, the impish pranks in his adolescence and gallantry in manhood…all these blended him to be the much loved idol of the hindu pantheon,

identified by so many names….but all of them radiating so much appeal ...so much fondness and attraction….

I do not know how to greet the very magical essence that makes me flip every time I see it …be it on the walls of a temple, greeting card, agarbatti pack, wall hanging and the other numerous things…

Do I chant ……………….. Hare Krishna, Hare Krishna

Krishna Krishna Hare Hare, ……

Beyond the deep breathing and stretching ………..

I looked forward to visiting the quaint little place filled with different shades of green. A large elephant god sat at the entrance with the fragrance of incense burning sending out feel good vibes for all who came by. The ambience was perfect to spread out a mat, listen to the chanting, breathe deeply and stretch.

I had to admit it. I was hooked to yoga. With each ‘breathe in and breathe out’ accompanying a single movement of an asana, a great degree of tranquility was creeping into me, giving me a better grip over life’s little hum drums. Something was clipping my restlessness. My addiction also came with a prize I had to pay with unending cramps, muscle twists and stiffness. I was determined to learn the technique of this ancient art where today, it’s originality has been distorted with the likes of pilates and aerobics.

I loved the silent buzz of the Himalayan chants seeping through my ear drums while I gathered myself to pose like a tree, a plough, tortoise, flipped over countless times in trying to achieve the frog pose. The winding off session was the best and the most amusing with everybody lying on the floor, supposed to be totally relaxed in the pretext of being a corpse. During the process of relaxing each and every part of the body starting from the toes and moving onto the head, some dozed off to a mild slumber which brought out smiles in the faces of the rest.

I was restless, this wasn’t adequate, I had to know more. Over the days and months that followed, I read extensively about its history, origins, famous yogis, the art of training the mind to be a more productive being. What I gathered was an interesting collection, how the great maestro B.K.Iyengar started and went on to open the finest training school. Somehow everything that connected to yoga became my passion (including the strange shaped wooden beaded jewellery).

Did I stop at merely reading ? no, that wasn’t enough, the urge was severe….I had to see things for myself. A couple of visits to land of the origin really nailed me flat. The first thing that caught my attention was the serenity of every single human face that crossed eyes with me. Many questions crossed my mind, “is this pretence?’ “are they real?” It wasn’t only the looks, this sombre manner was evident even in the manner they spoke, responded. No they were not like zombies. They were perfectly normal human beings but with a better grip of things should I say ?

My spells of temptations were getting bad, I had to now spend a day or two and check this out. I convinced the unhurried souls to let me stay a night. I relished the dhal that washed over the plate of rice, fresh spring water. Chanting before bedtime, wake up at the crack of dawn, cold shower, yoga to start off the day. Hey this was good. Felt lighter, easier and more relaxed.

My mind was churning…what would it be to hang on here for good ? Unanswered question…and many of them too…..I am still looking for the ideal solution one that really fits in with my desires. The search continues, until then I keep stretching to the chants o

Take 2

Unahapooruwa a remote village in Hambantota was my next stop for a live interview with a woman who had truly wanted to learn the art of sewing all her life but had no means to learn the craft. I cross questioned my project colleagues about the woman, her background, village, livelihoods of communities, and all the snippets that would nicely cushion and pad the story I was supposed to spin based on pure truth of course.

I stepped into a compact house and was greeted by a wide grinned round woman who made us sit and enjoy fresh tea with biscuits. A spanking new sewing machine sat somewhere in the living room, with fabric falling over, spools of thread placed on some unfinished garments and some snipped up thread bits and fabric.

I began my usual tonic of ‘comfort talk’ before I proceeded to getting the facts from her for my story. The flow of conversation flowed without boundaries until I spotted the mark to cease casual talk and divert her attention to my mission.

My colleague was gearing up with the video and I was briefing her how she should begin her tale. She nodded to signify understanding and sat in preparation to churn the wheels of the sewing machine just for us. Video lights came on, I clicked the voice recorder and stood back with a notebook and pen to jot down any interesting things that may shoot in between her recital.

“Meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeow” a loud cat’s screech was heard and a noise of some live thing jumping from behind the seamstress. The interview turned towards a different dimension, with a shoot for a funny video in full force. Our seamstress was standing on the chair with a measuring stick. I lost control and burst into a fit of giggles. I am chuckling as I write this for Asia Digest, recalling the hilarious episode. My colleague was serious for a while and seeing me in hysterics burst out laughing too. We created a racket and a big one too apart from the cat who decided to chase a rat and waited for the moment where the interview and filming was about to begin.

‘Take 2’ didn’t happen for a long time. I had to really come back to my usual sombre ‘work’ mood and I can tell you it wasn’t easy, because I was scotting on the floor and laughing my head off. Our seamstress had got off the chair and she too joined us in our fits which didn’t seem to go away for a long time

The rat kissed goodbye to dear life and a jubilant cat pounded to it’s mistress showing it’s might, holding a limp rat through snarling jaws. Our seamstress patted its head as if to congratulate him and continued giggling.

We took a break not getting enough of the sudden amusing episode. I managed to bring myself down and walked over to the seamstress with voice recorder as the video lights came on. ‘Take 2’ did happen this time, for real.