December Favorites

Here are my favorite blogs for December 2008 and why I like them (in the order of my discovering them).

Summer Diary

This is the wittiest blog I’ve read, very funny, and entertaining. You half forget that anything else exists in this world when you read Jack. My favorite post is “Chapter 14“. He doesn’t seem to have posted anything recently.

Definitely Maybe

Definitely Maybe is updated rarely, but everytime Kenneth write’s something, it touches you. My favorite post is “Strawberry Swing…..“

Untitled

Cheeky title for a blog but Chittz is awesome. There is a certain sadness in most of her work. What I admire most is her flow. The narration just flows. There is no other word for it. My favorite post is “Plastic Christmas Tree“

Contemplation Glints

There is only one word to describe what Goldhawk writes. Brilliant. Her plots are always things you’ve heard of somewhere, but her treatment is brilliant. Favorite post, “Conjuncture“

The Loony Lampoonist

Foogarky deserves an award for his imagination. His characters are wild. Among all the fiction blogs I’ve read, he is the most different. Favorite post, “The Scene Changer“

Kafkaesque

Aditya never blasts anything or hold’s anything high. In that way I think he is a very balanced reviewer. And he seems to read prolificly.

Rekindled Imaginations

Ha ha ha. Arjun must be among the funniest bloggers alive. His style of story telling is anecdotal, you think that these stories may be true. His most recent post however seems to be tragic. My favorite post, “Totally Jammed…!!“

Thrunthi Vaa

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Singing (male)
Kaanum Kangal Thanae Vaeru (Isn’t it that only our eyes are different)
Kaanum Katchi Kedayathey (Not the sight we see)
Peesum mozhi thaney vaeru (Isn’t it that only our languages are different)
Pechin ennam kidayaadhe (Not the thought behind our words)
Sellum paathay thanay veru (Isn’t it that only our paths are different)
Nadakkum kaalgal kidayaadhe (Not our walking legs)
Aayunthangal dhaane veru (Isn’t it that only our weapons are different)
Yendhum kaigal kidayaadhe (Not our hands that hold them)

Moodiya kanthira, moodiya kanthira thozha (Open your closed eyes, my friend) x2

Seviyae, Seviyae, Seviyae, koncham kelu ( Ears, Ears, Ears, listen)
Ratha aaril neendhi vetri choodiyadhu yaaru? (Who’s ever won, drenched in blood)
Mozhiyae, Mozhiyae, Mozhiyae, koncham pesu ( Language, Language, Language, speak)
Unnai serayil adakeyyathu yaaru? (Who’s imprisoned you?)

Narration (female)

Aayudhangal eri vanakkam sol (Throw your weapons, say namaste)
Azhi un ratha veri (Destroy your blood lust)
Punnagai kol (Smile)

Singing (Male)

Kathi indri ratham indri (Without weapons, and without blood)
Naadau pala peranthatu (Many countries were born)

Gandhi soona vazhi thozha (Gandhi’s path, my friend)
Unnaku indru marantathu ( You’ve forgotten today)

Moodiya kanthira, moodiya kanthira thozha (Open your closed eyes, my friend) x2

Singing (female)

Aariya maakal azhipathu, veeranuku azhaga (Is it like a warrior to kill innocent people)
Un kuraigala peechal thirpathu thavara (Is it wrong to talk about your grievances )
Puratchi endru Puratchi endru (Calling it a revolution)
Vuyerai parikaathey (don’t take away lives)
Arivu illa peechu ketu (Listening to foolishness)
Vuyerai kodukathey (do’t give away your life)

Singing (male)

Kaanum Kangal Thanae Vaeru (Isn’t it that only our eyes are different)
Kaanum Katchi Kedayathey (Not the sight we see)
Peesum mozhi thaney vaeru (Isn’t it that only our languages are different)
Pechin ennam kidayaadhe (Not the thought behind our words)
Sellum paathay thanay veru (Isn’t it that only our paths are different)
Nadakkum kaalgal kidayaadhe (Not our walking legs)
Aayunthangal dhaane veru (Isn’t it that only our weapons are different)
Yendhum kaigal kidayaadhe (Not our hands that hold them)

Moodiya kanthira, moodiya kanthira thozha (Open your closed eyes, my friend) x2

A blind boy and Rubik’s toy

He held it sacred in his hand,
and fondled it with finger love.
Twisted it madly, almost wrenched,
the colourful plastic cube.

He held it close to his ear,
heard it click beneath his fingers,
smiled at himself while scrambling it again
“I like this” his announced.

“It’s a puzzle” I said, and asked:
“Shall I get you one in braille?”
He held it in front of his vacuous eyelid,
“I think it is more fun this way”

A blind boy with Rubik’s toy

He held it sacred in his hand,
and fondled it with finger love.
Twisted it madly, almost wrenched,
the colourful plastic cube.

He held it close to his ear,
heard it click beneath his fingers,
smiled at himself while scrambling it again
“I like this” his announced.

“It’s a puzzle” I said, and asked:
“Shall I get you one in braille?”
He held it in front of his vacuous eyelid,
“I think it is more fun this way”

Hippie Santa and Rajinikanth

My barber is the kind of man who’d stand out anywhere. He occupies most of his cramped saloon himself, has a mop of hair from the Rajinikanth seventies and laughs like Santa Clause. He has never missed the first day, first show of any Rajini movie till date.

“I am painting thalaivar on my door” he said one day.

I had just entered and was sitting on a plastic chair awaiting my turn, reading a Tamil magazine.

“Where?” I looked at him.

He was sliding a razor across the shaving foam on someone’s face. The guy didn’t seem to care what we were talking about.

“On the door thambi, the shop’s door”

He was going to paint Rajinikanth on his saloon’s door.

“Your thalivar might not like that” I said.

He looked at me like I’d said something stupid. Rajinikanth, had issued a notice long back asking people to stop using his pictures without his consent. He did not like people misusing his image.

I explained all that to hippie Santa.

He paused for a moment inspecting the foam on the other guy’s face.

“It doesn’t matter” he said as he restarted scrapping away the foam. “Who’s going to see anyway?”

The next time I went for a haircut, I saw Rajini on the saloon door. Head held high, the setting sun forming a halo behind his profile, smiling in that innocently narcissistic way that only he can. It was a perfect replica of a famous picture, the one from Thalapathy.

I stood there for a second, admiring the even spread of paint on the glass door and the way it played with the light. Then I opened the door, went in and sat on a plastic chair to wait for my turn.

“How is it thambi?” my barber asked turning away from someone’s hair.

“Really good” I said, smiling. The guy getting his hair cut didn’t seem to mind our talking.

“How much did it cost you?” I asked.

“Nothing”

“Nothing! Who does paintings for free?”

He looked at me like I’d said something stupid, again.

“Rajesh. He is from the fan club”

“Rajini’s fan club?”

Santa nodded.

So much talent was roaming our streets painting free pictures of Rajinikanth. Incredible, India!

“Does he paint other things?”

“He used to paint for movies, on walls, but who needs painters nowadays thambi. Every poster is combuter printed”

I looked at my barber. I looked at the image of Rajini on the glass door, the light coming through. I thought about Rajesh, shrugged, took a Tamil magazine from a plastic chair, and started reading.

Rajini and my barber

My barber is the kind of man who’d stand out anywhere. He occupies most of his cramped saloon himself, has a mop of hair from the Rajinikanth seventies and laughs like Santa Clause. He has never missed the first day, first show of any Rajini movie till date.

“I am painting thalaivar on my door” he said one day.

I had just entered and was sitting on a plastic chair awaiting my turn, reading a Tamil magazine.

“Where?” I looked at him.

He was sliding a razor across the shaving foam on someone’s face. The guy didn’t seem to care what we were talking about.

“On the door thambi, the shop’s door”

He was going to paint Rajinikanth on his saloon’s door.

“Your thalivar might not like that” I said.

He looked at me like I’d said something stupid. Rajinikanth, had issued a notice long back asking people to stop using his pictures without his consent. He did not like people misusing his image.

I explained all that to hippie Santa.

He paused for a moment inspecting the foam on the other guy’s face.

“It doesn’t matter” he said as he restarted scrapping away the foam. “Who’s going to see anyway?”

The next time I went for a haircut, I saw Rajini on the saloon door. Head held high, the setting sun forming a halo behind his profile, smiling in that innocently narcissistic way that only he can. It was a perfect replica of a famous picture, the one from Thalapathy.

I stood there for a second, admiring the even spread of paint on the glass door and the way it played with the light. Then I opened the door, went in and sat on a plastic chair to wait for my turn.

“How is it thambi?” my barber asked turning away from someone’s hair.

“Really good” I said, smiling. The guy getting his hair cut didn’t seem to mind our talking.

“How much did it cost you?” I asked.

“Nothing”

“Nothing! Who does paintings for free?”

He looked at me like I’d said something stupid, again.

“Rajesh. He is from the fan club”

“Rajini’s fan club?”

Santa nodded.

So much talent was roaming our streets painting free pictures of Rajinikanth. Incredible, India!

“Does he paint other things?”

“He used to paint for movies, on walls, but who needs painters nowadays thambi. Every poster is combuter printed”

I looked at my barber. I looked at the image of Rajini on the glass door, the light coming through. I thought about Rajesh, shrugged, took a Tamil magazine from a plastic chair, and started reading.

Kannavu

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Oru kannavai eduthu kannil veythu nadanthen (I saw my dream in front of me as I walked)
Athil kanda katchi ellam, kandu veyanthen (I was amazed by what I saw)
Vaanam parthu nadanthu (Walking, whilst looking at the sky)
Kal thaduki velunthen (I tripped on a stone, and fell down)
Kanner sinthi thudaithu (wiping tears from my eyes)
Meendum ezhanthu nadanthen (I started walking again)

Blogging Mp3s

If you’re in the situation I was in some time back – trying to post Poetic on my blog – you are confused. I’ll tell you how I managed to do it finally (ha!, anything can be done for free on the net).

I’ll explain the situation i was in first.

1. I did not want a pod cast, because managing multiple email accounts, a couple of blogs, a youtube profile, etc, becomes complex and frustrating. A pod cast will just make it even more so. Moreover, I don’t upload frequently.

2. I didn’t want to download free plugins. I didn’t have my own server to install it on anyway.

3. I wanted a simple single line – single file – player.

4. I needed a free mp3 host.

The page for the mp3 player code I used (html – compatible with blogger, and probably wordpress posts) is here.

The page for uploading your mp3s and getting a link is here.

Tell me if you face any problems.

Poetic – a guitar solo

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This is a guitar solo I performed. Check it out. The style of guitar playing is ‘karna’. That’s the term I’ve coined for “making the guitar sound karna-tic”.