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BEAUTIFUL LIFE
THIS IS AN ATTEMPT TO PUT MY FRAGMENTED THOUGHTS INTO HUMAN READABLE FORM.DONT EXPECT THEM TO FOLLOW EACH
OTHER.THEY ARE MEMORIES FROM PAST PRESENT OR NEAR FUTURE.
Google my virtual world
I start a day not with coffee or tea because these two things are addictive. But I
ended up addicted to the virtual world so much that i start my day with igoogle page.Then the mail
box where lots of newsletters, updates and update on my favorite blogs appear. After making lousy
reply to all mails that drop by i venture into orkut.Chasing all the people that i have known who have
virtual existence i request them I sheepily ask if I am still remembered (most people don ’t
YOU ARE FROM
remember).They sort of find my profile and stuff all gleaming with lots of info put a thought in their
mind that this guy can be put to use someday. In most cases they hope that they can find some lost
friends and create new bonds that has faded now. So they let me in. that’s good.
United States
Next i go for my previous days unfinished web pages saved safely in bookmarks.
Then loading my torrentz for the day. I proceed to Google everything from meaning for "quantum of
solace" to Kalashnikov’s Birthday. And the day when i searched turns out to be his birthday
FOLLOWERS (November 10th)....Feeling little paranoid i brush away that its just another coincedence.But its not
easy to take things like sharing your birth day with Mohammad atta (September 1,1968),Adam gadhn
(September 1,1978) who blew the twin towers. By the matter of fact I was born on 1.9.88(1988)
September 1st 1988).Its ok...after all they are just coincidences.
BLOG ARCHIVE
After that one thing leads to other. New movie releases in imdb and reviews are
▼ 2009 (4)
on the way. After crunching some movie reviews its time for hunting down the image at high
▼ March (2)
resolution that will live the short life of being my wall paper less than a day.
Mansion Square......
Silhouette of Birds I hesitantly logout of the internet.Then its time to read those ebooks that lie on the desktops with unfinished
pages.I just go for them and spen my time that i have rationed among those books.Finally the movie that
► January (2)
appears from Nowhere on my PC.I watch them.
► 2008 (7 )
Then the PC burns some DVDs requested by friends.My 3d projects get some new ideas and some parts of
projects are done from ground up.THen the power goes off and i save my 8mins of ups backup by switching off
ABOUT ME
the moniter and eventually shut it down when iam still not done.
YESHRAJ
COIMBATORE, TN, INDIA
POSTED BY YESHRAJ AT 4:08 AM 0 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
a lonely soul watching
the world with haunting
memories of past present and future...I FRIDAY, NOVEMBER 14, 2008
am a student and will remain the same as
What i found in my pocketG.K.C
long as there are things to keep me
busy...till eternity.Trying to keep myself
This is an essay from English reader of class 8....It was good essay with humour and sense...
busy with the fast moving world when
my life remains frosten in time.
Once when I was very young I met one of those men who havemade the Empire what it is a man in an
VIEW MY COMPLETE PROFILE
astracan coat,with an astracan moustache a tight, black, curly moustache.
Whether he put on the moustache with the coat or whether his Napoleonic
will enabled him not only to grow a moustache in the usual place,
but also to grow little moustaches all over his clothes, I do not know.
I only remember that he said to me the following words: "A man can't
get on nowadays by hanging about with his hands in his pockets."
I made reply with the quite obvious flippancy that perhaps a man got
on by having his hands in other people's pockets; whereupon he began
to argue about Moral Evolution, so I suppose what I said had some
truth in it. But the incident now comes back to me, and connects
itself with another incidentif you can call it an incident
which happened to me only the other day.
I have only once in my life picked a pocket, and then (perhaps through
some absent mindedness) I picked my own. My act can really with some
reason be so described. For in taking things out of my own pocket I
had at least one of the more tense and quivering emotions of the thief;
I had a complete ignorance and a profound curiosity as to what I should
find there. Perhaps it would be the exaggeration of eulogy to call me a
tidy person. But I can always pretty satisfactorily account for all my
possessions. I can always tell where they are, and what I have done with
them, so long as I can keep them out of my pockets. If once anything
slips into those unknown abysses, I wave it a sad Virgilian farewell.
I suppose that the things that I have dropped into my pockets
are still there; the same presumption applies to the things
that I have dropped into the sea. But I regard the riches stored
in both these bottomless chasms with the same reverent ignorance.
They tell us that on the last day the sea will give up its dead;
and I suppose that on the same occasion long strings of
extraordinary things will come running out of my pockets.
But I have quite forgotten what any of them are; and there
is really nothing (excepting the money) that I shall be at all
surprised at finding among them.
. . . . .
Such at least has hitherto been my state of innocence.
I here only wish briefly to recall the special, extraordinary,
and hitherto unprecedented circumstances which led me in
cold blood, and being of sound mind, to turn out my pockets.
I was locked up in a thirdclass carriage for a rather long journey.
The time was towards evening, but it might have been anything,
for everything resembling earth or sky or light or shade
was painted out as if with a great wet brush by an unshifting
sheet of quite colourless rain. I had no books or newspapers.
I had not even a pencil and a scrap of paper with which
to write a religious epic. There were no advertisements
on the walls of the carriage, otherwise I could have plunged
into the study, for any collection of printed words is quite
enough to suggest infinite complexities of mental ingenuity.
When I find myself opposite the words "Sunlight Soap" I can
exhaust all the aspects of Sun Worship, Apollo, and Summer
poetry before I go on to the less congenial subject of soap.
But there was no printed word or picture anywhere; there was
nothing but blank wood inside the carriage and blank wet without.
Now I deny most energetically that anything is, or can
be, uninteresting. So I stared at the joints of the walls and seats,
and began thinking hard on the fascinating subject of wood.
Just as I had begun to realise why, perhaps, it was that Christ
was a carpenter, rather than a bricklayer, or a baker,
or anything else, I suddenly started upright, and remembered
my pockets. I was carrying about with me an unknown treasury.
I had a British Museum and a South Kensington collection
of unknown curios hung all over me in different places.
I began to take the things out.
. . . . .
The first thing I came upon consisted of piles and heaps of
Battersea tram tickets. There were enough to equip a paper chase.
They shook down in showers like confetti. Primarily, of course,
they touched my patriotic emotions, and brought tears to my eyes;
also they provided me with the printed matter I required,
for I found on the back of them some short but striking
little scientific essays about some kind of pill. Comparatively
speaking, in my then destitution, those tickets might be regarded
as a small but well chosen scientific library. Should my railway
journey continue (which seemed likely at the time) for a few months
longer, I could imagine myself throwing myself into the controversial
aspects of the pill, composing replies and rejoinders pro and con
upon the data furnished to me. But after all it was the symbolic
quality of the tickets that moved me most. For as certainly as the
cross of St. George means English patriotism, those scraps of paper
meant all that municipal patriotism which is now, perhaps, the
greatest hope of England.
The next thing that I took out was a pocket knife. A pocketknife,
I need hardly say, would require a thick book full of moral
meditations all to itself. A knife typifies one of the most
primary of those practical origins upon which as upon low,
thick pillows all our human civilisation reposes. Metals, the
mystery of the thing called iron and of the thing called steel,
led me off halfdazed into a kind of dream. I saw into the
intrails of dim, damp wood, where the first man among all the
common stones found the strange stone. I saw a vague and violent
battle, in which stone axes broke and stone knives were splintered
against something shining and new in the hand of one desperate man.
I heard all the hammers on all the anvils of the earth.
I saw all the swords of Feudal and all the weals of Industrial war.
For the knife is only a short sword; and the pocket knife
is a secret sword. I opened it and looked at that brilliant
and terrible tongue which we call a blade; and I thought that
perhaps it was the symbol of the oldest of the needs of man.
The next moment I knew that I was wrong; for the thing
that came next out of my pocket was a box of matches.
Then I saw fire, which is stronger even than steel, the old,
fierce female thing, the thing we all love, but dare not touch.
The next thing I found was a piece of chalk; and I saw
in it all the art and all the frescoes of the world.
The next was a coin of a very modest value; and I saw in it
not only the image and superscription of our own Caesar,
but all government and order since the world began.
But I have not space to say what were the items in the long and
splendid procession of poetical symbols that came pouring out.
I cannot tell you all the things that were in my pocket.
I can tell you one thing, however, that I could not find in my pocket.
I allude to my railway ticket.
Gulmohar treeLunch break
The Gulmohar was flames and fire.,the soft petals in hue of yellow& red flowers.It was simply irresistable.We
had two Gulmohars behind the Siddhi Vinayagar temple.The two trees were like twins.They were just few
meter away.We used to spend sunny afternoons chatting under the trees.
One can never forget those lunch breaks when students religiously fought for the shady territories.It was all on
first comer basis.The most athletic ones made a good sprint for the shades and reserved it.The usual puffy guys
arrived after a reasonable time.Twelve thirty to one o clock was the break.
The crows would flock and mischievously trt to trick the kids all the time.The lazy ones went and waited
patiently near the wash were the boys dumped the unfinished meals.They would cautiously come closer and
wet their throats from the open taps in the wash.Even crows were admirable during those dull sunny
afternoons.One can see grace in nature.In crows.If only one wishes to.
Apart from the gulmohar there were other smaller neem trees.
Sharing and snatching was the order of the game.We enjoyed it a lot.We used to chase dragon flies and run
behind butterflies.Sometimes the whirlwind would spin the dust and the spores from the nearby thorny shrubs
into magical lumps which roared and swept the red sandy grounds.We would chase them too.
At last when it was time we would reluctantly retire to the classes from where there was no escapade.The
classes lasted 45 minutes each with interval breaks of ten minutes between every two classes.And after two
such session in the morning was the Lunch break.
There was a canteen.Everyone brought their own lunch.Cool drinks, icecreams, and snacks was all you could
buy.Of course they sold pickles ,wild berry jellies,crude coconut toffees etc..
We had little or no pocket money.We never used to mind because there was not much one can choose to eat
there.
Palani was an element worth mentioning.He was more like a scavenger.He had a smile that appeared
more mischievous.We boys would always prefer keeping a distance from Palani.He was a part of the lunch
break at least for us who found interesting to make him run behind us.But after few years we never saw palani
when we returned back after summer.Valli was a common name anyone who have deep ties with school will
remember for ever.There was always confusion between periya valli and chinna valli,but it doesnt matter.It is
enough if one remembers the warm patience in their face reflected.
When i completed my schooling ,there was already invasion of concrete expansion blocks.Of course we
enjoyed those audio visual projectors,LCD and other cool interactive stuffs that crept inside our school life.But
when i take a shortcut during long drives that takes me near the school my heart pounds,blood surges.I will
keep my eyes focused on road not caring to take a look at my second home for some fourteen years.It has left
some creepy memories and deep sorrows too.Some one said the trees were almost gone.I never tried to look
behid the high walls.Few things are better when left alone.Cest lavie.This is life.
A day at School
The bell rang breaking the restlessness of students who briskly answered attendance
calls.Students from other classes were already racing the corridors.
Manivasakam was staring at a distant compound wall,where a cuckoo was perched below
the shady gulmohar.From the last desk the bird was a perfect silhoutte.Santhosh moved
closer munching his snacks.He peeped the window and doubted if the distant black clouds
near the mountains would bring unpresidented showers and ruin their games period.They
had ten minutes. The water from the sprinklers blew a mist of droplets into the air.The
grasshoppers merrily jumped the grass.the window was a great escapade for mani who
liked to watch outside when every body was busy with whatever work.It was his world
were every thing had a language where the question of syllabus pronounciation and
spellings took complete leave.But still he heared the voices that were unique and special.It
made him special too.
The bee from the rose garden across the window ,flew towards the tempting jasmine that
sat on savithri's oiled hair.She screached and other girls started screaming.Jagdeesh
climbed his writing desk waving his racket at the bee which flew for its life.
POSTED BY YESHRAJ AT 11:19 PM 0 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
LABELS: A DAY AT SCHOOL
On a train to samba
We left for a months stay at samba in Jammu and Kashmir. The train Jammu Tawi
Expess was scheduled for a three day journey across the length of India.I was really
happy about the summer trip for two special reasons.One was that i will spend the
whole two months with my dad,the other one being that i have never been to any
place of significance except of my place of birth,Arruppukottai. We left from
Coimbatore railway Station at wee hours in the morning.We were all set to go.I was
not really indulged into details because i was very much awed by the new experience i
was to gain that summer of 1993.It was one inspirational trip.I remember watching
the movie ROJA with its theme set in kashmir.It has really left an impression in me
regarding the trip.
Everything was fine for till it dawned. The train moved slowly into the diverse
lands.The scenic beauty of the country side and the vast stretch of land that lied like a
untouched sanctuary all along the way was like another world. The pauses at stations
were like punctuations. One would become familiar with the yellow boards that
always spelt in more than one language. You can neither spell them right nor can
remember it. The best part about train journey is the people you get to know.I
remember them like ghostly images. They were diverse and strange. But once you
make acquaintances they are almost related to you.
I remember a team of volunteers who were from MADRAS and else where,they
were planning to start a school and orphanage in Jammu.I got really interested in
them because they seemed to be intellectually loaded. They talked about things i
hardly knew. What i understood from them is that they had taken a step to bring
change to some one else's life that no others dared to care.
I met a sadhu who was educated.He was in his sixties.I remember asking him if i
can touch his beard as i have always wanted to do so.He did some tricks for me like
things that created illusion.He was simply superb. He was filled with memories that
seemed to haunt him in a strange away.He advised me that i should always be fair and
honest althrough my life.He was detached from the fun and frolic in the coach.Thats
what i remember about this man.
When we were crossing Andhra pradesh we had to say good bye to idli ,dosa and
vadai as it was no longer to be found on the way.My mom has packed a lot of tamarind
rice and coconut pachadi.It lasted for two days.I complain mom that she has never
again prepared a tasty cocunut pachadi after that trip.My mom simply gives back a
smile and retires into her thoughts.
I remember the train passing through sanctuaries where giraffes where sprinting
elegantly. When we moved across the sacred rivers that intersected the wheels on
rusty bridges were creating little shock waves. Few people threw coins as offerings
into the river. I made a funny remark that when in summer the river dried up people
around this place will be rich. Everybody laughed. The state of the rural settlements
loose their gloss when we move towards the core of the nation. What we see is
absolute poverty.I remember the vultures feeding on dead cattle dumped near the
tracks on abandoned farm lands. Recently i learnt that the diclofenac in the dead
cattle resulted in the renal failure and thus extinction of the the longbilled,
slenderbilled and oriental whitebacked vulture It turned out that
they were feeding on dead cattle and other livestock that had been
treated with an antiinflammatory drug.
Ok thats one big recap.Its of very little significance but this is my channel
to keep my memories alive.More on the actual stay in Samba later.
POSTED BY YESHRAJ AT 12:20 AM 0 COMMENTS LINKS TO THIS POST
Freedom
We witness the futile terrorist attacks,Storming arrests and encounters.We try to justify the role of the
characters in this events peeping into the windows that reach us bringing home all those events in one single
package.It may be in the form of 6'O Clock paper ,the power packed morning News which goes well with the
break fast.Its like the Doors of open closets in "MONSTER INC." that brings home the monsters that frightens
kids and juice up their world with energy from their Screams.This is what this modern day Windows do.We
happily pack our heads with comments fragmented news on newspaper kiosk and loud gossips by college kids
at our Bus stand.Then we strom our offices,classes and workplace everything is set and its time to rock and
rumble.
This is how everything starts.Our earning for gossip should be prehistoric.Thanks to them our epics and great
works have flourished into a craftmanship of unknown faces and timeless ages who have rendered their part
without receiving royalty.
When it comes to terrorism we have strong opinion that we should oppose it.But when it comes to personal
feelings we sometimes really do feel that few people like us are victimized,erased off the face of earth and
subjected to terror thats greater than anything that we society has large suffer.
When you are a corrupt government officer you become a celebrity overnight(you would have been a
millionaire already).When you are a petty thief you get smashed.When you are regular visitor you get
everything like biriyani,beedi and anything thats of your habit.They do respect your right as a "Human".The
human rights commission never praises cops for providing those .They walk the streets like old buddies.
But once you are a a communist, or a mere rough voice of a group that lives on a day with a single meal and is
suppressed minority then you are a convict of terror.If you had luckily educated you are a technically skilled
terrorist trained abroad.You don't even have the right to remain silent.Believe me the best stories are tailored
for media which earns promotions and awards the senior police officers and anyone who's against it is wiped off
(they are honoured after demise).
This is democracy.We should vote for a better tomorrow.Lets not turn against the government afterall its our
cousins uncles aunts and dear ones who have tried hard?! and settled on a govt. job.Let them live instead think
over when you extend your hand towards a corrupt.it all starts here.
C.N.Annadurai in Guiness book of records
He was born on 15 September 1909 in the town of Kancheepuram . After attending Pachaiyappa's High School,
he worked as a clerk in the town's Municipal office. In 1934 , he graduated with a B.A. degree (Hons)
from Pachaiyappa's College in Chennai. He followed that up with a M.A degree in Economics and Politics from
the same college. After having been employed as a professor for a short period of time, he began involving
himself in journalism and politics.
And thats how it started he went to become the first non congress C.M(1967 1969)"
He was bold and was at strong hold expressing his dreams on society.Arya Mayai" (Aryan Illusion) where he
scathingly attacks the Brahmin/Aryan combine and portrays them in poor light. He also wrote Kambarasam, a
highly controversial work that attacked the Kambaramayanam in an indelicate fashion.
In 1969 feb 2nd he died of oral cancer(result of inhaling tobacco).Recently the procession of his death with
estimated 15 million people was a guiness record.
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