insight into alibaba

Ali Baba taught us well

That sometimes 

we fill our sacks with jewels so full

The only thing we can add anymore 

Is a hole

 

In body, mind, heart or soul

a broken pencil still writes

lanyard model 3

The other day I was ricocheting slowly off piles in corners waiting to be packed,

moving like in a mirror maze, 

from book towers to toy heaps to tangle of medals, to miles high paper piles, coloured pens pencils markers massage balls binoculars, letters in assorted unsorted boxes until utterly distorted I found myself in Maycomb Alabama 

hugging Dill and Scout when he says his parents don't need him and she says Atticus couldn't get by a day without her 

hoping in the pile of things that is home now, my kids feel more scoutish than dillish and will still feel so in our new cave where everything will have its place, returning unbidden when not needed, so it can always be found. 

landyard model 2

The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the junk piles in the hundred corners of this house waiting to be packed

moving like in a room of mirrors, from book pile to toy pile to junkyard of medals, to stacked high paper pile coloured pens pencils markers massage balls binoculars, letters in assorted unsorted boxes 

until utterly distorted I found myself in Maycomb Alabama hugging Dill when he says his parents don't need him and hugging Scout when she says Atticus couldn't get by a day without her 

hoping in the pile of things that is home now my kids feel more scoutish than dillish and  continue to do so in our new nest where every object will have its place and return there unbidden when not needed 

so it can always be found 

lanyard model

The other day I was ricocheting slowly

off the blue walls of this room,

The other day I was ricocheting slowly off the junk piles in the hundred corners of this house waiting to be packed

moving as if underwater from typewriter to piano, from bookshelf to an envelope lying on the floor,

moving like in a room of mirrors, from distorted book pile to muliplied toy pile to junkyard of medals, to stacked high paper pile to medly of coloured pens pencils markers massage balls binoculars, letters in assorted unsorted boxes 

when I found myself in the L section of the dictionary

where my eyes fell upon the word lanyard.

when i found myself in Maycomb Alabama in a tangle that i knew would unravel in the hands of expert Lee, 

hugging Dill when he says his parents dont need him and hugging Scout when she says Atticus couldn't get by a day without her 

Hoping in the messy nest that is home

My kids feel scoutish more than dillish

And that they continue to do so in our new home

Where miraculously every object will have its place and return there unbidden when not needed so it can always be found 

v4

In a zoom meeting with my team,

my eye flickers over to my son,

bent intently over a sheet of drawing paper.

A brontosaurus emerges from nothingness,  

its long neck curving towards the top of the page.

"Watch me make the dinosaur disappear!" he calls out, 

and proceeds to draw a thick black marker back and forth 

across the page, bottom to top.

Chained to my meeting 

where we discuss the design of teaching guides,

I can only watch, helpless, 

as the dino drowns in inky quicksand,

and wonder at art created without attachment,

like the sky at dawn and dusk, 

dazzling works in colour 

obilerated by white clouds, inky skies in seconds 

by an artist who sees no need to sign a name 

or save for future admiration,

supremely confident that all he creates will 

by nature, be a masterpeice.

v3

In a zoom meeting with my boss

my eye flickers over to my son,

bent intently over a sheet of drawing paper.

A brontosaurus emerges from nothingness,  

its long neck curving towards the top of the page.

"Watch me make the dinosaur disappear!" he calls out, 

and proceeds to draw a thick black marker back and forth 

across the page, bottom to top.

Chained to my meeting 

where my boss is outlining KPIs for the year,

I become a helpless bystander,

watching the dino drown in inky quicksand,

and I can only wonder

at art created without attachment,

like the sky at dawn and dusk, 

dazzling works in colour 

obilerated by white clouds, inky skies in seconds 

by an artist who sees no need to sign a name 

or save for future admiration,

supremely confident that all he creates will 

by nature, be a masterpeice.

v2

In a zoom meeting with my boss

my eye flickers over to my son,

bent intently over a sheet of drawing paper.

A brontosaurus emerges from nothingness,  

its long neck curving towards the top of the page.

"Watch me make the dinosaur disappear!" he calls out, 

proceeding to draw a thick black marker back and forth across the page,

from bottom to top.

Chained to my meeting where my boss was outlining KPIs for the year,

I become a helpless bystander,

watching the dino drown in inky quicksand

And i could only wonder

at art created without attachment,

like the sky at dawn and dusk, 

fleeting works in colour obilerated 

by white clouds, inky skies in seconds 

by an artist who sees no need to sign a name 

or save for future admiration,

supremely confident that all he creates will by nature, be a masterpeice. 

art without attachment

In a zoom meeting with her boss 

her eye flickers over to her son,

bent intently over a sheet of drawing paper.

A dinosau emerges from the nothingness,  

its long neck curving towards the top of the page, 

a brontauraus she knows now, 

thanks to the 7-year old expert in the house

As her boss outlines KPIs for the year, 

the boy interrupts, " watch me make the dinosaur disappear! 

----

V2

In a zoom meeting with her boss 

her eye flickers over to her son,

bent intently over a sheet of drawing paper.

A brontosaurus emerges from the nothingness,  

its long neck curving towards the top of the page.

"Watch me make the dinosaur disappear!" he calls out, 

proceeding to draw a thick black marker back and forth across the page

Chained to my meeting where my boss was outlining KPIs for the year,

I become a helpless bystander, watching

the dino drown in inky quicksand

And i could only wonder

at art created without attachment,

like the sky at dawn and dusk, 

fleeting works in colour

obilerated by white clouds, inky skies in seconds 

by an artist who sees no need to sign a name or save for future admiration

supremely confident that all he creates will by by nature a masterpeice. 

After all. . 

.

 from being sucked into the quick sand of ink,  quietly, unprotesting. 

In my meeting my boss was outlining KPIs for the year 

A thick black marker moves methodically from edge to edge

meticulously shading the paper in  thick black marker

one part woman

Realised upon 2nd reading that the story is strung thru memories and flashbacks the characters have over a single day and night

Like beading a necklace, the writer has the two ends fixed taut and strings beads of story, containing nuggets about the lives of these two main characters in between. 

What catches my attention is 

1. Rural india captured in brush strokes in a very natural way, non fussy not in your face. Most writers from India i read write in English and are city bred. So their india is one i recognise in my trips to chennai and so on. Here we have rural india like in a bharitaraja gramathu mann vasanai film and it is both beautiful and eye opening. From the clothing ( saree with no blouse, loin cloth), arrack, toddy, and the cockrel sacrifices... really immersive. Some parts make me unvomfortable because of how I've been conditioned to see these things. Like toddy, in movies, is bane of all ladies, cause of ruin in all families.  Here its described like wine and how wine is described on wine tasting tours. Makes one wonder about class. Also the recent tamil chef who won a michellen star for his snail dish which he ate as a poor boy and realised is French delicacy. Who decides what is culture? 

Also the character of nallayan reminds me of uncle axel in the chrysalids. One who has travelled and dismisses the ways of society to some extent but is tolerated. Cuts off top knot refuses to get married doesnt bemoan not having kids, he is a character foil for kali

2. The farmer's eye. Its a pleasure to read of Kali's care and love of his farm and how he tends to it. Read passage here. 

3. Women empowerment. Ah this is tricky. Women have less power in this patriarchal society but the women loom larger than life and take control as far they can within their realms, stretching boundaries where nec. Kali's mum as a widow bringing up her son and managing the farm is a force in nature. The rules circumbscribing what widows and women with no children can do are so limiting. 

Ponna is amazing. So deftly sketched and given such depth. If she didnt love kali and physical relations with his ss much, he could be seen as sexually abusing her! Turning up at all times of the night to be with her. But she seems to adore him and marital relations. 

What makes me uncomfortable 

1. All that animal sacrifice. Haha. I kind of turn away from such festivals. There are all kinds of festivals. So i pick and choose and the ones i attend genrally dont invovle animal sacrifice. But it is usually food and whats the diff between kfc chicken and chicken that is sacrficed to god first then eaten. 

2. The portrayal of the caste rules. Untouchables. Very sad. 

3. Portrayal of alcohol

rain

V5 

Rain falls in a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees.

How far has a single drop come,

from an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy,

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face?

A drop that perhaps started in a sea, 

rolling off the top of a jellyfish bobbing in the waves;

or before that, in a river

gushing through mangrove roots

towards the rhythm of the ocean;

or even before, in an icy spring 

gurgling from a mountaintop 

before cascading into the river,

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of spring, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs into earth,

richer now with her wonder.

V3 

---

V4 

Rain falls in a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees.

How far has a single drop come,

from an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy,

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face?

A drop that perhaps started in a sea, 

rolling off the top of a jellyfish bobbing in the waves;

or before that, diving with a river dolphin in the mangrove towards the rhythm of the ocean;

or even before, in an icy spring 

gurgling from a mountaintop cascading down past jumping salmon

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of spring, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs into earth,

richer now with her wonder.

---

V2

Rain falls like a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees

How far has a single drop come?

From an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face,

a drop that perhaps started in a sea 

on the back of a fish dancing in the waves

or before that, in a river drawn

towards the rhythm of the ocean

or even before, in a stream

on top of snowcapped mountains

tracing sinous curves down earth into the river 

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of stream, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs back to earth,

rich now with her wonder.

---

Rain falls like a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop

filtering the street

The road glossy 

The leaves bright green

Raindrops falling falling 

How far has a single drop travelled?

From an abundunance in the sky that could no longer contain its joy, 

thru seeming nothingness 

onto a red tiled roof sloping down

To fall on her upturned face

To think that drop started in a sea 

A drop that perhaps started in a sea, 

rolling off the top of a jellyfish bobbing in the waves;

on the back of a fish, 

Or before that in a river inexorably towards the lap of the ocean

Or even before, in a stream up on a mountain tracing the sinous curves of earth into the river

V3 

Rain falls in a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees.

How far has a single drop come,

from an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy,

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face?

A drop that perhaps started in a sea, 

rolling off the back of a fish dancing in the waves;

or before that, in a river

slipping through mangrove roots

towards the rhythm of the ocean;

or even before, in an icy spring 

gurgling from a mountaintop 

as it traced sinuous curves into the river,

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of spring, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs into earth,

richer now with her wonder

V3 

Rain falls in a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees.

How far has a single drop come,

from an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy,

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face?

A drop that perhaps started in a sea, 

rolling off the back of a fish dancing in the waves;

or before that, in a river

slipping through mangrove roots

towards the rhythm of the ocean;

or even before, in an icy spring 

gurgling from a mountaintop 

as it traced sinuous curves into the river,

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of spring, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs into earth,

richer now with her wonder.

---

V2

Rain falls like a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees

How far has a single drop come?

From an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face,

a drop that perhaps started in a sea 

on the back of a fish dancing in the waves

or before that, in a river drawn

towards the rhythm of the ocean

or even before, in a stream

on top of snowcapped mountains

tracing sinous curves down earth into the river 

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of stream, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs back to earth,

rich now with her wonder.

---

Rain falls like a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop

filtering the street

The road glossy 

The leaves bright green

Raindrops falling falling 

How far has a single drop travelled?

From an abundunance in the sky that could no longer contain its joy, 

thru seeming nothingness 

onto a red tiled roof sloping down

To fall on her upturned face

To think that drop started in a sea on the back of a fish, 

Or before that in a river inexorably towards the lap of the ocean

Or even before, in a stream up on a mountain tracing the sinous curves of earth into the river

V3 

Rain falls in a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees.

How far has a single drop come,

from an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy,

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face?

A drop that perhaps started in a sea, 

rolling off the back of a fish dancing in the waves;

or before that, in a river

slipping through mangrove roots

towards the rhythm of the ocean;

or even before, in an icy spring 

gurgling from a mountaintop 

as it traced sinuous curves into the river,

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of spring, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs into earth,

richer now with her wonder.

---

V2

Rain falls like a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop at Joo Chiat

filtering the street

glossing the roads

greening the trees

How far has a single drop come?

From an abundunance in the sky 

that could no longer contain its joy

onto a red tiled roof sloping down,

to fall on my daughter's upturned face,

a drop that perhaps started in a sea 

on the back of a fish dancing in the waves

or before that, in a river drawn

towards the rhythm of the ocean

or even before, in a stream

on top of snowcapped mountains

tracing sinous curves down earth into the river 

so now, under that tiled roof, 

her dimples catch and hold

the surge of stream, river, sea

before it flows, 

down her legs back to earth,

rich now with her wonder.

---

Rain falls like a curtain before me 

at the coffeeshop

filtering the street

The road glossy 

The leaves bright green

Raindrops falling falling 

How far has a single drop travelled?

From an abundunance in the sky that could no longer contain its joy, 

thru seeming nothingness 

onto a red tiled roof sloping down

To fall on her upturned face

To think that drop started in a sea on the back of a fish, 

Or before that in a river flowing inexorably towards the lap of the ocean

Or even before, in a stream up on a mountain tracing the sinous curves of earth into the river

All this before it falls on her face, 

So the power of stream river sea, 

are caught in her dimples

Where it aborbs her essence too

Her joy at the world at the wonder of rain this sunday, 

Before rolls it down down down down

back to  earth at her feet.