We can able to expect brilliance from you.

We can able to expect brilliance from you.

For the madness in every copywriter's world.

Brilliance is an attitude, brilliance is shoe shine.

Wear some on your sleeve even as the snot and slur get you going to sharpen your tools, take a harder stance, and cry the howl of hunger to your competition, cry the river of blood and pick up your sword from never tiring of fight, the good fight is tipped in gold and black, back to the navel gazer’s eye-think. In Ink, for a moment, you gaze at that navel, glow and emerge as a light-filled belly full of amber- the call to red- the fiery red of action, midnight oil burning in silence. Breathe for a moment that air, of gentle hands typing away gently, on a lone plank of wood, hands at a canvas calling out to the muse, feel the seeker- immersed in the world's most subservient position, and they're the ones who've exquisites to choose from. Are you not one of them?

You will plant the sack of rice you hope to devour, you will paint the garden of no thorns, you will write the story of the sale, you will make it to the Big Idea, you will shine one on. Its in you- an investment made in you, a promise you will make, a demand you will stake, a favour you will ask, a journey you will take. 

Trust the smoke and your toxins, the air full of mischief theiving in your body like free radicals, disappearing, now, into thin air. Not you. Not you, the soul’s keeper, not you the watcher of the rye, not you- listener, the listener of the pitter- patter of raindrops as they fall fervently on the paper, as if they were spilling tears, straight from heaven, no less. Call the flow, of the muse and her artist- anew, for those who look upon it as if it were mere- too busy for this shit, we have a customer.

Feel the hours, the time that is relative. Not an absolute of this and that. Observe. At this moment our brood has gone for a fight to win, to the now, the new now , no less. And at this moment, a wife waist deep in wait, patient for her husband to come home, in another window. Then, a mother who cares for her toddler in the park. Birds are flying. At this moment, clouds are hovering above the city over small hoods, panting, heaving as they deliver drops of respite here and there, over people awaiting its happy messages- writ by a poet up there, revived by a lone typewriter typing fervently, at this point, here in time, here in space. A point, not measured by latitudes and longitudes, but by intimacy between heart and mind, belonging together in a world so ebullient, so fresh and anew, like the world’s finest coffee- from Coorg. All out of a cubicle. 

The real is not nearly enough, the imaginal is what we want. Words. A new take. Songs. A new rhythm. Art. A new view. 

"Think man, we expect no less than brilliance from you." you hear it from across the table. 

Sure, that's easy. 

To be brilliant, you shine through coal and soot and blur

Through and through 'late-into-the-night' days and your last good sleep

Through heaven and hell.

Beyond the veil, across the distance and beyond the silence…

While some look stunned in awe, you do not claim that as a sign of brilliance

You know through and through

That making life easy by defining easier parameters has never worked, not even for the few

Reach for the stars so you can land on the moon

When the going gets tough -the tough get going

Clean up your act, writers and philosophers,  
Your need is to grow and walk the way forward to glow.

Brilliance us a attitude,

Brilliance is a glow

A moment of pure spur, onto achieving great things, day by day.

Parameters are for measurements.

Brilliance is for thinkers, doers and achievers.

Shine on

Brilliance is a state of mind

You make brilliance come alive.

Glow, every day.

U are the most important part of OUR enterprise.

So yes, we can able to expect brilliance from you. 

Oriental Merchants - Lee Kum Kee

Aid Asia Initiative

When life gives you lemons

Life, are you listening?
Some days, I get that serendipitous feeling that everything is in
its right place, ghosts of the past back in their graves, plans for the
future all providently arranged in a colour-coded excel sheet. Then along
comes a day like this one, to throw a monkey wrench into the works and
turn all those daylong good feelings into dump. Nothing salvageable. Worse
than kitty litter. Makes me rethink my life’s casting-screenplay-direction.
It all started when the air-conditioning decided to stuff my nose up
for me a while ago. South it went from there – my perky countenance in
a hooded heap surrounded by used tissues. My berating bronchus turning
heads everywhere for not-so-popular reasons. Between phlegmatic 10 a.m
presentations and fending off avoidance behaviour from the boyfriend at
10 p.m (I don’t want to catch your cold) I caught reflections of my rapidly
sinking eyes in ever-darkening circles in the mirror. Then I caught
something else too.
A pimple. The size of a global disaster. On the forehead.
Now I know what you’re probably thinking.
WTF! This girl has a pimple and it’s a global emergency?
#sooolamesooofirstworld
I was right I shouldn’t have bothered to read this in the first place and
now I kind of really can’t be bothered to give a shit.
You are right.
But I’m already here now so may as well…gosh buzzfeed is worse today…
what is she on about any way gawd this woman she’s so full of herself
So as I was saying, I was in an emergency. Then I remembered something
from my college days, when my landlady Linda once told me that
the quickest fix for a pimple is to put some toothpaste on it. She was a
remnant from back in the day when women used soup cans in four different
ways, founded vocations like fashion and interior designing while tidying
up their living rooms or sewing buttons on their blouses. They had a great
deal of general knowledge about the sundry other you’ll-never-guess uses
of kitchen ingredients and domestic cleaning products and belonged to a
posse of 1950s housewives who were later called raging feminists.
I rushed to my cabinet and squeezed some Colgate out and smeared
a white blob over the giant red dot on my forehead. Now all I had to do
was wait. For a few hours. And while I did, I fell asleep sashaying around
Linda. The poor thing. The once young and desirable Linda. All I ever
made of her was that she archetyped the kind and gentle if wayward aunt
– tending her herb garden meticulously or sorting her vinyl records by
year of release or living one day at a time while she spoke of adopting an
active interest someday in Rembrandt’s etchings. And her affection for
Amy Winehouse. Discernment.
A few hours passed.
Tell me she did about the menthol cooling the hot pimple. Worked
like a charm. Tell me she did not about the THIRD-DEGREE BURN
FROM THE SODA BICARB in the paste. Now my forehead resembles
Gorbachev’s. And Linda isn’t my landlady anymore.
So do I rub the lemon juice on my forehead now? Ouch, I guess not.
She used to say something about pomegranate…ah, what was it now? I
suppose I should google an aunt. Why not when it can find exact matches
straight from Galen’s handbook, name all skin specialists in my area and
get me there like now too?
Because in 1950, Linda and thousands like her didn’t have it when
their quick fixes and home-made cures turned into disasters. No. In her
day, troubleshooting involved the trouble, not just the shooting. Linda
used to have her girlfriends over, make pots of tea and bake cakes (using
the soda bicarb). They used to talk about someone’s new curtains, someone
else’s relationship woes, yet another’s hopes and dreams for Broadway and
what to do when confronted by fear, authority, the other woman in the
marriage. And pimples.
Somewhere out there, Linda is probably thinking of the wily young
things she’s provided boarding and lodging to over the years, wondering
what’s become of them all.
Then again, likely not.
But if she is, I’m sure she’d be happy to know that at least one of
them has discovered that clay baked potatoes also leave us with beautifully
burnished clay to later paint on. And that the nasty burn is fading away,
thanks to some scoured papaya seeds (pomegranate not in season).

Madurai- my charming little temple town!

It isn't often that we get to go to our birthplaces, unless you live where you were born!

I recently went back to Madurai after a couple of decades. It was something of an experience- the nostalgia, grappling with history in terms of the place we come from. Situated within peninsular India, this little town is bustling with temples, the most famous of them being the Meenakshi Temple. Madurai is really steeped in the Southern Indian culture and remains hooked to its roots in idli- vada-dosai (rice pancakes and doughnuts) and kaapi (coffee).

This journey for me, was about coming full circle in more ways than one. My friends overseas in Australia and the United States often ask me about places to see in India, apart from the usual ones that Lonely Planet offers. Madurai- this is something to savour. So it was quite charming to see a lot of people from the west   in Madurai, visiting its temples, admiring the gopuram-styled architecture and taking away something that is quite unique to this part of India.

If you don't mind walking barefoot through throngs of people and trying to understand the significance of all the rituals then it can be a very gratifying experience. I had my Eat Pray Love moment with the temple Elephant at one of the temples here!

Madurai also shares a little chunk history with the Medici in Florence, who were patrons of art and architecture. The Pandya king of Madurai during the 17th century was similarly interested to build things of beauty for his people and invited architects from Italy to share their ideas.

The result is the Naicker hall, with its beautiful and ornate carvings supported by pillars. This place is open to visit every evening and hosts a light and sound show.

Madurai is home to many stories including that of the wedding of Meenakshi with Sundareshwar- who are incarnations of Parvati and Shiva.

It is also home to the popular lore of Ponni and Selvan - a story retold by Kalki and many of its temples have been featured as sets in many films based on these stories as well.

My trip to Madurai ended on many high notes, including the sighting of rare birds and driving through leopard territory on the way back to Bangalore. Hope you make time for some of these rare experiences in Madurai.

Also, if you've visited or you are planning to visit your birthplace after a long time, share what you find!

The lion and his tamer

Once upon a time, in a land far far away, there was a lion.

He was a very ferocious lion, with not too many friends. He was the king of the jungle. He had many places to go and many fights to fight, many battles to be won, many wars to wage. 

He was a lion. 

He was much misunderstood, by all his subjects. Only the monkey and the elephant really understood his plight. That he growled but he didn't mean to scare the other little ducks and the giraffes that ran skelter when he growled at something, even he couldn't be sure- "what was it?" Often he asked, when he sat by himself, by the river. 

"What was I growling at?" 

Sometimes, the river spirits came up and cheered him up and told him what he may have been growling at. They knew of the dark forces, of drought, for example. 

Then, the lion thought- "Ah, here's someone who tells me things I need to know, here's someplace I find solace, but ah, I am king of the jungle. I have responsibilities, I have animals who depend me, to know where they stand."The king paced and pondered thusly. 

Now,there was a tamer who was walking through this jungle. He was looking for a lion to tame. He was a circus master. He needed a partner, who could wow the audience in the cities and villages where he roamed. He knew the crowds would never brave the jungle and so he wanted to take the lion where he went. 

He reached the river, where he thought he could rest for a while, have a wash and look for a lion, that would eventually be his lion. A lion that he would befriend and have special conversations with, play with and go for long walks and runs with. Someone who would be as much of a friend to him as he was with his other playmates. The tamer didn't always know that his lion was his friend, but to others, he was a fierce lion. And that the lion scared them. The tamer was befuddled, " Why are you afraid of my lion?"- he would ask them, he thought, in his reveries. 

On he went, in search of his lion. 

At the shore of the river, the tamer approached a spot of shade and decided to sit there. While he sat there, thinking of fish in the river, he heard a growl in the forest behind him- Growl..!Roar! Growl!

He turned back, reflexively, taking his spear out, inspite of his heart leaping at the thought that his lion was calling out him, at the time that he was thinking about him. 

While he turned to look for the roar again, up from behind him came the big snapy jaws of a crocodile and grabbed him- his leg and dragged him back into the river. 

Roar! Growl! Roar!....was all he heard as he felt his limbs giving way, to the bite and pain- crocodile had him now. 

The lion came jumping, leaping from the trees and ran as fast he could and skidded as he came to the bank of the river. He saw the tamer in a fight for his life with the crocodile. 

The lion paced a few times around the shore, wondering who'd win, he was piqued by the thought- "What if the tamer wins- he tames me. What if the crocodile wins? Then I won't won't really have a new friend- will I now?"

So,the lion jumped into the water, risking his own life in the bargain and decided to show this crocodile, that his friend the tamer has a friend- and that friend is none other than the king of the jungle. That he better leave him alone, or else! 

Then, the crocodile backed off, remembering how, the last time the crocodile hadn't listened to orders from the king of the jungle, his river had dried up and he had to dry bask in the sun for a whole summer. He even watched as the elephants dug holes for water and he couldn't help himself in anyway. 

And all the monkeys laughed at the crocodile. 

Not wanting to risk any more such punishments, crocodile moved away, deep into his own lair, to ponder his plight with his wise friend, the turtle. 

The tamer got out of the water and the lion swam out too, they reached the shore and dried the water off themselves- then they realised, in a flash of sudden realisation- I've found what I was looking for! 

They ran to each other and embraced each other in a long affectionate moment that seemed to never end. 

They had so much to share, and tell each other and learn from each other's worlds- it seemed to them, their eyes said to each other- that all the time in the world wouldn't be enough - to connect. 

They walked on to a clearing, where all the animals of the jungle had their evening soireees, and their cook ups, and the mood was festive. The king of the jungle was very pleased with his subjects, for not fighting within themselves this evening, when his tamer friend was with him. 

The tamer was very pleased to know that his new friends were glad to meet him. 

He spent the whole evening in their company and he observed how the king was consulted on everything, from how the coconut leaves should be strung together for the decorations to how much fire should be mooted for the spit roast. 

They cheered and laughed at every joke the Lion cracked and his laugh was their mirth...they didn't seem to know, the tamer observed, what anybody was really doing, if their king was also similarly engaged, in doing nothing. 

The tamer laughed, but on a more serious note, he had to re-think now, whether he would really tame this Lion, whom he found was not wild, in the sense that he was a beast who did understand what to do with himself- he was Lord of his lair, King of his jungle, he was the Life of the jungle. It was because of him, that all the other animals and birds and creatures were happy, trees and flowers bloomed, bees buzzed and the river and its spirits, the wind, the seven seas, the clouds, the sky, the earth, the fires and everything else around them was alive, - it was because of him, the Lion, the King of the Jungle. 

The next morning, the lion came to river again to wallow in the waters, play with the fish and was really hoping to see the tamer. 

He found a little note in the bark of a tree, where there was a hollow, for a little wood pecker. 

"Did you do this woodpecker?" 

"I did. Your friend the tamer asked me to give this message." 

" I am an tamer. I came to tame you. I was selfish. But you are King of the jungle. No one's master. No one's slave. You set me free. In return, I give you the gift of my eternal friendship in the world of humans where I come from, and i dearly hope we meet again someday."

As Lion, king of the jungle read this message, he had tears in his eyes. He thought of his tamer friend and decided to give the world the gift of their story.

He walked into a canvas and stood by the tamer, now the sleeping gypsy, which even today runs in print and hangs on walls for those who wish to call upon the wonderful friendship between the lion and tamer, rendered by Henri Rousseau in "The Sleeping Gypsy". 

Five reasons why being single is fun.

1. The ‘I -me-myself’ and... ‘me again’ advantage. This is at the heart of the truth about every human being- you get to be the center of attention, be pampered and you can have whims and fancies that never ever need to be disregarded for some one else's sake. This is more fun if you were one of many, as a child.
2. Single people are fabulous go-to people for people in relationships with problems. They spend time genuinely solving problems and don't expect anything in return. That is, if they are ever back from their holiday. Ever.
3. Bosses love singles. They're the hardest working people on the planet. You can call them on a Friday night and ask them to have your report for them on Sunday, and chances are they will do it . They may also 'do' your annual rotary budget, but what you don't know doesn't hurt you, right?
4. Single girls know the best gay hair dressers in town and always get their highly sought appointments in one call.
5. Ditto for fabulous house parties where they get to be fashionably late and do randomly weird things that nobody will ever hold them accountable for because everyone already knows that's a reason why they're single.

1. Oh why stop at 5? We haven't even gone into the healthy savings bit...relationships are expensive. Single people only need to shop once in two months. Singles are thrifty and smart, always saving for a day when there will be a real excuse to spend it all.
2. Singles often have a healthier sexual life which is varied and adventurous. Singles who are not sexually active are happier than couples who are not sexually active.
3. Single tickets sell more easily if your plans change and you can't be bothered to attend the show.
4. That's the other thing: you can afford to not be bothered, not give a damn and not care if that's what you feel like. Nobody's around to be bothered or to give a damn!
5. Singles are often incredibly attractive, fun, generous, kind and smart. Because they're free individuals who have an inspiring relationship with themselves first. Agree?

Disclaimer- This information was packaged in a factory that also manufactures products that contain nuts.

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