My Favourite Poem-5: 'The Ladder of St.Augstine by H.W.Longfellow '

We have not wings, we cannot soar;
But we have feet to scale and climb
By slow degrees, by more and more,
The cloudy summits of our time.

.....

The heights by great men reached and kept
Were not attained by sudden flight,
But they, while their companions slept,
Were toiling upward in the night.

This is from Prof.Raghunathan's collection of favourite poems. This is my favourite too. For the full poem, click: http://rpo.library.utoronto.ca/poem/1330.html
Longfellow's bio: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Henry_Wadsworth_Longfellow
Poetry of Longfellow: http://www.everypoet.com/archive/poetry/Henry_Wadsworth_Longfellow/longfellow_contents.htm Longfellow's Works in Project Gutenberg: http://www.gutenberg.org/browse/authors/l#a16

A Thought for Today-23: July 17, 2007

Choose the highest ideal and live your life up to that - Swami Vivekananda

My Photo Album-7: "My son Vinod"

Vinod is my only son. He will be shortly completing his postgraduation in chemistry. I am glad to post three of his photos: one taken as a babe, the second as a kid and the third recently. In the second one, he poses in front of my bookshelf.

My Photo Album-6: "The Late Dr.T.Anandarajan"

Dr.T.Anandrajan was a versatile and highly talented scientist, who passed away at the young age of 39. I used to admire him greatly for his keen, analytical mind and pleasant manners. To borrow the words of Robert Kennedy, he loved and lived his life entirely. Unexpectedly and suddenly death snatched him away from us. He left behind him his young wife (who used to call me "appa" (father), one-year-old son and a few days old daughter. I would like to cherish his memory always and hence this posting.

Vedanta's Message | Life, Fear, Only, Have, Love

Vedanta's Message Life, Fear, Only, Have, Love

My Favourite Short Story-3 : 'The Blind Man' by Guy de Maupassant

This is a short story of Maupassant from 'A Comedy of Marriage and Other Tales'. Thanks to Project Gutenberg, I could read and enjoy it and now am able to share with everybody. It is the ninth tale in the book. You may want read this book, which is just a click away: http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext05/8cmar10.txt
Bio of Maupassant: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Guy_de_Maupassant

My Favourite Poem-4: 'Little Things' by Mrs.J.A.Carney

Little drops of water
Little grains of sand
Make the mighty ocean
And the beateous land

Little deeds of kindness,
Little words of love,
Make our earth an Eden,
Like the heaven above.

This poem came to know through my respected friend, Professor S.Raghunathan. He has been a source inspiration for me for a long period now. I must thank for this poem, and many other goods things. Thank you, Sir, thank you very much!

A Thought for Today-22: July 16, 2007

If a man has not discovered something that he will die for, he is not fit to live - Martin Luther King Jr.

A Thought for Today-21: July 15, 2007

They alone live, who live for others - Swami Vivekananda

A Thought for Today-20: July 14, 2007

All the secret of success is this: to pay as much attention to the means as to the ends - Swami Vivekananda

My Favourite Short Story-2 : 'Vanka' by Anton Chekhov

I am a great admirer of Anton Chekhov. I have read his short stories and plays many times. He is one of the greatest short story writers of the world. I have read only the English translations. To those who can read them in the original Russian version, his writings should be even more enjoyable. I am in total agreement of the following views on Chekhov's writings by Thomas Seltzer.

"Chekhov's works show an astounding resourcefulness and versatility.There is no monotony, no repetition. Neither in incident nor in character are any two stories alike. The range of Chekhov's knowledge of men and things seems to be unlimited, and he is extravagant in the use of it. Some great idea which many a writer would consider sufficient to expand into a whole novel he disposes of in a story of a few pages. Take, for example, 'Vanka', apparently but a mere episode in the childhood of a nine-year-old boy; while it is really the tragedy of a whole life in its tempting glimpses into a past environment and ominous forebodings of the future--all contracted into the space of four or five pages. ... He reveals things that no author before him has revealed. It is as though he possessed a special organ which enabled him to see, hear and feel things of which we other mortals did not even dream the existence. Yet when he lays them bare we know that they are not fictitious, not invented, but as real as the ordinary familiar facts of life. This faculty of his playing on allconceivable objects, all conceivable emotions, no matter how microscopic, endows them with life and a soul. .....the magic touch of this strange genius.... Chekhov divines the most secret impulses of the soul, scents out what is buried in the subconscious, and brings it up to the surface. ... He is equally at home everywhere. The peasant, the labourer, the merchant, the priest, the professional man,the scholar, the military officer, and the government functionary, Gentile or Jew, man, woman, or child--Chekhov is intimate with all of them. His characters are sharply defined individuals, not types. In almost all his stories, however short, the men and women and children who play a part in them come out as clear, distinct personalities." [ Thomas Seltzer: Introduction to Best Russian Short Stories]. Link to Best Russian Short Stories: http://www.gutenberg.org/files/13437/13437-8.txt. Biography of Chekhov: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Anton_Chekhov. Link to Chekhov's works: http://www.gutenberg.org/browse/authors/c#a708

My Favourite Poem-3: 'Stopped by Woods' by Robert Frost

Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening

WHOSE woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep.
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

This is a beautiful poem. The last four lines of this poem have become unforgettable to me. After his passing, these were the lines found on the bedside of Jawaharlal Nehru , written in his own hand. I learnt about this poem only then. As it appealed to Jawaharlal Nehru, it appealed to many people, including ordinary people like me. For the critical appraisal of the poem, click: http://www.english.uiuc.edu/maps/poets/a_f/frost/woods.htm

For Robert Frost's Biography: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Robert_Frost

North of Boston (Selected Poems of Robert Frost): http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext02/nobos10.txt

A Thought for Today-19: July 13, 2007

Take up one idea. Make that one idea your life – think of it, dream of it, live on that idea. Let the brain, muscles, nerves, and every part of your body, be full of that idea and just leave every other idea alone. This is the way to success, that is the way great spiritual giants are produced - Swami Vivekananda

My Favourite Short Story-1 : 'Where Love is, God is' by Leo Tolstoi

This is an ennobling, elevating and inspiring short story. I have read it several times. I am always very much moved by it. It is an incomparable classic. Even after more than 100 years of its publication, it is avidly read by many. I would recommend it to all.

http://www.online-literature.com/tolstoy/2892/

My Favourite Poem-2: 'Religious Musings' by S.T.Coleridge

The Best Prayer

He prayeth well, who loveth well
Both man and bird and beast.

He prayeth best, who loveth best
All things both great and small.

For the dear God who loveth us,
He made and loveth all.

For the full poem, click:
http://www.usask.ca/english/barbauld/related_texts/religious_musings.html

My Photo Album-5: "Achchukkutti is our chellakkutti!"

Achchukkutti aka B.C.Surya is my younger brother, Chandru's son. He is less than a year old. He has a striking resemblance to my late father. Probably he has inherited some of his qualities also. He is another pet of mine. But the minute he sees me he starts crying. Hope he will accept me after some time.

Books-6: 'As a Man Thinketh' by James Allen

It is a world-renowned book and does not need any introduction. It is one of the all-time great books. Generation and generation, people are getting benefitted by this wonderful book. I have derived a lot of inspiration from this book. I am reproducing below some of the passages which appealed to me most. I am providing the link to this book for those who want to read this book in full.

As a being of Power, Intelligence, and Love, and the lord of his won thoughts, man holds the key to every situation, and contains within himself that transforming and regenerative agency by which he may make himself what he wills.

Only by much searching and mining, are gold and diamonds obtained and man can find every truth connected with his being, if he will dip deep into the mine of his soul;

... only by patience, practice, and ceaseless importunity can a man enter the Door of the Temple of Knowledge.

Just as a gardener cultivates his plot, keeping it free from weeds, and growing the flowers and fruits which he requires, so may a man tend the garden of his mind, weeding out all the wrong, useless, and impure thoughts, and cultivating towrd perfection the flowers and fruits of right, useful, and pure thoughts.

Law, not confusion, is the dominating principle in the universe; justice, not injustice, is the soul and substance of life; and righteousness, not corruption, is the moulding and moving force in the spiritual government of the world.

Let a man radically alter his thoughts (by systematic introspection and self-analysis) and he will be astonished at the rapid transformation it will effect in the material conditions of his life.

...impure thoughts of every kind crystallize into enervating and confusing habits, which solidify into distracting and adverse circumstances: thoughts of fear, doubt, and indecision crystallize into weak, unmanly, and irresolute habits, which solidify into circumstances of failure, indigence, and slavish dependence : lazy thoughts crystallize into habits of uncleanliness and dishonesty, which solidify into circumstances of foulness and beggary: hateful and condemnatory thoughts crystallilize into habits of accusation and violence, which solidify into circumstances of injury and persecution; selfish thoughts of all kinds crystallize into habits of self-seeking, which solidify into circumstances more or less distressing.

http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/etext03/mntkh10.txt

A Thought for Today-18: July 12, 2007

Each soul is potentially divine. The goal is to manifest this Divinity within by controlling nature, external and internal. Do this either by work, or worship, or psychic control, or philosophy — by one, or more, or all of these — and be free. This is the whole of religion. Doctrines, or dogmas, or rituals, or books, or temples, or forms, are but secondary details - Swami Vivekananda

Books-5: 'Life of Pi' by Yann Martel

Today I completed reading the above book. I had been to Chennai on a two-day trip. I utlized this opportunity to read this book. It is a fantastic book. I have to borrow words from experts to describe its many-sided splendour. Yann Martel blends fact and fiction with wily charm(The Guardian). An astonishing piece of fiction. It is unbelievable that a person can give such free rein to his imagination and put the whole pile of meandering thoughts into a brilliant, logical sequential order(Deccan Chronicle). He is a powerful writer and storyteller(Edmonton Journal). It is an amazing and astounding novel.

The hero is a castaway with only a Royal Bengal Tiger for companion, and of course, the Pacific ocean , the sky, the winds and his thoughts. There are many passages in the book that are worth recording. However, for want of space, I am reproducing below only a few:

“There were many skies. The sky was invaded by great white clouds, flat on the bottom but round and billowy on top. The sky was completely cloudless, of a blue quite shattering to the senses. The sky was a heavy, suffocating blanket of grey cloud, but without promise of rain. The sky was thinly overcast. The sky was dappled with small, white, fleecy clouds. The sky was streaked with high, thin clouds that looked like a cotton ball stretched apart. The sky was a featureless milky haze. The sky was a density of dark and blustery rain clouds that passed by without delivering rain. The sky was painted with a small number of flat clouds that looked like sandbars. The sky was a mere block to allow a visual effect on the horizon: sunlight flooding the ocean, the vertical edges between light and shadow perfectly distinct. The sky was a distant black curtain of falling rain. The sky was many clouds at many levels, some thick and opaque, others looking like smoke. The sky was black and spitting rain on my smiling face. The sky was nothing but falling water, a ceaseless deluge that wrinkled and bloated my skin and froze me stiff.

There were many seas. The sea roared like a tiger. The sea whispered in your ear like a friend telling you secrets. The sea clinked like small change in a pocket. The sea thundered like avalanches. The sea hissed like sandpaper working on wood. The sea sounded like someone vomiting. The sea was dead silent.

And in between the two, in between the sky and the sea, were all the winds.

And there were all the nights and all the moons.

To be a castaway is to be a point perpetually at the center of a circle. However much things may appear to change – the sea may shift from whisper to rage – the sky might go from fresh blue to blinding white to darkest black – the geometry never changes. Your gaze is always a radius. The circumference is ever great. In fact, the circles multiply. To be a castaway is to be caught in a harrowing ballet of circles. …. To be a castaway is to be caught up in grim and exhausting opposites. When it is light, the openness of the sea is blinding and frightening. When it is dark, the darkness is claustrophobic. When it is day, you are hot and wish to be cool and dream of ice cream and pour sea water on yourself. When it is night, you are cold and wish to be warm and dream of hot curries and wrap yourself in blankets. When it is hot, you are parched and wish to be wet. When it rains, you are nearly drowned and wish to be dry. When there is food, there is too much of it and you must feast. When there is none, there is truly none and you starve. When the sea is flat and motionless, you wish it would stir. When it rises up and the circle that imprisons you is broken by hills of water, you suffer that peculiarity of the high seas, suffocation in open spaces, and you wish the sea would be flat again. The opposites often take place at the same moment, so that when the sun is scorching you till you are stricken down, you are also aware that it is drying the strips of flesh and meat that are hanging from your lines and that it is a blessing for your solar stills. … When rough weather abates, and it becomes clear that you have survived the sky’s attack and the sea’s treachery, your jubilation is tempered by the rage that so much fresh water should fall directly into the sea and by the worry that it is the last rain you will ever see, that you will die of thirst before the next drops fall.

The worst pair of opposites is boredom and terror. Sometimes your life is a pendulum swing from one to the other. The sea is without a wrinkle. There is not a whisper of wind. The hours last forever. You are so bored you sink into a state of apathy close to a coma. Then the sea becomes rough and your emotions are whipped into a frenzy. Yet even these two opposites do not remain distinct. In your boredom, there are elements of terror: you break down into tears; you are filled with dread; you scream; you deliberately hurt yourself. And in the grip of terror – the worst storm – you yet feel boredom, a deep weariness with it all……

Life on a lifeboat is not much of a life. It is like an end game in chess, a game with few pieces. The elements could not be more simple, nor the stakes higher. Physically it is extraordinarily arduous, and morally it is killing. You must make adjustments if you want to survive. Much becomes expendable. You get your happiness where you can. You reach a point where you are at the bottom of hell, yet you have your arms crossed and a smile on your face, and you feel you are the luckiest person on earth. Why? Because at your feet you have a tiny dead fish…”

This is only a sample. If one wants to enjoy the whole story, there is no other way than to read the book, which is eminently readable and enjoyable.

A Thought for Today-17: July 11, 2007

Strength is Life, Weakness is Death. Expansion is Life, Contraction is Death. Love is Life, Hatred is Death- Swami Vivekananda