Letter to Saranya
Dear Saranya.It was great reading.... greater writing it! How could you do it. There was a Toru Dutt, while I was in High School during the 1940s. She was a child prodigy, and one of her poems - I believe its title was The toys'. She wrote it at your age, and the Govt. Text Book Committee of Education Experts had thought it worthy of study by Matric students, across yhe whole of S. Idia, which was then the Madras Presidency. You can access her works on ythe Internet. I believe. You write much like her, and I liked it. Yes, you sound philosophican, and no one should be surprised that a Josier sibling can do that! Great effort and congrats. Keep writing.
Would ask you write a piece on Grand parents please.
From: Uma Murti
To: Lalita Murti
Sent: Wed, June 30, 2010 8:36:20 AM
Subject: Fw: my mag article
Dear Appa and Amma, Saranya wrote some beautiful lines for her school magazine and here isthis.. She wanted me to express my thoughts and here is what i wrote back.. Saranya thenexplained what she felt about the subject of'Beauty". Want you to print this out and show it to Appa and ask him toexpress and pen his brilliant thoughts on this subject.. Love from all of us.
To: Uma Murti
Sent: Wed, June 30, 2010 5:48:42 AM
Subject: Re: my mag article
Wow, thanks, appa! I love what you wrote...so beautiful. Each line is poignant and lovely. I love "a streak of light that stares at you in a dark, convoluted tunnel". That sort of thing makes me very happy, lol.
I had a lot of things that I mulled over after I read over what I'd written. One was that...it's true, isn't it? Life doesn't make sense - fire at the heart of a thunderstorm? But it's fierce, and there's beauty through that ferocity, every moment has a beauty which goes on despite what you think of it. If only you'd stop to think, „Wow, there are birds flying over the lightning“, you'd notice that whether you're happy or you're sad, beauty is still there, indifferent to you unless you look at it.
No one, I feel, can actually judge a painting by any adjective, really. You might say, it's beautiful, and that compliments the painters skill - it does - but there's always something more to it. What did the painter wish to EXPRESS out of it? When we say that we like it, we simply say that the painter expressed it in a way that we can appreciate. But WHAT did he express? What does it mean?
And I always feel true understanding of something can only come in silence. Maybe I'm wrong about all this...but still...you can talk to people, you can discuss, you can argue, but when you're on your own, and you think, and you feel, and you have that silence in your head, that's when you really understand anything.
LOL, I made this so philosophical! Sorry if it makes a boring read. I just felt I should share what I thought of when I was writing this.
On Wed, Jun 30, 2010 at 4:38 AM, Uma Murti wrote:
Saranya!very profound writing.. here is what came tome after I read what your wrote..
its serendipitous destiny that is full of unforeseen twists and turns that leads to a fortuitous fate.. a vivid flight of fancy where one never lands where one really planned but some place even better.. an incredible exploratory journey where one never finds what one set forth in quest but another earthshaking discovery.. an untypical calm that misleads us just before a down pour that deluges the parched soil .. an unexpected gain in a day of cumulative losses.. an unpredictable victory in the brink of defeat.. an unplanned child borne out of endless love.. an unbelievable pot of gold at the end of a rainbow.. an unexpected oasis amidst the dreary desert sand..a streak of light that stares at you in a dark convoluted tunnel.. indifferent strokes of a paint that leads to definitive artistic expressions... long winding meanderings that lead to your eventual destination..ambiguous words that lead to most profound poetry.. myriad colors that lead to a most meaningful painting.. life is all about sharing one vision in the midst of a million point of views...
Sent: Tue, June 29, 2010 10:29:30 PM
Subject: my mag article
IN YOUR EYES
When she picked up her paints that night, she had no idea b she would create. Dashes of crimson, swirling clouds of ash pouring into a murky, growling sky, a glowing, pulsing heart of bloody vermillion. Twittering birds flew through lashes of white-hot lightning. Thunder shook lonely grounds, fiery leaves swayed in fierce winds.
Fire at the heart of the storm. Beauty through ferocity.
She stepped away, smiled. „I like it.“
Spectators surrounded the painting, circling it, their opinions buzzing, droning in her ears.
„It's pretty.“„It's weird.“ „It's colorful.“ „It's awful.“
She sighed, waited for the quiet.
He strolled toward the painting, footsteps echoing in the silence, eyes shadowy and thoughtful.
„It means something,“ he said quietly. „Doesn't it?“
She turned to him, smiled wistfully, shrugged. „It means something. It's life.“