What do you know!

I miss Kannada. I don't speak enough and I want to keep in touch with it. I am not a chest beating lobbyist. It has a unique vocabulary, that is insufficient in some aspects but has a most beautiful collection of words in some other aspects. I like my mother-tongue.

So, once in a while, I read a blog called churumuri. What is Churumuri? Well, the name is known to all Mysoreans. It is a delightfully light, crispy, spicy (read salty, tangy, hot), mouthwatering, closest-your-tongue-can-get-to-heaven evening snack. To me, that is how home would taste, if it were edible. It is exactly what I crave for. That is exactly, what you cannot make even with the finest ingredients from the US of A. Sorry, it is hard not to get distracted with a thought of churumuri.

Coming back to Kannada and the blog, I ended up noticing this song:

The lyrics are SO lovely, I haven't come across such original poetry in movie songs for a long while. I am happy I am in touch with Kannada! I tried to translate it, but English is not just sufficient.. dark-clouds can never sound and feel like "kaarmugilu", turmoil can never sound like "miditha" .. but for what it is worth, here it the translation:

The endless silence that my breath whispers in a monotone,
The colors of my dreams dissolve on the brim of eyes that overflow,

killing me, is a love that won't step into my heart's abode,
Lining the dark clouds of my mind is agony's rainbow..
A perennial solitude,that's what is love..


The endless silence that my breath whispers in a monotone,
The colors of my dreams dissolve on the brim of eyes that overflow,


The nectar that takes your life, Can you name it Love?
The disease that saves your soul, can you call it Love?
In the sheets of a golden dream, sleeping on a bed of thorns,
When a smile emerges at pain, when the tears in my eyes dry in vain,
chanting her name, that's what is love..

The nectar that chokes your soul, Can you name it Love?
The disease that saves your life, can you call it Love?

In the four words of a poem, can you describe the throes?
In the three notes of a sonnet, how do you let your heart flow?
A passionate song moans in a flooded throat,
A dead poem laughs in the sobs of an aching heart..
The master of loneliness, that's what is love..