#thinaineythal

[sripuram]

306. Bees, pollen, female angst Plaintive yet self-aware, the Sangam heroine's voice is prominent in poems like these, where she (or the poet) explicitly shares her exact emotional state with the reader. The hero is continuing to meet the heroine secretly, without making any firm offers of marriage. She is miffed. She thinks should should act all cool and reserved around him to get him to wonder what's going on 😁 And so she tells herself before she meets him: no sweet talk. no friendly banter. Let him figure out that she is, you know, a bit annoyed. But all that pretence is thrown to the winds when he does come to meet her! She probably rushed into his arms with a big goofy grin, like bees madly capering around flowers. Our movies and songs make much of male angst, the anxiety of meeting women, the what-will-I-say-to-her and how-will-I-impress-her phases. This poem props up a fine tribute to female angst, something I wish we heard about more often! #Ammoovanar #Thinaineythal #kurunthokai #thalaivikootru

[sripuram]

304. Swaying on the waves of grief. (An interesting counterpoint to Kur. 228, posted a few days back) Have you seen clouds of water hyacinths, swaying with the water? That gentle swaying restlessness is captured in this poem; it is a snapshot of the heroine's essential anxiety. It is a brilliant metaphor! Saying that separation is bittersweet is a bit of an understatement. The sweetness can be nectarine, the bitterness can be agony. In love, in all consuming love, her heart is no longer hers, it goes away to him. Heartless, she floats on air. But when she misses him, when she grieves for him, he heart is right by her to take on the full force of the blow. It sways, between elation and grief. It sways, between hope and despair. It sways, between faith in him and nail-biting anxiety. It sways like the plants on their ocean. 'Kandal' (கண்டல்) can refer to plants that grow in water, including mangroves and hyacinths. They are usually tenaciously rooted in the water, just like the heroine has tenacious roots in the form of her strict parents binding her to propriety. But they are flowering plants; their petals float go distant lands. They are water plants, they live with the waves. It is only a matter of time before they float away. However, until then, they are condemned to the restless to-and-fro of the waves. #Kurunthokai #thinaineythal #ammoovanaar #thalaivikootru

[sripuram]

Kur. 269: Home alone. This is such a fun poem! A classic reminder that though we may choose to pompously place Sangam poems on a pedestal and fetishize them for their antiquity, the poems themselves are delightfully fresh. It seems like fathers of daughters are fearsome, hawk-eyed fathers always, at least to their daughter's boyfriends. Maybe the allusion to his strength is the heroine subtly warning the hero, yet reassuring her boyfriend that he is not at home to terrorize him 😀 Go fast, go fast, urges the heroine. She wants her boyfriend to come and begone before her dad and mum get back home! I wonder whether lyricist Viveka thought of this poem when he wrote 'Daddy Mummy veettil illa' :D #ThinaiNeythal #Kalladanar #Kurunthokai #Thalaivikootru

[sripuram]

Kurunthogai 6: Only I. Night-time is magical, with its own rules. The Sangam poets have enormous respect for the stillness and magnificence of the night. Some poet called night-time the blotting paper of the day. What a profound statement! Day, with its confusing jumble of events and places and faces, settles down into the unhurried silence of the night. To the clear, creative mind, with all the clutter of daytime filed away, night-time is a clean slate. New doors open up, new paths are cautiously chosen, new trysts are made. Night-time makes us all-powerful. But to the confused mind, there is no greater horror than night-time. The distresses of the day are magnified, brought into focus. Night's silence makes us hear our own voices and fears clearly. There is no escaping it. When in love, night-time can be like walking on a razor edge. The night-time trysts with the memories of the lover can be exhilarating and addictive. It can even far surpass the real meetings, for human flaws can vanish within the invisibility cloak of the night. Moonlight can be magical, turning donkeys into horses. But all this is when the memories are happy ones. When the lover is away, and there is no way to see him, when you have had a fight, when you are pining for him with no resolution in sight, being awake at night can be sheer torture. The agam poems of the night are more auditory than visual (as the other 'day' poems are). Night is the time of silence and stillness, when even little sounds get magnified. So the heroine can hear the faint tinkling of bells as the cows in the yard move their faces. She can hear the crashing waves, the sound of falling flowers. The last murmurs of the day. Likewise, she can hear the suppressed voices in her own head. Will he come? Is he okay? Was I judicious in trusting him? Of course, what an idiot I am, doubting him. Still...things will be okay right? What are the people in the town saying about me? Those murmurs, they were about me right? That I am a fool to wait for him? And she says: while the whole town sleeps, only I can't. #Kurunthokai #ThinaiNeythal #padumanar #thalaivikootru