There are rules for everything
Everything you can possibly think of
Written, documented and circulated as well
Read out and notified to all
(Mis)Understood and signed by all as well
Stacked up in piles of files
That anyone has bothered
To revisit, revise
Other than religiously follow
Crippling and clipping off the wings of trust, faith and empathy
Filling the air with apathy
Telling you
You are not what you are
And what you do is not done
For its not what has been written
Neither meets the elaborate stipulated rules and regulations
Expressed in the domains of rigid bureaucracy
I recently watched a Tamil movie that left me reflecting deeply on the intricate, often unseen threads of connection that bind us to others. Despite having watched it twice and appreciating its nuanced storytelling, I still struggle to pronounce the name of the mysterious relative, Meiyazhagan . The name may evade me, but the emotions it evokes resonate deeply. The story unfolds with Arul, a man who embarks on an emotional journey to reconnect with his roots. During his visit to Thanjavur, Arul is shown his childhood bicycle, now a cherished relic in the home of a relative he barely remembers. The bicycle, meticulously maintained, symbolizes resilience and love—it once served as a livelihood tool for the family and now stands as a "god" in their household. The relative, referred to as Nandhini’s husband, shows unwavering affection and generosity toward Arul, despite the latter's inability to recall his name or their shared history. This anonymity does not dimi...
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