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Ten Point Twitter Gita

1. Do not be attached to your tweet.

2. Do your duty. Write your tweet. Don’t expect any retweets or favorites.

3. Every time the timeline decays, I am reborn as an hashtag.

4. You can delete your tweet but not its soul.

5. A tweet cannot be cut to pieces by any weapon, burned by fire, nor drowned in water or blown away by wind.

6. Don’t attach yourself to tweets. For attachment breeds desire, desire breeds anger, anger to delusion, delusion to deactivation.

7. Whatever you do, Whatever you eat, whatever you sacrifice and receive, whatever you perform, offer them to me, twitter.

8. As a river flows into the brimful and still ocean without overflowing, so does your tweet flow in the timeline.

9. There is nothing in this word that purifies like knowledge. Those who post links know that.

10. Twitter does not take the good or evil deeds of any.


My husband’s guide and mentor Prof Veni Madhavan retired from IIsc yesterday. His thirteen Ph.D students including my husband (he was his fifth student) organized a lunch and seminar in his honor at “The Capitol.”
There was a small felicitation program at the CSA department in IISc in the morning. Everyone who spoke, asked him to spend his leisure days ahead doing things he wanted to do, go on long walks, journeys and recreate his forgotten dreams.

According to Indian philosophy, sixty five is the time to shed worldly desires and take interest in spiritual world. In olden days, one left for the forest to realize oneself. But a forest is green, filled with the beauty of its freshness. The senses become keen. Eyes look out for danger, ears sharpen themselves trying to new noises, nose smells new flowers and fresh earth. Tongue tastes the sweetness of fresh plucked fruits. The heart falls in love with the world once again…

Sixty five is the autumn of life,
Time to spend in a forest they say.
It is spring time I think, asking one to fall in love, once again.
For forests abound with blooming flowers, buzzing songs of bees,
young rivulets, full moon, spreading youthfulness in its verdant green.

Born to Bala and infinite cosmic sky,
Dear gentle river Veni,
Sixty five years is still a drop in the ocean of knowledge.
Mada kai? Are you ready for another spring filled journey.

Youthfulness abounds in the rapids.
The plains are still far away.

Veni is river. He was born to Bala and Ekambaram. His daughter is Poornima, wife is Vidya. All of them part of his life and this poem.

The world looks beautiful through three eyes.
One through the eyes of a child who frames its new world in simple words. Two, through the eyes of an aged chiseled soul, the world looks balanced. The eyes of a lovelorn soul that brings alive the hidden beauty that others have not seen is the third eye.
And in all the three eyes, the heart is pure.

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