An Invisible Invite

Should I only see you, o breeze,

In the dance of the trees,

In your kiss on my neck, that lingers,

In the caress of your faint fingers,

In birds that climb the skies,

In the dreaminess of eyes,

In the fragrance of a flower,

In the glimpse of wildfire’s power,

In the simmering pot on the stove,

In the sound of distant voices I love?

Won’t you, won’t you come my way

And smile in words that take the breath away?

Baahubali – On the Mathematics of Evoking Emotions

Have you ever wanted to precisely know why you love something? The first time one experiences Baahubali, it feels like a gigantic wave crashing on the shores of one’s mind. The end-result is an overwhelming feeling of being drenched in awe. But what if you had that little wish to feel every droplet touching your skin? So, I decided to stand with myself another time, with a pen and notebook, and watch as the wave hit me. Every single time I sensed something stirring in me, I scribbled it quickly in my notebook, much to the puzzlement of a ten-year-old girl sitting next to me. Then I saw those droplets and saw them stringing together to paint patterns within patterns. Here, I try to capture in words these images that flashed before my eyes…

Spoilers ahead…


The Music in the Words

What if you could hear a piano playing or drums beating on just hearing a set of words? And no, it’s not because there’s a rousing score in the background. Just read these words aloud and listen to what you hear:

நீ கூறிய சொல்லால் கூரிய வாளால் உன் நா அறுபடும் என்று அறிவாயா?
nee kooRiya sollaal kooriya vaaLaal un naa aRubadum endRu aRivaayaa?
Don’t you know that your tongue shall be severed with a sharp sword for the word spoken?
வஞ்சகனின் நெஞ்சில் இருக்கும் நஞ்சு கெஞ்சிக் கேட்டால் வராது அரசே!
vanjaganin nenjil irukkum nanju kenji kaettaal varaadhu arasae!
You cannot make a vile man part with the venom in his heart by crooning to him, my lord!
அவள் வாயால் சொன்னதை நீ வாளால் நிரூபித்து விட்டாய்
avaL vaayaal sonnadhai nee vaaLaal niroobithu vittaay
You have echoed her words with your sword!
உங்கள் சாசனங்களை நெருப்பில் எரியுங்கள். 
உங்கள் சட்டங்களை கடலில் எறியுங்கள்.  
உங்கள் விதிமுறைகளை தூக்கில் ஏற்றுங்கள்.
மதிகெட்ட இந்த அரசுக்கு மகிழ்மதி என்று பெயர்!

ungaL saasanangaLai neruppil eriyungaL.
ungaL sattangaLai kadalil eRiyungaL.  
ungaL vidhimuRaigaLai thookkil aetRungaL.
madhigetta indha arasukku magizhmadhi endRu peyar

Throw your charters to the fire!
Throw your laws into the sea!
Hang your rules!
This foolish royalty dares to call itself ‘Makizhmathi’ (Land of Joy and Wisdom)!
பழிதாங்கி உளி வாங்கி
படைப்பானோ எதிர்காலம்?
உதிரத்தில் சினமோடும் 
துளி யாவும் சிவம்

pazhidhaangi uLi vaangi
padaippaanoa edhirkaalam?
udhirathil sinamoadum
thuLi yaavum sivam

Bearing the blame, 
holding a chisel,
will he carve a new future?
In the fury 
of every drop of blood,
all there is, is God.

In the alliterative play of the words above, in the rhythm that resounds, words seem to be singing a seamless tune of exquisiteness and performing a choreographed dance of grace.

The Words in the Music

In a case of reversal, the music could be heard speaking like a seasoned orator. At these moments, you hear a thousand-word description of the character or an in-depth analysis of a situation, in a few notes of music.

Take for instance… the score at the moment Baahubali’s eyes take in Devasena. If you listen with your heart, it will bring back every face you have ever fallen for. It fills you with the tingling sensation that races through all of what makes you and a euphoric joy that makes every pain you have ever experienced, a distant memory. It proclaims in an instant that this is a life-changing moment in not just the life of a man but also the life of a nation, laden with beauty and melancholy.

Contrast this with the score for the first time Balla casts his eyes on Devasena. It’s primeval. It evokes the lustful image of an animal procreating. Something violent, intense and immediate! You understand that this ‘love’ needs no lover to reciprocate it. A classic case to showcase the intensity of unrequited love!

Be it the menacing moment when Sivagami advances towards Devasena or the rousing one when she proclaims the newborn as the new king of the nation, the music speaks to you with an intensity that makes you roar with the crowd.

In the return of young Baahubali, as he soars to defeat his enemies, you hear almost a modern day score, as if the music is speaking in the accent of he who has lived abroad and is returning with the traces of that new nation in his tongue. The music here proclaims that the tide has turned and a new order is born.

Expression of the Outer Elements

Fire, Water, Air, Earth and Sky should be rightfully on the rolling credits! These emote and express the inexpressible. In the ‘Kannan song’, when Devasena, dreaming about Baahubali, showers the lord’s statue with incense water, there’s a dove sprinkling water on Baahubali in the courtyard and when she does the ‘arati’ to the lord, with burning camphor, Baahubali feels its warmth on his face from a firebrand hanging on his window. Here the elements are at their gentlest and romantic best.

In a poetic sequence, when Baahubali and Kattappa enter the Kunthala kingdom, there they see cowherds chasing their oxen with water splashing beneath the hooves. In a stunning reversal a few scenes later, the water under the hooves climbs on as the fire on the horns of the oxen. Baahubali is the master as well as the alchemist of elements.

In a dream sequence of the ‘orey oru ooril’ song, the leading lady starts a storm amidst the waves and this master coolly takes off in air. Like a bird soaring, their love takes a flight of imagination in the breeze.


In the fight against the Kalakeyas, the earth element comes to the fore. As Kattappa stands on those unforgiving rocks, with tears pouring down his eyes, the fire rages behind him, painting the pain and passion of the moment in the confluence of the elements.

As Balla pours oil to kindle a fire, as Sivagami proclaims ‘நாடே பற்றி எரியும் (The nation will be up in flames)’ and many more moments, one can sense the trope of fire running all through the movie. Perhaps that’s why we don’t feel time passing by at all. Like wildfire, it spreads throughout the movie keeping up the pace and never slacking for a moment.

In the final moment of defeat, as Balla is about to burn on the pyre, the image of an elderly Baahubali as he might have looked had he been alive, bursts out amidst the thundering clouds in the sky and Balla’s earthly journey ends with fire lighting up the sky and earth. Or so you would think. The image of his ego and arrogance, the statue of his head still has to hurtle down a mighty waterfall to signify the final end of hubris at the hands of the elements.

Impression of the Inner Elements

How can you etch the minutiae of love, lust, guilt, disappointment, loyalty, and treachery living in those hidden corners of the heart on so grand a canvas? Is it even possible to marry nuance and grandeur? In style, this happens. In the eyes of the performers, you glimpse it all the time. The guilty thorn that irks the throat of Sivagami even though she knows she has done the right thing is the single foundation for the downfall of that empire. The guilt of having favoured the right one against her own!

Devasena, my favourite character in this mythical fantasy, has so much to inspire a woman in modern reality. Even as you are just getting to know her, you see that she wants to be better than her best. There she is trying unsuccessfully to release two arrows from a bow much to the amusement of her family and royal council, who remark that she is already the most skilled archer in the kingdom. She does not care that Baahubali is an heir to an empire. She walks on his shoulders. She cares not for wealth but only for truth and love. The most intricate exposition of the beauty of her character is when she does not want Baahubali by her side, even in her pain, but wants him to do what is right for the nation. She stands alone and as an equal to Baahubali, in every possible way.

Above all, what stretches like infinity in my mind is the singular image of Baahubali’s arrows whizzing past the dangling earrings of Devasena. Here is power and beauty in an ecstatic symphony!

Snakes and Dogs

In the character of Pingalar, be it in the double-dagger-like moustache or be it the hissing sound of his voice or in the way his fingers creep on Kattappa’s shoulder when he is trying to confuse him about who he owes loyalty to, a snake is what you see and hear. A snake that dances to the mellifluous tune of the snake charmer, Balla.

In Kattappa, an image of a loyal dog keeps popping up again and again.

உன் தாயின் நாய் வருகிறது!
Here comes your mother’s dog!

‘நான் நாய் அல்லவா, மோப்பம் பிடித்தேன்’
Am I not a dog? I sniffed it out!

You see the tail-wagging, loving, protecting friend that you wish you had. He enriches the movie with his playful woofs and fierce attacks.

Triangles and Circles

At the very core, there is symmetry in this saga. I see the plot resting on two triangles. Both between one woman and two men! First, a woman and her two sons; Finally, a woman and her two suitors! Ironically, balance and harmony in the blueprint builds this visual structure of contradiction and conflict.

Then again, the story completes in precise concentric circles. When Devasena walks with a fire-pot on her head bringing to you memories of her mother-in-law taking the same walk, one circle closes; When Balla burns on the fire reminding you of the demon’s statue in the beginning, another circle clicks to a close; In that moment when young Baahubali lets his blood flow on the Sivalinga, in his fight to ease the burden of his mother walking there with a pot of fire on her head, the circle leaps to the first part, to the moment when he lifts and places another Sivalinga under a flowing river to ease his other mother’s burden of wanting to shower the lord with pots of water. And finally, when that statue-head of Balla falls down the waterfall, it brings back memories of another head climbing up the same waterfall against all odds and beginning this story of Baahubali. With the aid of elements and emotions, the movie portrays with mathematic precision that evil has nowhere to go but down when good decides to climb up. In you, in me and in our world! And, that is why I love Baahubali.

One night…

A dark and dangerous forest,
She roams, with happiness, bereft.
Slithering creatures of the night
Whisper sensing her plight,
“Come to me! I’ll hold you tight!”
Lost in thinking of the paths that led her there,
She stumbles into the pit of rumination.
A shattering fall that hurts head and heart!
Snarling teeth and gleaming eyes, up above,
Behold the hounds of Netherville!
Claws itching to tear her guts out,
Towards the night sky, they shout,
Proclaiming that the prey is caught.
“Now to bite into the flesh of hope!
Now to shed the blood of dreams!”
Victory in their grasp, so near,
She stands there, soaked in fear.
From far-away,
Resounding roars of past insults,
Thundering trumpets of failed plans,
Crash against the shore of her now.
Her troubles bang the table for a final toast.
The darkest hour descends.
In the corner of the pit, she finds
Hard rock of conflicting voices turning soft.
Quickly that quicksand sneaks near her,
Trying to pull her down to the depths of no-return.
When around and below, darkness looms,
Far off, her ears hear a little bird,
‘Hey! Fly to me. I can teach you to sing’
‘Nay! I cannot show you the scar of my torn wing!’
With impotent words, she stares downwards.
Still, that birdsong, in her mind, echoes.
The sneaking quicksand, off her feet, she throws.
Unceasing snarling, roaring, trumpeting making her meek,
Tear drops of hurt trickle down her cheek.
A wounded bird falls into the pit from nowhere.
Perhaps, the handiwork of another hound up there!
The bird flutters all around,
Shaking its wings,
Struggling to fly and just then,
A flying drop of its blood colors her tears red.
Touched by that cackling fire on a cold night,
Touched by that caressing embrace after a fight,
She stands up, soaring to her full height.
Eyes burning with fury,
She stares back at the gleaming demons,
Like a possessed one,
The pit she thought she couldn’t climb,
She flies with wings she knew not she had.
With the pride of her belief back,
The lioness pounces on that evil pack.
Looming figures that eclipsed the sky,
As a deck of cards, they fall and fly.
Those roars and trumpets grow dimmer,
As she lets her confidence simmer.
Peering down her pit,
She declares to it,
“With brave words, you, I shall cover,
And not let another me suffer.”
Looking up, the curtain of darkness falls away.
The sky envelops her shivering soul,
With the scarlet blanket of possibility.
A spot of orange laughter,
A shade of red passion,
A dash of yellow friendship,
A coat of violet hugs,
Many, many shades, her fingers touch.
Multi-hued threads of life to cling on to.
Closing her eyes, she senses,
The kiss of the morning breeze;
The fragrance of the blooming buds;
The song of the crooning birds.
Wondering, as she steps into the light,
Is this the end of every such night?
She knows not.
Just a thought,
To inscribe with indelible ink,
Of the night she refused to sink.

The Book of Life

It all starts with a blank page.
Words get written, struck, rewritten.
What will be the essence in the end?
Can you go back and change things?
What if there are points of no return?
When the last sentence is done,
What will it be worth?
Will it be loved, hated or worse, ignored?
What about the pages of yore?
That of the first man?
What did he do all day?
Perhaps only rub two stones together.
Lo behold! His mindless action lit the first spark.
In its warmth, we all bask!
In follies that one was the centre of the universe,
Pages have been written.
When someone tried to change it,
His life sentence ended.
Many a bloodshed page there has been.
But even in the bleakest of such,
There’s the punctuation of a child’s smile.
Pages written in gold embossed letters,
Silver spoon and diamond legacies.
Not any more interesting than charcoal imprints,
Engine smoke and dirty hands.
Pages that travelled the world.
Pages that stood still at a point.
Pages that moved the world.
Pages that the world moved.
Pages so abstract 
that different eyes read different words.
Pages so simple
that different hands change to different words.
On which strength stands,
There, a page of a mountain rock;
On which freshness flows,
Here, a page of a morning breeze;
On which serenity serenades,
There, a page of a wandering stream;
On which inspiration invigorates,
Here, a page of a shining spark;
Pages are right there to be seen.
But where is the author?
Why hide behind this creation?
Questions arise in surprise.
‘God’, ‘Nature’, ‘Consciousness’
‘The Force’, ‘Genes’, ‘Circumstance’
Answers abound around.
Crashing on the wall of truth,
Comes the resounding ‘You!’
You write your book!
Even though you know not to write.
The world may insist that it be written by another,
The Parent… The Teacher!
The Well-versed… The Knowledgeable!
Resist. Forget not your precious words.
It’s your precious choice!
In the colours of many languages,
Singing the same human song,
Penning the same human story;
In the fonts of many lifestyles,
Living different lives the same way,
Living the same life in different ways;
In the ordered and bordered pages of the developed,
In the overlapping and gaping pages of the developing,
Existing as the solitary word on a vast page,
Subsisting as the ignored word on a cramped page;
Standing in block prints,
Where the individual reigns supreme;
Flowing with the neighbours in cursive,
Where only society makes sense;
Whether as one in a million or one among the millions,
Pages filled as borders dictate;
Bold words fly beyond borders too.
Be it across those eons or these miles,
Every time a page is opened,
There is doubt but also hope.
Claps few; Curses too;
Clamouring voices queue.
‘This will be worthless!’
‘This will be priceless!’
‘Are you sure?’
‘What does it matter?’
‘Why don’t you just stop and end it all now?’
Just be sure to hear the whisper
Of that gentle voice, ‘Keep writing…’

Unfinished Garbage Tales from Chennai

The story of garbage is being written in every home and every street corner. An everyday drama where everyone is an actor! If you take any other issue, say corruption, one may flick it away with a ‘No! I have never taken or given a bribe. Not my concern’. But is there anyone who can say I produce no garbage at all? Maybe because everyone is responsible, we tend to think that someone else will do something about it!
When you exert even the slightest of mental effort, you’ll find that this isn’t some kind of rocket science. There’s a simple solution as has been demonstrated so many times – Segregate, Recycle, Compost. I even heard a development scientist remark that all the research that needs to be done on solid waste management has already been done. So, why then are our streets still in this state? Why hasn’t all that research translated into action and results for the common man? With all these thoughts bubbling within me, I decided that instead of just cribbing, I should actually do something about it. Living in a block of apartments, I wanted to talk about this to the residents. I wanted to at least find out what people thought about this, if at all they thought. Some insights gleaned were the issue of time. When there’s so much to juggle – work, family, children’s education, where is the time to think about this? Some were so busy that they shut the door in my face as if I were just another annoying salesman. Some people did welcome me, but they too filled me with their tales of cynicism and everything else that was wrong in the place. Many also said yes and they would be willing to work on this. But still, there is a stepping back, a lack of drive when it asks for more than just words. 
While the challenges of confronting minds are many, it’s heartening to observe that the floods have lit a flame of passion in people. Many have this burning intensity to do something about this. Maybe because they worked from their hearts selflessly during the floods for strangers or maybe having analyzed in their minds that the destruction caused by the floods was because of human action, they want to change this. I find there are many who want this but they know not how. At the same time, inertia and the comfort of not doing anything is pulling them back. It would take a lot of confident and strong hands to get them to the fighting side.
Many such hands have been and are at work at attacking this problem from angles many. Here are a few that I learnt of…
In the Past…
How can we forget the fervor initiated by street welfare associations of the 90s? Starting in 1989, the organization branched all over the city with the goal of making it green and clean. But why has their presence diminished? Even on their website, there’s hardly any activity since 2013. Have we changed as a city? Have they not been able to keep up with the dynamics of this internet driven world? Any organization working on this problem now needs to look at where this organization went and what they learnt, to continue to make a difference. 
This was an action research organization, which conducted and produced a lot of meaningful results for Chennai. Their research, maps and articles on solid waste management contain a wealth of on-the-ground data and strategy for tackling this issue. They have closed operations as of 2014 but some of the team members are continuing their work through the Citizen Consumer andCivic Action Group.
At the moment…
A social enterprise that focuses on the ‘Recycle’ segment of this cycle and attempts to connect the customers to the nearest recycler. Their aesthetically well done website exudes the freshness of youth and the promise of hope. Their upcykle store is yet to open but it seems the right fit for our artists aspiring to elevate things from the domain of dirt to the realm of art. Especially impressive is their research and mapping abilities which holds the promise of extending it not just to recyclers but also to all other stakeholders involved.
An initiative started by The Hindu, which aims to bring out the various infrastructure problems in the city. As of now, there are more than 500 stories and 1950 activists listed on the site. This forum needs to be appreciated for giving a space for citizens to tell the world what’s wrong around them. I only fear that people may become satisfied with simply ranting and not bothering about taking constructive action. While that could happen, this also holds the promise of ensuring accountability if ways are found to expand beyond reporting towards action. 
Whenever I talk to people working on this area, this name keeps popping up. I have come to learn that they are a group of activists working on various environmental issues towards inspiring citizens to act for their environment. 
Ask the Neighbors…
Siru thuli (a little drop) is an environmental NGO from Kovai, which works towards changing Garbage to Green and is helping communities to close in on the gap to zero waste. 
Daily dump is a start-up in Bangalore that focuses on the ‘Compost’ segment of this cycle. They produce composters for various needs as well as offer services to install the same in households and apartment complexes. They have outlets and franchises in Chennai. The Dailydump site and Youtube channel have many videos and links that makes you say, ‘Oh, that seems so easy!’ 
Sowing seeds of awareness…
Chennai Trekking Club

A group that is well known for its annual Chennai coastal cleanup initiatives.

Environmental Foundation of India

They focus on reclaiming the rivers and lakes, among other awareness programmes.

The Ugly Indian

A quirky initiative which believes in doing and showing by example. Cleaning a street, changing the look of a place, literally illustrating that change is possible. 
In addition, there are pockets of neighborhood activists who have been or are attempting to implement effective waste management even as I write this. An MRC Nagar community, CleanKotturpuram Campaign, Shanti Ulhas from Mahalingapuram are some names I have come across, who make hope burn brighter. No doubt there are many more doing this silently in their homes and apartment complexes. A salute to each and every one of them! You may climb the Everest, you may even fly to Mars but the ultimate challenge lies in changing people’s minds. These organizations and communities need something to feed their passion. What will we give them? Our time? Our money? Our minds? Our efforts? A question each one must ask of oneself, if we want to move to a different tomorrow.
Of our future…
Although the trajectory of today isn’t exactly heading to a clean and green future, can we try to reimagine a different tomorrow? Isn’t it still possible to conceive of a day when…
As you fly into the city, green smiles at you from every rooftop; 
Laughing children fill the groves of what were once the landfills in Perungudi and Kodungaiyur; 
IT employees turn farmers too, all in a day’s work.

Here’s to doing all it takes to get to this ‘The End’!

[Experiences] Day Thirty

A life-changing December for many in my city, it sure has been! Nature’s fury threw us out of our complacent routines and made us focus on the important things in life. Adding an internal layer to this all-consuming external force, this was the month I had taken upon myself to write a blog article every single day for thirty days.
Originally, it was an attempt in silencing some voices within. When you have been ignoring what you love, voices can taunt you saying, ‘You have lost the spark’ and ‘Your words are dead!’ On the brink of believing that, I rebelled and decided to challenge this voice and write, no matter what. Yes, I could have written secret little articles on my laptop, just for my eyes. But, when one writes knowing other eyes will see it, one writes with the power it gives and the responsibility it asks. So, I took this challenge, trusting life. And, without fail, every single day, there was something to move me to write, to create, and to marvel. A few experiences, I went in search of; many, just came my way. I seized it all and made this December, one to remember!
Through sickness of loved ones and the consequent sleeplessness; Through the luxury of inspiration but poverty of time that is travel; Through the ups and downs of everyday life – Through it all, I kept going. But surprisingly, not one day did it feel like a burden. In fact, it felt like a balm, whatever was happening within or without.
As I shared thoughts and experiences, I felt a sense of calm enveloping me. I saw the creative child in me leaping with joy at being given these free reins! As this led me inward to heal those wounds of time that’s there in everyone, it simultaneously made me reach out to the world outside, to my long-lost friends and to people I meet every day, with a new humanity. It was a journey, to thirty different places in thirty days, bringing out a thirty different me.
As I wrote day after day, not aiming for my nitpicking perfection but for a sincere consistency, I found creativity to be an inexhaustible well. As I fetched each pail, I saw new ideas gushing in. Many a time, words that I knew not existed within me, came alive. It seemed like a whisper of the universe and the shout of every atom, all at once.
I see this as an exercise to show not just to myself but also to you, that you can break those barriers in your head and go towards whatever it is you want. You will know if it’s right or not when you get there. I hope, like me, you will come to realize that the only person standing in the way of your creativity is you! Go on, take up a challenge and prove it to yourself you can do it, if you ‘will’ so. Make that promise to the most important person in your life – you!

Now that I have fulfilled that promise I made to myself, I look at the fluttering flag atop this small hill. I turn to look lovingly at every mile behind me with a content smile. As I stand here at this moment, a kinder, warmer voice within says ‘This is not the end!’ It wordlessly points to those rugged mountains at a distance. And, I gaze ahead with hope!

[Reflections] As you beckon with love…

The everyday death; the fountainhead of life; the doctor of troubles; the priest of desires; the undertaker of the past; the foreteller of the future – What would we be without you, O Sleep! 
Isn’t it often said that one must forget sleep to make dreams come true? Do you think so? Don’t we find our lives going for a toss, if we do just that, no matter how aligned we are to our dreams. Perhaps, the saying is just to remind you that just dreaming won’t get you what you want. Perhaps, sleep here is the kind of sleep we do with eyes open – in refusing to do what’s good; In refusing to give up what’s not right.
What happens when one has to lose a lot of sleep, all the time? Volcanoes burst in the head at the merest trifles. It’s like setting a forest fire to light a lamp. On the other hand, after a night of calming sleep, even mountains seem moveable. Winds of serenity and waves of creativity flow within the soul.
An image of a classroom pops up. It’s the dreaded afternoon hour after lunch. The professor is going on about some little facet of study that is going to be of no use in another three years. They must buy his voice for those sleep lab demos. Instant soporific! Our friend, after a night of late-night partying in the hostel, seems to be tightrope walking between conking out and keeping eyes open. There, gravity wins and a head suddenly plonks on the desk! Next instant, a chalk lands on his head. Bulls-eye! They must ship off the professor to ISRO. What a precise launch and landing! A wave of muffled laughter pulses through the class. Another image of a conference room and a comatose colleague flashes by. Sleep sure has entertained us in more ways than one!
It’s my guess that the lack of sleep somehow has a huge role to play in half the wars happening around the world. Speaking of which, among warring couples, one might have the philosophy that says, ‘Stay up till you finish the fight!’
And, the other may say, ‘No talking in the night!’
‘How can you sleep now, with all these issues burning? one rages.
‘How can you want to talk, when your mind can’t find meaning?’ another responds.
This second speaker, no matter what his/her flaws may be, has won the argument hands down. Best thing would be to set a calendar reminder for the next morning to finish the fight and take one’s troubles to one’s own counselor, Dr. Sleep!
Isn’t sleep the one territory in which one reigns supreme? In spite of Inception The Movie, I don’t think there’s any way to enter another’s dreams, no matter how much one may want it. The only way is to be around a person, in a good or bad way and that person’s mind will decide if you make a difference enough to be let in and either way, you never know if you have been let in. In there, lies many valuable lessons. If, in sleep, when we have no control, we let no one into our minds, then why do we, when we are conscious and in control, let people and their words, actions and thoughts affect us? Why not learn to let it all pass like a dream even when awake. And, when a day of this is done, remember not to keep that lover called sleep waiting…