... because I don't wear a raincoat or carry an umbrella. Much against my parents' wishes, I might add. I guess they have a point - I could catch a cold and, possibly, die. Not the best thing to happen two weeks before one is shifting to a new city and a new job. But I think it's simply criminal to go out into such awesomely beautifully wonderfully lovely weather - a light breeze, light rainfall that occasionally fizzles into a gentle drizzle before perking up and upgrading to light rainfall again - buried in protective clothing and sequestered from the weather. (Aside: That was one hell of a long sentence. 46 words!)
So I stepped out into the soft afternoon rain, walking along the city roads as I took in the sheer beauty of the weather. The tall roadside trees wept in delight at the rains, shedding theirs tears on my hair as I ambled by. Little drops splattered on my skin and rolled off, leaving a trail of gooseflesh. The tantalising smell of fresh wet earth filled the air. Nearby, a little bird trilled in the sheer ecstasy of the moment, and a watery rainbow shone across the sky. Perfect.
There are those who choose this season to make a splash. Quite literally. Yes, I'm talking of those who drive heavy vehicles - trucks, buses and the like. It becomes a competition among them to see who can splash more pedestrians. If they see a puddle with pedestrians beside it, they charge at it like an aroused bull at a cow in heat, or a RSS worker at a nude painting of a Hindu goddess. "Ha, so the 47G rascal splashed seven people, did he?" thinks the driver on route 10A, and vrooms in and out of the widest puddle he can find, drenching nine people. "Take that, nameless faceless long-suffering pedestrians! Guahahaha..." As a result of the sporting instincts of these drivers, I was drenched down my entire right side within 15 minutes of stepping on the road. Outraged at the unfairness and inequity of the situation, I crossed to the other side of the road so as to give the left half of my body a chance at being drenched.
The Chennai Corporation, of course, had its own unique way of contributing to the ambience of the monsoon. Open potholes, filled with water and spewing mud, played 'Guess How Deep I Am!' - a popular game in this season - with motorists. Open-air sewers (one of which is, I believe, officially a river!) overflowed their banks, spreading bacterial cheer and sending an ungodly stink rising free through the air. The occasional electric pole or tree crashed to the ground, inducing pedestrians to practice impromptu high jumps as they went about their business. And, as usual, blocked or non-existant storm drains made paying for a swimming pool membership redundant.
However distressing the infrastructure might be, however, the true character of a city in the rains is represented by its people. Motorists, leaning forward to peer through the windshield wipers, drove with their windows open and their ACs off for the first time in months. Street urchins, some more naked than others, screamed in joy and jumped in and out of the puddles. Professionals in formal clothes held their pant legs up gingerly as they tiptoed along, the water invariably sloshing into their shoes. Riders on two wheelers drove at full speed, experiencing the brilliant feeling of rain on their faces (helmet law be damned!) A lone athlete rowed manfully along the Adyar river. Couples, both young and old, came out under shared umbrellas to savour the most romantic weather imaginable. Some were probably aroused to greater passions - I saw a girl on the pillion of a bike nibbling her partner's ear. Schoolchildren, their bags on their heads, sloshed along happily. A roadside tea vendor grinned in sheer pleasure as he made roaring business. A group of nuns sang as they walked down the street hand-in-hand. Policemen garbed in impressively large head-to-toe mackintoshes and galoshes and floppy oilskin hats stood at their posts smiling at the passing populace. And I watched the city go by, and soaked it all in.
As Dr APJ Abdul Kalam has a habit of saying, FANTASTIC.
Sunday, June 24, 2007
Sunday, June 17, 2007
Back from a break!
"Hey, let's go to Wayanad!"
"Sure, why-a-not?"
That was a sad attempt at a sadder joke. Now that that's been got out of the way, I'll get down to the post itself.
A few of my friends - Archana, Murali and Sharmila(Mul), to be precise - and I decided recently that we decided a break. Murali had been slogging away at work and clearly needed a few days off. Archana was enjoying her last few days of rest before leaving for IIM Calcutta, and felt she owed herself a treat. Mul had just graduated and richly deserved to enjoy her very short holiday before joining work. And I was, quite simply, bored. A week long bout of discussion and argument later, we decided onGoa Kanyakumari Andaman RoadTrip Wayanad.
For the uninformed, Wayand is a district in the North East of God's Own Country. No, not my room; I mean Kerala. (Connoisseurs of my blog, if any, would remember my having cracked this sad joke earlier.) It boasts beautiful forests and tea estates, multiple water bodies and a several days of stress-free relaxation. (More useful info available on Wiki and the official website.) So that's where we headed for three whole days - Wayanad.
As we drove into Kerala from Karnataka on NH212, the landscape changed from ho-hum plains/towns to stunning greenery with only a few smatterings of civilization along the way. It felt good to be far away from the heat and grime of Chennai, with the cool mountain breeze welcoming me as I hung out of the car window, not unlike a dog. Those who know me well would insist the similarities don't end there, but let's not discuss that now.
We checked into a very nice hotel in Kalpetta, the capital of the district. It wasn't exactly a budget hotel but hey, we wanted to pamper ourselves a bit. So we went the whole hog and booked a duplex for ourselves - two rooms and a living room, to allow us our madness and celebration of life in complete privacy from the rest of the patrons.
We hit all the recommended tourist spots... Pookote Lake, phenomenally beautiful as the mists descended over it in the early morning (pic below). A major tea plantation, which afforded plenty of scope for photography. The breathtaking walk - and I mean this literally, we just about managed to huff and puff our way through it - to the Soochipara falls. Also on our must-view hitlist were a couple of dams (truth be told, they were rather boring) and the best viewing points.
The four of us also took a leisurely drive through Muthanga wildlife sanctuary, and got a glimpse of several deer, wild boars, exotic birds, two herds of elephants (the baby elephants are sooo cute!) and even a tiger! Another interesting place was the Kuruva Dweep (Kuruva Island), a protected ecosystem on the Kabini River. We went on a two hour trek through the evergreen forest, much of it to the accompaniment of eerie noises and twittering birds, not to mention the steady yet upliftingly light rainfall.
Some distance from Kalpetta, we came across the curiously named tourist hotspot, the Chain Tree. It is, quite literally, a tree with a chain on it. The tale behind this is quite interesting... As the legend goes, a prominent British Engineer was building roads through the mountainous terrain of Wayanad, and decided to hire a local lad for help. An young Adivasi man named Karinthandan volunteered, and was instrumental in guiding the engineer through the region. His mission accomplished, the engineer brutally killed the guide so he could take full credit for the work done. Karinthandan's soul, it is said, lived on the tree where he was killed and subsequently haunted travellers for years. A local priest controlled the troublesome spirit by chaining it to the tree... hence the Chain Tree. Quite a good yarn.
A special mention must be made of the Edakkal caves, which feature petroglyphs several thousands of years old. It was awesome, mind-bogglingly brilliant. The experience was rendered all the richer because we hiked up a painfully steep slope to get to the caves, and then battled the pouring rain and slippery mud, clinging onto rocks and rickety ladders for dear life as we pulled our way to the caves. Sweet triumph, sweet victory. And it was a special feeling, all of us wet from the rain and the sweat, gathered together under a overhanging rock, drinking in the sweet smell of wet mud in the tropical monsoon rain. The leaves glistening, the flowers blooming bright, laughing an enjoying the moment with my friends, and the promise of a hot chai to follow. Beautiful.
At night, we relaxed to a hot meal and card games, the Simpsons and the news, swapping stories and memories of our school days. We also treated our feet to a hot water massage and cleansing session, which gave me almost orgasmic pleasure, as the picture clearly shows.
All in all, a VERY welcome break for all of us. Sadly, as we go our different ways in a few weeks from now, we don't know when we'll meet next. When we will once again have a chance to relive the good old days and discuss our futures. When we'll get the time to, quite simply, chill out and bask in the comfortable warmth of each others' friendship and company.
"Sure, why-a-not?"
That was a sad attempt at a sadder joke. Now that that's been got out of the way, I'll get down to the post itself.
A few of my friends - Archana, Murali and Sharmila(Mul), to be precise - and I decided recently that we decided a break. Murali had been slogging away at work and clearly needed a few days off. Archana was enjoying her last few days of rest before leaving for IIM Calcutta, and felt she owed herself a treat. Mul had just graduated and richly deserved to enjoy her very short holiday before joining work. And I was, quite simply, bored. A week long bout of discussion and argument later, we decided on
For the uninformed, Wayand is a district in the North East of God's Own Country. No, not my room; I mean Kerala. (Connoisseurs of my blog, if any, would remember my having cracked this sad joke earlier.) It boasts beautiful forests and tea estates, multiple water bodies and a several days of stress-free relaxation. (More useful info available on Wiki and the official website.) So that's where we headed for three whole days - Wayanad.
As we drove into Kerala from Karnataka on NH212, the landscape changed from ho-hum plains/towns to stunning greenery with only a few smatterings of civilization along the way. It felt good to be far away from the heat and grime of Chennai, with the cool mountain breeze welcoming me as I hung out of the car window, not unlike a dog. Those who know me well would insist the similarities don't end there, but let's not discuss that now.
We checked into a very nice hotel in Kalpetta, the capital of the district. It wasn't exactly a budget hotel but hey, we wanted to pamper ourselves a bit. So we went the whole hog and booked a duplex for ourselves - two rooms and a living room, to allow us our madness and celebration of life in complete privacy from the rest of the patrons.
We hit all the recommended tourist spots... Pookote Lake, phenomenally beautiful as the mists descended over it in the early morning (pic below). A major tea plantation, which afforded plenty of scope for photography. The breathtaking walk - and I mean this literally, we just about managed to huff and puff our way through it - to the Soochipara falls. Also on our must-view hitlist were a couple of dams (truth be told, they were rather boring) and the best viewing points.
The four of us also took a leisurely drive through Muthanga wildlife sanctuary, and got a glimpse of several deer, wild boars, exotic birds, two herds of elephants (the baby elephants are sooo cute!) and even a tiger! Another interesting place was the Kuruva Dweep (Kuruva Island), a protected ecosystem on the Kabini River. We went on a two hour trek through the evergreen forest, much of it to the accompaniment of eerie noises and twittering birds, not to mention the steady yet upliftingly light rainfall.
Some distance from Kalpetta, we came across the curiously named tourist hotspot, the Chain Tree. It is, quite literally, a tree with a chain on it. The tale behind this is quite interesting... As the legend goes, a prominent British Engineer was building roads through the mountainous terrain of Wayanad, and decided to hire a local lad for help. An young Adivasi man named Karinthandan volunteered, and was instrumental in guiding the engineer through the region. His mission accomplished, the engineer brutally killed the guide so he could take full credit for the work done. Karinthandan's soul, it is said, lived on the tree where he was killed and subsequently haunted travellers for years. A local priest controlled the troublesome spirit by chaining it to the tree... hence the Chain Tree. Quite a good yarn.
A special mention must be made of the Edakkal caves, which feature petroglyphs several thousands of years old. It was awesome, mind-bogglingly brilliant. The experience was rendered all the richer because we hiked up a painfully steep slope to get to the caves, and then battled the pouring rain and slippery mud, clinging onto rocks and rickety ladders for dear life as we pulled our way to the caves. Sweet triumph, sweet victory. And it was a special feeling, all of us wet from the rain and the sweat, gathered together under a overhanging rock, drinking in the sweet smell of wet mud in the tropical monsoon rain. The leaves glistening, the flowers blooming bright, laughing an enjoying the moment with my friends, and the promise of a hot chai to follow. Beautiful.
At night, we relaxed to a hot meal and card games, the Simpsons and the news, swapping stories and memories of our school days. We also treated our feet to a hot water massage and cleansing session, which gave me almost orgasmic pleasure, as the picture clearly shows.
All in all, a VERY welcome break for all of us. Sadly, as we go our different ways in a few weeks from now, we don't know when we'll meet next. When we will once again have a chance to relive the good old days and discuss our futures. When we'll get the time to, quite simply, chill out and bask in the comfortable warmth of each others' friendship and company.
Wednesday, June 06, 2007
Look Mommy, I'm in the newspaper!
Believe it or not, I actually have appeared in a national newspaper. My photo, to be precise. And no, its not for robbery or eve-teasing or something of the sort as my friends (and, secretly, my parents) would have expected.
Here's the link to an article in yesterday's New Indian Express: Questions and their answers
My quiz team comprising Nandan, Hari and me reached the finals of the QFI Open Quiz 2007. We topped the prelims but got very phenomenally royally completely indescribably screwed in the final. Which is why our team isn't mentioned by name in the article. But, since we were sitting right behind the winning team (QED), I'm guessing the photographer got confused and thought we had won. Ah well, I'm not complaining.
I've got to go wipe the tears of pride from my parents' eyes. Their son may yet, someday, amount to something after all :)
Here's the link to an article in yesterday's New Indian Express: Questions and their answers
My quiz team comprising Nandan, Hari and me reached the finals of the QFI Open Quiz 2007. We topped the prelims but got very phenomenally royally completely indescribably screwed in the final. Which is why our team isn't mentioned by name in the article. But, since we were sitting right behind the winning team (QED), I'm guessing the photographer got confused and thought we had won. Ah well, I'm not complaining.
I've got to go wipe the tears of pride from my parents' eyes. Their son may yet, someday, amount to something after all :)
Friday, June 01, 2007
The Bald and the Beautiful - General musings
As I was aimlessly browsing through a number of arbit websites and blogs, I came across a mention of this lady.
She is Miss Tanzania 2007, and was in the top 15 at Miss Universe 2007. And, as you can clearly see, she's bald. It takes one hell of a lot of guts to turn up at Miss Universe with a part of the body that is usually unshaven shaved. It flies in the face of stereotypes about beauty, where the hair is an integral and essential part of any of the I-want-world-peace/ I-love-Mother-Teresa brand of beauty pageants. And Miss Universe is most definitely one such pageant.
I'll readily admit to sharing the stereotype... I consider a woman's hair a very vital part of her overall physical beauty, one that I would never compromise on. There's something phenomenally sensuous about a woman's hair, and the manner in which it can, if treated well, frame the face in such a manner as to make even a relatively plain woman look really special. That said, however, Miss Tanzania sure is stunning.
But this led me to think of another common stereotype, one that definitely holds in India - that of fairness. The market for fairness creams in India is worth Rs 9.5 billion today. [Source] And it's not just the ladies; fairness creams for men have done roaring business over the last couple of years.
The whole fairness cream marketing scenario is painfully self-reinforcing. Indians have always been partial towards lighter skin. A quick perusal of the Matrimonial section in the local newspaper provides ample proof, where boys are uncompromisingly looking for fair girls and girls are advertising themselves as quite clearly fair or, if not exactly fair but unwilling to admit it as such, euphemistically describe themselves to be of wheatish complexion. I've often come across situations when guests at a marriage praise the couple as being lovely or sooo beautiful/handsome to the hosts but then commenting behind their backs "colour poradhu", which loosely translates to "the colour isn't good enough", which is a commentary on the fact that the subject of the discussion isn't fair enough. Heroines in movies are always fair. If they're dark, they're made up to look fair. (The villains are often dark.) Models are uniformly fair or fashionably 'dusky' - dark models just don't appeal to the common eye. The stereotype is thus built, and is ripe for exploitation by the unstoppable juggernaut of commerce. Now, the companies making the cosmetics would claim they aren't seeking to reinforce a stereotype, but merely catering to a very real need perceived in the market for such products. True, very true. In the process, they are further standardizing the stereotype, etching it deeper and more indelibly into public social conscience. Fair vs Dark. White vs Black. Good vs Evil.
I HATE this sort of divide. Being dark is looked on as bad, undesirable. I've actually found a number of my relatively fair, North Indian friends involuntarily going "ugh" when they come across a typical dark South Indian ("How can you think he's cute - he's so dark!") I've actually been told I am pleasantly non-South Indian in my looks, because I'm not as dark
as they expected a typical Madrasi - another term I hate for it's racial stereotypical connotations - to be.
What I hate more - and it took me a while to admit this to myself - is that I have been touched by this stereotype to some extent. At some level, mentally, I have also begun to assign some importance to the fairness of a person in the context of beauty. And I hate that this has happened to me. Life (and the media!) makes hypocrites out of us all.
She is Miss Tanzania 2007, and was in the top 15 at Miss Universe 2007. And, as you can clearly see, she's bald. It takes one hell of a lot of guts to turn up at Miss Universe with a part of the body that is usually unshaven shaved. It flies in the face of stereotypes about beauty, where the hair is an integral and essential part of any of the I-want-world-peace/ I-love-Mother-Teresa brand of beauty pageants. And Miss Universe is most definitely one such pageant.
I'll readily admit to sharing the stereotype... I consider a woman's hair a very vital part of her overall physical beauty, one that I would never compromise on. There's something phenomenally sensuous about a woman's hair, and the manner in which it can, if treated well, frame the face in such a manner as to make even a relatively plain woman look really special. That said, however, Miss Tanzania sure is stunning.
But this led me to think of another common stereotype, one that definitely holds in India - that of fairness. The market for fairness creams in India is worth Rs 9.5 billion today. [Source] And it's not just the ladies; fairness creams for men have done roaring business over the last couple of years.
The whole fairness cream marketing scenario is painfully self-reinforcing. Indians have always been partial towards lighter skin. A quick perusal of the Matrimonial section in the local newspaper provides ample proof, where boys are uncompromisingly looking for fair girls and girls are advertising themselves as quite clearly fair or, if not exactly fair but unwilling to admit it as such, euphemistically describe themselves to be of wheatish complexion. I've often come across situations when guests at a marriage praise the couple as being lovely or sooo beautiful/handsome to the hosts but then commenting behind their backs "colour poradhu", which loosely translates to "the colour isn't good enough", which is a commentary on the fact that the subject of the discussion isn't fair enough. Heroines in movies are always fair. If they're dark, they're made up to look fair. (The villains are often dark.) Models are uniformly fair or fashionably 'dusky' - dark models just don't appeal to the common eye. The stereotype is thus built, and is ripe for exploitation by the unstoppable juggernaut of commerce. Now, the companies making the cosmetics would claim they aren't seeking to reinforce a stereotype, but merely catering to a very real need perceived in the market for such products. True, very true. In the process, they are further standardizing the stereotype, etching it deeper and more indelibly into public social conscience. Fair vs Dark. White vs Black. Good vs Evil.
I HATE this sort of divide. Being dark is looked on as bad, undesirable. I've actually found a number of my relatively fair, North Indian friends involuntarily going "ugh" when they come across a typical dark South Indian ("How can you think he's cute - he's so dark!") I've actually been told I am pleasantly non-South Indian in my looks, because I'm not as dark
as they expected a typical Madrasi - another term I hate for it's racial stereotypical connotations - to be.
What I hate more - and it took me a while to admit this to myself - is that I have been touched by this stereotype to some extent. At some level, mentally, I have also begun to assign some importance to the fairness of a person in the context of beauty. And I hate that this has happened to me. Life (and the media!) makes hypocrites out of us all.
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Blast from the past
It's strange, the way one is sometimes brought face to face with one's past when one least expects it. I don't mean it in an ominous, cimematic sense, like a situation where a person enters a restaurant and suddenly sees the son of a man he murdered 20 years ago. (Naturally, the son looks exactly like the father did. The mentally challenged audience wouldn't catch the drift of the movie if this wasn't so.) Said son then proceeds to take revenge either (a) killing the villian, or (b) ensuring he is apprehended and sentenced to death, while fighting 20 people simultaneously, dancing with buxom beauties and giving sentimental speeches about family and love along the way. But I digress.
Context: Earlier today, I was cleaning up some of my junk, as my mother puts it. Or, as I prefer to put it, I was mining my treasure trove of stuff collected over the last ten years I've lived in India. I'll admit it, I'm a bit of a hoarder. I tend to keep little scraps of paper, worthless pictures, broken stationery and hundreds of odds and ends for sentimental value. It was one such pile of objects and papers that I was clearing yesterday... and out tumbled a host of things that brought back memories of the younger, happier, simpler days.
The bus pass I used in school, complete with a photo of a very young and awkwardly-smiling me in my school uniform (I'm still smiling awkwardly in my current passport photograph - I find it very unsettling and uncomfortable to pose for a snap. My father actually dances behind the photographer's back to elicit a genuine smile from me!) Hall tickets from exams long forgotten, class notes with poems scribbled in the margins, friendship bands. Playing cards, hundreds of games of noughts and crosses. A naughty love letter with no name on it. A small teddy bear with a heart that says "I love you" (And before you ask, no, I don't know who gave it to me.)
Notes that were passed to me in school. Caricatures of teachers, scraps of stilted poetry, arguments about cricket, snide comments about classmates.
Birthday cards. Lots of them. From friends who cared about me, and whom I cared about. Friends whom I am now no more it touch with, friends who are consigned to the photo album and video archive of a part of my memory marked 'nostalgia'. Friends whom I want to contact, want to make a part of my life once more but don't know how.
Declarations of undying friendship, comradeship, passionate promises to stick together through thick and thin, to go through life together laughing, drinking, enjoying life to the fullest, together, always. From people whose faces I don't remember, whose names I can't place.
Acceptance letters and Proceedings of conferences where I presented my papers, the culmination of months of slogging. Recommendation letters (written by me, given the once over and signed by the accomodating profs in my department), acceptance letters from US universities that I gave up on to pursue an MBA.
A miniature BMW car. From a friend who asked me what I wanted most in life. At that point in time, cool dude that I was (OK, I'm stretching things a bit, but what the heck, it's my blog! I'm allowed to pump my image, given no one else will.), I responded I'd like a sleek shiny BMW. And whaddya know, that's exactly what she got me for my birthday.
And a small, beautiful earring left behind by a girl my classmates and I saw years ago under a waterfall in Coorg. A keepsake from a time of crazy, inexplicable adolescent rushes.
All making me wish I could go back in time, to ten years ago. When life was so much more fun. When everything was so much less complicated. When I knew less and therefore worried less. When I was less cynical and depressed about the world, about society and my place in it. And when I felt more secure and more at peace than, probably, any time since.
Context: Earlier today, I was cleaning up some of my junk, as my mother puts it. Or, as I prefer to put it, I was mining my treasure trove of stuff collected over the last ten years I've lived in India. I'll admit it, I'm a bit of a hoarder. I tend to keep little scraps of paper, worthless pictures, broken stationery and hundreds of odds and ends for sentimental value. It was one such pile of objects and papers that I was clearing yesterday... and out tumbled a host of things that brought back memories of the younger, happier, simpler days.
The bus pass I used in school, complete with a photo of a very young and awkwardly-smiling me in my school uniform (I'm still smiling awkwardly in my current passport photograph - I find it very unsettling and uncomfortable to pose for a snap. My father actually dances behind the photographer's back to elicit a genuine smile from me!) Hall tickets from exams long forgotten, class notes with poems scribbled in the margins, friendship bands. Playing cards, hundreds of games of noughts and crosses. A naughty love letter with no name on it. A small teddy bear with a heart that says "I love you" (And before you ask, no, I don't know who gave it to me.)
Notes that were passed to me in school. Caricatures of teachers, scraps of stilted poetry, arguments about cricket, snide comments about classmates.
Birthday cards. Lots of them. From friends who cared about me, and whom I cared about. Friends whom I am now no more it touch with, friends who are consigned to the photo album and video archive of a part of my memory marked 'nostalgia'. Friends whom I want to contact, want to make a part of my life once more but don't know how.
Declarations of undying friendship, comradeship, passionate promises to stick together through thick and thin, to go through life together laughing, drinking, enjoying life to the fullest, together, always. From people whose faces I don't remember, whose names I can't place.
Acceptance letters and Proceedings of conferences where I presented my papers, the culmination of months of slogging. Recommendation letters (written by me, given the once over and signed by the accomodating profs in my department), acceptance letters from US universities that I gave up on to pursue an MBA.
A miniature BMW car. From a friend who asked me what I wanted most in life. At that point in time, cool dude that I was (OK, I'm stretching things a bit, but what the heck, it's my blog! I'm allowed to pump my image, given no one else will.), I responded I'd like a sleek shiny BMW. And whaddya know, that's exactly what she got me for my birthday.
And a small, beautiful earring left behind by a girl my classmates and I saw years ago under a waterfall in Coorg. A keepsake from a time of crazy, inexplicable adolescent rushes.
All making me wish I could go back in time, to ten years ago. When life was so much more fun. When everything was so much less complicated. When I knew less and therefore worried less. When I was less cynical and depressed about the world, about society and my place in it. And when I felt more secure and more at peace than, probably, any time since.
Sunday, May 27, 2007
Interesting ad...
I've been meaning to mention this earlier, but it's always slipped my mind...
I've seen this advertisement for Deccan Chronicle newspaper (which has grown at a phenomenal rate of 30% p.a. in Tamil Nadu the last two years) on quite a few hoardings around the city of late.
Does it really mean to communicate what I think it does, or do I just have a dirty mind?
I've seen this advertisement for Deccan Chronicle newspaper (which has grown at a phenomenal rate of 30% p.a. in Tamil Nadu the last two years) on quite a few hoardings around the city of late.
Does it really mean to communicate what I think it does, or do I just have a dirty mind?
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
License to... kill?
Yesterday, I accompanied my brother to his driving tests, to get his Motorcycle With Gear (MCWG) and Light Motor Vehicle (LMV) licences. The tests were simple enough. For a bike, one had to execute a figure of eight and a U-turn with the appropriate hand signals (left, right, stop) without resting one's feet on the ground. And for a car, all one had to do was drive 100 metres on the road near the testing office. Simple. Too simple?
In my opinion, the test for a motorcycle is sufficient. The ability to execute sharpish turns with a reasonable degree of confidence is probably good enough to serve as an indicator of a candidate's ability to drive. Once the basic maneuvering is in place, driving a bike on any terrain or under any condition is not very difficult.
The test for a licence to drive a car/LMV, however, is another matter altogether.
Driving a car down a straight road for 100 meters is hardly a test of driving ability. I am reminded of the driving tests my parents and their friends went through to get a licence in Dubai, where I spent my childhood. There, the entire affair was a painfully thorough one that tested multiple aspects of a driver's capability to handle a car. From what I've been told by those who've gone through it, some of the tests involved are as follows.
Test 1: Theory
This was an oral/written test on traffic signals, road signs, driving etiquette and what-if scenarios. The RTOs in Tamil Nadu (I don't know how things work in other states - in India, Driver and Vehicle registration is a State subject - but I guess it must be similar) check only one's knowledge of the road signs.
Test 2: Parking
This test comprises of two subtests, if I may use the term. One was garage parking, where the candidate had to back in to a small garage sized space, drive out, and then drive forward into the garage and back out of it. The second parking test was kerbside parking, which was a test of parallel parking on a street, and then taking the car out onto the street with the appropriate signals. I found that the only way in which the test I saw yesterday came remotely close to this was when the candidate had to pull out from the sidewalk onto the road. The ability to park straight (this test is critical given the tendency of people in Chennai to park every which way) is never tested, much less in reverse or at an angle.
Test 3: Hill
This is the one thing that occasionally worries me when I'm driving in Bangalore, my lack of experience with hills/slopes. I doubt I'll ever drive in San Francisco, but if I do it'll be a nightmare. In Dubai, the hill test evaluated a candidate's ability to start a car while on a hill/slope, drive up to the top and then drive downhill all in complete control of the car without it going off at any point in time. The candidate would then have to stop the car, start it again and go up the hill in reverse. Now that's a test.
Test 4: Road test
This involved about 20 to 40 minutes of driving around on the city roads, through intersections, roundabouts and the like to thoroughly test the candidate's ability to drive in all sorts of traffic conditions and all forms of road configurations.
All this is in stark contrast to the driving tests here. I didn't too well on my driving test a few years ago (the car stalled twice - once because I got stuck in a ditch and didn't accelerate enough and the other because it just wasn't my day.) Not to put too fine a point on it, I failed the test. All it took was a Rs. 100 bribe and I got my licence anyways. It was only after that that I really learnt how to drive confidently, thanks to long drives in the city with my father. I had attended some classes before the test, but I was far from a finished product at that time. So, in spite of not being able to drive 100 meters (hey, it included a turn!), I obtained a licence that was valid for 20 years!
Neighbouring Pakistan has an interesting policy, the Graduated Licensing System. If Government sources are to be believed, a driver is issued a probationary licence on passing his driving test, and this gets converted into a permanent licence after two years only if the driver hasn't committed any traffic violations in that period. In addition, there are some intermediate traffic classes every licence holder is expected to take in this period. From what I've read the system is just as corrupt there but it appears to be better, atleast on paper, and more geared towards issuing licences to those who can actually drive.
Sweden, Finland and the UK have specific guidelines on the number of hours of classes/instruction a candidate must undergo with a qualified instructor prior to testing and/or specific traffic courses every candidate must take (such as one on hazards). Australia, New Zealand and Canada have a series of licences which increasing probation timespans that one has to earn based on how long on has been driving without incident. Most developed countries have similar checks in place to regulate licence issue through either stringest testing criteria or more rational issuance of licences. [Source]
Reports indicate that the number of accidents is constantly on the rise (that's not very surprising). In India, on average one person dies every hour in road accidents. Tamil Nadu features six road accidents per hour. [Source] As an increasing percentage of the population gets their own wheels in these economically fantastic and consumerist times, it is imperative that some care is taken by the authorities to ensure that licences are issued to those who can really drive, and drive responsibly.
Someone could get killed.
N.B. Although I bribed my way to a licence, I am now a confident and capable driver with five years of driving experience. That said, my brother (with an official driving experience of one day) is probably better then me. Ah well, it isn't the first time the student has bettered the teacher ;)
In my opinion, the test for a motorcycle is sufficient. The ability to execute sharpish turns with a reasonable degree of confidence is probably good enough to serve as an indicator of a candidate's ability to drive. Once the basic maneuvering is in place, driving a bike on any terrain or under any condition is not very difficult.
The test for a licence to drive a car/LMV, however, is another matter altogether.
Driving a car down a straight road for 100 meters is hardly a test of driving ability. I am reminded of the driving tests my parents and their friends went through to get a licence in Dubai, where I spent my childhood. There, the entire affair was a painfully thorough one that tested multiple aspects of a driver's capability to handle a car. From what I've been told by those who've gone through it, some of the tests involved are as follows.
Test 1: Theory
This was an oral/written test on traffic signals, road signs, driving etiquette and what-if scenarios. The RTOs in Tamil Nadu (I don't know how things work in other states - in India, Driver and Vehicle registration is a State subject - but I guess it must be similar) check only one's knowledge of the road signs.
Test 2: Parking
This test comprises of two subtests, if I may use the term. One was garage parking, where the candidate had to back in to a small garage sized space, drive out, and then drive forward into the garage and back out of it. The second parking test was kerbside parking, which was a test of parallel parking on a street, and then taking the car out onto the street with the appropriate signals. I found that the only way in which the test I saw yesterday came remotely close to this was when the candidate had to pull out from the sidewalk onto the road. The ability to park straight (this test is critical given the tendency of people in Chennai to park every which way) is never tested, much less in reverse or at an angle.
Test 3: Hill
This is the one thing that occasionally worries me when I'm driving in Bangalore, my lack of experience with hills/slopes. I doubt I'll ever drive in San Francisco, but if I do it'll be a nightmare. In Dubai, the hill test evaluated a candidate's ability to start a car while on a hill/slope, drive up to the top and then drive downhill all in complete control of the car without it going off at any point in time. The candidate would then have to stop the car, start it again and go up the hill in reverse. Now that's a test.
Test 4: Road test
This involved about 20 to 40 minutes of driving around on the city roads, through intersections, roundabouts and the like to thoroughly test the candidate's ability to drive in all sorts of traffic conditions and all forms of road configurations.
All this is in stark contrast to the driving tests here. I didn't too well on my driving test a few years ago (the car stalled twice - once because I got stuck in a ditch and didn't accelerate enough and the other because it just wasn't my day.) Not to put too fine a point on it, I failed the test. All it took was a Rs. 100 bribe and I got my licence anyways. It was only after that that I really learnt how to drive confidently, thanks to long drives in the city with my father. I had attended some classes before the test, but I was far from a finished product at that time. So, in spite of not being able to drive 100 meters (hey, it included a turn!), I obtained a licence that was valid for 20 years!
Neighbouring Pakistan has an interesting policy, the Graduated Licensing System. If Government sources are to be believed, a driver is issued a probationary licence on passing his driving test, and this gets converted into a permanent licence after two years only if the driver hasn't committed any traffic violations in that period. In addition, there are some intermediate traffic classes every licence holder is expected to take in this period. From what I've read the system is just as corrupt there but it appears to be better, atleast on paper, and more geared towards issuing licences to those who can actually drive.
Sweden, Finland and the UK have specific guidelines on the number of hours of classes/instruction a candidate must undergo with a qualified instructor prior to testing and/or specific traffic courses every candidate must take (such as one on hazards). Australia, New Zealand and Canada have a series of licences which increasing probation timespans that one has to earn based on how long on has been driving without incident. Most developed countries have similar checks in place to regulate licence issue through either stringest testing criteria or more rational issuance of licences. [Source]
Reports indicate that the number of accidents is constantly on the rise (that's not very surprising). In India, on average one person dies every hour in road accidents. Tamil Nadu features six road accidents per hour. [Source] As an increasing percentage of the population gets their own wheels in these economically fantastic and consumerist times, it is imperative that some care is taken by the authorities to ensure that licences are issued to those who can really drive, and drive responsibly.
Someone could get killed.
N.B. Although I bribed my way to a licence, I am now a confident and capable driver with five years of driving experience. That said, my brother (with an official driving experience of one day) is probably better then me. Ah well, it isn't the first time the student has bettered the teacher ;)
Thursday, May 17, 2007
What are you looking for today?
When I starting blogging in November 2004, one of the first tools I added to my blog was a hit counter. And no, this isn't leading to a bad joke about how many people have hit me for my posts, or a worse one about females hitting on me. Which, if my recent life is evidence, really is a joke.
Anyways, this hit counter thingy has proved to be one of the wisest decisions in my brief online life, and has helped me answer some very fundamental questions:
How many people are actually reading my crap?
Nearly 31000 to date!
Where are all these wierdos coming from?
60 countries worldwide, from Brunei to Guam; if you prefer it alphabetically, Australia to Venezuela.
How do they get here?
About 30% through referrals from friends' blogs, and a further 40% through online searches
What are the poor Googlers (86%) or Yahooers (10%) looking for?
That, dear reader, is the subject of this post.
A casual perusal of the search strings unsuspecting victims have used to arrive at my blog reveals that my blog is a veritable hotspot when it comes to certain topics. These search strings / keywords can broadly be classified as below
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
2. Rain and, more importantly, Zeenat Aman (note to self: buy a bowl to catch drool)
3. All things Keralite (OK, I'm exaggerating a little... but it's true!)
4. The Bangash brothers. And their love lifes.
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned (the most varied and interesting category!)
I know that's a rather large set of classifications, but what the heck... I've got time on my hands and if you're actually reading this blog, you obviously do as well. So let's take a look at them in just a little more detail... and, as a disclaimer, every search string I've mentioned below really, truly has been used to get to my blog!
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
This makes sense, given the fact that a very large number of my posts (about 25% of them) are directly about the IIMs, or mention them in some way.
Some stumble onto this blog looking for advice ("decide iim kozhikode indore 2005", "why join iim kozhikode?", "which iim to join lucknow kozhikode interview"), some looking for information ("IIM Ahmedabad mess food", "life in IIM Ahmedabad dorm", "nice wildlife park near Ahmedabad") and some just have their own peculiar worries ("IIM Lucknow failure rate", "how to survive at IIM ahmedabad calcutta bangalore")
Most of these have landed on one of the following posts
- My fascinating experiences at the IIM interviews: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1 and Part 2
- My commentary on the mess at IIMA: Week 2 - whoooosh!
- My initial impressions, and the flora and fauna at IIMA: July 2005
2. Rain. And Zeenat Aman.
Now this is one thing I didn't expect at all. I have only written about Zeenat Aman in one post - this one - in the context of the rain, but any pervert or connoisseur (needless to say, I fall in the latter category) seems to drill straight to this.
Some of the subtle search strings used have been one variation or the other of "satyam sivam sundaram zeenat clips". But it's the one's that aren't quite as subtle that make for the most interesting reading such as the relatively acceptable "zeenat aman hot", the anatomically correct "satyam zeenat bosom" and the rather more passionate "satyam sivam zeenat aman wet dream". Here's hoping the generous mention of Zeenat Aman in this paragraph (6 times!) draws these Zeenatphiles evermore!
Zeenat Aman (number 7) apart, there are also a fair number of those who appear to share my love of rain (with search strings like "soft rain light drops" or "Zeenat in rain wet dance". Another massive draw is the title of the blog
Dum dum diga diga
Mausam bheega bheega which has brought loads of those searching for the lyrics to my blog. There is the occasional variation though, such as "wet smell of earth after rain Raj Kapoor" and "dum dum diga diga little girl kerala". Which brings us very smoothly (pat on back) to Classification #3.
3. All things Keralite
An astonishingly large number of people on the internet are running searches on strings that begin with the word 'mallu'. The search strings themselves range from the boring and cliched "mallu girls" to the mildly interesting "mallu beach party" and "gods own country parathas" to the confusing yet fascinatingly peotic "mallu pallu" What makes the whole thing even wierder is that I have barely mentioned anything mallu at all, much less about mallu pallus. All my blathering about anything remotely Keralite has been restricted to two posts
- An account of a fun trip to NIT Calicut: Omanakutty Chaikadapatti
- A very brief mention of a Malayalee interviewer from IIM Kozhikode: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1
4. The Bangash brothers
I have it on good authority that Amaan and Ayaan Ali Bangash are not single. I know it, you know it (now that I've told you), but there are loads of people out in Cyberspace who apparently do not know it. Which is why they end up at my post Sarod and Saarang begin with 'S' with hopeful pleas such as "Are the Bangash sarod brothers single?" and "ayaan ali bangash looking for girlfriend" Those who aren't necessary looking for a relationship have relatively staid search strings ("amaan ali bangash interview 2005", "bangash sarod iitm"), but there is a certain class of discerning blog visitors who are looking for the little extra something, as evidenced by those Googling "ayaan ali bangash banging girlfriend" or "bangash sarod player hot smooch". Oh well, it takes all types...
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
Apart from routine requests for "ranting swede" and "panchangam", some of the more interesting search strings that have led, quite understandably perhaps, to my blog are
- "iitians and girlfriends": Not something I can claim to be an expert on... but this is where it led to
- "sucked in paunch" : something I have a long history of experience with, and which made its blog debut here. Even as the days go by, I'm fighting a losing battle with my paunch, which is now firmly entrenched on a growth trajectory outwards and downwards. Sigh.
- "badly need to pee": Ah, a kindred soul! This leads unerringly to one of my more recent posts here. Nowadays, of course, I lose more fluids through incessant perspiration than either forced or natural excretion.
- "tuby heroine": I'm assuming this was meant to be tubby heroine... again, a term I've mentioned only once in 46 posts, here, in the context of Tamil film heroines. Come of think of it, tuby may not be too far off the mark, either... hmmm...
- "mosquito killing finland": Aah... this one's a personal favourite, only because it brings back pleasant memories of my early days in the blogosphere. I had discussed this fascinating contact sport in this post in November 2004.
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned
OK, now this beats comprehension. I have NO idea why the following search strings led to my blog... I've tried tracking them through Google but to no avail... try them yourselves if you have the time (which you do) and the inclination (which you probably don't), and do let me know if you can figure them out!
- "college guy jerking off"
- "maurice green weight statistics"
- "gay comic lord of the springs"
- "dream big and bedding and stars and blue"
- "joshi maths coaching lucknow"
- "winking giraffe video clip": This takes the cake for most wierd and arbit search string to hit me ever. Ever.
So there you have it, dear reader. I've spouted all the data and statistics I have, much like a consultant report. Not that it's really going to do either of us any good. Except, of course, for the fact that I might just get more Zeenat Aman hits from now on!
Anyways, this hit counter thingy has proved to be one of the wisest decisions in my brief online life, and has helped me answer some very fundamental questions:
How many people are actually reading my crap?
Nearly 31000 to date!
Where are all these wierdos coming from?
60 countries worldwide, from Brunei to Guam; if you prefer it alphabetically, Australia to Venezuela.
How do they get here?
About 30% through referrals from friends' blogs, and a further 40% through online searches
What are the poor Googlers (86%) or Yahooers (10%) looking for?
That, dear reader, is the subject of this post.
A casual perusal of the search strings unsuspecting victims have used to arrive at my blog reveals that my blog is a veritable hotspot when it comes to certain topics. These search strings / keywords can broadly be classified as below
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
2. Rain and, more importantly, Zeenat Aman (note to self: buy a bowl to catch drool)
3. All things Keralite (OK, I'm exaggerating a little... but it's true!)
4. The Bangash brothers. And their love lifes.
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned (the most varied and interesting category!)
I know that's a rather large set of classifications, but what the heck... I've got time on my hands and if you're actually reading this blog, you obviously do as well. So let's take a look at them in just a little more detail... and, as a disclaimer, every search string I've mentioned below really, truly has been used to get to my blog!
1. Things to do with IIM. And not just Ahmedabad.
This makes sense, given the fact that a very large number of my posts (about 25% of them) are directly about the IIMs, or mention them in some way.
Some stumble onto this blog looking for advice ("decide iim kozhikode indore 2005", "why join iim kozhikode?", "which iim to join lucknow kozhikode interview"), some looking for information ("IIM Ahmedabad mess food", "life in IIM Ahmedabad dorm", "nice wildlife park near Ahmedabad") and some just have their own peculiar worries ("IIM Lucknow failure rate", "how to survive at IIM ahmedabad calcutta bangalore")
Most of these have landed on one of the following posts
- My fascinating experiences at the IIM interviews: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1 and Part 2
- My commentary on the mess at IIMA: Week 2 - whoooosh!
- My initial impressions, and the flora and fauna at IIMA: July 2005
2. Rain. And Zeenat Aman.
Now this is one thing I didn't expect at all. I have only written about Zeenat Aman in one post - this one - in the context of the rain, but any pervert or connoisseur (needless to say, I fall in the latter category) seems to drill straight to this.
Some of the subtle search strings used have been one variation or the other of "satyam sivam sundaram zeenat clips". But it's the one's that aren't quite as subtle that make for the most interesting reading such as the relatively acceptable "zeenat aman hot", the anatomically correct "satyam zeenat bosom" and the rather more passionate "satyam sivam zeenat aman wet dream". Here's hoping the generous mention of Zeenat Aman in this paragraph (6 times!) draws these Zeenatphiles evermore!
Zeenat Aman (number 7) apart, there are also a fair number of those who appear to share my love of rain (with search strings like "soft rain light drops" or "Zeenat in rain wet dance". Another massive draw is the title of the blog
Mausam bheega bheega
3. All things Keralite
An astonishingly large number of people on the internet are running searches on strings that begin with the word 'mallu'. The search strings themselves range from the boring and cliched "mallu girls" to the mildly interesting "mallu beach party" and "gods own country parathas" to the confusing yet fascinatingly peotic "mallu pallu" What makes the whole thing even wierder is that I have barely mentioned anything mallu at all, much less about mallu pallus. All my blathering about anything remotely Keralite has been restricted to two posts
- An account of a fun trip to NIT Calicut: Omanakutty Chaikadapatti
- A very brief mention of a Malayalee interviewer from IIM Kozhikode: I look at James Bond's boss Part 1
4. The Bangash brothers
I have it on good authority that Amaan and Ayaan Ali Bangash are not single. I know it, you know it (now that I've told you), but there are loads of people out in Cyberspace who apparently do not know it. Which is why they end up at my post Sarod and Saarang begin with 'S' with hopeful pleas such as "Are the Bangash sarod brothers single?" and "ayaan ali bangash looking for girlfriend" Those who aren't necessary looking for a relationship have relatively staid search strings ("amaan ali bangash interview 2005", "bangash sarod iitm"), but there is a certain class of discerning blog visitors who are looking for the little extra something, as evidenced by those Googling "ayaan ali bangash banging girlfriend" or "bangash sarod player hot smooch". Oh well, it takes all types...
5. Off-beat things that I have mentioned once in a while
Apart from routine requests for "ranting swede" and "panchangam", some of the more interesting search strings that have led, quite understandably perhaps, to my blog are
- "iitians and girlfriends": Not something I can claim to be an expert on... but this is where it led to
- "sucked in paunch" : something I have a long history of experience with, and which made its blog debut here. Even as the days go by, I'm fighting a losing battle with my paunch, which is now firmly entrenched on a growth trajectory outwards and downwards. Sigh.
- "badly need to pee": Ah, a kindred soul! This leads unerringly to one of my more recent posts here. Nowadays, of course, I lose more fluids through incessant perspiration than either forced or natural excretion.
- "tuby heroine": I'm assuming this was meant to be tubby heroine... again, a term I've mentioned only once in 46 posts, here, in the context of Tamil film heroines. Come of think of it, tuby may not be too far off the mark, either... hmmm...
- "mosquito killing finland": Aah... this one's a personal favourite, only because it brings back pleasant memories of my early days in the blogosphere. I had discussed this fascinating contact sport in this post in November 2004.
6. Weird things I have NEVER mentioned
OK, now this beats comprehension. I have NO idea why the following search strings led to my blog... I've tried tracking them through Google but to no avail... try them yourselves if you have the time (which you do) and the inclination (which you probably don't), and do let me know if you can figure them out!
- "college guy jerking off"
- "maurice green weight statistics"
- "gay comic lord of the springs"
- "dream big and bedding and stars and blue"
- "joshi maths coaching lucknow"
- "winking giraffe video clip": This takes the cake for most wierd and arbit search string to hit me ever. Ever.
So there you have it, dear reader. I've spouted all the data and statistics I have, much like a consultant report. Not that it's really going to do either of us any good. Except, of course, for the fact that I might just get more Zeenat Aman hits from now on!
Sunday, April 29, 2007
I rant without standing on ceremony
Today, I attended a function in the family, a sacred thread ceremony (Upanayanam) for a cousin. As in all other Tamil Brahmin ceremonies I have attended (or been forced to attend)
over the years, this required me to wake up at the unearthly time of 0430 hrs. This, the morning after the Cricket World Cup finals. The religious festivities were apparently scheduled to start at six. This got me thinking, and led me to pose a very profound question - "Why the HELL does everything have to be so early?!".
I vaguely remember my own Upanayanam (I think it was about 13-14 years ago). I was shaken awake at a similar ungodly hour and was tortured with a series of rituals I had no idea about. (The jolly course of things also included standing around for hours at end smiling at people I'd never met before - and probably never met since - and multiple baths in @#$#$@ly cold water.) The same early start principle was applied to weddings (not mine, of course), house-warming ceremonies, exclusive TamBrahm bingo sessions, EVERYTHING. Apparently that (by which I mean the period of 5 to 7 ante the freakin' meridian) is a very good time for the Gods, my reliable sources tell me. I guess the Gods work on American time.
My usual course of action at any such function, including marriages, is simple. I walk in with bleary eyes, glare at everyone around me, give the obligatory What-Ho to the (un)lucky boy/couple and head for the food. However, if I were to take a minute, sit down, take a deep breath and try to actually cast my mind back and recall the scenes of the various functions, smaller details come to mind... little things that appear, unfailingly, in every tableau of such an event. A wedding (or, yes, an Upanayanam) would not be a wedding (or, yes, an Upanayanam) without these.
If you were to give me an untold sum of money and say, "Go forth AC/Kaka/Arvind/whatever-moniker-you-know-me-by, and throw me a typical TamBrahm wedding!" I would ensure the presence of the following
a. Food. Lots of food.
b. Several middle to old aged ladies, commonly referred to as maamis (singular: maami).
c. Several arbitrary children running around at random.
Other add-ons such as the priest, the gifts and the poor saps actually getting married are practically a sideshow in the face of the above three constituents.
Let's take them one at a time
a. Food. Lots of food.
- "More rasam!"
- "Water, dammit, water!"
- "There's a hair in my payasam!"
- "Has anyone seen my bride?"
Their phenomenal Logistics Management would put RaviC to shame. Armed with nothing but
- an array of eversilver (stainless steel) utensils,
- stentorian voices that wouldn't be out of place in a military exercise,
- a dynamic memory of which diner of the 300 in the hall was last served what dish, and
- a patented method of tucking their dhotis so that they never unravel,
they travel the world serving up a storm... on call 24x7 to cater to your TamBrahm wedding.
b. Several middle to old aged ladies, commonly referred to as maamis (singular: maami).
They are in general pleasant people whom you would be inclined to dismiss as gentle, harmless and rather ineffective in any sphere of human activity. At your peril! Gentle they are, indeed. Harmless would describe them to a T (or a filter kaapi). But completely ineffective they are not, for there is one activity in which their collective might is unparalleled... match-making! And no, I do not mean either the incendiary device or the sporting encounter, so can the sad jokes.
Any function is a beehive of information exchange, and God help any eligible bachelor or bachelorette who steps into the area. If a personable young chap in his mid 20s were to walk into such a gathering, all conversation would freeze, and the air would be as thick as the special wedding payasam with expectation. All the maamis would instantly swivel around to focus on him, size him up, figure out who they knew of in need of a groom ("He'd be a good match for Radha's second cousin's daughter-in-law's granddaughter, no? Such a sweet girl... and he's an MBA! Let's exchange addresses!") Marriages aren't made in heaven, they're made in maamiland. I can imagine the computing power behind all the contemporary matrimonial
websites, much like Google's Pigeon Rank, except this is probably no prank!
c. Several arbitrary children running around at random.
This is a universal phenomenon, one that is seen at every occasion across geographies, religions, races and sexual orientations. One only needs to step into any marriage hall and take a look at the hordes of screaming children to realise the Government's family planning initiatives aren't working. (So what's happening to all the free Govt distributed condoms? Well, the next time you attend a Govt party and there's a water balloon fight with astonishingly strong balloons...)
The children don't even seem to have a plan. They merely run around in circles, weaving through the throng skilfully, taking a minor detour to step on my toes. Some chase each other, others merely follow a mental path all by themselves. At least one child will have his arms outstretched like an aeroplane. At least one child will be dressed in an obviously uncomfortable mini-three-piece-suit. And at least one will be crying. Exactly which child is crying will never be known, but it will continue to haunt one as the evening's background theme. I am inclined to believe this faceless lachrymator is the same one who follows me on every train or plane I board in my life, letting loose his 140 decibel bawl exactly two microseconds before I drift into a much-needed nap. Maybe this kid and the others are not kids at all. Maybe they're machines, programmed to run around aimlessly, yell at the top of their voices and bang against your knee every 2.15 minutes. That would explain how they are present in the hundreds at every event, and yet India's population isn't a gazillion. Technology rocks.
To those who are still reading this, thank you. I'm done. Really. Whew.
over the years, this required me to wake up at the unearthly time of 0430 hrs. This, the morning after the Cricket World Cup finals. The religious festivities were apparently scheduled to start at six. This got me thinking, and led me to pose a very profound question - "Why the HELL does everything have to be so early?!".
I vaguely remember my own Upanayanam (I think it was about 13-14 years ago). I was shaken awake at a similar ungodly hour and was tortured with a series of rituals I had no idea about. (The jolly course of things also included standing around for hours at end smiling at people I'd never met before - and probably never met since - and multiple baths in @#$#$@ly cold water.) The same early start principle was applied to weddings (not mine, of course), house-warming ceremonies, exclusive TamBrahm bingo sessions, EVERYTHING. Apparently that (by which I mean the period of 5 to 7 ante the freakin' meridian) is a very good time for the Gods, my reliable sources tell me. I guess the Gods work on American time.
My usual course of action at any such function, including marriages, is simple. I walk in with bleary eyes, glare at everyone around me, give the obligatory What-Ho to the (un)lucky boy/couple and head for the food. However, if I were to take a minute, sit down, take a deep breath and try to actually cast my mind back and recall the scenes of the various functions, smaller details come to mind... little things that appear, unfailingly, in every tableau of such an event. A wedding (or, yes, an Upanayanam) would not be a wedding (or, yes, an Upanayanam) without these.
If you were to give me an untold sum of money and say, "Go forth AC/Kaka/Arvind/whatever-moniker-you-know-me-by, and throw me a typical TamBrahm wedding!" I would ensure the presence of the following
a. Food. Lots of food.
b. Several middle to old aged ladies, commonly referred to as maamis (singular: maami).
c. Several arbitrary children running around at random.
Other add-ons such as the priest, the gifts and the poor saps actually getting married are practically a sideshow in the face of the above three constituents.
Let's take them one at a time
a. Food. Lots of food.
- "More rasam!"
- "Water, dammit, water!"
- "There's a hair in my payasam!"
- "Has anyone seen my bride?"
Their phenomenal Logistics Management would put RaviC to shame. Armed with nothing but
- an array of eversilver (stainless steel) utensils,
- stentorian voices that wouldn't be out of place in a military exercise,
- a dynamic memory of which diner of the 300 in the hall was last served what dish, and
- a patented method of tucking their dhotis so that they never unravel,
they travel the world serving up a storm... on call 24x7 to cater to your TamBrahm wedding.
b. Several middle to old aged ladies, commonly referred to as maamis (singular: maami).
They are in general pleasant people whom you would be inclined to dismiss as gentle, harmless and rather ineffective in any sphere of human activity. At your peril! Gentle they are, indeed. Harmless would describe them to a T (or a filter kaapi). But completely ineffective they are not, for there is one activity in which their collective might is unparalleled... match-making! And no, I do not mean either the incendiary device or the sporting encounter, so can the sad jokes.
Any function is a beehive of information exchange, and God help any eligible bachelor or bachelorette who steps into the area. If a personable young chap in his mid 20s were to walk into such a gathering, all conversation would freeze, and the air would be as thick as the special wedding payasam with expectation. All the maamis would instantly swivel around to focus on him, size him up, figure out who they knew of in need of a groom ("He'd be a good match for Radha's second cousin's daughter-in-law's granddaughter, no? Such a sweet girl... and he's an MBA! Let's exchange addresses!") Marriages aren't made in heaven, they're made in maamiland. I can imagine the computing power behind all the contemporary matrimonial
websites, much like Google's Pigeon Rank, except this is probably no prank!
c. Several arbitrary children running around at random.
This is a universal phenomenon, one that is seen at every occasion across geographies, religions, races and sexual orientations. One only needs to step into any marriage hall and take a look at the hordes of screaming children to realise the Government's family planning initiatives aren't working. (So what's happening to all the free Govt distributed condoms? Well, the next time you attend a Govt party and there's a water balloon fight with astonishingly strong balloons...)
The children don't even seem to have a plan. They merely run around in circles, weaving through the throng skilfully, taking a minor detour to step on my toes. Some chase each other, others merely follow a mental path all by themselves. At least one child will have his arms outstretched like an aeroplane. At least one child will be dressed in an obviously uncomfortable mini-three-piece-suit. And at least one will be crying. Exactly which child is crying will never be known, but it will continue to haunt one as the evening's background theme. I am inclined to believe this faceless lachrymator is the same one who follows me on every train or plane I board in my life, letting loose his 140 decibel bawl exactly two microseconds before I drift into a much-needed nap. Maybe this kid and the others are not kids at all. Maybe they're machines, programmed to run around aimlessly, yell at the top of their voices and bang against your knee every 2.15 minutes. That would explain how they are present in the hundreds at every event, and yet India's population isn't a gazillion. Technology rocks.
To those who are still reading this, thank you. I'm done. Really. Whew.
Thursday, April 26, 2007
To pee or not to pee is hardly the question
There is something extremely disconcerting about having to pee on demand. We have spent a lifetime learning to control the urge to relief ourselves, crossing our legs and thinking desperately of anything but a loo to avoid embarassing ourselves on trains, in classes, at a shop or whereever. We have been schooled to a reasonably high-degree of self restraint, and have built the ability to hold on (and I mean that in a purely figurative sense!) until an appropriate opportunity to pee presents itself. Forcing the mind to work the other way - encouraging a tinkle - simply does not work, and disproves everything psychosomatists have ever said about the mind influencing the body.
Alright, backtrack. I realise a little explanation is in order, some elaboration on the context of this sudden discourse of urination. A few days ago, I went for a medical checkup, just a routine formality. And one component of it required a urine sample. So there I was, banished into a fairly spacious and well-maintained bathroom, with a little transparent plastic container in my hand that I was supposed to have brimming in a minute. The kindly nurse asked me to leave my bottle (with my name stuck on it in what I felt was a completely unncecessarily large font) on the rack along with the samples of others who'd been through it before me.
I don't know why, but it's always in times like this that I truly come to understand what performance anxiety is. There's nothing particularly complex about micturition. I've spent a good number of my mornings involved in the activity. At one time, I was so good at it I did it in my sleep. And yet, on this one day when I needed it to happen... nothing. It was embarassing, it was frustrating, it was frightening. And it's not the kind of situation you want to face at eight thirty in the morning on an empty stomach.
I balefully eyed the other samples lined up against the wall, in their varying shades of yellow. All the containers had fetchingly colored caps (red, blue, pink...) that did nothing for my mood. The whole arrangement looked straight out of a Asian Paints commercial ("Presenting the widest choice in India - blue, red and 37 shades of yellow!") They seemed to be mocking me, all of them filled well over the 75% mark with the morning cheer of random strangers. And here I was struggling to do my bit...
Add to this the fact that the mouth of the container was agonizingly small, which essentially made the whole exercise less of a clinical activity and more target practice, and I was - if I may be pardoned the pun - thoroughly pissed. What kinds of thoughts and images would one need to conjure in such a situation to ensure the job got done? This wasn't as simple as in the case of a blood donation (where you manfully steeled your features and silently yelled blue murder in your head while someone stuck a smacking big metal stick in you) or a sperm donation (where... erm... ahem.). I had to fall back on memories of feared exams, near accidents and other such incidents that had caused me, at those times, to come close to wetting my pants. I don't know if this is what worked but five minutes later, I found the container not entirely empty. The level of fluid in there wasn't anywhere near as much as in the the bottles along the wall, but I didn't care. Just how much would they need to test anyways? I zipped up and zipped out.
It's easy for this guy, his Government pays to ensure he pees. But mere mortals like you and I must fend for ourselves, and make the best of a messy situation. Sigh.
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