Some weddings aren't worth the weight

I have three TamBrahm friends getting married in the near future. All male. And all of them have planned, in addition to the usual wedding preparations, to tone up so as to not embarass themselves when in half-naked glory on D-Day.

Without further ado, then, here is my latest bit of extremely scientific analysis:

Emotional Atyachaar

(Note: features some literal translation from Tamil)

On a visit home recently...

Aged Relative (AR): Vaada, va. How are you? Are you eating properly?

Me: Yes, don't worry, I'm eating properly

AR: How is work?

Me: Yes, yes. Work is going. How are you? Are you without ailment?

AR: Something, I exist. When are you going to get married?

Me (sighing): We'll see, paati, there's time

AR: What, pa. Simply don't keep saying this. Age has happened, you should get married.

Me: What, paati... where has age happened...

AR: You must. Only if you get married now, two years from now can have a child-small, before you are thirty

Me: Child-small-a! Little too much, no? Let the marriage happen first

AR: Listen to what I'm saying, da. I am alive only to see you get married and settled with a nice girl

Me (seeing the loophole and swooping in to win the argument): Aha! If you are with life only for that... I don't want you to die, so I shouldn't get married!

AR: Ada poda... In comparison to living unhappy, dying happy is so much better!

Me (flummoxed): ... (retire at a loss for words)

The Statue of Lunacy

The Statue of Liberty is an iconic representation of the USA, greeting visitors as they touch its shores.

If Mumbai's politicians have their way, India will have it's own such statue - one of Chhatrapati Shivaji, the great warrior king. Shivaji is probably one of India's greatest homegrown historical heroes, and also the historical figure most misused for political gains today.

The statue will stand 2 kilometers into the sea, off the coast of Mumbai. It will rise over 300 meters (about 30 storeys) and will be accessible only by ferry, a la the Statue of Liberty.

All that's fine and well, but here's the rub - the project is estimated to cost a whopping Rs 100 crore. That's 1000000000 Indian Rupees. This, from a state government that is already reeling under debt worth an estimated 2 lakh crores (2000000000000 Indian Rupees). But not to worry, the Government has done its homework. When questioned, the Chief Minister apparently sought to reassure the public about the sound financial planning behind the decision with the statement, "That (100 crores) is not a problem in our budget. It's for Shivaji Maharaj after all!" Wonderful.

Enough has been said at various forums about the urgent need for development works in Mumbai. The 100 year old drainage system that needs an overhaul and not annual patchwork. The suitable clearing and resettlement of slum lands to provide relief to the space-starved city. Large scale transport infrastructure projects to reduce the crippling pressure on the local train systems (there are grand plans for several arching bridges - a la the Bandra Worli Sealink - a metro and possibly new bus systems). And the urgent upgradation required of the water systems to curtail losses from leaks and pilferage (which some estimate at as high as 40%). Outside of Mumbai, farmers are committing suicide due to lack of support for agriculturists in hard times, and Maharashtra has one of the worst records among India's states for child health and malnutrition. And there are a host of other issues, I'm sure.

And what does the government do? Pour taxpayers' money into an unnecessary statue. Now Shivaji was a great leader, and deserves to be celebrated... as he already is, with thousands of statues and memorials across Maharashtra. But even he would be appalled at the sheer lunacy of this scheme. In spite of all the ways this money could be put to better use, the State Government has considered it prudent to greenlight this ambitious proposal.

Good governance and good sense is tossed out the window in the face of political posturing. Idiots.

Well, if Mumbai can put up a larger than life statue of Shivaji, we in Chennai can do it too. Won't it be awesome to see this statue rising out of the sea just off the Marina?

Random thoughts on inter-cultural love/marriage

Over the last year or so, several people I have known (worked with, studied with, laughed with, cried with, lamented life with, celebrated life with) have gotten married.

I've received numerous invitations, and much as I'd like to have been able to attend all of them (especially those of classmates from SVCE or IIMA), being a working professional and having to earn one's salary has got in the way just a little. Plus the not-insignificant flight costs, although that's much less of a consideration.

What's struck me as an interesting feature of these marriages is the fact in a majority of the cases, the couple met, fell in love, and decided to get married even though they were from different cultural backgrounds. In other words, these were 'love marriages', as several relatively (in many ways) orthodox people I know of say with a disdainful look in their eyes and a pursing of their lips.

In a country where the concept of arranged marriages has long held sway as the right and proper and honourable way of setting up an alliance, I see this as an interesting shift in mindset. It's not surprising that it's happened among people of my generation - it was bound to, given the kind of influences and stimuli we are fed thanks to our global outlook, and the renewed desire to be seen as independent and deciding one's life. What's surprising (and, perhaps, heartening) is the fact that several parents (i.e. one generation up) are now willing to consider this.

Among the weddings I've been invited to (or have been told of) of late have been the following combination of cultures/religions
-> Tamil Brahmin - Maharashtrian
-> Tamil Brahmin (Iyer) - Tamil Brahmin (Iyengar) Yes, that's a fairly big deal too
-> Tamil Brahmin - Punjabi
-> Punjabi - Bengali
-> Bihari - Kannadiga
-> Punjabi - Gujarati

There have been several love marriages of people I know within the Tam Brahm community (I don't know what castes the couple belonged to; knowing that society, that would have been a huge cause for debate as well), as well as one Christian-Hindu marriage.

One of the couples above eloped to get married. As expected, there was a great deal of hand wringing and disowning and threatening police action on charges of kidnapping. The issue was settled with the girl's family disowning the couple, but the thaw is under way. If one were to go by a similar story of elopement in my extended family, fences will mend quicker once a child is on the way.

Some of my friends have had to fight for years to get their parents to agree to their choice of life partner. Some of the parents have gone as far as to threaten legal action if the inter-caste or inter-culture marriage was carried through. In some cases, the parents finally agreed (perhaps more out of resignation and a feeling that it was high time their son/daughter got married). In others, the relationship broke off under the strain of dogged parental disapproval and years of insult and rebuke with a great deal of heartache, disappointment and loneliness for both parties. The parents, of course, were joyful at the split, seeing it as an opportunity to set their errant child upon their pre-approved, socially acceptable and appropriate path.

Almost all the married couples I have known who have had had love marriages over the last two to three years are very happy in their current lives.

All the examples I've quoted (or have experienced from any reasonable distance) have been of well educated, urban families. Both the good examples where the parents trusted their kids to make responsible decisions, and the bad ones where parents were heavy handed in their denial of freedom of choice. I'm not saying its bad/wrong of parents to disapprove - if your child is marrying a gold digger or drug addict, you have every right to object and steer them away from that path. As a parent you are probably mortally scared that your child might be making a big mistake that you find yourself powerless to stop. You're probably torn between the clashing instincts of protecting your baby and letting him/her stand on their own feet as individuals with self-thought. And that fear stems from love, affection and a desire to see your child have what's best for them and settled in a long happy marriage. But to denounce a relationship purely on the basis of caste or regional/culture considerations, especially in the current world of nuclear families where a couple does not have to live with the extended family, seems regressive, unfair and just plain unacceptable.

Often, a parent's views are defined by what society would think. "Oh, what will people say if I marry my good Tam Brahm daughter to a big loud Punjabi boy? I won't be able to hold my head up in society again!" Stereotypical associations kick in and there is a marked unwillingness to even meet or talk to the potential son/daughter in law, much less accept them into the family. There is probably a need to understand that the 'kid' is grown up too. I can understand concern about an 18 year old wanting to get married, but if your child is 24/25 and is atleast a little worldly-wise, a little trust and understanding is required. Love is no longer blind at that age, the attendant reponsibilities make one think long and hard before a commitment. No one wants to mess up their own life, and by that age, a certain sense of responsibility and accountability kicks in, which allows the 'kid' to make more rational, well thought out decisions. If one can legally make the choice to drink, drive, have sex or vote (although that doesn't always turn out too well), why not the choice to marry?

When weighing (potentially lower) social acceptance and what the neighbourhood maami gossip circuit thinks against a well thought out (and trust me, by a certain age it is well thought out) decision from one's child that he/she is convinced will bring happiness and stability, sometimes one just needs to say "Screw you, society. Screw you and your hypocritical, insular ways that steal a person's right to make his or her own decisions and give it to a bunch of stars and an archaic caste system."

Again, all this is in an urban context. And I firmly believe urban India is more progressive in this sense, more willing to accept these new fangled concepts of love that would have meant instant shame and ostracization a generation or two ago. Yes, even in urban India, one often reads about cases that come frighteningly close to honour killings... but one hopes that over perhaps one more generation, a greater level of tolerance and understanding will develop.


(Here's the story that triggered the train of thought leading to this post, although it's not directly related: The original story and the follow up. I also stumbled across a couple of interesting articles on inter caste marriages and a Christian-Muslim wedding.)



I've just read through what I've written, and I realise it's far from well written. As I am wont to do, I just spill thoughts out onto the screen, tilting against my windmills with little thought for wording, structure, readability and sometimes grammar. I see I've mixed tenses and first/second person views and written unbelievably long and sub-claused sentences. I've also been fairly harsh at some places. I apologize for the style (or lack thereof) of writing, but not the content. I do have a point to make, though, and I hope that's come out clearly enough.

This has been a productive week...

For two reasons. And no, I won't tell you both upfront. (Yes, it's a rather cheap tactic to keep you hooked with pseudo-suspense... but hey, what the heck.)

Number One

I watched Sivaji. Sivaji - The Boss. Finally. After all the hype and hysteria. After weeks of conversations with every new person I was introduced to that went more or less like this:
"So, Arvind, where're you from?"
"I'm from Chennai."
"Oh, you're a Tam, eh?"
"Yup!"
"Have you watched Sivaji?"
"Grrrr....."

My watching (or not watching) Sivaji became a proxy proof (or lack thereof) of my Tamizhness, and it seemed everyone and their uncle had watched the movie (including a European in my office!). Everyone except me.

Anyways, I watched it. And my God, Rajnikanth looks fantastically impossibly young. And in no avatar is he more astoundingly stylish than in his bald one. Right from the swishing of his coat to the tapping of his pate. Check these out (I apologize for putting up two heavy videos, but these are just too good to be missed!):







The movie itself was pretty standard. The usual man-takes-on-the-system stuff everyone's come to expect of the director, Shankar. A whole lot of jazz and unnecessary special effects, colours and dance sequences. I found the movie kind of slow in parts. And Rajni's comedy bits really weren't funny at all. All that pointless drivel about trying to make himself fair... (Yes, I get that he was cooking a snook at his own darkness. And yes, I know some people argue it is a brilliantly sharp insight into the psyche of the modern Indian male. Pointless drivel, all the same.) That said, Vivek totally rocks, even stealing the scene from Rajni on multiple occasions! And thankfully, it was slightly less about Rajni the superstar and a little more about Rajni the actor than is usual.

All in all, a fun one time watch. Or maybe two or three. Five if one is just watching the mottai Rajni parts.


Number Two

On the eve of India's 60th Independence Day, I learnt two new drinking games. Two really fun games.

I could describe them in detail (and possibly add some humour to this post!) but why reinvent the wheel when Wikipedia holds the patent? Sorry, that didn't come out as well as it sounded in my head. Anyways, check out the links below

Flip Cup and Beer pong

And just in case you were hoping for some photos of me stone drunk... nah, not happening. :)

Cheers!

Raindrops keep falling on my head...

... 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.

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 :)

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?

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 ;)

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.
Served by often shady looking yet enormously gifted cooks, helped by shadier looking but astoundingly organized chaps serving the hungry hordes. They juggle 30 different forms of dishes and answer to random calls such as
- "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.

Three months and thirteen days

To stretch luxuriantly, all alone, over a double bed.

To ride my bike like a maniac through the familiar potholed streets.

To raid a well stocked refrigerator at 3 in the morning.

To be fed all my favourite dishes.

To laugh with old friends over a lingering drink.

To sleep 14 hours at a stretch, and not feel guilty about it.

To know that, in a few hours, I will once again see the waves rippling onto the beach.

To have time to put up this post.

To work on a Hindu crossword for the first time in ages.

To have someone to cuddle up to when I'm cold.

To begin clearing the first of 467 unread emails and 104 unseen Orkut scraps.

To call up classmates from IIMA, and realise I miss them already.

To spend 40 minutes in the loo with a good book, and not worry about missing a class.

To watch the happiness on my parents' faces as I show them pictures of my life over the last three months.



To be back home.

Absence does make the heart grow fonder

I'm typing out this blogpost from home. In Chennai. I've been home about 30 hours now, and I realise how much I missed the people and places I had taken for granted earlier.

I zip around in the chaotic Chennai traffic with careful recklessness, feeling a strange sense of liberation as I feel my car leaping down East Coast Road (which, for the uninformed, connects Chennai to Pondicherry) under the touch of my feet on the accelerator. I trade colourful abuse with an irate autodriver, doing it with a smile on my lips and a song in my heart. I shake my head wonderingly at the sight of a potbellied policeman harassing a harmless urchin even as a PTC bus driver roars past the junction in blatant defiance of traffic laws. I sit on the beach, curling my toes in the crunchy sand and watching the timeless waves rising and ebbing, rising and ebbing, rising and ebbing...

It feels great to be back home, to catch up with old friends and see they haven't changed at all. To go to all my usual hangouts and relive memories of what were, in many cases, happier times. To learn of the problems, triumphs, romances, expectations, plans and adventures of all those who matter to me. To call up and rebond with friends who have left for foreign lands, pursuing dreams vastly different from mine. To test the strength of my emotions and relationships, even though its only been 11 weeks.

So much to do, so many people to meet, so many places to go, so much emotional baggage. I'm loving it. (Copyright, McDonalds')

But I also find myself, very strangely, missing IIMA. Already. So much so that I call up my classmates all over the country, just to ask them what's up. To hear their voices and feel the warm emotions that course through me as we both realise it's simply awesome to hear one another's voices again.

I think back over the last term at IIMA, supposedly the toughest grind one is likely to go through in one's two years at IIMA, perhaps through most of one's life. And I realise that what stands out, the memories that stick, are not of getting an F grade in a quiz, staying up several nights to complete assignments, long fruitless hours hammering away at a MANAC case where the accounts refuse to balance, crying in frustration over the workload, angering the Professor by sleeping in class, pages and pages of course material to cover overnight, desperate last minute rems from the acad studs in my class, being repeatedly told that we have to mug and mug and mug or else we will lose out in the race...

Nope, the images imprinted in my mind are of Antakshari at CT (Cafe TANSTAAFL) at 3 a.m., eating ice cream all alone at LKP (Louis Kahn Plaza) at night, sixty people shouting 'Aala Re Aala' as one, dancing in public and forgetting all the steps, walking around campus barefoot and in a dhoti/veshti (Why? All will be explained over the next few posts...), people sleeping on the desks in the classroom with a half coloured T-Nite banner as a sheet, chilling out with friends during power cuts, jiggying to arbit Punjabi songs (even in the presence of a Prof!), smiling understandingly at those who stare at me when I eat with my hands, celebrating birthdays with bumps followed by a mad dash for cake, discussing life with close friends until 5 in the morning, the entire class dressing up in formals just for the heck of it, tempo shouting till I lose my voice, surprising a half naked Oka in his room with a GUSSHOW and embarassing the two girls who were part of the group, putting up arbit replies to arbit responses to arbit posts on the Section NB in DBabble, cracking the most atrocious of PJs at the worst times possible...

Opening up to people and realizing that I need a shoulder to cry on just as much as the next person, sharing and caring like I never have before, getting used to the fact that I instinctively call my dorm room 'home', making friends and building relationships that really matter and that I hope will last all my life.

I love Chennai. I love IIMA.

Watch out...

The funniest letter my family has received in seven years. Found it when I was clearing my table, though I have no idea what it was doing there in the first place.

I live in T.Nagar, a locality of Chennai, India, that is a hotbed of politics and crime. And not just coz I live here.

Like all insecure apartment complex folk, we've hired a coupla watchmen from an agency. It never fails to amaze me that all watchmen I have come across are apparently on the wrong side of 60 and appear to suffer from creaky joints and amnesia. Fat lot of good they'd be if a burglar attacked the building. They're the kind who jump like jackrabbits even if the gate creaks. Is it jackrabbits I mean? Anyways, you could scare them shitless by creeping up behind them in broad daylight and whispering 'Boo!' in their hairy ears. You notice I haven't called them guards... Given the fact that they a) sit around all day watching the world go by, and b) would be useless in a real crisis, I think 'watch'men is far more appropriate. But maybe I'm being just a little too harsh. Our houses haven't been broken into yet, nor has anything been set on fire by outside agents. And only one guy has been kidnapped so far. (Not really... the police were called in but it was later discovered that he was lying somewhere drunk!) So maybe these watchmen are OK...

The following letter was sent to my mom (who's the Secretary of our Flat Owners Association) by the proprietor of the 'detective agency' that supplies the watchmen. (Note the impressive string of degrees after his name.) The entire family cracked up on reading this. The choice of words and the structure is priceless!

Check it out here. (Expand the image to regular size to read it.)

[Some details have been blacked out to prevent lawsuits/ embarassment/ withdrawal of service/ other undesirable occurences]

:D

Un Gotha Neeb Nick!

Last week I finally achieved something I've been dreaming of doing since the day I turned two and a half years old. I finally watched a Hungarian movie. And not just one. Now that I was doing it, I decided to go the whole way and watched two of them!

A large percentage of my rapidly dwindling readership is probably squinting at the screen in almost comic bewilderment and perplexity. "A Hungarian movie?!" you ask. "Why on earth would you want to do that?" And I counter with a rather clever (if I do say so myself) "Why not?" thereby leaving you stumped and gasping for breath at the sheer wit and perspicacity of the thrust. Not unlike the proverbial fish out of water, although you are unlikely to die as a result of my stunning counter (which, at the moment this goes to press (or the blog equivalent), stands at 8031). If you are new to this blog and don't get it, just take a deep breath and go read a complex passage on Advaitha. Then come back to this and life will seem a lot simpler. I seem to be rambling, and can't seem to stop. It's like some weird crazy demonic dude has taken control of my mind and fingers and is leading them on a merry little dance along my keyboard. Unceasing and unrelenting, indestructible and indigestible. Dead but not yet. Undead, actually. Wow. Advaitha.

Back to the Hungarian movies. The South Indian Film Chamber is a body that screens a wide variety of movies on a regular basis in Chennai. For just 450 Indian Rupees a year, you get a pass to all their film fests and special premiere screenings in Chennai. Last week was a Hungarian Film Festival. Not being able to watch the widely acclaimed tragicomedy Dad Goes Nuts, Anjana and I decided we'd watch a couple of movies that were played the day after the widely acclaimed tragicomedy Dad Goes Nuts which we were unable to watch during the Hungarian Film Festival organized by The South Indian Film Chamber. Am I repeating myself repeating myself?

The first movie was a really old one, of somewhat poor print. It began rather suddenly and went along at a blazing (and rather ununderstandable) pace for the first forty-five minutes. And then, just as I was beginning to get the hang of it, it ended. The movie was all about a group of farmers who believe in Communism, and challenge their landlord and the local authorities. Several levels of officialdom come to reason with them or threaten them but all fail. Potential imprisonment, mutilation of their limbs and the burning of their harvest does not deter the farmers. One batch of officials is bribed, another seduced and a third simply killed. And, in between each of these, they break into song and dance, usually with their arms across each others shoulders. Other activities include a certain harvest ritual which requires three nubile young girls to be stripped to the waist, and later dunked in a tub. Good fun. Also, they keep saying something like "Un Gotha Neeb Nick!" which means "Rights to the people!" I must say the music was actually very nice, as was the traditional dance... The ending was very well done - lots of symbolism. In the last few minutes, there is a mass massacre, and the last surviving communist shoots the commanding officer with a gun with a red ribbon tied around it. Actually, a pretty nice movie. Will try to find out what it's called.

The second, titled 'Forbidden Relationship' is a far more recent movie. Also, it's in color. Also, it was nowhere near as enjoyable as the first one. It deals wth the incestuous relationship between a woman and her half brother. When she first makes loves to the guy (he's a total stranger to the village; she's known him for about half an hour), she doesn't have a clue who she is. But when she later realises they're related, her love only grows stronger. She's a widow and he's a divorcee (with a slightly shady past to boot), and they find great warmth and understanding in each other. And quite a bit of physical love. They defy social mores and the law to get married. When they have a child however, the courts deem it illegal because the child may be born deformed and they are sent to prison. Separate ones. A year later, they meet again and presto, the second kid's on it's way. Prison again. And back for the next kid. They try to run away from the village, but are forced to return... it's a rather slow movie, but moving in parts. (I mean emotionally moving. Don't give me some crap about it being a moving picture.) Apparently, the movie's based on a true story...

So that was that. Two Hungarian movies in the space of three hours. Kinda fun actually, and decent air conditioned theater. My online research (read Google) hasn't really helped me understand their customs (especially in the first movie), but maybe, just maybe, a native Hungarian stopping by this site will help me out. Believe it or not, this site has actually received eleven visits from Hungary in the last six months! (StatCounter rocks!)

Next dream, an African movie, preferably from East Africa...

Close encounter

Today I was propositioned to (grammar check). For the first time in my life.

It happened like this. I had been to Jay's place last evening to work on our project (about which the less said the better), since we had our review this morning. After having decided on whatever we had to decide on (yes, we're gonna get screwed), I left around 11:20 p.m. The night was beautiful. Sultry and humid, as always, but when one is riding one's bike at a reasonably high speed, the resulting wind blowing on one's face feels heavenly.

Anyways, there I was, bowling along as happily as one can bowl along when worried to death about having another three hours of work before hitting the sack. At a slummish area near my house, I had to stop to allow three cows, two dogs and what I think was a chicken (it was a little dark at that spot; it might have been a plastic bag and not a chicken) to cross the road. And that's when I noticed a woman standing at the side of the road.

I couldn't see much of her, except that she was wearing a sari. And then, before my disbelieving eyes, she shifted the pallu of her sari provocatively. When I was still semi-reeling from this, she said, "Yennenga, venuma?" (which translates roughly to "Yo dude, want some?"). I was kinda shocked, to tell the truth. Kinda stunned. I stared at her for a couple of seconds, and she said, "Yennenga, vareengala?" ("You coming?") She took one step towards me, and I accelerated the hell out of there (the road having been cleared of all lifeforms by then).

Even now, almost 24 hours after the incident, I don't know what to make of it...

Life has certainly been anything but boring, of late!

Sarod and Saarang begin with 'S'

Sarod - a classical stringed instrument. Also a five letter word that is an anagram of 'roads'. That's all I knew about a sarod until last night. And the second point is not really of any use, knowledge-wise. Now I know that Amaan and Ayaan Ali Bangash (sons of maestro Ustad Amjad Ali Khan) play the sarod, and damn well at that.

Yup, I attended their concert at IIT last night. And it was mindblowing. The sheer beauty of the music and awesome skill of the performers held me enthralled for well over two hours. Two hours may not seem like a lot, but you can count the number of Hindustani concerts I've attended on the fingers of one hand where three fingers have been lost in a smelting accident.

The sarod itself looked pretty cool. Lots of tuning knobs and all that. (I'm sorry, I don't know any technical terms). And it shone at me from the distance of the stage, winking, as if to say, "Ha! You never knew I could create such music! Just watch! Or hear, to be more precise."

The concert started a little slowly. The first few pieces based on raag Kaanada (is that right?) were kinda mournfully slow. Not the sort of stuff that would fire up a listless crowd. In the first twenty minutes, I heard and saw several people 'packing' - a term which means 'giving up and leaving'. And just when it was beginning to get interesting, with a very nice piece involving the Ghatam, it began to rain. And in case you didn't know, it's an Open Air Theatre (OAT).

'Damn damn damn damn damn' is what I thought. Those were the precise words that flashed through my mind. Luckily the rain let up in about ten minutes, and the crowds surged back with loud roars and cheering. They came back on stage to massive applause and ear-splitting whistles, got settled, and gave me an experience of a lifetime.

The sarod itself is like a guitar in design and the way it's played, atleast from a layman's point of view. What really elevated the concert to heavenly heights were the accompaniments - Tabla and Ghatam. The performers (Sunder Das on Tabla and Umashankar on Ghatam) wove a stunning mesh of percussion delight. And both seemed to be having great fun on stage. A small note on each of them individually is in order, I think.

The Tabla guy was very good, especially in a piece where Amaan led him and he was supposed to copy Amaan's rhythm in a split second. Again, I don't now the term for that, but it was very very good. He was all concentration, and one could see he was completely immersed in his music. And when he successfully completed the piece, he gave a shy smile of pure pleasure and happiness that made me smile too.

The Ghatam guy was quite a character. I asked a friend why most Ghatam players are shaped like Ghatams themselves - big and round (though probably not hollow), and was told that's because they need to have meaty fingers to drum on the instrument, and a hell of a lot of stamina to last the concert. Well, the guy here was very round and funny. He kept shaking his head from side to side like a Chettiar Bommai. In addition, he kept dancing to the music (although he was seated) wriggling his arms, neck, shoulders and head in frenzied motions. He had a permanent pleased smile on his face (that said 'Look at me! I'm playing! Yay!), and seemed like a little kid playing with his favourite toy. And he played very very well. Especially a couple of solo pieces - very fast, with awesome variety of rhythm and pitch. He got the loudest applause at the end of the concert.

And when all four of them played together - heaven. Sheer listening pleasure. All in all a beautiful evening. A few hiccups - a delayed start (but hey, it's IIT), the rain delay and a fire in one of the stage lights. But a very very good beginning to Saarang 2005.

I'll be camping there atleast 10 hours a day over the next 5 days. Except for Monday, when our @$$^& college will conduct our $%&^ exams. Like every year.

Oh well, off to the Main Quiz prelims. See you there!