In a World of Magnets and Miracles..

we live.. and such an atrocity takes place. 174 people, 174 lives.. gone.. just like that. And hundreds more, injured.The blame game has been on for quite some time, and Pakistan was made the first scapegoat, as usual, though, again, as usual, evidence does point towards it. The home minister has offered to resign, though I cannot, for the life of me, see what good that will do. He offers to take "moral responsibility" for the attacks. Of what conceivable use is "moral responsibility" to any person affected? 

But indeed, what can bring back their losses? The compensation given by the government? There is absolutely no way. Gone, forever, because of some group called the deccan mujahideen. The Deccan Mujahideen. I don't really want to be bombed because I didnt capitalize their names. In a world that we claim is civilized, killing hundreds of other people to achieve their own ends.. that's just barbaric. Its animal.. They're animals. Animals. They're just a Waste Of Blood And Organs. 

There's absolutely nothing one can do about it. Nothing specific, anyway. Vigilance - that's just a generalized measure.. its like saying "Be careful..you don't want to get an infection.." Nobody wants to, but in case one comes along, the only thing that'll truly help is specific prevention: something, that's called specific prophylaxis, in medicine. And without that, we're helpless against any disease. Such as terrorism. There'll always be bad eggs in the world. Because, it takes all kinds to make a world. And that is something that'll always work against us. And something we'll always be afraid of. There isn't a cure for terrorism. All the world leaders talking about "abolishing" and "rooting out" terrorism, that isn't about to happen. Unless we submit to the demands of these chaps. And that isn't reasonable, either. The Bible does tell you to turn the other cheek. But it neglects to mention a course of action upon the other cheek being slapped.

PS: Yesterday's story was supposed to be today's post; this is an extra. 

Story Time!!!

"Sitha neram poruthuko ma, daaktarayya... serial pakkararama, vandhuduvaru", said the midwife, but Valliamma didnt feel like she could take it any longer, she just had to get it over with, but she knew at the same time that the doctor would be rough if he was disturbed in the middle of his serial, so she held on for life, her life and her baby's, held on to the slightly rusty side of the governmendaaspathri cot and closed her eyes... 

....The news that she was pregnant wasn't taken very well by Irumbu kadai Jagadeesu, her husband, because he wasn't in a receptive mood at that time. They were going through a financial rough spot, and he was brooding over the insulting tone that was used on him when he had bought the half bottle of maanitru and paid for it with his last change. "Nanri katta nayingala...kada aramchalendhu taily bichnesu kuduthugunu varen..", but the next morning, he hugged her tightly and called her his rasathi. 

He was a good man after all.  In the later months of her pregnancy, she hadn't been able to get up in the morning and cook for him, but he managed with attukaal soup and the occassional barotta-keema, even though they both knew it gave him loose motion every two days. He'd buy her the ripest of oranges, two every day, and set then next to her before he left. Her maamiyar, on the other hand, wasn't very pleasant, but she'd heard worse stories from her friends about theirs'. She was very vocal about wanting a boy baby, and left unsaid what'd happen otherwise. And how happy she was, when she learnt that it was indeed a boy! Her husband had to pay the scandaaktaru an atrocious sum of money to get him to reveal the sex of the baby, ignoring the big notice that they'd put up that it wasn't done in that hospital. 

After the great happy revelation, her maamiyar insisted on staying with them, doing the house work, and caring for her. Everyday, she'd tell stories about Janarthanan's son Kasi, who'd done a B.A and recently got a job at a government office, about Kasturi's nephew Kadirvel, who'd done a B.Sc and was now teaching at the local government school, and had got marriage offers from wealthy families. She told her daughters were a waste of everything, because you had to spend so much on them to bring them up and everything, and then spend even more to marry them off. Sons, on the other hand(She said), were investments, were an insurance, for the future. But Valliamma secretly craved a daughter. Sons rarely took care of their parents in their old ages, all they'd do is make their future secure, and marry somebody their parents didnt approve off and live their own lives. Daughters would take care of their parents till they died. And oh, the sight of her in a little pattu davani-pavadai and little bangles around her little wrists....

Her thoughts were rudely interrupted by the arrival of the doctor, who took one look between her legs and told her she could deliver only by an operation. And everything went by in a blur. She was lifted and rather roughly put on a stretcher and moved to the operation theatre, where she was again lifted and placed on a table that felt cold. A new face, a perusu, asked her what her name was in a soothing voice and told her to breath through the cup that he put on her face. She did, and as she did, she felt she was losing control, and tried to hold on, and tried to lift her arms, but it was too heavy, and she was too tired, and then she was asleep. 

And she was being slapped. Who had the audacity to? Even her father had never slapped her, only her husband, and she hadn't talked to him for weeks afterward until he begged forgiveness. She wanted to retaliate, to shout, but she couldnt breathe, a tube was in her mouth, and then it was being pulled out, and the slapper, the perpetrator, was asking her to put out her tongue. It all came back to her, and she meekly complied. And a screaming bundle was put beside her, and she was being pushed back to the ward, she asked the nurse "pillai yepdi? sevappa irukkana?" 

And the nurse said "Unakku potta pilla ma" and she couldnt process the information, how?, after the doctor had said, and had been paid and everything, but as she approached the ward, she could see her maamiyar's brooding face, and her husband's happy one, and she felt secretly happy. She'd had her say, at last. After all, It was her baby. Her rasathi. She couldnt care less about the consequences or the finances. They'd adjust. 

Hippity Hoppity..

..I hear, is a genre of music, wherein people wear pullovers too large for themselves and wear their pants too low for them to be of any conceivable use and start off by talking rhythmically & rudely about how all isn't well with their trailer-park-street lifestyles and after a while, talk rhythmically and rudely about how their million dollar lifestyles suck as well. And then there's the drumming that sounds like the drummer has one arm, one leg and one drum. Possibly because that drum cost him an arm and a leg.

Now, music is a miracle to me. I live on it, and not just adrenaline of the rock: All of it.. The sheer genius of the fusion, the mathematical brilliance combined with the bhavam of the carnatic, everything. Because, everything has a different mood to it. Everything is brilliantly unique. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why the genre is so successful. Obviously the fans can't be beaten, literally or figuratively, because they all have very large muscles, and the instinct of self preservation comes first. I have tried listening to their music, and have even managed to like the first 5-10 seconds, but that's what repeats all through the song, anyway. Music, to me, is a retreat. I listen to music when I need to get away from everything. And try as I might, I can't imagine why anybody would want to listen to someone else's drunk mother, or abusive father, or someone else's poverty. My sympathies to him, of course, but that's all. 

So, on the whole, hippity hoppity has been rubbish, and on the whole, I've ignored it. But now, there are Indian hippity hoppity music-making chaps. Dressed just like their blacker, taller and more muscular counterparts from the west, They are all the thing in the Tamil movie industry today. Every film seems to need a hippity hoppity song. There's this particular chap called Yogi-B, I think, which in itself stumps me entirely. Yogis are supposed to give up everything and meditate half naked in some ball-freezingly cold place. This chap seems comfortable enough, surrounded by young women with minimal foliage in the appropriate places, in various impossible angles and performing pointless stretching maneouvers. And then there's "B". What the devil's that supposed to mean? Is there a Yogi-A somewhere? or does he want to "B-e" a Yogi? Its all inexplicable. And for some inconceivable reason, he's always wearing shades, even indoors. And there's a certain song about Indian girls that he's made, about sigappu udhadugal and and thick black hair and everything, and he asks if they'll love him if he has no money, and so on and so forth. 

Which, when you think of it, is bewildering. What's an Indian girl? Girls from every part of India are unique, and to this chap, "Indian girls" means, Tamil girls. Because the only Indian girls he's seen are the ones in his country, who are all Tamil. And what the devil does he mean,  his Indian girls?The lyrics are ignorant, the music is rubbish, and he'll make a living out of it because the tamil film industry's paying to have him perform his music for movies. And more introverted kids with unsmiling faces and no friends will listen to him and make music like him and become successful and hire more "Indian" girls to perform stretching exercises near them.

 Largely inexplicable. But then, that's life for you. Conveniently, if someone asks me if Yogi-B, or for that matter, anyone I'm not proud of, is from India, I'll say, No, he's Malaysian. Just like I do when someone asks me where I'm from, when I'm caught misbehaving. 

Amen. 

Obama!!!

is everybody's buzzword.. and will be for a few weeks. Admittedly, I am reacting late, but then, seeing as I started blogging after he was elected, this is excusable. Barrack Hussein Obama, is the new sensation, in America, and as a consequence, all over the world. He's young, dynamic, plays basketball and that's about everything that our generation wants in a political leader. And, he has pointed out all along that the war on Iraq was pointless and the troops should be withdrawn. 

Headlines all over the world though, read "Obama rewrites history" or something to that effect. That left me wondering.. how many people elected him with a concrete basis in mind? How many people voted for him because they wanted to see how it'd feel, rewriting history?In Tomorrow Never Dies,  Elliot Carver says "The key to a great story is not What, When, Who or How that matters, its the Why." Obama does have a nice election manifesto, and a record of doing things right, but how many people actually looked into that? Because, I'm more inclined to think, people elected him because of the novelty factor. Its like you'd be more attracted towards, say, a pen that also attracts women, or pants, when you unzip them, open the neighbours garage door or launch a czechoslovakian satellite or something. I'm inclined to think that a lot of people (a lot more than i'm comfortable with) elected him because he was black. "That's brilliant, isn't it? He's black, and he's also a president." Some other people voted for him because they probably think "Well, the Republicans have played for two terms now, time to let the Democrats play." I'm also fairly sure some voted for him because of his alleged ties with terrorists "Lets see what happens..*diabolic laughter*" Then again, elections are rarely based on anything rational. You have the people who vote for someone because everybody else votes for him, you have the people who vote for someone because everybody else is voting for someone else, and you have people who vote because they feel obliged to. That's largely because, people aren't involved in the running of the state. Sure, they select the people who run the state, but then they don't have a say in anything that takes place over, say, the presidential term. So, people don't care as much as they should, about electing someone. That is a fundamental flaw in democracy, but that is the only practical way of going about doing things..and SOME democracy is better than none at all. 

But soon, like everything else that's good, the relevance of "why" will cease to exist. Obama's come in at a crucial time in America's history, where its socio-economical dominance over the world is being questioned. Best we can do now is twiddle our thumbs until the next presidential election comes up and a America gets a Republican candidate who's a dwarf, has two heads or is the son of God. "Sir, meet the President of the United States of America. And the Son of God. And, wait till you see this! He can turn water into wine!" 

My breakfast just landed on the floor, nutella side down. Watched the tamil version of "Khosla ka Ghosla" yesterday, but I think the hindi version's better. Mainly because of Boman Irani and Girl Whose Name I've Forgotten.

Okay, Maybe That Was a Lie..But that's all! I Promise!

because, my first post, is indeed, about Basin Bridge Jn. For lack of something better? You could say. Its been a while since I've been on a train, and train journeys are something that I'll always remember as something to look forward to, for some strange reason. Not the often cliched reasons of the swaying of the train or other stuff that's usually associated with trains..well, I don't know, really. Just that.. a train makes getting there an experience in itself.. that's unparalelled by any other means of transport. Except, of course, maybe driving.. because what do you have on ships.. there's water, loads of it, and that's all. Throw in some seasickness and you can't wait to get there. Air.. that's decidedly better than ships.. but again.. for example, one of the chief reasons I'm thinking twice about flying back home this winter is because of the arduous process of getting there. Anyway, dispensing with all that.. Basin Bridge Jn, if you have noticed, is the station, that's just before Chennai Central.. in fact, about a kilometre away. Reportedly, this is where trains are stopped and assigned platforms before being allowed to continuing to Central. Its when you see the board "Basin Bridge Junction" that the mixed feeling of disappointment that your holiday is over and the feeling of anticipation of things to come, like school starting again, begins to sink in. Its when the elders nod knowledgeably "Ah! Basin Bridge vandhacha? Innom 10 minutes le poidalam" and start getting ready to disembark. And the finality sets in.. along with that reassuring feeling of coming home at last, be it from ooruga or Agra.