If

I saw you, that cold morning. And when I say cold, I mean bitterly, bitterly cold. You looked pretty agreeable to me, and I even liked the car that you were driving. And yet, when you pulled away from the crossing, I was describing you with some pretty fruity adjectives (to put it mildly), about you, your family, your ancestry and your anatomy. Maybe if it hadn't been so cold that day, I would have waited for you to pass, even though you are required to wait for pedestrians to walk on a zebra crossing. Maybe if it wasn't so slippery, I wouldn't have lost my temper so easily. Maybe you were running late for something. Maybe you're a nice person after all. Maybe if we had met in a pub, we might have even swapped life stories over a couple of drinks.

Maybe I will meet you later in life sometime. Highly unlikely that I'll recognize you though. Or you me.

Rendezvous

She was 54. 25 years into her marriage, and it was by no means unhappy. Her husband had recently retired from work at a nationalized bank. They had three children, two daughters and one son. Her son was studying hotel management at Australia, and she knew (from the prospectus of the university) that he would get picked up soon by top international hotel chains and that's all she would see of him. Her older daughter had recently gotten an assignment in Bangalore, and everybody was thankful because everybody seemed to think that if you got an assignment in these times, it must be because the company wants to keep you. She was adjusting to Bangalore nicely, and was a wealth of information about how healthy the tomatoes in Bangalore were and about how the lemons were orange-sized. Her younger daughter was preparing for an entrance exam to enter business schools, but she wasn't doing much. It was obvious. She spent way too much time out at night, and then even more time on the Internet putting up pictures of her holding on to (She thought) rather shifty looking young men. Rather sombre thoughts, for when one was reading the cartoon page of Tughlak, and thinking of how inconvenient it was that the telephone was in their house-owner's name, and nobody could look them up if they wanted to, and how irritating it was that none of the cartoons were actually funny, when everything suddenly blacked out.

That's how he came to know her. He couldn't care less about her sons or her telephone bill, though. She was a statistic to him. And as he crossed his fingers and hoped she would be a good one, he looked at her chest, split wide open and holding no secrets from him. And heard himself say "Verify closed CP. Start Re-warming. Mari, put in a langenbeck there, lets check for oozes"

"Starting Re-warming, sir. 1:34 PM. CP time 54 minutes". And the lines on the monitor appeared, first illegible squiggles and then a reassuring, regular pattern. He heaved a sigh of relief and stepped back so his assistants could close her up.

Time Lapse

"Time-lapse photography is a cinematography technique whereby each film frame is captured at a rate much slower than it will be played back. When replayed at normal speed, time appears to be moving faster and thus lapsing"

0 :

Its a she. Pretty baby born to rather ordinary looking parents, the paediatrician on duty took a picture of her on his mobile phone. The nurse on duty couldn't believe how delicate she looked and called her friends over from a different ward to come take a look.

10 :

She's the smartest and prettiest in her fifth standard classroom. All of her classmates' parents hate her for existing in the same world as their children, for exposing their inadequacies.

20:

She's in college now. Fresh out of her teens, confident in her posture and gait. Her very presence exudes   confidence, and she has the adoration of boys, girls, lecturers, professors and lab assistants. One wonders which came first. She wants to achieve great heights in life and the world is her oyster.

30:

Its been a while since she got married. She chose a partner who would forever be obliged to her. He was in no way equal to her in any aspect. She married because her parents wanted her to. She's confident she doesn't need a man in her life, just a spineless worm she could bend to her will would do as a namesake. She'd been wrapping even the best looking men around her finger since she was a teenager. With this one, built like a kothavaranga, a face like a tomato cut with a blunt knife, and immensely grateful to her for marrying him, She foresaw no problem at all.

40:

She looks 30. She's a mother now, of a boy and then a girl. She's lost none of her ambitions, and is filled with a sense of purpose. Not of attending to her children or her husband. She believes she was born to do great things for the world, and takes great pride in her job. She dreams of climbing to the top of the corporate ladder, of attending meetings with world leaders, of having the power, the power to make the world rotate in the opposite direction, if she so wished.

50:

She looks 50. She still works for the same position, in the same company. Her face looks crisp, but her body is showing signs of her age. It pains her to retain her upright posture, and she begins to stoop, like the banana leaves at the entrance of the kalyana mandapam after the ceremony ends. She wonders if she has a significant role to play in the world, and often introspects on the decisions she made.

60:

She's been replaced at her job by a girl younger than her daughter, because she's qualified better and is willing to work for lesser money. Her daughter is not as stunningly pretty as her, but she's not too bad looking, and marries a smart and intelligent boy who is raking in the money. The vegetable husband and the smart groom get along brilliantly well, and the marriage is exorbitant and splendid. Subsequently, her son grows up and marries a rather plain looking, but intelligent girl who is suspiciously sweet to her.

70:

She thinks a lot about family, nowadays. About her grandchildren, and even about her husband. Annoyingly, he always finds something to occupy himself. Books, music or the club he goes to. She thinks back about her youth, her ambitions, and her life. She wonders if, at any point of time in her life, how would things have changed, if she hadn't been there. She's too afraid to conclude anything, and repeatedly pushes the insistent thought away from her. She talks a lot to herself, although she's not conscious of it. Just as well, her husband had long since become used to her ignoring him, and so had the children. They had constructed their lives around her, not harming the bubble she lived in. She talks to her children occasionally, when they call to speak to their father.

80:

Her husband passed away a few years since. She had come into quite an amount of money, money that her husband earned, saved away and had passed it on to her. She lives with her son for one half of the year, and her daughter for the other half. She spends most of the day reading books, or just staring into space and talking to herself. Her children and grandchildren had gotten used to her behaviour. They pretended she didn't exist(much like she had pretended her children and father didn't exist, She thought to herself). Conversation was rather perfunctory, except when her grandchildren asked about their grandfather whom they adored. She didn't know much about him herself, so she often improvised. She contradicted herself sometimes, but her grandchildren either didn't notice, or pretended not to. She sees pictures of children in different countries without clothes, food, and donates all of her husband's money, partially hoping that she was changing someone's life, but mostly hoping that her children would argue about it and some conversation would ensue. They don't.

87:

The universe relieves her of her doubt, her guilt and her loneliness.

"Moonai Thottadhu Yaaru?" Filming Begins in Jolarpettai

The sequel to the sequel of the sequel and the sequel of "New Moonu" and "Sandira(sic) Grahanam)", the famed amaerigan Vampire movies began today in Jolarpettai, among great pomp and a star studded ceremony, attended by many celebrities nobody had heard of. The movie, starring Giruthik Rosan as the hero and Sarugan as the villain, also reportedly has a guest appearance by the incomparable Sam Anderson, and Rajinikanth as the punch-dialogue consultant.


The film, which is directed jointly by Vijaya T Rajendar and Kamal Hassan has an unprecedented budget of 15 Rupees. When the producer of the film, a genuine amaerigan(no makeup), was asked for his reaction to making a splendid film on such a minuscule budget,  the correspondent was at first put on hold by one Ms Swapnasundari who spoke in a mexican accent and called herself Ms Sun-derry, speaking out of an undisclosed location at (New no)21/(Old No)3, Vandikkaran street, Guindy, Chennai. On learning that the correspondent's name was Kandasamy, he was made to listen to "Excuse me Mr Kandasamy" for a total period of 127 hours and 13 minutes, during which time he contributed to the population significantly. Following which, Mr Amerigan(no makeup) answered that he chose to outsource to India because it was famous for accomplishing everything on a shoestring budget. He also claimed one of the reasons for choosing India was that the original actors had died from anemia due to the excessive bloodshed, whereas the Indian actors are apparently invincible, being able to act in schoolboy roles at the age of 63.The conversation was abruptly terminated when he was rendered speechless and stumped by his 5 year old, who asked him the answer to 2 + 3, a problem in his homework.

Varied reactions to the film have been received from across the country. Ragul Gandhi, the famous and dynamic young politician could say no more than "Yo Yo Yo, wasssssssuuuuup, biatch?", before he had to leave because his mum called him in for tea and samosas. Lalu Prasad addressed a press meet in Gopalganj, wherein he stated this was a great opportunity for selling neer moru in matkas on all routes to Jolarpettai. Unfortunately, he hurriedly retracted his statement when Mamata Banerjee claimed to be the true Minister for Railways. Mamata, on the other hand, was seen inquiring about the possibility of her appearing in an item number in the movie.

Of the dynamic duo of directors, only TR could be contacted, reportedly because he had agreed with Kamal Hassan that the latter would grow a beard and TR would be clean shaven for all public appearances in the movie. Kamal Hassan was seen frustratedly shopping for Hair growth creams trying to contact the manufacturers of "Instant Dhaadi-gro".TR, however showed off his co-operative relationship with Kamal Hassan with one of his trademark poems

"Kamal Hassan panniten Townu,
 Na Appu, He maybe frownu,
 Yevarybody say he bikku, I smallu, But
 Na ille ippo roaming (in) shopping maallu"

An attempt to request Super star Giruthik Rosan for comment was rendered futile when Mottai-Mama Daddy Rosan answered and exhibited an inability to call his son to the phone. All that was heard was "Grrrrr, Girru.. gIIRRRRRRRRRRRRRu" before he hung up. When this curious sound was played back to a medical specialist, he was unable to diagnose it. His driver, however, was moved to tears when he cleverly recognized it at the noise MTC buses make when attempting to change gears. He claimed to have been an MTC driver before he retired, and begged us to send the noise to his phone via bluetooth, which we tried to oblige, but bluetooth, as usual, failed to cooperate.

Ms. J Jayalalitha, the leader of the opposition, called a press meet to announce that this was a conspiracy by the opposition parties to sully her name. However, she smoothly disappeared into a trapdoor on the floor when she was told that issue at hand was a movie, prompting questions with regard to the talent of the carpenter who had constructed such a device. Mr M Karunanidhi, on the other hand addressed a big crowd just outside Stella Maris, when he was denied entry by the watchman who insisted on being the only man on campus.

The film aims to cater to teenage and older-but-still-think-they-are-teenage girls and a few confused teenage boys. The general response to the film was exceedingly positive, with the collective sentiment that an All-in-all movie was the best for the present times."I've never been noticed by girls before. Now they all want me. I'm glad I love the series! Gaylight Ho!", gushed Ganesh Sadasivam gleefully, held aloft by a rowdy crowd of youth-gerls, none of whom, noticed his slip. S.R.T.P Indumathi("Call me Indy"), echoed the sentiment, saying "This movie has older-than-my-parents Indian actors with 7.5 packs, Item numbers, and a western storyline! What more could you.. ", stopping mid sentence to cheer an unidentified male biting her rear.

Muthalik Mama called a press meet to announce something, but nobody bothered to turn up.

Has it truly come to this, Ladies and Gentlemen?

I wonder about a lot of things. Like the pointless existence of the trousers belonging to people who wear them at their knees in the name of fashion. At the ridiculousness of Thuli Alavum Moolai Illai and Ragi Sauvant's Somwar and MTV Roads and all the other rubbish that's telecast today in the name of forward-thinking television. At how, for a supposedly world class team, the Indian side's performance is hinged upon a few people performing. Well, in short (Take my word for it: This is the short version) there are a lot of things I wonder about. Like how it works out that what we get comfortable with, what we take for granted, is snatched away cruelly from us.

Talking with old people, what often strikes me amazing is.. how little they remember about their childhood.. and how they don't seem to care at all about it. I'm unable to remember a lot of things about my childhood, or about my past, but I'm unaware of their existence. On the other hand, the stuff I do remember, I'm able to remember eminently. And no doubt, I would be devastated if I forgot any of that. And yet the perusunge are at perfect peace with forgetting their own birthdays, even. 

And fancy that! As a kid.. Everything gets better as we grow older. Being able to go out alone, being able to drive, being taken seriously.. To a child, an adult's world is full of possibilities. And once you are an adult, it hits you that its not all milk and honey. There are responsibilities, but that's not too much of a deal breaker. You retain your abilities and everything and deal with the responsiblities and live life fluently. With time, however, you slowly start losing everything. You can't see as well as you used to, can't hear well as you did. Your own flesh and blood don't like having you around very much and you're no longer in control. You no longer have a say in everything. In fact, you have a say in nothing. Its like being a kid again, except without the perks of being able to play all day. You can no longer earn a kuruvi rotti or a kuchi mittai for carrying Kannadi thatha's bags upstairs. On the contrary, you become kannadi thatha and it costs you to get some kid to carry your bags upstairs. 

The pain of not having something is lesser than having something and then it being taken away from you. I wonder if i'll be able to deal with progressively losing abilities and control and other things I've taken for granted in life now. 

Maybe that's why I will eventually forget my childhood and youth. 

Deadly Pretty

He saw her at RTO Chennai (west) (ISO 9001:2000). She was standing in the license fee line a paces ahead of him. 

"So, she's probably a morning person. She's gotten up before me to come stand in the queue. That's ideal"

And he was thinking about how the term "early bird" fit her so well because she was early and a bird,("Well, a chick, if you want to nitpick", he told himself), and how perfectly round her face was, like those emoticons yahoo messenger had.

"So round", he muttered to himself. And ticked "MCW(O)G" instead of "MCWG" in his license category form. 

"Motarcykil Withoutugeer"

Achtung!!

And inevitably, I find myself coming back to the topic of cars. I'm simply unable to keep away from it, I'm thinking. Its part of me. Its in my blood, my upbringing. Or whatever other excuse sounds plausible. 

The thing about these days is that nobody has time for their cars. Hardly a surprise, you'd think, given that nobody has time for parents who end up in retirement homes, children, who shoot their friends in school and partners who sleep with the maid or the milkman. And yet, I find, with the cars that my parents entrust me with, saying "okay, this one's yours, and you'll take care of it", they become an obsession. And I think about them all the time. I worry about them, their present and their future. They become my kids. 

People, think of cars as transportation. From A to B. That IS their purpose, there's no getting away from it, but if you look at it, the purpose of coitus is reproduction. And yet we have marriage, and life-long rituals, and a sense of ceremony, and comradeship for life. Not so with cars. Its quite common for them(A-B types) to ignore any untoward noises or lights or anything that might warn them of impending doom. They just drive to wherever they want to get to. And i'm unable to do that. The other day, I had an error warning and I found myself panicking, unable to think about anything else. 

And its where the kind of cars that come along play a role. Korean cars. Cheap cars. Like the Tata No-no. There's a difference between buying cars because you need them, and buying cars because you want them. And it shows in the way they're built as well. More like an appliance. Doubtless, they're always reliable. Ready to go when you want them to. But I don't want to drive something that's been made dispassionately. And that's why, you almost always find you want and buy European. Italian for flair and passion. German for precision. Russian for madness. That's pretty much all there is, anyway, because every other brand's either owned by something Italian or German or American or Russian. And now that the American auto industry has gone tits up, Its pretty much an all-European game. Apart from the Asians. 

And that's where little stickers warning you about the car come into the scene. When you own something that's Korean you normally won't open the hood because you don't care about it, or love it or anything, plus it'll be reliable until the engine finally falls off. And even when you do open the hood, even accidentally, in something that's Korean or Indian or Indo-Japanese or whatever, What do you get? In slightly expensive cars, "Danger! Keep hands away! Fan starts automatically". And in slightly more utilitarian stuff, "Khatra, Hath door rakhiye! Pankha apne aap se chalta hai" The problem with Japanese and other such stuff is that its absolutely indecipherable. 

Mine? "Achtung! Ventilatorlauf jederzeit moglich."

Ooh, yes. I'm in love. I'm sold. I'd pay for and buy a car just to have this inside my hood. I'd open the hood everyday just to look at this strange language and read it and roll it around my tongue. I'm not being elitist here, I've cried when we sold our very Indian Premier Padmini. And loved the Maruti 800. The difference is that it wasn't love at first sight. It was more of an arranged marriage affection sort of thing. Not the I'll-get-this-at-any-cost-look-at-that-sticker kind of arrangement. 

God help the woman who will run my finances. 

@#$&@!!!!

"Nee Marylin Monroe Cloning a, 

ille Jennifer Lopez scanning a?

One day mattum girlfriend aaga variya?"

Elders keep telling us. And used to keep telling us, that songs were a lot more beautiful and a lot more meaningful in their days. And I used to brush them off thinking they were just being menopausal. But look at this.. Its just rubbish. Most of the songs these days are. And they are the most popular ones. Nakka Mukka. What the @#$% is that? Its the worst thing I've ever heard! Not just the worst tamil song, but the worst song, hands down! And look, for a comparison, not so many years back..when i was 10-11 years old:

"Narumugaiye, Narumugaiye, Nee oru naaligai nillai,

 Sengani ooriya vai thirandhu, nee oru thirumozhi sollai

 Attrai Thingal Annilavil, Nettritharala Neer Vadiya

 Kottrapoigai aadiyaval neeya?"

and more recently, with less obtuse tamizh:

"Kilayil kaanum kiliyin mooku

 Vidalai pennin vettrilai naaku

 Putham puthidhaai ratha roja 

 Bhoomi thodaa(dha) pillayin padham"

Now I'm sorry, but progress is just taking us backward these days. Our kids will soon be dancing to static and random words threaded together. However, the same can't be said of music, a few music directors still come out with music that's very fresh and listenable to. Unfortunately, few and far apart. But inspiring, nonetheless. A few men, to reassure us that all is not lost. 

"...If they ever tell my story let them say that I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die. Let them say I lived in the time of AR Rahman, tamer of carnatic ragas. Let them say I lived in the time of Mani Ratnam.." -  Troy(Slightly modified though)

As for the others, they get the golden cock award. 

I wish I could stay longer, but I've an exam to study for. Toodle-oo! 

Scrambled Eggs

From yesterday, I've been in a rather nostalgic mood. Watching old ads such as "I'm a complan boy!" and "Sottu Neelam doi" and "Hamaaara bajaj" and "Vicco turmeric! Ille cosmetic! Vicco turmeric ayurvedic cream!" and stuff. 

Everbody, I think, has something nice to think back, to talk about the times that they grew up in. And maybe they all think they're lucky. No exception here. Not only do I think that I was lucky to be born at the decade, but at that specific year. Nice times. 

Remembered.. Premier Padmini's, and Ambassadors and Maruti's... thats all there were. And it was an awesome time. And Tata sierras were uber-cool. They had motorized windows! TVs didnt stick to the wall, and the longer they were, the more successful you were in society. Panner soda and rasna. Baskin Robbins? Haagen dasz? Paal ice. Which one thatha would buy for us and tell us not to tell the other thatha cos he wasn't convinced of their hygiene. 

An awesome, awesome feeling, when Champak or Tinkle digest or Tinkle came. Growing up with grandparents in the house, both of whom loved to read, and extremely aware. Growing up watching He-man, Alif Laila, Jungle Book and Pingu..How many people came to visit my grandparents and I was introduced to them, a small boy in a singlet and shorts, combed hair and vibhoothi. Outings with parents, where all three of us could sit in line in front of the car.

Route No 2A, 2B: Some memorable friendships.. on school vans. Two parts of the school van.. Those who got to sit in front were the creme de la creme. The people in the back were the also rans. I sat up front. Right on the engine cover, between the driver anna and the passenger seat. ON the engine cover, and performed gear-changing and engine-starting duties. Ultimate privelege. Periyasamy, the driver's name was... still works there I think. His meesai's become all white though.. from all black. And the loyalty we had to our vans and our driver annas. Racing with other van numbers... and screaming when we won, and booing the other vans. 

Growing up on a diet of purely carnatic music. And then listening to AR Rahman for the first time. On a trip with friends of my cousin's family. "Hello Mister Edhirkatchi". They had two daughters, and the younger one wore shockingly short shorts and shades. She laughed at every joke I made, and was what I thought, very carefree. Open hair, and very very fair. Like one of those cinema heroines. High point in that day was getting photographed next to her or something like that. Quite a lot older, but I think my first crush, before I became a lot more aware and my "Girls are a bother" phase came on and nipped things in the bud. She's got married recently, and I couldnt even make it to her wedding. Someone told me she was asking why I wasn't there. 

Arranged marriages were non-existent to me. I assumed my parents also married after meeting and singing duet songs like in the movies. 

Being lazy, and asking for things without feeling guilty for asking older people to do something you can get done with a lot less difficulty. Maybe all the older people were younger and healthier at that time. In fact, I remember, anybody(even distant family) who came to see me, would take me down first main road for a walk, and buy me toys or sweets. Throwing temper tantrums and getting stuff done. Always being the pampered one. Thatha saying I, and not someone else, was his favorite grandson. I liked how people loved my being able to have something to say about everything. Now when i meet some cousins who do that, I just find it irritating. 

My childhood was awesome. The nineties were an awesome time. I'm generation yex. (As in yex, oye and izad)

God Bless Pramod Muthalik

Remember him? He's the chap who clubbed some women in a (night)club in Bangalore, for, well, clubbing. And now he is raking in the benefits. Not of this particular action, mind, but for his next statement. Threatening to marry off couples who are seen spending some "together" time in public on Valentine's day. 

This has caused an uproar, but not quite of the kind that you'll expect. Boyfriends and girlfriends from out of town are uniting to meet on Valentine's day in public. And to get noticed. By Muthalik's "Sena". Tired of their parents' opposition to their being together. And being impecunious, as indeed we all are at this age, they turn to Muthalik Mama to bear the costs of eloping. Nothing like a benevolent old uncle to indulge in the little excesses of youth. 

Mama, although can be quite irritating at times, saying Ram's name and making rubbish public statements and action plans, and his violence is not going to preserve any "culture" by any means. In fact, far from it, it has resulted in a resurgent "pink cheddi" campaign, wherein women send in their pink underwear to Muthalik to protest against his actions. That, is where Indian women stand. Now by doing that, they are just promoting themselves as "pieces of arse" which is pretty much Muthalik's stand on this nonsense. They are accusing the Ram Sene of molesting them, and then they voluntarily send their underwear. They are showing the world(and Muthalik) that they have nothing better to represent themselves other than their panties. And this mentality, this inability to think at a higher level, is what prevents women of India from being taken seriously. That's just petty. And they will be too slow to realize this, like the women who burnt bras in the olden days, not realizing that they were worn to prevent their breasts from falling victim to gravity. And the women who kept their bras on then, walk proudly now. Stand straight. 

And all the while, Mama had no clue what a "vengayam" of a plan he's come up with. Dear old mama. Snigger snigger. 

Ambiguously Titled..

Indeed, life is immensely complex. An equation.. with infinite variables. All sorts of variations.. the combinations one can create.. the situations one can create..mind boggling choice.

Mind boggling choice though.. not for people IN, or living, life. For the universe... to mess with the people who live in it.. yes. 

A series of hill climb challenges. Say, a racing challenge, even. Highly dangerous.. people expect me to be scared of the thought "Will I return after this race?"

And yet... what scares me more is "Will you be there when I return from this hill?" Once I am started on the way up, nothing disturbs me anymore. I won't hear of you or think of you until I'm back, and the thought that you might not be there when I'm back is disturbing. 

In a way, the sense of not being completely in control is scary. Being brought up hearing "You are in charge of your life" and then along comes something called "luck". Some people have it, some don't. Not in their control, either. Your hard work might be rewarded. Parthasarathy-next-door's sloth might be rewarded more. 

And yet.. We live life. We work as hard as we can. We make sacrifices, for work, for relationships. All in the belief that life will be same tomorrow. And we can't let the otherwise scare us into not doing anything at all, because then life would be a waste. We believe 99 out of 100 times, it'll be all good. 1 out of 100, life gives you a bum deal.. Sometimes destroys you, sometimes strengthens you. Depends on each person's mental makeup. One more factor.. 

Life is a game. Hah. If that were true, given a choice, nobody with anything to lose would play it. Although.. if you don't play the game, you don't have anything at all. In other words, nothing to lose. And you might as well play. 

One hopes one comes out of life with a net gain. I am now on reserve battery power. Mentally and notebook-ally. That'll be all. 

Couldnt Resist...

She was a first generation IT worker in her family. Her father ran a flourishing gas agency, and her mother stayed at home with Tughlak and Kalki for company. She loved her job, and the exposure it gave her. She was forever conscious of the fact that her parents were invariably thinking of marrying her off, and she was always looking out for a guy that she could pick out on her own to prevent her parents from marrying her off to someone. And she'd spotted someone, working in the same IT complex, albeit for a different company. He was smart, and had a great smile, like the chap in the Bru advertisements(Idhu Bru ma!). He had a nice way of walking that she always imitated and laughed about it to herself. She'd never had the courage to talk to him, though. Everyday, she dreamt of talking and laughing with him, when he was driving her back, instead of her dreary share-auto, and then, bus-ride back home. But she could never quite get those words, conscious of her new-found talent in the English language "Could you drop me off, please?" She'd made up her mind today though. Enough was enough, and that promiscuous girl from the food court was already talking him up. "And Look at him, grinning back, the idiot" she thought to herself, gritting her teeth, as she mustered up the courage to walk up to him. Five steps, four, three, two.. She could smell him now. Here was where he stylishly put his hands inside his pocket and unlocked his car from afar. He turned, conscious of someone close by, and there was that smile, although she didnt notice that. Her eyes were on the egg shaped, brightly coloured car car that was flashing its lights, and chirping, glad to welcome its proud owner. On the inclined "H" within the oval on the front grill. She felt her eyes darken and momentarily lost her balance, holding on to a post nearby. Then her eyes focused on the questioning, smiling, handsome face again. 

"Which bus to Anakaputhur, please?"

Don't give me that do goody good bullshit...

The title has nothing whatsoever to do with my post today, I think. Unless, I digress. Which I feel myself doing now, so fair chance. Anyway, its MY blog and I make up the rules on whether blog entries and titles have to be related. I know its been a hiatus and I have been literally inundated with message(s)! threatening to disembowel Snagglepuss if I didnt resume immediately. I couldnt help but oblige! And so here goes...

Social Networking sites: There's a ton of them. hi5, Orkut, Facebook, Xanga, Friendster, myChurch, mySpace, Bebo, Auto Drivers Association, Auto passengers association, you name it!It first started off wth a site called hi5, back in the days when I was a snot nosed youngster, oblivious to the evil in the world. So, this hi5 thing, allowed you to create a profile, add pictures, music, and everything. Soon, we could add videos, format our profile: make it nice and colorful and so on and so forth. Everybody thought hi5 was awesome and nothing could pull anybody off it. Features kept being added and soon it became quite laden with all the things that you could to to make your profile look attractive to the opposite sex(Ooh, look at me, I've got a Javascript clock that goes around with mouse pointers.. look at it flex.. Doensn't it make you want to sleep with me?)

And then along came orkut, and you had to go to the trouble with making a new profile and answering a few hundred questions for a small miniscule questionnare. It added something called a scrapbook, if I remember right, that you could leave messages for friends on. I remember figuring out that you needed to go to someone else's scrapbook to leave a message for them after an embarrassingly long time and replies to everybody's messages on my own scrapbook.  And that became huugely popular. hi5 was Simbhu popular. Orkut was Rajinikanth popular. And everybody would spend hours on it looking at everybody else's pictures and judging("Ooh, she's fat now. Ooh who's that girl she's with? looks hot!!") and add people they knew and ppl they knew through ppl they knew and so on and so forth. And suddenly there was a new kid on the block called AssFacebook, and everybody claimed to have "privacy problems" with orkut

And now Facebook's all the craze. There's something called a wall, apparenly, which is kinda like a scrapbook but its different because its on facebook. I don't know why anyone would call it a wall when nothing can be nailed to it. Metaphorically it does work fine I guess, with ability to host videos and audio and images and what not. And then there are apps, which you need to install if you need to do anything on facebook. Every thing you do's an app, and you have to add it to your apps to do it, and your apps list grows and grows. There are groups for the silliest of things and you can keep your co group members posted on everything.("I had diarrhoea today, and ..") The worst part of facebook is, anything you do on facebook, is promptly reported to all of your friends. Its the most ridiculous thing, you can't pick your nose in peace, it will go and tell your grandmother. Its an insult to confidentiality, that's what it is. And then there's the interface. There's absolutely nothing you can accomplish in facebook with one click. There's hands down, nothing you can find. If you can find it today, It will have changed tomorrow. It makes me want to put my finger into my brain through my eyes and swirl it around. And since google owns it now, It'll be ubiquitious. I still am on it though, because admitting you don't have a facebook account, thse days is like admitting you don't have genitals. I do have to admit I still go on sometimes, to have a good laugh at what people are doing, and so on and so forth. And Facebook has got a lot of its stuff right. Its just impossible to live with, on a daily basis. Its an exercise on how complicated something simple can be made. 

However, soon, there'll be something else that comes along and everybody will drop Facebook like a, well, everyone will. For now, however, Heavens to Murgatroyd! Look at the Time. I'm late...delayed, even. Exit Stage Left.

Lots to Rant about..

environmentalists and Ram Sene among them, but I don't have the time. So..They get pushed back and...ItsShortStoryTime!! 

He took a teshtu-sight. Seeing if her father was looking at himlookingather. His life stretched out endlessly in front of him, and all he could see was himself getting gradually older and older and his potti kadai growing older with him. So everyday, he had only this encounter to look forward to: once morning and once evening. Decades ago, there used to be a tender-coconut seller on the platform, where his kadai was now, but his father, after having had an argument with the yelanikadaikaarar over who would quench the collectively monstrous thirst of the students and parents of the girls college, picked up the aruval hanging by the wall and hacked its owner to death, the master, who had looked after it like his child and it, which had in turn fed its master. 

He'd come to possess the pottikadai when he was 13. Same time his father ran, ran for his life, after he'd seen the police come and make enquiries about the body, through the safety of his smelly blanket, when the effect of his ganja was just wearing out. It was his pride and joy, his livelihood, his everything. And it gave him the opportunity to look at her everyday. As she walked past, with her father, in the morning, fresh and smelling of rose gardens, and evening, after college, when the road was dusty and she'd walk past with her father, still smelling of rose gardens. The moment she appeared in his field of vision, everything became pleasant. The dust in the road settled down, the trees became greener and fresher, the noisy vehicles at the intersection stopped honking, and the horrid Chennai weather immediately became cool. Everyday, as she walked past, graceful in her burkha and veil, and just her eyebrows, eyes and cheekbones were visible. Stepping lightly, and in line with her father And when she drew level with his shop, she'd fall slightly behind her father. And she'd look at him and he'd look at her. Her eyes were perfect almonds, and they'd sparkle at him, like diamonds he'd seen only in the movies, and the pale,smooth, spotless skin on her cheekbones would redden, and the cheekbones themselves would slightly rise. And when they became as red as they could become, she'd look down and her steps would falter slightly. And continue walking on, drawing level with her father once again.

He knew this was as far as it would get, unconsciously fingering the silver cross that was hanging from his neck. He still thought himself lucky, though. He was happy to have been someone that she'd remember, for life. At least till she got married to some idiot with sweaty armpits and a lot of money, and she got all her memories beaten out of... He shuddered at the thought; he would hope and pray for her that she got someone she liked. He still could dream though. And dream he did, of living with her, of spending his life, happily ever after, in her arms, and always breathing air that smelt of rose gardens and...

"Thambi, eena pa? Nalla yedam po, kadai vechika.. Usara than keere.. seri, phasta manikchandu rendu pagittu kudu. Savari waiting."

India Is My Country

All Indians are my brothers and sisters

I love my country

and I am proud of its rich and varied heritage.

I shall always.... 

I've forgotten what came after that. This was drilled into our heads, for the 14 years we were at school. The pledge, they called it. Thousands upon thousands of bright faces, starting with the earnest, innocent, naive, i-respect-my-country-and-school-and-contribute-to-their-pride-by-being-earnest faces of the primary schoolers to the bored, amused, been-there-done-that-a-million-times faces of the high schoolers. Every monday. Brightest of bright whites Min-Minukkum-Venmai.. Ippozhudhu Pudhiya Robin White and Sottu Neelam Doi. Regal.. sottu neelam DOI! Bright white shoes.. They had to be. Otherwise we were "caught" and made to run around the school grounds till we swore we'd polish our shoes next time, even if it was with our own blood. Flag hoisting. How we looked up expectantly to see the proud Indian tricolour flying, fluttering, fighting gallantly with the wind, and how it always hung limply like a freshly washed langot.

Patriotism is imbibed in the educational system. Every child is taught to respect our country. Doubtless, respect India deserves. We have a brilliant culture. A long, respectable history. India  is much, much older a country than many others in the world. We are a force to be reckoned with in the world, in terms of economy, as well as in terms of military strength. Bottom-line: We are a great country. And children, should be taught to respect their homeland. Nothing wrong with that.

"Ask not what your country can do for you. Ask what you can do for your country", JFK famously said. Very conveniently, if I might add. We pay our country taxes. For earning a living. For possessing wealth. For receiving gifts. For fuel. For roads. for Value Addition. for water. for houses. This quote by James May, of Top Gear, sums it up: 

".. if you earn a living and pay tax, and spend some of what's left on a car, and then pay value added tax on that, and then buy some road fund license tax to put the car on the road, and then pay fuel duty tax on the fuel, and value added tax on that fuel duty tax, you should then pay 25 pounds TAX! to drive into the center of the capital."

Granted, he was referring to England, but the situation isn't far from the truth in most of the countries. And after having paid so many taxes, we, in India, still have bad roads. The public transport system is a joke. Police? Water? Drainage? Government Hospitals? Education? Nothing works in the way its supposed to. Nothing happens in a hassle free manner. After having paid so many taxes. That's really the crux of the issue. We do enough for our country in the form of taxes. And the country does nothing to make our lives easier. The land we live on? we pay for it. The food we eat? we pay for it. The clothes we wear? We pay for it.  And we pay taxes. And the government makes our lives as difficult as possible. 

Unconditional love is a myth. It just doesn't work. Love has to be mutually rewarding. Any relationship, for that matter. I will love my country when my country treats me well. When my country makes taxes worth paying. And when the government makes life a breeze. The other aspects of life, apart from work that is. I'm not asking for free food and clothing and shelter and money. I will work and earn my living. I will be productive and useful to the country. The country should be useful to me as well. Even if it isn't useful, it at least shouldnt be harmful. Burning the money that we pay in taxes will be more useful in that it offers some fun. And will probably piss off the environmentalists, which is an important part of the aboveforementioned fun. 

Which is why, for now, I'm Indian. and I'm appropriately proud to be one. Just don't ask me to love my country or give up my life for it. I have loved it enough, when I was an naïve preschooler. And it has done absolutely nothing for me, or my family, or my loved ones, or anyone else I know. I think I'm justified in expecting some reciprocation, before I love further. 

A week later..

..actually 10 days is more accurate, but "a week later" sounds more dramatic than "10 days later" I wonder if artistic license... would prefer i round off 10 days to a week or 2 weeks. Nevertheless, both sound equally dramatic and...

I digress. What I originally wanted to say was: Its been 10 days since I came back to Chennai, my malli-poo hometown which has now transformed into women wearing tight sleeveless tops, made up faces and perfume and everybodylooksgood. Irritating. Not everybodylooksgood, just the tight sleeveless tops and the hairdos and everybody acting like they've suddenly become the most beautiful women in the world. 

But not as irritating as the traffic here. Its all chaos, chaos and chaos. tight sleeveless tops and everybodylooksgood...at least, eye candy. Traffic.. Not so much. I'm afraid.. I've become the phoren-wala who returns from big cities and criticizes the hometown... I've become someone I despised. But I can't help but criticize the system, for it is a truly rubbish system.. just LOOK at the roads on a busy weekday morning. Hmmm.... 

Two wheelers: Screw all two wheelers.. Two wheelers are the epitome of mediocrity, the "two wheels are enough, who needs four" mentality. If you can afford it, buy four wheels. Else ride the bus.

Four wheelers: Stuff such as the Tata nano should be made illegal. Let everybody save up a little more money and get the Maruti 800. Nothing wrong with that one, I grew up with one. 

Driving tests: Stop handing out driving licenses to everybody. There's nothing to an Indian driving test: Get in the car, drive straight and use turn signals when the RTO tells you to stop. I could do that when i was 10. My parents didnt know, but I could. Make driving tests more complicated. Turns, slope-starts, all this should be included. Bloody hell, look at the babboons on the road driving..

Which reminds me: Ladies.. Call me sexist, but I'm sorry. You can't be allowed to drive unless you can do it properly. I mean, properly. When you understand that it is an art. When you begin to treat a car as a living thing, a human even. With feelings. Not just shove him/her it into overdrive at the first opportunity and wait till the engine gasps for breath and stalls before you shift down. As a corollary, women should be tested by proven heterosexual women before being issued licenses, because licenses now are being issued for having a magnificent pair of tits. Or just having tits. Darling, I'm sorry. The way you said "let it be, its parked properly only" when i parked obliquely... that's what prompted this paragraph. 

Hmm. Now....where do I apply for transport ministership... ?

Much ado about...

Sometimes, When you're in the public eye, the smallest, most harmless of your comments are blown up by the media and become a huge, huge, issue. One of the recent examples is Matt Hayden calling India a third world country. Now I think this is kinda like the n-word.. you can call someone else a nigger if you're one, or something like that. Wasim Akram, bless him, has "come to India's rescue" saying India's no more a third world country than his wife's mother's sheep's droppings, and Australia is probably now a village compared to India.

Now, national pride and all that aside, that's one of the most ridiculous things I've heard. On the other hand, Hayden's comment was uncalled for. Blaming his team's slow over rate on "problems faced in third world countries" is a reasonable reason, and he probably meant no harm, but it was just inappropriately phrased. He has been quick to reiterate his stand, by standing by his original statement that India IS indeed a third world nation, and he meant no harm by his statement. Comments on various forum and blogs range from aspirations to do things of a crudely surgical nature to his genitals to reminding him that Australia, was after all, a large large prison used by the Englishmen to dump criminals. Arguments on the internet usually escalate to such levels.. and thus the whole thing has become a furore.

However, he was right. According to a UN Human Development Report, 21-40% of Indians live on less than $1 a day. On the other hand, India's economy is one that is of global significance, and India's GDP's the 12th highest in the world. Still doesn't change the fact that a large portion of India, live below the poverty line. If you look at that objectively, around 28% live below the poverty line, but consider this extract from Wikipedia:

"A 2007 report by the state-run National Commission for Enterprises in the Unorganised Sector (NCEUS) found that 77% of Indians, or 836 million people, lived on less than 20 rupees per day (USD 0.50 nominal, USD 2.0 in PPP), with most working in "informal labour sector with no job or social security, living in abject poverty"

I doubt with this in mind, if we can even be called a developing nation, sounds more underdeveloped. In reflection, I feel... the term "Third World" has become obsolete, and cannot apply to countries such as India and China, and indeed, the UN has come up with a term "Newly Industrialized Country" to classify such countries.

However, controversy has always been adored by the media, and such anti-controversy and anti-confusion measures are belittled, and will continue to be treated that way. Nothing like starting the day with a steaming cup of tea and verbally colourful articles and headlines. In the meanwhile, it'd be helpful if the Australian team exercised better self control,and were more responsible as public figures, instead of just spouting off of the top of their heads.. Cricket valayada vandhiya? seri.. valayadu. Win panniya? seri sandosham. thothutiya? vaya moodittu odi poidu. Otherwise, you will lose the respect this cricket adoring, star-crazy, and indeed, foreigner-arse-kissing country has for you, plus the monetary losses from all the endorsement deals you lose.