Ein moment!

He looked at her, and nonchalantly pretended not to look. She did the same - a quick look and back to her journal (in his mind - he could feel her eyes on him) To be brutally honest, it was a lot to ask of a librarian to look "cool"while re-arranging books, but he managed it with aplomb - This, in spite of his rather large ears, which reminded one of the handles normally found on a vase from the Ming dynasty. He counted down the seconds to the time he could look at her again, to catch her looking at him and make the all-important eye contact. 5, 4 : he took a deep breath to slow his pounding heart. 3, 2, 1, and looked up at an empty chair.

Quid Pro Quo, Sirs!

Sony Music Entertainment, You utter bellend!

Everybody was listening to the songs and raving about how great they were. He didn't think much of them, to be honest. The singer was rubbish, and all of the songs from that genre sounded the same to him. But you know how peer pressure works. And in just a moment of weakness, he clicked on the youtube link to the video. Finally he would find out what the fuss was all about.

The page began to load. The youtube logo appeared at first. By then he had begun to have second thoughts. Should he really? Was he so weak? But it was too late. The page loaded. The video was "blocked in his country on copyright grounds".

He heaved a sigh of relief.

The Twist

Theirs was another whirlwind college romance. They bunked all the classes they could without getting into trouble and spent time together. Holding hands, just talking endlessly, sharing an ipod, sharing ice creams, sharing milkshakes and sharing cigarettes. They also shared a passion for Night Shyamalan movies. They loved the director's convoluted narration, and drank in every twist in the tale with great enthusiasm. And their romance was intensive. Like the course they both took in college. Lasted all of two years. Before his father found out about her, and disapproved immediately. He had no desire to see all of his ancestral property in the control of a tempestuous (they invariably were, with their multi-coloured "bobcuts") young woman with a facial piercing. And so he put a stop to this nonsense immediately. He was sent away to live with an aunt in Australia and do a post graduation in something or the other, just to distract him. Life continued for her, as it inevitably does for everyone, and she went on to get a mediocre job in a mediocre company for a mediocre pay. They lost touch after a while, although both of them in their individual minds knew there would be a twist in their tale, just like in their favourite director's movies. She dreamt he would swoop down from nowhere and they'd elope. He dreamed of (nearly, as nearly as soulmates would think)the same thing.

Five years later, she saw him in a mall, with a not-unattractive young lady, pushing a baby-laden pram. She had paused for more than a moment mid-conversation with her friends as she saw him, and they asked her if something was the matter. She shrugged it off and said she had just seen someone she thought she knew.

The Jump! to a conclusion

Mrs Rajam saw her only for a couple of seconds. A perfunctory glance. From her living room window, across the alley to No 4, Thangam apartments. And like all women(but only women) can manage, she noticed a few thousand details in a span of a few seconds. The young woman stood in her kitchen, wiping her tears with her saree repeatedly. They just wouldn't stop coming. She had observed the (presumably) newly wedded couple move in a few days back. They had moved in with an old fashioned cot, a few steel bureaus, a television stand, a television, a moderately sized refrigerator and miscellaneous pots and pans. Her housemaid worked for them as well, though. And she had told Mrs Rajam that they were standard fare, newly married, nothing special. She was impressed that the wife chose to stay at home and mind the house, rather than go to work in some computer company and spend hours sitting at a desk and staring at a screen. Housework helped a young wife to maintain her health and her figure, opined her maid. This impressed Mrs Rajam, and contributed towards the sympathy she felt today, for the young woman across the alley. She wondered for a few minutes, about what could have caused her tears. A fight with her new husband perhaps? She wanted to reach out and say, Its all going to be okay. He will come back and beg your forgiveness. And you will pretend to be hurt and angry for a while, but will melt into his arms in some time. She prayed to her deities to fix this hard working young woman's problems soon.

Across the alley in No 4, Thangam apartments, Aparna was oblivious to Mrs Rajam's observations and thoughts about her. Chop chop chop chop chop chop, her hands worked the knife on the onions like she had been doing this for years, when in fact, she had begun cooking only a couple of weeks ago. That, perhaps explained the stubborn tears rolling down her cheeks and onto the counter. Her husband would be home soon, and he'd be delighted that she had made the sambar the way he always liked. Full of onions. She smiled to herself quietly as she remembered the message he had sent her during his lunch.

On a dog day..

The beggar was nondescript. The usual sunken face, musty odor, dressed in rags, hand-to-tummy gesture and a wailing baby in her arm, who she would probably pinch more often than she would feed. And today she was the subject of Sarguru Swamigal's sudden philanthropy. He worked at the Perumal temple down the road, where she would be present everyday at noontimes sharp, for her portion of free thayirsadam. She'd try and meet his eyes hopefully, when he saw him on his way out after work, but all she would receive usually was a customary tightening of his facial muscles, an aversion of his eyes and a general expression of distaste. So you can hardly blame her for her being taken aback when she received a whole 10 Rupees from him. She almost dropped the note and the baby, and forgot to thank him altogether, before blessing him with a long life and hundreds of heirs and what not, as was customary. It was just what the doctor ordered to fill her stomach with food and her mind with faith

As bewildering as his sudden benevolence seemed to her, It definitely was not random. You see, that morning, he had come across a dog relieving himself on his new moped's front wheel. He kicked the dog and stoned it, expressing his opinions on its mother's promiscuity. And the memories of this incident would not leave his thoughts, however hard he tried. He didn't think much of God, heaven or hell. But he wanted to even out his karma.

You know, just in case.

A Daughter's Father

All her life, her father had taught her that men and women are born equal. That there was nothing that she couldnt do if she wanted to. He had been there for her as she struggled through adolescence, a face full of freckles and braces. He brought her up with strong women leaders as role models and examples. He rubbished his wife, her mother, when she objected that he was raising a son in his daughter. She grew up just like he wished : Strong, independent and self confident. She was capable of standing up for herself wherever she went. He was immensely proud of the way she had turned out.


And now he speaks into the telephone, softly, almost whispering, so she wont overhear. "Yes, sambandhi. Of course. I understand. I will take care of the wedding expenses. I will also inquire about booking the car. And I will send a few more pictures of her. Yes, I will make sure that there is one of her wearing shorts. And one of her in a sari. Of course. Thank you very much."

What's your Emergency?

Her heart pounded, and her head spun. Her eyes darkened, and she could feel the bile rising in her throat. Every muscle in her body was trembling. Her knees felt shaky. She could not imagine such a situation happening to anyone on earth, even though the daily fare on offer in the papers and television was terrorism thayirsadam, corruption kaarakozhambu and politics poriyal. And yet, here it was, happening to her. She looked up at the heavens and screamed (mentally) in anguish "What have I done to you, that you're doing this to me??" She could not bear to look at the chaos and destruction around her. And the noise! The screaming! It filled her ears, with a ringing sound. She could not hear anything else, it surrounded her, overwhelmed her.

And then her instinct for survival kicked in. She could feel herself calming down, and she sat down on something. She felt herself thinking rationally. What must one do now? She reached out for her phone. Trying not to notice the trembling of her fingers, trying to compose herself, she dialed her emergency number, as if by instinct, having no trouble remembering the digits even in the face of such a catastrophe. And as the phone rang, her heart slowed, and she took a couple of deep, steadying breaths.

"Hi da kannu! How are you? How's the baby?"

"Amma, Please leave tomorrow and come. I need you here. I can't manage her. She never stops crying. I have no idea why!!"

Another Short Story

The miracles of technology have brought the world to every man's pocket. Well, for the most part. So he thought, as he tapped his way across, feeling the world with his stick. Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap. And he heard a loud honk and screeching brakes as he accidentally stepped into the way of someone's speeding car. He thought nothing of it. A few more taps, and he could feel the pavement. With an almighty sigh, he heaved himself on to the pavement and reached his destination: The corner tea shop. On its wall hung a boon of the aforementioned technology, a pay telephone, by means of which he could talk to his only living relative, his son, a few hundred miles away in Dharmapuri. He lived on a measly pension, and had allocated 10 Rupees for this 10 minute call, all in shiny new 1 Rupee coins. He sought the help of someone whose presence he could feel nearby. Feel and smell. A strong smell of raw liquor. Nevertheless, a savior, he thought, as he handed the 10 coins to him, and gave him a wrinkled slip of paper, with his son's phone number, instructing him to dial the number on the slip. And dialed his savior did, but instead of handing him the receiver:

"Hello, Shanti? I'm feeling lonely tonight. Could you possibly be of any assistance? You know the place. Be there soon. I'll be waiting for you."

And before he could realize something was amiss, the smell of liquor had gone, and with it, his savior, and with his savior, the phone money.

Yes, You

You move around in herds and wreck the peace and quiet of restaurants, taking pictures and in general making a nuisance out of yourselves.

You make a hundredthousandbilliongazillion dollars a month the moment you step out of college.

You act like and think the world revolves around you, and that you sustain its rotation.

Your company drivers drive like they own the road and cut people off and run them off the road as well.

You get everything carte blanche, from houses on rent to girls' hands in marriage, the moment you tell people what your profession is.

You have driven the prices of everything sky high.

Yes, you, software injineers and IT probessonals.


And yet, can't you design a simple "interactive voice recognition system", that actually works?


Yes, I want to be able to bank through the internet with my bank account. And I want to be able to do it without having to answer questions like "How many grams of turmeric did your great grandmother add in her kathrika gothsu?" and "What was the name of the stray dog with the limp that lived in your great-great-grandfather's yard?"

I do not want to hear "You have exceeded the maximum number of tries" before I have tried even once.
What's more, I dont want to hear it when I am SETTING a password or a PIN code or a launch sequence or whatever else you call it. I cant possibly have been wrong when I am SETTING the password.

In fact, I dont want to hear it at all. Its a bloody computer recorded lady, you're not paying her anything for her time. On the contrary, I am paying for the time I spend on the telephone. I want to be able to try till I get it. Because you made it bloody complicated in the first place.

I do not want to spend a few hundred minutes on the telephones pressing various combinations of numbers before I can speak to one of your customer dont-really-care-but-i-need-this-for-a-living executives.Its easier to contact the President of India than to talk to somebody human on these call centre helplines. Who ends up being no good anyway, because he/she is invariably going to say "sir, the systems have a problem now, so we cant process your request/query"- A system that doesnt work is as good as no system at all.

Are you deliberately obtuse or are you just plain stupid?

You blithering idiots.

Are you an idiot?

Dear Lady on a popular Tamil debate show on a Tamil TV channel who asked indignantly if any of the school owners were providing education as a service (and the general public, who, for the most part share aforementioned lady's opinion),


Education is your birth right. Healthcare is your birth right. These are promised to you by the Government of India, so claim these rights from the Government and the organizations of the Government that are appointed to dispense these rights, namely Corporation schools and Government hospitals. Do not come to private educational institutions or healthcare institutions and demand quality education and healthcare for free. The employees of the private institutions(and, in fact, the owners) can't feed their stomachs or the stomachs of their children with your blessings.


Stop using the excuse of teachers and doctors being holy. 100 years ago, a teacher or a doctor would've been able to get anything, from free bus rides, to driving licenses, to food, by virtue of their professions. Now, the thought is laughable.


Healthcare is a business. Education is a business. Neither should cost more than they're worth, and that should be regulated. But a profit motive does not make anybody evil. Learn to deal with the fact that there is no such thing as a free lunch. Not for you, and not for us. Learn to pay for services rendered.

Stop being such a bloody hypocrite, and dispense with your attitude of entitlement.


Best Regards.

Rejervation!

Not quite so long ago (in terms of history of a country, anyway) - 1947 to be specific, there was this woman called Renuka Ray. She was apparently, the minister for Relief and Rehabilitation, and when she made her first speech(July 18 1947), had this (presumably, with reference to the constitution) to say:

"Mr President, I raise to support clause 19 section 2 - providing for territorial representation without reservation of seats. We are particularly opposed to the reservation of seats for women, which we consider to be an impediment to our growth and an insult to our intelligence and our capacity"

Later on, she went on to say that they (women) had trusted men and the society and that was wrong and that "election after election, the proportion of women in parliament barely made it past 10%"


She seems to have been a lady who was capable of taking the country forward. Rather unfortunate that "men" have conned her out of her chance.

It is precisely this relentless bashing of the male sex in the name of feminism that I absolutely cannot accept. One side of the issue is that: Either say everybody's equal in all respects, and have an open competition based purely on competence. Or, have reservations, in which case, naturally you are admitting that you are not competitive in an open competition.

Which is true to an extent when it comes to politics. India is a place where the loudest voice is always correct. Footwear flinging, microphone misuse, name calling is rampant at the highest levels in the government.  And women(the non-feminist, capable, proper women kind, anyway) are unable to compete at this level. And reservations are definitely necessary to get them past this. But so are reservations for educated people, people who do not, in the immortal words of Kokki Kumaru, need to feel for the presence of their head on their neck after waking up every morning. People with doctorates. People who can communicate without resorting to absolute animal behaviour. These are the people who are capable of bringing India forward. And the proportion of these people in the government is like the proportion of the masala filling in the samosa you get for 10 rupees: You have to search for it with a fine toothed comb.

And the same goes for reservations based on caste, based on religion and so on and so forth. An open competition will result in the maximum competence possible. At the same time, it is important to ensure that all the sections of the society are offered equal opportunities AND equal resources. Which, at the very basic school level in itself seems rather impossible, with private schools having doctoral candidates as teachers and the free government schools have underpaid, overworked, disillusioned and disinterested individuals teaching. Who, in the first place, got their jobs through reservations.

And that is why the system in India is designed for mediocrity and only that. At best, we'll be second best. And unless someone sees the holistic picture, that's not going to change. And I don't see anybody who has the power, capable of seeing the holistic picture, because they simply don't have the vision.

After all, They got there through reservations.

Prima Facie

So how did it come about that Alamelu fought with her husband Paal-Pandi and went to stay at her mother's place?


It all started on that typically Chennai Monday morning, and Alamelu had gone to wash the cows, leaving him to mind the paal-kadai and supervise the deliveries. The two daughters of the vakeel(who lived down the road in the big "Lakshmi-illam") stopped by his shop daily on their way back from their morning jog to buy milk. The bigger one studied in Ethiraj college and the younger one was still in school. He enjoyed his run-ins with them, and felt that they were the only ones in the neighbourhood who deserved a dose of his english (howareyoumaguttaa?). On that day, he had just opened the shop up and he couldn't help overhear snatches of their conversation as they approached

"..nethu yepdi?
"...tama irundhudhu. Nalla padam nu sonnange, Gautam Menon padam nu ponen...Simbhu nalla nadichirukkan nu vere sonnange. Useless! Hi Pandi anna!"

And Paalpandi could barely manage a nod. He was speechless, struck dumb at the thought that two (presumably) well educated, socially aware and intelligent girls could ever expect a film starring Simbhu to be good. So flabbergasted that he forgot to mix water into the milk.

Alamelu's anger knew no bounds.

Pride goes

Nice weather + snow = lots of puddles, and slush and half melting ice.


Its nice being able to splash right through the puddles and the slush without a care, thanks to my shoes. Not caring very much for the people plotting careful routes to keep their designer footwear dry. And then getting to the half melted ice and slipping and the sensation of succumbing to gravity.


Well, on the way back, the ice came first. I was very very careful this time. And then nothing could stop me from gloating at the designer-shoes-people while I splashed through the puddles and the slush.

Karma's a bitch. And I spanked Karma. 

People endorsing unrelated products because their names are a bit similar

There hasn't been a picture in a while, has there?

Lalit Modi, For Modi Continental Tires. 




*Idea shamelessly plagiarized from Sniffpetrol. 

So!

I read a lot, so.. I have come across most cliched situations within the genres that I read, and some not so typical ones as well. And one of the most typical ones is the protagonist, male or female, pretty or handsome, egg shaped head or headless or whatever, is struck dumb. And belonging to the (I'd like to think) not so common species of men whose members have something to say in any given situation, I found that sort of a situation rather dubious. Well, not dubious, really, just hard to imagine. Until now.

A nice day actually, today, was warm by Russian-winter standards. The temperature was hovering around zero-ish. And I had some time between classes to scoot back to my room and grab a spot of lunch. So homeward bound, and I found assorted baggage just outside my room. With a "what the devil" on my lips I entered to encounter one of my neighbours asking for my help in moving those bags downstairs to the street. So carrying those bags, down we(my friends, him and I) went and to the street where we rather cleverly arranged the bags in an unobtrusive corner so as not to hamper anybody else's mobility. And as I stepped back to admire my handwork, this aforementioned neighbour proceeded to thrust some currency into my hands. And conversation proceeded so:
 
Me: Dude, What the..(vocabulary that'll make my parents wonder about their competence in raising me)?
Him: This is also work!
Me: If this was work, we wouldn't have done it, we did it because you needed help. Useless fellow!
Him: Dude, take it, please. My friend asked me to give you.
Me: No way, dude.
Him: Please! please dude, take it. please, please, please!!
Me: No way, I'm sorry.

And I walked away, crossed the road to join my friends who had rather cleverly run for it,  seeing the situation. Entered the market opposite, and spent some time undercover. Then, crossed the road again to walk homeward, to observe him standing and waiting for an automobile of some sort to pick the assortment of luggage up. Asked him if the car was going to come soon, and he said it would be. Probably he was feeling like a spanner as well, and since we're neighbours (and guys, in fact), it'll all be forgotten. But as far as uncomfortable situations go, this must've been up there among the top, and my already low estimate of Malaysia as a country and its citizens has now dropped to below sea level.

Lonely at the bottom

Lonely Planet has decided, for some unfathomable reason, to list out the most hateful cities in the world. Chennai, my hometown, has been ranked 7th in the list.

What's most laughable is the reason that they give for its existence in the list: because it is "lacking Mumbai's prosperity, Delhi's history or Bengaluru's buzz".

Now, I'm sorry, but that is the most ridiculous thing that I've heard. That's like saying Idlis are a hateful food because they do not have the texture of the dosai, the flavour of the pongal or the simplicity of the upma.

 Chennai is what it is, because it lacks the "prosperity" of the excrement covered slums of Mumbai publicized by Slumdog Millionaire, the "history" of India's first school sex scandal from Delhi, and the "buzz"-ing noises in everybody's head after the Shri Ram Sene are done with beating them up in Bangalore.

None of those cities are hateful, but they're not all milk and honey either. Like Chennai. Or the Lonely Planet author's hometown, somewhere in malaria infested Africa.

Sod off, Lonely Planet.

PS: Happy New year and all that.