Nothing about Basin Bridge

Politically Incorrect

2011-12-31T07:32:00.001+04:00

Lookie! Here I am, again, on the last day of this year. And rather annoyingly, Facebook, it seems, won't go away. In fact, social media has become humungous. Absolute nobodies become household names overnight. Household names get cut down to size when their misdemeanours become the target of very public, and very personal flogging. Again, through social media. Careers are made or broken, because of viral responses to stuff on social networking sites. And it is being hammered into our heads, non stop, that social media is the next best thing since sliced bread. The wheel. That it really is the cat's meow.

Heh, no.

Let me explain. India, in the past few months, has been hit by a popular movement against corruption, led by someone called Anna Hazare. The rights and wrongs of his movement, I shall not go into (not in this post, anyway), but Mr Hazare, we're told, has "hundreds of thousands of millions" of supporters across India and the world. How are these numbers arrived at, do I hear you asking? Well, its based on how many people "Lick" his Facebook page or "tweet" his twatter page, or something. And its not just for this, its an epidemic. When Sachin Tendulkar had scored about 70 runs in a recent match, NDTV already had a page up to "congratulate Sachin on his 100th 100." Well, he never got there. And yet I'm sure the page got millions of licks. And twats.

And based on these numbers, people make money. Advertising revenue. It doesn't quite translate into anything in the real world, though. It is so laughably easy to "support" or "congratulate" someone, clicking on things from the comfort of one's home. Click, click, click, click - it takes no effort at all. Damn nearly no time spent, nor energy, nor money. And so, when Mr Hazare expected hazaron to rally against corruption, he got about two attendees. And quite likely neither of whom had licked his page. Does this mean, then, that people aren't bothered about corruption? No, I'm sure they are - but just bothered enough to click. And nothing more. That's how its been for quite a while now, hasn't it?

What, then, has social media changed?

Thanatophobia -

2011-09-25T12:17:00.001+04:00

- I hear, is the fear of death. Yes, that fear. Of death. Arguably one of the most popular phobias. Or at least one of the more popular ones. But I wonder how many actually have the fear of death in itself, which is essentially a biological process. I might even go as far to call it a biological milestone. I'm inclined to think more people are afraid of the implications of death - not being able to do the things you've wanted to do all your life, not being able to meet the people who matter to you, not being able to achieve anything more - and so on and so forth. Which then begs the question - Conquering the fear of death, which many (for lack of a better word) Godmen and saints have claimed to do - Is is really something to be proud of?

Isn't it a statement that you're making - that nobody really matters to you anymore - that you don't have anything else to achieve? That you think the world can't find you useful in any way whatsoever? Isn't that a rather sorry state of mind to reach?

So! All the fuss of not being afraid of death! What's it about?

Postulate

2011-06-04T19:06:00.000+04:00

Sometimes, you can do everything right. Well, mostly right. And still not get the result you deserve. Or you think you deserve.

What, really, can you do with an examiner that disagrees point blank on a fact?

:D

Just saying. For future reference.

An obsession

2011-02-27T22:07:00.002+03:00

He watched the much too dramatized sensationalized masalized news report of the plane hijack, and the terrorist's demands to the government to free their contemporary. He watched the photos of the hijackers' young families put on millions of screens worldwide. Their pretty normal wives. Pretty and normal, in fact, he thought.Their children, the same as children around the world, oblivious to the fact that their fathers at the very moment were away, inconveniencing (to put it mildly) a plane-load of people for as an elusive and abstract concept as freedom. He watched the arrested terrorist be released from jail, land in a secluded airfield and appear at the door of the plane, at the head of the stairs-on-wheels. He watched as the terrorist waved, with a face overgrown with scraggly and patchy hair, like the garden of a house whose occupants had died. And yet, a face alive with the jubilance of impending, if rather undeserved, freedom.

He felt no emotions - none for the lives of the military men who had been lost in arresting the terrorist. None for the emotions of the family of those on board the hijacked plane - all of whom must be thanking their government, and still praying hard, for the whole episode to end. None for the politicians, who wondered about the political impact their decision would have on the next election.

Instead, he found himself wondering, rather uncontrollably - if the terrorist had received a free upgrade to business class when he checked in for the flight. If he had, would his escort police officers be upgraded too?

Just a thought

2011-02-07T14:16:00.002+03:00

So these guys - with their mohawk-ed, mullet-ed or spike-d hair, a few hundred rings and of different sizes on their face, a plethora of shiny things dangling off of their necks, waists, jeans; their trousers worn around their knees, with a few holes in appropriate, and a few in inappropriate places, a few tattoos of various things, including characters from a language they don't understand -

- You're telling me that one day, a man is going to look at them and say "Yes, you are what I'm looking for, I am going to give my daughter's hand in marriage to you"?

Well, what a world.

Ein moment!

2010-12-13T04:16:00.001+03:00

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!

2010-12-13T03:30:00.002+03:00

Sony Music Entertainment, You utter bell-end!

2010-10-30T11:15:00.000+04:00

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

2010-10-03T21:47:00.001+04:00

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-colored "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 favorite 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 pretty young woman, pushing a cute little baby in a pram. She had paused momentarily in conversation with her friends as she saw him, so they asked her rather anxiously what was wrong. She shrugged it off, and said she had just seen someone she thought she knew.

The Jump! to a conclusion

2010-10-02T23:24:00.003+04:00

Mrs Rajam saw her only for a couple of seconds. A prefunctory 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..

2010-09-22T20:06:00.002+04:00

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 peeing 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

2010-09-19T01:04:00.000+04:00

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?

2010-09-15T16:02:00.002+04:00

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

2010-08-27T18:49:00.002+04:00

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

2010-07-20T19:26:00.003+04:00

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?

2010-06-07T00:39:00.000+04:00

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!

2010-04-12T00:07:00.004+04:00

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

2010-03-14T13:37:00.002+03:00

So how did it come about that Alamelu fought with her husband Paal-Andi 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 Andi anna!"

And Andi 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

2010-03-02T16:46:00.002+03:00

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 it.

People endorsing unrelated products because their names are a bit similar

2010-02-26T13:04:00.005+03:00

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

Lalit Modi, For Modi Continental Tires.

*Idea shamelessly plagiarized from Sniffpetrol.

So!

2010-02-25T12:29:00.000+03:00

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

2010-01-02T15:09:00.001+03:00

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.

If

2009-12-16T21:18:00.001+03:00

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

2009-12-08T07:52:00.003+03:00

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

2009-11-30T00:00:00.001+03:00

"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

2009-11-08T14:20:00.005+03:00

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?

2009-11-01T17:45:00.010+03:00

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

2009-09-17T08:14:00.003+04:00

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!!

2009-07-11T21:21:00.011+04:00

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.

@#$&@!!!!

2009-05-30T10:58:00.010+04:00

"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

2009-05-24T12:22:00.010+04:00

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

2009-05-10T12:11:00.004+04:00

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..

2009-04-28T04:10:00.002+04:00

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...

2009-04-05T23:03:00.005+04:00

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...

2009-03-21T08:16:00.005+03:00

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 ~~Ass~~Facebook, 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..

2009-02-10T14:55:00.007+03:00

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

2009-01-26T09:13:00.011+03:00

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..

2009-01-10T20:45:00.007+03:00

..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...

2009-01-05T13:44:00.007+03:00

~~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.

Puthandu Nalvazhthukkal!

2008-12-28T12:49:00.006+03:00

Поздравляю с Новым годом!!

Let us see how 2009 is for the world.

On the bleak side of things, More boring F1 with stupid, stupid FIA nonsense rules, more terrorist attacks, more scrotum shaped cars for India, and more people lapping them up, BJP maybe? More really stupid movies, both Hindi and tamil. More hip hop. Well, technically, more of everything that irritates me.

On the bright side, however: Snow Leopard, IPL(I think?), Cheerleaders!!, Obama?,

Actually, there isn't much of the bright side that I can think of now. Nevertheless, I'll just take life as it comes. Has worked out well for me, so far..

No resolutions, I think. I'm sweet enough, already.

Hmm... one more rubbish post? All i want to say is... cheers! Here's to 2009..

Nonsense-post

2008-12-21T12:37:00.002+03:00

Have been waiting for long to post one of these...

Weather's niiiiiiiiiiiiiice. well, inside my room, anyway.. outside, my dashboard widget shows the temperature to be -8. Hmm... kinda high for this time of the year, wonder what's happening. Its usually in the negative teens...

Kya kare kya na kare ye kaisi mushkil hai! so much of work to do... and i just don't feel like getting out of bed. My bed's been made all the more attractive with fresh sheets changed two days back. What timing!!! the worst time ever for my bed to be made attractive...

At the same time.. There's nice hot tea and eggs and bacon calling out to me...from the cafe. like civilization to Bin laden. or America, or whatever works for him.

I've always wondered, what witchcraft happens beyond the last station in an underground system.. always wanted to escape the cctv's and stay in the train.. that was solved last saturday.. I could see from the platform into the tunnel... the train just went in and reversed back. How mundane...I was imagining turntables and everything.

Over and out. I'm getting back to sleep. Or whatever.

Whatever. The world runs on whatever.

Whatever.

Freedom, Equality & Justice for All

2008-12-14T12:15:00.008+03:00

I was watching a TV show, the other day.. and it was a debate on how some sections of the public are discriminated against, based on their profession, for example, or their marital status. The yardstick that was used to judge the discrimination was, for example, being able to get a girl (yaarum ponnu kudukka mattendra) or, being able to get a house for rent. (or not)
Sometimes, namma tamizh TV shows le, in the interest of good television, objectivity is thrown to the winds. In this episode, one of the two guests invited was a TV-serial actor and his wife. In response to a woman's claim that media-personnel had a reputation of being sexually promiscuous, or having "indecent" parties that involved liquor and women, this actor's wife said even if she was a member of the media, she had to cook for the husband, wash clothes, and wash the bathrooms and everything, and everybody applauded. The way I saw it, that was completely besides the point, and lady's question remained un-answered. The truth is, what people like to do is minimize the amount of risk in their lives. Life, is short, and the people would like to minimize the amount of time worrying about something, or being unhappy. And statistically, these sections of the public have been known to make bad tenants, or bad sons or daughters-in-law.
These people may not be all that bad. Or they might. But, in life, we simply don't have the time or the energy to deal with them if they turn out to be bad. That's just the way society works. One bad egg spoils it for everyone. Because somebody with our skin colour and a big beard is going around throwing high explosives at everybody, we get a lot of "Sir, Can you step aside, please?" everywhere we go. And like the host pointed out, likely that the discriminating people will get discriminated against elsewhere. And then they'll just have to deal with it. Its not like they're not gonna get discriminated against if they don't discriminate.. After all..I'm hardly likely to get into a backward class reservation somewhere just because I've rented my house to someone that the society condemns.

Randomly

2008-12-07T14:15:00.006+03:00

He watched her from a distance. How beautiful she was, and what a wonderful person. It made him immensely proud to have played a part in making her the miracle that she was today. She was surrounded by friends, laughing and talking, in the porch of the house she'd grown up in. He'd caught two buses, jostling in the sunday crowd and walked a kilometre or two to see her. Not meet her, but see her. He didnt want to embarass her in front of her friends. He knew his little mannerisms, clearing his throat constantly, gargling his mouth and spitting into the sink while washing his hands after eating, embarassed and irritated her. He hated making her unhappy. He couldnt help it, She knew he'd do anything for her. She meant the world to him, and more. She was the the love of his life. The number of times she'd slept on his lap after having listened to his stories. Her first day in school, when he stood in the sun for hours, where she could see him out of the window, becuse he had promised her he would'nt leave. She was what he'd always lived for. The living image of her mother, who had been his baby, and now she was. She'd always be. He'd turned back, having looked at her. How long he'd waited for this..This darshan of his goddess was enough to keep him going until he saw her again. Next year. He turned back, with a smile on his face, and the swarams of karaharapriya on his lips, his hand absently checking his pattai vibhoothi. Walk to the bus stand, bus no. M28 to Saidapet and then wait for 17,which conveniently stopped directly opposite the old age home.

In a World of Magnets and Miracles..

2008-11-30T12:18:00.012+03:00

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!!!

2008-11-29T18:07:00.010+03:00

"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..

2008-11-23T13:58:00.004+03:00

..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!!!

2008-11-16T12:38:00.002+03:00

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!

2008-11-12T10:50:00.000+03:00

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.