Disconnected

But Siriously, what did we do before the advent of the smart phone? Well, we had to write with a pen (not stylus, you techies!) on paper, for one. Remember those address book/diary/planner thingies....wonder what happened to all that cheap plastic/leather and paper? Oh, I'm pretty sure they are still in your home.....flew back from China after being morphed into another useless possession. We used those to keep track of important things in our life. We would take notes on a notepad and stop at a gas station or convenience store for directions. We would wait to get home so we can connect with family and friends over the land line. Now we just bark at our phones. A while ago, when the first Bluetooth earpieces were the in-thing, my MIL and I were out on a walk. She saw this man pacing around in circles, having an animated conversation with what appeared to be himself and with a very sad face said..."Paavam, avannukku yenna prachanaiyo, let me pray for him!" Wonder how she will react now to people yelling in helpless rage at their phone while the phone replies in gibberish.


This talking personal assistant is a bit worrisome though.....my offspring talk for hours to the phone and the phone replies patiently, albeit with attitude. Just to put this in perspective, when I ask how school was, they reply in monosyllables. The line thins between the human and the robotic and the robots are winning, at least in my home. We have more gadgets in our home than we do windows.......a bit disturbing if you ask me. Hand-helds are changing the way that we socialize, even becoming our security blankets in an uncomfortable situation. Awkward pauses in conversation are a thing of the past....people just whip up their phones and disappear into a personal virtual world and come back, for want of a better word, re-charged. In everybody's defense though, it is easy to get lulled into believing that the phone is a real person, because even I find myself talking to the phone a lot these days. However, the other day I asked if it would like to talk about feelings and got the following reply..."I'm not sure I understand....would you like me to run a web search for that?" And then, I remembered that many men were possibly behind programming the smart phones. Droid! I didn't just say that, but come to think of it, somethings are still comfortingly familiar!


Addendum: I found this hilarious and pertinent to the post...Enjoy!

Couch on the curb

Autumn Movement by Carl Sandburg

I cried over beautiful things knowing no beautiful thing lasts.

The field of cornflower yellow is a scarf at the neck of the copper sunburned woman, the mother of the year, the taker of seeds.

The northwest wind comes and the yellow is torn full of holes, new beautiful things come in the first spit of snow on the northwest wind, and the old things go, not one lasts.

Thoughts on autumn are rather morose, always with a sense of doom at the upcoming winter. The carefree days of summer have come to an end and apart from the brief, breathtaking splendor of fall colors, bleak days of winter await. The days are alternatively beautiful and warm or cool and blustery. One never knows what to wear or how the day will unfold. It is a time of chaos, confusion and sleep pattern changes with the end of daylight savings time. Jackets are sent to be dry cleaned, flu shots are taken, summer clothes put away and nuts stored for the winter. Amidst all this, there is an urgent need to de-clutter, going through closets, shoe racks, garages and sheds.......letting go of things not needed to make room for other essentials. This happens twice an year, in spring and in fall, and no sight is more representative than the couch on the curb.

There it sits majestically, patiently awaiting its fate in the hands of the clean-up truck.  It's an ugly old thing, often wearing coffee and wine stains or results of an ironing mishap (or two). It sports runaway springs which have lost the battle against incessant trampoliners and sag-lines which indicate seating preferences of the family that owned it. It is sometimes a relic from the distant past, which reminds us wistfully of days bygone and styles we fondly refer to as being retro. It weaves a story like no other....of TV dinners, first stolen kisses, gazing contently at a newborn sleeping peacefully in arms, life altering announcements, lonely dates with a tub of ice cream, riotous gatherings, conversations, sport rivalries, huddling in a blanket and watching a horror movie and quiet cuddle times. It encompasses the emotional roller-coaster of a life well lived. Yet, here it waits, abruptly cast away from being the silent spectator of that very life. The decision to do away always comes with some measure of sadness even as the delivery truck is awaited with excitement....the harbinger of new, furniture and memories alike. Bittersweet is the word that comes to mind.

Change in seasons and in life can similarly be bittersweet. Even as greenery turns to desolate nothingness, it provides us with a sensational swan song of wondrous pigmentation. For most of nature, winter is a time of rest until rays of sunshine hug closer to the earth and life cycles are renewed in spring. In the human world, life still goes on in earnest. We are layered, cold and sun-deprived. Yet life goes on at a frenetic pace, seldom slowing down and never stopping. If the world will not pause around us, can we instead pause within for a self-check? If we are ensconced in our own small universes of personal highs and lows, how can we open our consciousness to new and extraordinary experiences? How can we enrich our lives and take it from mundane to miraculous? We do get so comfortable in our own personal spaces, beliefs and routines, often unbending to the new and unfamiliar. Maybe its time to pause, reflect and put the old familiar couch on the curb. As with everything else in life, magical experiences and subsequent memories await.

I don't do movie reviews, but......

Spoiler alert: Please don't read if you plan to watch Ra.One or 7aum Arivu.

Randomly Accessed nonsense.....

Correct me if I am wrong, but Shahrukh Khan refused to do "Enthiran" with Shankar and one year later made this film???? The mind boggles! So, was he trying to make a superhero movie or a convoluted love story? OK, I will keep this simple...the story was non-existent, the jokes were inhuman, the Tamizh speaking and noodle eating made me want to cry, the dialogs made me want to be an ostrich and bury my head in the ground, SRK had a bad-hair-first-half-of-the-film and in the second half, was perched uncomfortably on the roof of his house in a tight superhero suit, Thalaivar's cameo was painful (he is niceness personified, but he must now know when to draw the line), Dalip Tahil made me wish that I was blind and deaf, Sanjay Dutt and Priyanka Chopra could have spent their time more wisely, who the heck tailored Shahana Goswami's suits and did her hair (shudder!), the CG looked good, Kareena looked awesome and Arjun Rampal looked brooding and delish. Maybe Shahrukh should have stuck to formula and made a movie about how a geeky scientist lands a smoking hot girl in the first place. This could be set in a chateau in the alps and/or Amsterdam, with dreamy looks and great song picturization. Just when the audience is wading in sugar syrup, Arjun Rampal could have come in and created some brooding and delish ruckus, followed by tears. Then, Amitabh and Jaya could have been the wise and elderly matchmakers with saccharine smiles who unite the couple in the end. Everybody say "Shava Shava!" Seriously though, Ra.One could have been a truly fun flick if some semblance of focus had been maintained.....what a shame!

Making sense of it all....

I am fine for the first five minutes of the film, blissfully counting Surya's six-packs and enjoying strains of peaceful Mohanam, that seems to be the popular scale for most east-asian music. I'm only mildly flummoxed at a certain Pallava prince leaving for China one fine morning because his teacher felt it was a good idea.....I tell myself that this is the 6th century and possibly the era of following instructions from teacher implicitly. Then, said prince starts to teach the art of Kalari to the people of China and somehow becomes much revered Karate/Kung-fu master who accepts poisoned food from his hosts because they don't want him to leave their land. I marvel at the speed at which I become brain-dead. Then, there is circus type buffoonery and some very half-hearted romance between the lead pair. This brings me to Shruti (of the Hassan fame): she is a lissome lass who has her mother's delicate features......very pleasant to look at until she decides to go spoil it all by opening her shapely mouth and talk in Tamizh. At one point, she lambasts some elderly scientists who mock all things Tamizh by speaking in chaste VJ/RJ Tamizh....the irony! Surya (and six-packs) don't disappoint, except for a very questionable choice of wardrobe. However he looks lost, as does most of the cast and by now most of the audience as well. The villain (appropriately called Dong Lee) is, to put it kindly, a blight on the face of all villains. For one, he actually looks cute in an eastern kinda way. Also, he does not actually do anything per se....just looks weirdly at random people who then do his bidding. Where is the scar on the face, the feral look in the eyes and the snarl, I ask you? Ding dong wears street clothes and looks pretty....even item girls need to shake a leg to get paid! By the time Biowar and scientific references roll around, I am comfortably ensconced in a coma. Key concepts are explained via Google searches and Wikipedia,3-D images of DNA strands are visible through regular microscopes, genetic memory is jogged with injections and immersion in a liquid chamber and I truly don't bat an eyelid. At this point, you could have told me that I am dear Moammar's long lost daughter and I would have cheerfully agreed, even marveling at the striking resemblance. It is all genetical, or is it genital? Pardon me ladies and gents, my neuron's are truly fried.

Inexpli-cable

The joys of cable television are many. Food channels tell us what to eat, do it yourself channels tell us how to build, design channels tell us how to design, Fox tells us not to like democrats, CNN tells us just the opposite, nature channels tell us that there is life beyond the TV screen (a life that we are unlikely to see outside the TV), fashion channels teach us to distinguish between real and unreal bodies, teen channels show us how our children are going to look and speak like in their tweens and teens (insufferable brats who complain loudly about how lame most things and their parents are), preschool channels train our youngest to watch the tube, so that they have a long attention span only for watching TV and maybe take a leak or two in between (at this rate, how are they going to get potty trained, I ask you?)  and, when we are in our sleep deprived mental dead zone, shopping channels tell us to pick up our wallets and order things that no sane person would buy. Sports channels tell our boys that it is OK to plonk themselves in front of TV for hours on end in smelly boxers, scratch their privates, cheer loudly with profanity, drink plenty of beer (not light beer, because every light beer manufacturer claims that all the others are watered down. So, just to be safe, no light beer) and ogle appreciatively at thin, well-endowed girls with long legs. "Women's" channels teach our girls how to read tripe, how to balance their checkbooks, how to get in touch with one's self (whatever that means), what designers to buy from, what celebrities to gush over, how to unfairly raise expectations about their future mates (who are presently watching aforementioned sports channels), how to get therapy when their boyfriend dumps them, and most importantly, how to cry at the drop of a hat. 

So, we live in homes that we decorate many times over, depending on the current trend. We save to buy cars which depreciate as soon as we leave the dealership. We spend thousands on electronics, which get outdated in a few months. We spend even more on fashion must haves and then pay a home organizer to organize them into a small closet, away from our spouse's eyes. We try out new recipes on our brand new Calphalons, burn the food consistently and then buy new copper pans to hang pristinely on our pot racks. We buy Williams Sonoma bakeware for our see-through glass cabinets and then go out and eat everyday. Following this, we take out expensive gym memberships and be disappointed that we need to actually work-out to reach our fitness goals. Alternatively, we realize much to our surprise that watching toned bodies work out sweatily on TV is not as satisfying as we think and actually makes us reach for that bag of potato chips or that tub of ice cream much faster. We have children because it seems like a good idea at the time or we desperately need the tax break and then stress out when we figure out that they have a mind of their own. We chide our kids for watching too much TV or gaming incessantly and promptly spend the better part of our evenings watching "Jersey Shore", spending hours on Facebook trying to find out what our "friends of friends" are up to or gambling online with 1,034,000 to 1 odds.


Newspapers and magazines proclaim that the sense of well-being is at an all time low but, don't panic dear readers....there is always therapy, Oprah or this guy.........

Label Libel

How we label every minute, every hour, everyday......we perceive and sort every person who crosses our path and every event that occurs in our lives. It is this facet of human nature that I find supremely fascinating. Our senses define who we are, what we see, hear, smell, touch and taste. We are constantly bombarded with information through these senses every second of our consciousness. How we process this information is vital to our cognition and our cognitive ability is directly proportional to our survival. This primitive instinct that makes a child cautious with fire when burned once or teaches her the difference between red and blue, takes on a different turn in the real world. Let's face it, we are not exactly hunting for food or fighting another tribe for our lives or livelihood. Instead, we now socialize for business and pleasure and sure as heck don't take any prisoners. So, people are branded and sorted before the first hello's are uttered and this is the same whether it is at a business meeting or at a school parking lot.


Pushy, inept, capable, pretty, trustworthy, polite, vile, promiscuous, clumsy, uptight, loud, skinny, creepy, detailed, vociferous, energetic are all words that we use to describe one another. We are pressed for time and take a mere few seconds to judge and classify. Just like the labels on products, the labels that we use on one another stick for ever, and like some product labels, they are not very accurate.....it is all a matter of perception. It is just like our brain relies on light reflected from an object to form an image, our thoughts about someone or ourselves seem to rely on these reflected labels. It is not always a personality label that is stamped on....some are pre-existing, like religion, race, color or ethnicity.


So, what will happen to these labels on judgement day? Will the Type A's be impatient and the fidgety be nervous? Will the dramatic throw a tantrum and the inhibited cry silently? Will the selfish gather their kin and the honorable gather the young and the sick? Will the romantic be holding hands and the witty be spreading cheer? Will the aggressive get a better seat on the bus to beyond? Will the talented get selected or will the resourceful? Will the angry be angry and the obnoxious still so? Will the overconfident be confident and the reticent huddle? Will the deceitful try and cheat and the selfish, plunder? Will the venomous spew and the lewd feel lascivious? Will the bewildered be confused and the spiritual be praying softly? Will the efficient be making lists and the orators making a speech? Will the punctual be on time and the eager be ready? Will the shopaholic make one last purchase and the compulsive complete one last routine? Will the pleasant, smile and the belligerent, scowl? Will the great divine embrace us all in exactly the same way or sort, classify, label and judge?

RIP Shammi Kapoor

I have been terribly sad the last few days. In Shammi Kapoor's passing, I feel as though I've lost a favorite relative. Let me clarify that I am NOT a die-hard fan.....he was before my time and my first filmy crush was actually Mithun Chakraborty (please don't judge me...I lived in Kolkata during those tender years). My dear dad is a big Mohd. Rafi fan and I actually heard songs picturized on Shammi Kapoor before I ever laid eyes on him. When I saw some of his movies much later, I was not impressed. I liked the sauve and posh Shashi much better. Raj was too fake-happy and Shammi was just plain kooky, given to dangling death-defyingly in a bathrobe from a helicopter and crazily flailing his appendages about and daring to call it dancing. Everything about him was over the top....his dress-sense, to his dialog delivery (remember those lips that would form an "O" no matter what emotion he was professing?), his body language to the intensity with which he gazed upon his girl.


However, here I am, unable to stop watching all his evergreen songs on You Tube since his death. It occurs to me that one cannot think of Shammi Kapoor as a separate entity....it is always in tandem with songs in Rafi's voice. Rafi's songs seemed to flow through Shammi's body, to the extent that Shammi would articulate every line of any given song with a gesture, a flick of his head or something totally outrageous and unexpected.....if I had a penny for every time that he flipped his head to gaze at his girl upside down or seemed to stretch impossibly with one hand clutching a tree trunk and the other reaching out......classic Shammisms!


I realize that my sadness has a lot to do with memories of "Chitrahaar" and "Rangoli" on TV, of writing down lyrics of these songs and attempting to sing them (My buddy C introduced me to this particular habit and for a long time, we both maintained notebooks with indexed lyrics....completely redundant in these Google days, of course), of closing my eyes and letting the lyrics and music seep in, lost in juvenile fantasies. It is a sadness of a childhood lost to adult pursuits, of memories of innocent times when boy met girl, boy "phasaoed" girl, they sang some memorable songs, boy fought the villain Pran and everybody laughed happily in the end.


RIP Shammi Kapoor, thanks for the memories!

Cough, Splutter, Choke....NOT yet another car related blog

It feels strange to sit in front of the computer and let my fingers find their way around the keyboard again. It has been a good two months of rest, relaxation, self-discovery, bonding with loved ones and of course, the ever present laziness. Long absences are disastrous for a blogger, I discover.....one must contend with familiar insecurities at a whole new level. It is debilitating, to say the least. So, I will stop here with hopes that....wait, since when have I had nothing to say?


Just returned from good old Chennai. Yes, I have finally made the change from referring to the city as Madras....I cannot fight the inevitability that Chennai is VERY different from Madras. There are flyovers galore (which incidentally haven't made a dent in the traffic), there are cars everywhere (mostly call taxis or unmarked cars for hire), apartment complexes vie with mega malls for vertical space, instead of political posters on the walls, there are beautiful paintings celebrating Tamil Nadu's rich heritage, Aadi maasam is relatively quiet with the "mike sets" restricted, the ubiquitous statues around town are all golden hued (though I am happy to report, still adorned with bird dropping), there is Metro Rail worming  its way through the city and adding to the general chaos, and did I mention the brouhaha surrounding the new assembly building? As a non-political observer, I am of the opinion that the above matter is akin to uncastrated domestic male cattle excreta, and that's that! However, it is comforting to note that Chennai remains true to its roots in one respect....blending the traditional with the modern seamlessly. Only here can we have madisaar mami's (who will think nothing of donning less traditional wear on a "foreign" trip) walking toe to toe with micro mini clad girls (who incidentally might oil their hair, wear paavadai and go to the temple on Fridays). In my humble opinion, no other city in India comes even close to Chennai in this respect. Oh, and the auto drivers are still great conversationalists with topics ranging from gas prices to nuclear warfare....all in colorful Madras Tamizh (If they start referring to it as Chennai Tamizh, I will humbly hang up my hat, I swear to you!)


Now, back in the good old US of A and grappling with familiar uncertainties...from letting go of the pottu because it clashes with my jeans, morose festival days because "pakkathaathu" Claire mami did not put "feet kolam" on Krishna Jayanthi day or because Deepawali is just another work day, suddenly preferring cloth rags to paper towels, to making moar kuzhambu/paruppu usili combination regularly. For a few more days, the American way of life (especially the excesses and the shallowness) will feel very strange and comical, until school starts and I am thrown into the fray head-along. A gradual acceptance will follow when I appreciate all the good that this wonderful country has to offer, this country that my children know as their home.

Local Positioning System

On a recent road trip, I was thinking how cool it would be if the GPS voice (christened Susan and her male counterpart as Bob by spouse) was customized to speak in dialects that are closer to home for most of us. So, here goes....


If she were called Sharada, she would speak Tambram. Every road trip would begin auspiciously with "Vishnu Sahasranamam" in the background with temple bell sounds interspersed. If we make the mistake of ever starting in rahukaalam or yamakandam, the trip would start with a parihara mantram. Even if the route called for making a left, Sharada would say "Bagawane prarthichundu valadu kai pakkam thirumbuda! Cholrenoliyo? Namma periyawaa yellaam appidi thaan cholirrukkaa sasthrathle". After making a few right hand turns and finding yourself back at the same spot that you started, she would give you the signal to go left, albeit reluctantly. I am pretty sure that early Tambram explorers figured out that the world was round in this auspicious way. After taking you to Vinayagar kovil first (sounds of "setheru kaayi" breaking will erupt from the console), Anumaar kovil, Perumal kovil and few others, she will put you back on track with "Nanna vendindiyo da Ambi? Road trip ippo kshemama irukkum. Chant with me.."Aigiri Nandhini..." The drive of two hours will thus take approximately nine hours to complete.


For the Delhite, it would be Balbir Singh ji saying "Aap chintaa hi naa karo ji, mein hoon naa ji? Aapko ji, bilkul sahi jagah par pohchaadoonga ji. Vahe guru da khalsa, Vahe guru di fateh!" The console will be adjusted to say "lefet" when we actually have to go right and vice versa, for every one knows that Delhites are a bit direction challenged....they will hold out their left hand and say "Agli gali pe right maar lo aap ji aur bas dus mint mein pohonch jaoge ji." If a Delhite is to be believed, every destination is only "dus mint" away and rightly so, for they all believe that Delhi is a small island situated very far from the rest of the country. No wonder when you tell them that you are from Hyderabad, Chennai, Trivandrum, heck, even Bhopal, the response is always "Achchaa aap madraasi ho ji. Badi achchi saambur banaate ho aap log ji."


The bambaiyya Bob will actually be Balraj Khedekar and will start every trip with the tutari, dholak and lezims playing with the war cry "Jai Maharashtra". Optional feature is Lavani dancers flitting across the screen with a burst of mogra incense filling the car. Alternatively, he could be Babu Bhai who will say "Abhi kyaa? Tere ko ekdum fit pahunchaa dega apan, maaloom kya?" and if you dare disobey his commands, it will surely be "Abey O shaaney! Mein tere ko kyaa bola aur tu kya kar rela hai? Jyaada shaanpatti ki to kaan ke neechu chamaat khaayega....kya? Chamaat! Eh, Babu bhai ke saath dadagiri? Tapka daalega mein". The problem with either Balraj Khedekar GPS or Babu bhai GPS is that once they go into a rampage mode, it might take several hours for them to calm down. Also, Khedekar bhau will flat out refuse to take you to any non-Hindu locations....big problem.


However, I am ever so partial to namba Sakeela akka from Chennai-upon-Kouvam who will replace the posh Susan's "Please drive to highlighted route" with "Aiye oru dabba sonna piriyaadhaa? Soththu kai pakkam thirmba sonna peechaan kai pakkam thirmbare? Unnakellan yentha kasmaalam license kuduthuchu? Aiye....vanduduchchu paaru caare otta.....kayithe!" This model comes with a special addition....when a rash driver cuts you off, Sakeela will bellow "Inna, oottule soluttu vanttiyaa? Moodevi! Vekkam, maanam soodu, soranai yethaachchu irukka? Porikki Naaye! Thodappa kattai pinjurum solliten!"


(This post is dedicated to brother S for planting the seed of thought..........many thanks for the inspiration!)

A Vanity Affair

So, I had time to kill and went to the mall yesterday. I was minding my own business and quietly reflecting on how the price of an item of clothing disproportionately increases with the decrease in the amount of cloth used to make it or how girls' shorts and tees are getting shorter and smaller by the nanosecond and boys' shorts and tees longer and more baggy...are boys becoming more modest or girls getting hotter (pun unintended)? and other such oddities of the the retail world, when I am approached by a saleswoman from one of the cosmetic counters. "Would you like to try out the new skin and make-up line from our company? There is a free gift with every purchase." "Why not?", I thought to myself.


So, I am asked to sit on the most uncomfortable swivel barstools. The lady turns on all the lights and brings out a rather large mirror for me to look at. Now, I am fairly average looking, but a mirror that size is daunting to say the least. She goes on to say that you have "uneven skin-tone", whatever that means, and several "dark spots". You are also beginning to get some fine lines near your eyes. Did she just say "lines"?! Calling them "fine" certainly did not make it any better. "Product X will help with the skin tone, Product Y will take care of the lines and Product Z will erase all the dark circles under your eyes." So saying, she applies all three to my face. I grin sheepishly at her and say that they all feel and smell the same....like Ponds Cold Cream. I have that at home and use it everyday. She is not amused.


So, she continues her monologue while slapping many different gooey concoctions on my face and tells me "Look, I have made-up the right side of your face now. Compare with the unmade side and see what a difference our products make". I peer into the mirror, I squint at my half-made face, I move real close to the mirror, I also get off the stool and look....I don't see any change. I still look spectacular, I say to her. A bit exasperated with me now, she says "We have the perfect set of products for our most discerning customers.....its called the Ultra Mega Miraculolicious Goop. Tell you what, I will make the whole of your face with this and throw in some freebies. I will also give you a ten-day supply so that you can use it in the comfort of your home and come back to purchase when you are ready....and I know that you will come back for more! We have had such success with this line". She continues to talk and apply my new make-up for the next half hour while I'm being lulled into a deep sleep by her monotone. When I awake, I realize that its almost time to pick-up offspring at school. I hurriedly collect my items from the lady with promises to be back when the products run out and leave.


So, spouse returns from work and does a double-take at my new and supposedly improved face. I think nothing of his "peiy aranja" look or the fact that my offspring walked past me at pick-up today until I retire for bed. I almost have an aneurysm when I look at my reflection in the mirror.....let's just say I was reminded of the dearly departed Michael Jackson and his famous song "Thriller" at that point. After scrubbing the make-up off , I apply my trusted Ponds Cold Cream.


So, I don't know about you, but I'd rather look like myself....uneven skin-tone, lines, dark spots and all, than pay a whole lot of money to look like Michael Jackson's ghost!

Of love or the lack thereof....

What is this love anyway? Merriam lists some nine definitions of the same, ranging from "strong affection arising from personal ties" to "unselfish and benevolent concern" to "attraction based on sexual desire" to "holding an opponent scoreless in tennis". This is my feeble attempt at demystifying the word for our times.....


Is your man texting you five times a day (at least)?
Is he your friend on Facebook and does he "like" all your status messages?
Does he call you a few times a day at least to check on you and/or tell you how special you are?
Does he buy you flowers on the day that you make "paruppu urundai moar kuzhambu"?
Does he inundate you with sweet little notes and/or expensive gifts?
Does he get along with all your friends?
Does he rub your toes and get you a warm blanket when you are stretched out in front of the TV after a long day?


These are sample questions that might be on a poll in a woman-centric magazine. This being a PG rated blog, let's not address the poll that might be in a men's magazine. By now, the astute reader would have guessed that I'm not talking about tennis (the rest of you will catch on eventually). As the world goes hi-tech, love, an already complex emotion, only gets more so. When you are in love, you tend to show-off.....a lot. "Look at what I have and look how he expresses love for me" seems to be the mantra today. We really don't need to use binoculars to spy on our neighbors a la Sowcar Janaki in "Bhama Vijayam". Our female neighbors (both real and virtual) are very forthcoming in this regard and no detail is spared. Sample status messages "Its a Tiffany and Hermes birthday. My husband is beyond..." or under a picture of a two dozen roses "I got roses today. Why? Because its a Tuesday, that's why! My boyfriend so rocks!!!" or even "I got engaged on Friday to the most amazing man and cannot stop looking at my x-carat ring, set in platinum. Sigh!" Chances of seeing similar updates on a man's page are pretty slim, even non-existent. How did we get from "Does your mate whack you on the head with his club and drag you by your hair into his cave? Hubba, hubba, you lucky devil!" to "Did your partner propose to you on a yacht, off the coast of a private island in the Carribean? You lucky diva!"? Some pretty clever marketing, that's how.


What is love to me? It is a man walking his children to school in a downpour, carrying a bright pink umbrella or another who quietly does the dishes every night after a hard day at work or a man who tends to his ailing wife without complaint for fifteen years. Maybe its just me, but these things sure seem to last a whole lot longer than many dozen red roses. 

Yudha Kandam (Spring)

This is an excerpt from a chapter in the well known saga Allegrayanam that deals with the war between  Allergy Sufferer and Outdoor Allergen.


Once upon a time, Allergy Sufferer decided to take a walk outside his home. "The sun is shining, the birds are singing and the flowers are blooming", he thought, "What a beautiful day for a long walk!" Thus thinking, he slipped into his very comfortable walking shoes, wore a light jacket over his walking clothes and stepped out of his home. Alas, his good walking intentions were foiled by several sneezes and through the haze created by his watering eyes, he beheld the evil Outdoor Allergen. "Aha! So we meet again, O heinous one", the Allergy Sufferer said loftily, "I challenge you to a duel unto death". "Bring it on", said the Allergen with an unpleasant gleam in his eye.


And so, the Allergy Sufferer went into his home and came fortified with his allies Claritin, Zyrtec, Nasonex, Patanol and Benadryl. Allergen merely laughed and blew some grass pollen into Sufferer's face. This caused severe blows to the Sufferer and along with continuous sneezing, he had to now contend with itchy, red eyes, itchy, runny nose, congestion and post-nasal drip. He was forced to retreat a few steps and convene with his other allies Claritin-D, Allegra-D and Sudafed. They advised him to go all the way with Deltasone, Nasonex and Alrex. Allergen sighed, "When will Sufferer understand that he stands no chance against me?" With a twinge of sadness, he loaded up his ammunition of tree, grass, flower and weed pollen while idly reflecting on the sheer uselessness of weed pollen as far as mankind is concerned, and fired.


Sufferer felt the effects right away...his eyes swelled shut, his nostrils closed up and his head started pounding from the pressure. Forced to inhale through his mouth, he was consumed with hacking coughs as the pollen entered his lungs. Faced with this onslaught, Sufferer did what any self-respecting person would do....beat a hasty retreat to the safety of his home. However, unbeknownst to him, at his home was Outdoor Allergen's twin brother Indoor Allergen waiting to start his assault on Sufferer's already weakened Immune System.


"Ha Ha Ha Ha", the twin brother's laughs boomed jarringly on Sufferer's already jangled nerves, "Serves you right trying to take on the two of us at once". "Achooo!", replied the Sufferer weakly while reaching for his inhaler and retreating to his bed , "This is not the end. We will battle again. Achooo!".
Gesundheit!

Cirque Du Jour

Getting desensitized to news media does not happen overnight....it follows a long winding road which starts with promise and ends with distaste. For some, it starts with morning news shows in the nineties, through which wide-eyed ingenues drank up sights and sounds of a new and exciting world. Not ones who cared for mindless soaps, they get hooked instead to these vaudeville style shows that for three hours would give them a slice of americana. So, they go through a plethora of emotions at the OJ Simpson trial, the Oklahoma city bombings, Princess Di's divorce and subsequent death, Mother Teresa's passing, a sheep called Dolly, Jon Benet Ramsey's murder, the Unabomber, the Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa run chase, the Clinton-Lewinsky saga, Ricky Martin fever, Columbine, El Nino, the tragedy of Flight 800 and the Y2K non-event among many others, with the whole nation.

Then the 2000's roll around and the shine begins to wear off a tad. There is a realization that news is cyclical. The Gulf war and Saddam Hussein gives way to Iraq war and Saddam Hussein to Afghanistan and Osama Bin Laden to Libya and Gaddafi, Somalia to Darfur, Bill Clinton to Gary Condit to Eliot Spitzer to John Edwards, heck, even the McCaughey septuplets in 1997 to the Suleman octuplets in 2009. In a bizarre dance, the people and places change but the news in essence remains the same and news reporting seems more sensational. Add celebrity news to this melee and it only gets worse. The 21st century ushers in the new era of "being famous for being famous" with hall of famers like Paris Hilton, Richard Hatch, the balloon boy and others. This is also the time that weather emerges as a serious newsmaker, unleashing earthquakes, tsunamis, hurricanes and tornadoes at the drop of a hat.

These days, there is a reluctance to watch any TV in the morning, except a quick weather watch to decide how to clothe the kids for school. World news is too depressing and the lesser said about local news, the better. Mornings must be positive and joyful so that the feeling reverberates through the whole day and news certainly does not help this cause. Has news has gotten more disturbing or has tolerance for it declined? Why this reluctance to switch on the TV today when every news channel will be talking about Osama's death and why the saturation with the royal wedding or Heidi Montag's multiple surgeries?

Why be upset at the news-makers when the news itself is so disturbing? They just hold a mirror to our face every minute, every hour, every day. If anything, they try and inject some humor into the whole thing. If not for media circus, Lindsay Lohan would be just another loser and the royal hat fashion would be just another faux-pas.

Mechanical failure

I hate getting an oil change for my car. Most people may think of it as a chore, an annoyance, an excuse to get out of the house, a means of watching stupid court shows on the waiting room TV, reading crappy magazines as a guilty pleasure or to gawk at newer models of cars displayed on the sales side of the dealership (where the TV shows, magazines and coffee are way better, I must say). I treat an oil change with the affection that I have for tooth extraction.


I understand why the oil needs to be changed.....it's just like after using oil for frying pooris or vadais, we would not reuse it. I understand that in the same way that twice-used oil will eventually clog your arteries, so will the unchanged oil clog the engine of your car.  My problem is when the mechanic (let us call him Machiavelli, shall we?) gives me that ingratiating look when I go to pick up the car. I immediately steel myself to say "No", "No" and "No" to all that he says. He starts out with "Nasty weather outside, right Miss?" Curbing my initial urge, I have to say "Yes" since Mother Nature is unleashing some of her PMS right outside the dealership. Before I can recover, he quickly follows it up with " I have good news and bad", with the charming indulgence of one dealing with a kindergartner. "The check engine light that was on, has been switched off at no extra charge, but it's your timingbelttransmissionairfiltercarbeuratorthingamajiggit that needs to be replaced." "Say what?", I blurt out, suddenly wishing that I had not been day dreaming during many a Physics lesson or even when spouse was patiently explaining the internal workings of a car. Too late now, as brother Machiavelli moves in for the kill with ".... and it will just cost you your children's college fund or your antique jewelry. We will take either.....we are not picky, no siree", he finishes with a flourish.


Here is my problem....I love to drive. Whether it is a short jaunt to the grocery store or a long one cross-country, I love the feeling of freedom that I get when I am behind the wheel. However, I have absolutely no clue about what lies beneath the hood of the car.....for all I care, it could be a great big hunk of cheese. So, when Machiavelli announces that something needs to be replaced, I have horrendous visuals of my car literally falling apart down to the nuts and bolts on my ride home if I don't do as he "recommends". It certainly does not help that he adds gravely, "I am simply suggesting this in the interest of safety" and visuals of my offspring flash before me. "Yes", "Yes" and "Yes", I find myself saying to him. "Excellent" he says beaming, "Now, I'll need your signature here, initial here, thumbprint here and as soon as you sign over your life's savings, we will have your car ready"


After convening with members of my gender and sharing these experiences, I have come to realize that I am not alone. I have since formed a Facebook group named Society for Unsuspecting Chicks bilKed by dEvious Repairmen.

more...

6. Truly badass villains dressed in costume or better yet, in drag: Ah, it was the era of being bad for the sake of being bad. There were none of these modern day portrayals of villainy full of angst and a side-story of how the villain is bad because of childhood abuse or some such lameness. There was no plot that required the hero to show his dark side either. The yesteryear villains reveled in their villainy, wore outrageous costumes, had skimpily dressed women parade around at their whim, had some of the best lines in the film, had a coterie of equally badass assistants, had the best addas in which to go about their business of villainy at and could kill anyone at the drop of a hat.......all done with aplomb and a manic laugh thrown casually in. Mogambo Khush Hua!

7. Lame court scenes: Another staple of movies then was the ubiquitous court scene. It certainly did not matter that the film was a period piece set in the Paleolithic era....there just had to be a court scene complete with judges (and sometimes lawyers) with bad hairpieces, blindfolded lady justice with the scales (the scales would be tilted if the director felt that justice was not being meted out to the suffering heroine) and fake and flimsy enclosures for the accused party (I never understood the purpose of these honestly). Everybody in court also wore those Batman capes and used very fancy sounding urdu words like kaid-e-baamushakkat (sounds like a term of endearment rather than a tough sentence, if you ask me). 


 8. Fight and chase scenes: What movie would be complete without these gems. Screeching tires, cars which always went through dhobi ghats where visibility is hampered by hanging clothes, dhishoom-dhishoom of fists finding their mark, dhichkiyen dhichkiyen of bullets flying and never hitting their mark, people hanging out from the cars over treacherous cliffs, lots of ketchup and broken glass everywhere and horribly inept policemen who always missed their targets or arrived very conveniently at the very end when all the hard work was done. It seemed as though the sound mixers did not have to do much...they just picked out standard sounds and inserted them as required. Even the background score was recycled...you know the one where it seems all very hurried, chaotic and seems as though something big is going to happen any minute and nothing ever does?


9. Long dialogues: This was an innocent age when people had all the time in the world...they could take a few days off from their very important jobs, romance their mehboobaas at a hill station and still come back to their jobs. There would be no questions asked....in fact, many even got a promotion at work on their return. Work was a hobby...something that people would eventually get to after dealing with the more important things in life. Needless to say, the dialogues took the same scenic route. Be it passion, love, outrage, sadness or even death.....everything was unhurried. If someone got hit by a bullet, they would wax eloquent their regret for about an hour with ketchup steadily pouring out of their pristinely laundered white shirt/saree before actually dying.


It is surprising that no one has even felt like me and made a movie with these fantastic winning ideas from the past. Oh, that's right, Farah Khan has. And you say that her last movie was a flop.....outrageous! People have no taste, I tell you......

next segment...

5.  Suspect love ishtories: It was never very clear WHY the hero and heroine fell in love in those days. It could all start with just one look at assorted body parts....err, I meant the face (like moon), arm (like "vazhaithandu), foot (like lotus flower...yeah, I did not get that one either), hair (like kaale baadal), eyes (like water in the jheel) or even at a the sound of jhankar of payal worn by heroine and seemed like the (il)logical conclusion, considering psychopathic tendencies demonstrated by hero.


Scenario:


After monologue in the last segment, our dear tapori goes about the business of apnaaoing the babe. He will stalk her to her college, her home, her typewriting/shorthand institute (southie touch) and even to the neighborhood dukaan/maligai kadai with very suspect lusty looks. Babe is not impressed. He accosts her and says Tum aur mein pichle janam ke saathi hain. Babe walks past him with a hmph. She still has books on chest even though it is probably 5 am and she is going to buy bread aur andey  from chachaji ke dukaan. 


Tapori: Jao.....kahaan chali jaaogi? Mein tumhe apnaake hi rahoonga, haan! (With swagger of a man having scaled Mount Everest).
Babe walks back irritated and says Dude, I am really NOT interested. I cannot make this clear enough. Mein tumse behad nafrat karti hoon, and marches back home, bread and andey forgotten.


(Poor, unsuspecting school girls in the audience think how wonderful it would be to be loved thus and pimply adolescent boys think, Yeah baby! That's the way you stalk a girl...and its legal? This is my lucky day!)


This does not deter the tapori and he continues stalking the poor babe. Many, many, many, many, many, many lovely songs later, there appears to be some progress. Babe's expression changes from loathing to tolerant. The deal is sealed by ruffians who are either real or fake.....let me explain this. Tapori sends gundas to mock molest babe, quite conveniently forgetting that his behavior towards her could be best described as inappropriate. The idea is that tapori will beat up fake gundas to impress babe. Sometimes, the fake ones arrive as expected, but sometimes, real gundas appear at the designated spot by sheer coincidence. So, now the tapori fights the real ones and impresses himself along with babe.


To make a long story short (no really, the stories were that long), the couple unites in the end. There were a few fun elements thrown in like advice given by worldly wise friends, cut wrists, Bapu and Mayi with many apoplectic fits, bloody family feuds, lusty uncles who want to marry the babe or childhood fiance who appears from nowhere and even terminal illness. There will even be a second hero/heroine thrown in to supposedly hoodwink the audience into believing that the hero/heroine might end up with the spare. Really? With a hand-me-down wardrobe, terrible make-up and hair, no songs and that moping expression, they never stood a chance!


These days, the hero/heroine have the attention span of a housefly.
Hero: Hey, how you doin'?
Heroine: Great, if fact, I am seeing someone. So thanks and goodbye!


Hero: Slides over to next barstool and says Hey! How you doin"? to the next girl.


Many confusing turns later (all the spares are well-dressed and equally unknown wanna-be's/starlets, so we never know who is going to end up with whom in the end), two random people from the group "hook-up". What? Did they not say that they were brother and sister? No, that was him and the other spare. I have this to say, however suspect the yesteryear stories were, there was NEVER a confusion who the hero and heroine were!


More later......

continued..

3. The absence of manly heroes a.k.a Hairy Tapori Heroes (You thought of Anil Kapoor as soon as you read this, right? No? Liar!)


Scenario: (Group of suspect college-going lads sit outside girl's college/hostel. The reason I say "suspect" is that most lads (including hero) look old enough to be at least 30. Also, at their best dressed, they look like scruffy pedophiles (think Chunky Pandey...... Nizhalgal Ravi/Chandrasekhar for the southies...just have to substitute tight pants for dirty lungies...both equally unattractive, if I may add)


HTH: (Twirling suspect college book nonchalantly on fingers.....suspect because the title reads "A Stone for Danny Fisher" by Harold Robbins. Wait, I think Harold Robbins was required reading at college in those days)
Mein pyaar shabd se nafrat karta hoon. 


4. Absence of heavily made-up ladies with hair teased and permed to hairspray heaven a.k.a Hot Heroines....incidentally, wasn't this the time when we first heard the words Ozone and Layer together?


HH: (Coming out of hostel/college with groupies, holding books sedately to chest and fake laughing) Hut Sheela (wordly-wise fraand)


HTH: (Stops in mid-sentence and stares dumbstruck at would-be jaaneman, most likely thinking....is it possible to have so much hairspray on and not combust in this heat?)


HH: (Steals a glance at the lads and picks the hairiest best of the lot to focus fake-laugh-with-covered-mouth at)


A flutter of duppattas later, she is gone, leaving HTH with mouth still open and drool collecting. He turns to his fraands and says
Mein ab pyaar mein vishwas karta hoon. Agar maine ise kisi bhi tarah nahin apnaaya to naam badal loonga. (Sounds like obsessive lust to me at best, not to mention a very abrupt change from nafrat to vishwas, don't you think? Very suspect!)


Anyway, the love-ishtory pans out in the next segment......

Movie Blues

Here's what is wrong with Hindi movies these days.....


1. There is no hypertensive dad, a.k.a "Ghussat Baapu":


Mock scenario in days of yore.....
Daughter wants to brush her teeth in the morning and announces the same to her parents.


GB: HARGIZ NAHIN! Hamare khaandaan ki izzat ko mitti mein mila rahi ho! Arrey, log kya kahenge? Hum to baahar muh dikhaane laayak bhi nahin rahenge. 


Beti: Err, I just want to brush my teeth!


GB: Lakshmi, Isse kuch samjhao.....


2. There is no overreactive mom, a.k.a "Philmy Maa" (last word to be said in a nostril flaring, nasal tone....think Dharmendar)


PM: Kya keh rahe ho, beti ke babuji, yeh kaise ho sakta hai? Yeh kalmuyi khud bhi badnaam hogi aur hame bhi badnam karegi. Hamari kismat hi phooti hai!


B: You know what, I'm just going to brush while you finish up with your nervous breakdown.....


GB's chest starts heaving and eyes rolling and PM rushes to his side while a "Beti ke babuji" shrilly rents  the air. Beti runs towards GB and PM teary-eyed, the toothbrush forgotten.


These days you have movie parents who are such pushovers, it is quite sad.....


Beti: Hey Yashraj, Lakshmi! How goes it?


Pushover Parents: Hey beta!, with fist bump.


B Guess what, boyfraand and I are leaving today for the mosquito infested Congo Basin Forest for six months on an expedition. When we return, we plan to announce our engagement.


PP: But, beta, you are just six years old!


B: Oh, grow up folks! We kids start young these days...did you not get the memo?


PP, with fake laugh: OK beta, I hope you got the necessary immunizations. Have a good trip and send us a postcard!


Fist Bump!




to be continued......

Toldja!

Evidence number 1


Evidence number 2


and this of course was begging to be shared.


Also highly recommended is typing "missing socks" on YouTube search.......we are certainly NOT alone!

The case of the missing socks

Folks who do the laundry know that there are at least fifteen lonely socks at the end of every single load. If you are like me, you keep them in a basket until you finish all the loads and try to match the one hundred singletons at the end of every laundry cycle. You will match most of them. That will leave you with about five that don't match. These are the ones that haunt me...they are the ones that keep me up at night with the burning question, "What happened to their pairs?"


I have a few theories, the most popular one being that the dryer hides them inside the vent and spits some out as lint. The dryer has an interesting way of doing this.....it hides selected singles in the dryer vent. Then, when you are wondering about the missing socks, it regurgitates the old pairs from the vent and hides a fresh set of singles from the latest load. This is sheer genius because this way, you are forever looking for pairs. Also, when you clean the dryer filter, there is always some lint sticking to it, so you overlook the massive collection inside the vent itself.


The second theory is the "sock monster" who flicks them when you are not looking and puts them back in another load to mess with you. For folks who are rolling their eyes at this, if there can be "underthebed monster", "basement monster", "furnace monster" and "Lochness monster", there can be "sock monster". You disagree? Well, they feel mighty real at 2 a.m along with my good friend Di's poltergeist/ghost theories (yes, the same ones that I laugh at in broad daylight).


Theory number three is that there exists an alternate dimension for single socks to which they are drawn inexorably. There they lie in stupor, floating without a care while you are left baffled. Alternatively, comet dust, asteroid particles, cosmic dust, circumplanetary dust, you know things more commonly known as space junk could all be just lonely socks from all our homes floating around. Suddenly the rings of Saturn lose their ethereal mystery....telescopic imaging aside, I am pretty sure that they are clean socks, is all I have to say!

Rain

I can sit for hours watching and listening to rainfall. I personally think that it is the most versatile sound on the planet, ranging from pitter patter to downpour to everything in between. It is also visually very appealing and when you put the audio and visual together, it is nature's answer to Broadway.

Imagine this....lush green vegetation and air so thick with moisture that you can barely breathe, dark clouds angrily gathering troops, a sky suddenly dark, looms closer to the earth and the surroundings hushed, setting the stage for the show to begin. The first rain falls and immediately the smell of rain and moist soil fills the nostrils (Tamil has the perfect word to describe this smell...."Mannvaasanai"). The downpour continues as mists of moisture rise through the canopy of vegetation. Thunder rumbles and lightning crashes all around as the rain reaches a crescendo. Visibility is negligible but brilliant flashes of lightning illuminate occasionally. In this lighting, everything looks sinister and hair stands up on the nape of the neck. Just as suddenly as the downpour started, the rain winds down to drops and finally stops. The earth is sated and plumped with moisture, so much that the trees drip the excess from their extremities. The clouds move on to saturate elsewhere and sunshine peeks through their retreat, as though seeking permission to come out. The slanted rays stream through the canopy and bathe the scene in their light, diffused by the residual mist.....everything is languorous as if after a satisfying meal followed by a long siesta.


I recently attended a chorus presentation at my kid's school where there was a simple, yet effective demonstration following a song about rain (forget what the song was). Imagine about fifty kids doing the following: first they randomly snap their finger, first slowly and then increase the intensity and speed (to show the first drops), then they rub their palms together rapidly (to show steady rain coming down in sheets), then they pat both palms rapidly and loudly on their thighs (for the downpour), then back to rubbing palms together, followed by the finger snaps, this time decreasing to silence. It was the most beautiful thing that I have heard in a while.


Beauty abounds in nature....be it in the sound of raindrops or in the purity of children reproducing the same at the school gym for an audience of proud parents. We just have to still our minds enough to enjoy  it.

The morning chronicle

Whoever said that time flies when you are having fun is a big fat liar and does not know a thing about getting kids ready for school in the morning. Don't believe me? Let me tell you what happens in my house from 6:30 a.m to 9:00 a.m every single working day. It is a short period of time that flies too quickly even though I am most definitely NOT having fun.

You would think that something that needs to be done every day, like waking up to go to school will  come naturally, but no it doesn't. Whoever said that it takes two weeks for any habit to form is also a big fat liar. Incidentally, who are these people and why are they saying random things that unnecessarily increase expectations in the minds of unsuspecting mothers? Its just not right!

So, every morning, I try to wake offspring....I have tried:

• Turning lights on and turning fan/humidifier drone off. Absolutely no change...if anything, I can hear the snores more clearly......forgot to spray allergy medication at night, you see.
• Pulling sheets/comforter off of them.....they just move to my freshly made bed and proceed to continue where they left off.
• Calling out in normal frequencies, above normal frequencies, ear-splitting frequencies and even in frequencies that I am told can only be heard by bats. Fat lot of good that did!
• Wetting tissue and running it over offspring's face. Older offspring merely giggles and turns over in his sleep.
• Singing to them.....both in key and off. I managed to get a furrow of the brow with the off-key singing....musically inclined my offspring is.
• Playing M.S's Venkatesa Suprabhatam......... it is the sound that most of south India wakes up to, including a certain Yezhumalayaan sitting in the town of Tirupathi. No such luck in Northeastern U.S.A.....time zone problems maybe?

After all this, even if I do manage to get them off their bed, they seem to have a problem remembering which direction the bathroom is. Older just looks at me blankly and younger happily goes to the play room and proceeds to play an elaborate game of Monopoly all by himself. A few friendly (?) reminders later, they find the bathroom. After several more friendly reminders, they are brushed, showered and dressed and I am ready for my daily anxiety attack since it is now 8:15 a.m and kids have to leave the house at 8:30. 

Breakfast is yet another ordeal since both offspring never EVER want the same thing to eat. I have to play this carefully because if I say that there will be one choice and the other will just have to eat it, I am accused of favoritism. So, in the interest of political correctness, I make two different breakfasts every day. Between making two breakfasts, packing two different lunches and two different snacks, I am seeing double everywhere. No wonder, it takes them double the time to eat a meal now, compared to when we are not rushed. 

Finally, food gets eaten, mouth washed, back-packs packed, jackets, hat, mittens and shoes worn and we are in the car.....it is now 8:35 and we are already stretching our time cushion. Younger chooses this very auspicious moment to announce that he needs to go potty. Seriously, God chooses this time to explain to me that what goes in must come out? So, off comes the jacket, the hat, the mittens, the shoes and the clothes and offspring proceeds to sing very leisurely at the potty while I wait, multiple veins throbbing and ready to explode. After getting done and getting dressed all over again, we are back in the car. 

At the end of the car ride, where I battle short traffic lights and other crazed moms and dads, I reach the kids to school. It is now 9:02 and when I drive out of the parking lot, I feel as though the weight of the world has lifted off my shoulders. I make it back home with absolutely no energy for I have had no time to eat breakfast and there on the kitchen counter sit two packed lunch boxes............................




Addendum: Offspring wakes up at 5:30 a.m on a snow day. Really now!