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.