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.