Reunion - A trip to horror land

In a passing conversation my friend mentioned about meeting his classmates from school over the weekend and I felt weird and estranged. Another friend of mine fished for his classmates from college on popular networking sites such as Facebook and Orkut. And finally the last guy talked about running into his classmates from Medical school at Delhi Airport. Earlier in the week an email was followed by a phone call from my University in US. They wanted my help in getting together alumnus of URI for a for a reunion party in Mumbai in November 09. My facial expression was contorted upon hearing the planned and unplanned reunions both from friends and from my college. To me anything from the past is a landmine.

Why would many go to reunions? Why would some search for their classmates online? Why would someone even talk when they run into their classmates? I have no positive answers to the above questions and but I have my logic to stay away from high school horror stories.

My school days were traumatic – growing up with a weird feeling inside. I was a target of bully, and often an object of ridicule. Was it because I was smart and caught in their vortex of jealousy? Or was it because I was dumb caught in their trap of derision? You should ask those wicked souls.

I am still trying to understand my tormenting school days – it is really puzzling. The happiest period in a child’s life turned nightmare and I always wanted to grow up asap and get out of this prison called “school”. No fond memories…whatsoever!
I hoped for a fresh lease of life as I opened a new chapter in my book of life. I didn’t want to meet anyone from my school. But the emotional scars from childhood turned me into a bookworm and killed the spirit and joy of college life. I spent 4 years in the company of books, music and a friend. I remember my heat transfer and mass transfer equations more than spirited parties and college tamasha.

Are reunions supposed to be happy, nostalgic and cozy?

When I first joined Facebook earlier this year, the site ran algorithms from my personal data that I shared and pulled up the list of alumni from both my school and college. The novelty of Facebook made me connect with a few, but then I realized that we had nothing in common but the distant past which I am still working to come to terms with. Most of them were in cushy jobs, excelled in their profession and personal life was no short of success, they were married with kids, driving expensive cars, and I had nothing in common with them.

All the lost years didn’t take us anywhere. After a few conversations we were still strangers and we couldn’t relate then and now. I finally ditched the idea of befriending strangers from my school and college. I deleted them from my list without a second thought and sympathy. Even virtual reunions failed! May be we were better off being disconnected.

When I walked into my new job this year I remembered I had a classmate from school working for the same company. We were bench mates and we got yelled at by our Math and Chemistry teachers. I wanted to share my specs of nostalgia over a cup of coffee with him and feel proud how far we’ve travelled in life. I was in a double mind if I should get in touch with him and talk about our illustrious past, but finally I gave in. I expected him to be the same bench mate, but this time in my life. We had one great conversation, and then he invited me to his house for his second kid’s birthday. I knew I would feel out of place, I never had any baby anecdotes to share and I would be looked upon like an alien. After the first meeting, I never get a call back from him. I tried reaching him a few times, and I am waiting to hear from him.

I realized over the years we’ve all grown apart and there is nothing in common to discuss even after so many years separation. Our lifestyles were different, our hobbies were as far apart as desert and mountain, they were all caught up in changing diapers, chauffeuring in-laws, and scheduling immunization shots for their babies. I can understand the responsibilities and vagaries of married life, but neither can I complain, sympathize nor participate. I felt we were opposite vertices of a triangle.

The reunion thingy has never worked for me. “Friends reunited” is sadly an oxymoron. Some of them wanted to scratch me and assay below the surface. Some want to autopsy my life, rate my success and happiness, but I could not let anyone do that to me. I’m not the kind who would assess their happiness, success and compare to make myself feel better. More often I was sad after these reunion meetings.

There is no common denominator to crib and laugh, but more reasons to feel sad, old and incoherent. What is the use of such reunions when two people feel disconnected and discordant?

Are we looking to validate our unlived life at reunions? Do you want our friends to appreciate and recognize our lives, achievements and our lifestyle? Reunions seem to work for people who’ve done extremely well for themselves and for them it is flaunting their success, wealth, but for the ones who’ve not made it to top, reunions are sore spot and report cards that show their failed life.

I have the power to see, sift and choose my friends. And today I feel it is much easier to make new friends than searching for ones lost in the past. It is easier to find someone who will fit your soul, life and the present you.

Is it just me or are there many out there who feel the same?

A tribute to Gopali

At 82 his spine was bent, bags below his eyes, edema in his legs, his activity levels reduced, but his sense of hearing and eye sight was just fine and voice was never short of cheerfulness and enthusiasm. The last time he was hospitalized for hernia surgery doctors were not happy with his heart condition – fist size pump in his chest had slowed down considerably. When I visited him a few hours after the surgery, he asked me to sit beside him and he held my hand. The same hand that gave me my first glass of milk for 20 years, the hand that gave me an oil bath Saturdays, and hand that rubbed Neem leaves over my body when I was down with chicken pox. I massaged his legs, but he pulled them back and I was shocked at his reaction. It was those legs that pedaled the in the sweltering heat and brought my lunch for 12 years, the very legs that drove me to the neighborhood park when I was young. His eyes were closed, the effect of anesthesia was weaning but his lips kept murmuring tales from my childhood and he punctuated every sentence with a blessing for me.

Gopali, as we call him is more a family member than a caretaker. Sixty years of service or should I say sixty years of nurturing our family tree and seeing 4 generations of our family grow and cherish. My dad was hardly a year old when he came home in 1949. Not sure if he was sent by God, but hardly 10 years after his arrival my grandfather passed away. My grandmother was the only daughter and Gopali stood besides the family like her brother for 60+ years. He moved with the kids to erstwhile Madras and took care of my dad and his siblings and that continued for 60 years. The only male member in the family after my grandfather. Wow!

A palatial house, few cars, half a dozen cows, 2 dogs and 6 children, the man was both mother and father. He has nurtured our family tree for 4 generations and still the love and care for the family has not reduced an ounce. He was a mother to the fatherless children, grandfather to us and great grandfather to the 3rd generation kids. Dropped them at school, brought them lunch, picked them in the evening and stayed late till they all went to bed. He never let an insect get near any of us and would always watch kids in the house like a Hawk. This continued for 3 generations, with love and care. This seems like something beyond gratitude.

He was not only a member in the family, he was a midwife to the cattle in the house, a friend to both the dogs in the house, and he was everything everyone wanted. With all these responsibilities he never had a minute to think about his life, marriage and kids. Atlast, he was forced to get married in his early 50’s, and to him marriage was more a companionship than have children and grow his family tree.

Whenever Gopali fell ill (fever, cold, Malaria) kids would visit him multiple times a day to enquire about his health and sit around him and hear anecdotes. It could be stories from the 40’s, days of annas, paisa, furlong, his admiration for my grandfather, narrate my father’s childhood pranks. It was definitely a trip down his memory lane. Ancestral stories are always pride and ego boosters. He is a repository of all our family details, important occasions, events, etc.

How can there any festival without Gopali. Be it Navrathri, he would be the first one to talk about it month in advance and get dolls from the attic and decorate the steps single handedly, be it Diwali he would buy fireworks and sun dry them every day and the day before he would never rest his eyelids. He would be up by 1 am in the morning and make hot water in the huge copper vessel on the traditional brick lined stove in the backyard and be it Pongal a week before he would start painting horns of cattle and getting ready for the festival. More than the festivals and festivities it was his hype and happiness that we remember and will recant.

A healthy, clean, and extremely active lifestyle (even at the age of 80 he went around the town in a bicycle) kept diabetes, blood pressure, dementia, Alzheimer’s and other age related illness at bay. They always say selfless soul don’t suffer and depart quickly. A fortnight ago during his regular morning ablutions he banged his head in the toilet. The fall and head concussion had given rise to thrombus, the embolization brought his weak heart and pulmonary system to a halt the same day by midnight.

A selfless human and an angel that guarded the family for 60 years was gone. I still don’t have an answer for the question – what bonded us? When some lives end they end with a big question for the rest to answer. Was it just love and affection or was it unbreakable karma?

Old age - Is it a curse?

I shared a few links last week about palliative care, assisted living, hospice, terminal disease, etc. Here is another one on nursing homes
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/24/health/24nursing.html?_r=1&pagewanted=all

I don't know how many of them are single, married, divorced, widows, widowers, etc., but there are in nursing homes, some by choice and some by the choice of their family. Recently my colleague's father, diagnosed with brain tumor, malignant (final stages) moved into a hospice because her mother could not take care of him single-handedly and both girls were working in different cities. It can be both emotionally and physically draining to see a close family member every day suffering and sinking deeper in the jaws of death.

My dad's grandmother lived till 90, but her last year was in bed. We were in a joint family and we took turns and attended her. Awareness about simple old age disease like Alzheimers, Parkinson's, Dementia, etc. was not there. We failed to understand her illness and rather attributed to personality and behavioral traits from youth. In India we don't classify illness and understand the seriousness of it, rather we park it under the umbrella of "Old age", "senility", etc.

Today India is rapidly progressing towards the western lifestyle. In most cases both spouses are working, in some cases children are far away busy earning in various foreign currencies and in some cases people don't want to deal with the physical labor of nursing an ailing family member and take care of daily chores. In another 5-10 years we will soon have a great demand for such facilities. Since I have decided to stay single I may end up in one of these centers and who knows, I may be battling something as simple as arthritis or something scary like prostrate cancer , I don't even know where the hell prostrate in my body is. All I know is to prostrate. :-)

I am keeping myself abreast of what is happening in the West, and I don't want to wait for my turn to learn about it. Now you know why I read such articles and generously share it with you. Sometime it is better to be self taught rather than wait for life to teach you. Even if you don't get a chance to live, you can still reach out to people and help them.

BTW, I have a plan to start something for elders along the lines of palliative care, assisted living, hospice, etc. Irrespective of whether you have a family or not, spouse or not, people end up here because they need attention, care and emotional support that is not available at home. For
someone like me who will have no kids and wife, this is my destination baby. Growing up is not mandatory, but growing old is.

Apologize, if I am sounding pessimistic, self loathing and cruel, but journey of life is such. If you wish and think along the same lines, we can engage in a discussion and start volunteering our time at a hospice. We will get to meet older people with debilitating disease, their families
and importantly what it takes to run a hospice.

If this interest you then we can talk, if this email threatens then you can ignore, you never received it and the delete button is just a mouse click away. But remember what goes around, comes around!

Here are the other links that you may want to read:

http://www.nytimes.com/2009/07/09/health/09sisters.html?ref=health
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/08/20/health/20doctors.html?_r=1&em=&pagewanted=all
http://www.nytimes.com/2009/05/17/health/policy/17untested.html?ref=health


I will stand by to hear from you.

August 14, 12:30 Noon, TTK Road, Chennai

I was on my way to work and it turned out to be yet another day in Chennai’s weather calendar - humid, sultry and hot. Predictable! The auto driver had just reached Music academy and the signal turned red. Murphy’s law? Why blame him now? You know a lot of interesting things happen at traffic signals in India. Do we even pay attention to red light and zebra crossing in India? Two wheelers were standing ahead of the zebra crossing and annoying auto drivers were maneuvering dangerously to get ahead of them. In India, chaos is also predictable.

I felt the sweat beads tickling and trickling down my ribs and flowing down to my hip. While I was patiently waiting for the lights to turn green I saw an elderly woman at a distance. May be in her late 60’s draped in a white polyester saree filled with red flowers, her grey hair neatly oiled, and wrinkled face decorated with bright red kumkum. The face of poverty was beautiful! She would not need more than 60 cms of blouse material to cover the ribs that hugged her heart and lungs tightly. She was doing her tricks to get the guy in the car roll down the window. Was she selling ears buds, cleaning cloth, knick knacks, jasmine flowers, magazines or holding her brass pot (piggy bank) draped with yellow cloth in the name of Ganesha?

Sounds like Madhur Bhandarkar movie, huh?

Over the next few seconds the old lady was surrounded by vehicles on all sides, but she boldly stood there trying to get the attention of the man in the car. Was she trying to attract his attention or was she trying to rouse the patriotism in him? My eyes toggled between the old lady and the traffic light. If she didn’t cross over to the other side or get back on the pavement the impatient and unruly Chennai traffic would have definitely abused her and merciless metro water lorries would have run over her.

I could faintly hear her voice over the deafening noise of horns and revving automobile engines. Still the guy in the car refused to roll down the windows. What does it take for people to roll down the windows? Does it need compassion, kindness, empathy, sympathy or patriotism? Can freckles, wrinkles and frailty do it?

She was not like others who target your pocket change at traffic lights, her focus was sharp and clear. I was increasingly feeling anxious and I tried to put my hand out and get her attention. Even at the age of 60+ she was ready to sweat it out, take it all in and make ends meet.

She was holding two dozen tricolor plastic flags between her right arm and chest, while her left arm was busy knocking the window and I must tell I have never seen such intense and raw emotions before. Is she Kodikatha Kumaran’s sister or is she Barath Maatha? Barath Maatha at traffic lights? Sound blasphemous?

Does anyone even remember her on days other than Aug 15 and Jan 26? Well who can even recognize her? But before the amber turned green the windows of the wealthy man’s Toyota Corolla rolled down and a few tricolors went in the car and tucked the currency in her wrinkled hip. I searched for a smile on her face, but in the meantime green appeared on the tricolor stand in the corner of the street, and chaos returned. Did her patriotism pay off or her perseverance? Did poverty sell patriotism or patriotism sold poverty? God alone knows.

63 years of Independence…and many more to come…but and yet...? You think about it…

Polestars of Carnatic Music

We all know that Carnatic music has always been closely held like a treasure chest by the Brahmin community, and in those days it was difficult for women in their own community to come on the stage and make public appearances with their music. Not that they were not capable, but the male domination prevented women from ascending the performance platform. Let us put aside giving records, female artist could not find male accompanist and even if they did the accompanist played only thukkadas and not for pieces such as RTPs that brought out the mastery of the vocalist. Society then had set roles and standards for women and it was not easy to transgress those boundaries. It was the time when child marriage was still practiced and women didn’t have an opportunity and even if they did they were not allowed to go through the gurukula style of music training. Unlike these days, that was the only formal way one could learn music.

Women are torch bearers of tradition and keepers of values, hence if they fail an entire generation losses. Even at the time when women were merely restricted to their homes and kitchen, these women came out in the public and in a very subtle way sang and fought discrimation. It was a fight through Music. Gandhian way – it was ahimsa to the core. Simply a revolution through music.

From Hindu mythology we know whenever the balance of justice sways to the side of adharma, almighty incarnates to bring back the balance of justice to equilibrium. May be the “Trinity Goddess” Durga, Lakshmi and Saraswati decided to manifest as DK Pattammal, MS Subbalakshmi, ML Vasanthakumari.

How do you know if someone has come with an avathara nokkam? When they leave the earth they leave more than a fan following, they don’t just leave a trail, but pave road to divinity for the rest to walk. A life without an objective, vision and mission is vyartham and the life these 3 lived shows that they are “Avathara purushis”.

An era of divinity, an era of creativity and innovation within the boundaries of tradition was born. Their arrival ended the male dominance in Carnatic music and marked the birth of new era and paved way for other musicians of the same gender to take up music. This didn’t mean they were disrespectful of their men.

Though they did not belong to wealthy family and it is natural for them to gravitate towards money, fame and media, but nothing moved them from their objective, vision and tradition. Greed was kept in check. It won’t be an overstatement if I said they the trinity demonstrated Gnana, Karma and Bakthi marga all in once century and almost during the same time.

The eldest of the trinty Shrimathi DK Pattammal shed her sthula sariram a few days ago. But her music and life never wavered from the path of tradition. May be her mission was over.

Her rendition of Muthuswamy Dikshithar’s “Subramanyaya Namasthe”, a kriti that even maestros falter, moved Ambi Dikshithar (Grandson of Muthuswamy Dikshithar) and he volunteered to tutor 13 year old DK Pattammal. Even today she is considered an authority in Dikshithar and her rendition of Kamalamba Navavarnam is considered most chaste and accurate. She even learnt from Papanasam Sivan (Thamizh Thyagaraja). When given an opportunity to sing in the movie, she restricted herself to patriotic songs and those with a divine flavor. Sometimes I ask myself – is life plotted by destiny or divine? My words can never live upto her music and no words will be suffice to talk about it.

When success, fame, money comes early in life it gets to the head, but for the trinity this was never an issue of the head or heart. Life was equally unforgiving and challenging and these women had donned roles as mother, wife, sister, guru, grandmother, etc. but there was commitment, excellence, patience, steadfast, divinity, dedication, humbleness in every role they assumed. But how did they manage to live without tear, fuss, and complain? May be they were looking at the destination and not caught up in the journey.

They never sang for money, were not on a race to give albums, hog media limelight, not on a coast to coast tour schedules, titles came in search of them. They went in search of divinity and rest came to this and even when ti came to them they never spent much time on it. One took Venkatesa Suprabatham, the other took Shyamala Dhandakam and ML Vasantha Kumari took Tirupaavai – that was their route to divinity.

It is not easy to toggle between family and fans, personal life and professional life and the trinity didn’t have difficulty in managing identities because they had only one identity. Women and men today and future generations are going to be faced with similar challenges, same issues, same roles and these are women they can look upto to for reasons and answers beyond music. Their lives are not best practices, but are bible to read, respect and follow.

People will remember her fiery, patriotic songs – Aaduvomey pallu paaduvomey, Paarukulley nalla naadu, her inimitable Shanti Nilava vendum, but they forgot to honor this freedom fighter, musician, a true Barath Ratna. They should have draped our National flag on her and given her a funeral marked by gun shot and national respect.

Women like her are born once in a century or even dearer and seldom we get to know, understand and live at the same time. May be it is not late for us to reminiscent and respect a great soul.

DK Pattammal’s songs on You Tube

Partriotism:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wQGaVdZsMy4

Barathiyar:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XjYzZwzK3qc

Muthuswamy Dikshithar

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ia3rgnpEnCo

Papanasam Sivan

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3T5YKSkh1I

Shyamala Dandakam

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dVk4UUbQffQ

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dun2SV1g208&feature=related

King of Pop gone...

I was not at Staples center, I was not dressed in black, didn’t wear black sun glasses to hide the sorrow and tears in my eyes, I didn’t have to stand up every time they applauded and gave him an standing ovation, but nevertheless I felt all that they felt – an irreparable loss. Both my corneas were naked and inundated in brine, tremors and whimpers in my four chambers made it difficult to breathe, and finally an irreconcilable and irreplaceable loss and a feeling of hollow in my chest. It felt like a personal tragedy though I have never seen him face to face, not a fan of pop music, but there was something about him that strummed the note of melancholy in my heart.

I experience a sense of great loss when Rajiv Gandhi was assassinated, but not to this extent. I was just 15 years and I felt the hope of India was extinguished, the star in the northern sky vanished. Then it was Princess Diana in the fall on 1997. When I think of the word Princess, I cannot place anyone else name next to that prefix. Princess and Diana are just made for each other. A charisma beyond cameras can capture, softness beyond touch and description, eyes that reflect the effusing beauty of the soul and I can never stop describing her. Again I have never seen her, but still felt so connected and long acquainted. The next one came in December of 2004 when The Nightingale of India took her last breath. She was called the “Queen of Song”, and Hindus even referred to her as “Meera bhai reincarnate”. Again I never saw her nor heard her music live, but fell in love with her just listening to her albums and seeing her pictures. And in the summer of 2009 it is Michael Jackson.

I have seen none of them, just seen them on television, heard their albums and fell in love with them. You may call it infatuation, but I felt something that is missing in me in them and also felt something common in us. Was it the search of love and happiness?

Of the 4 deaths that moved me to tears, it was Diana and MJ demise that took me beyond boundaries of consolation. It made me question our brittle life, social set up, unsatisfying relationship. Both of them tried to find their happiness in their relationships, in their families, and fell in love, I mean literally fell (fall) in love. Fans placed flowers, held a candle vigil, wrote eulogies and songs, but they couldn’t pull him out of the jaws of death.

He sang for the world “We are the world”, he sang to forget his sorrows and transported fans to another world through his music. But the disloyal world judged him for his color when he was black, judged him for his color when he turned white, and then pushed pedophilia charges on him and never let him live in peace. May be that is why both MJ and Diana didn’t want the world to show their face to the world after their death. Hopefully MJ will now rest in peace.

Today we are all searching for the same happiness and love that MJ and Diana were looking for. He was lying in a gold casket surrounded by handful of family, bunch of friends and millions of fans, but not even one could help MJ find his love and happiness. A bad childhood, an unsupportive family, a miserable marriage, and finally an untimely death – that is their storyline. They could never pull the trigger and open their parachutes. May be God wanted to hear his music and give his son eternal love and happiness?

Friends and family came to the podium and shared their grief and closeness with MJ, but did they ever reach out to him, did they ever help him out get out of his debt trap? Now no one will know the truth.

The Queen of song, MS Subbalakshmi was both beauty and talent, she too faced financial crises, and health set backs, but her relationship with Sadasivam helped her to stay focused and calm in the journey of life. May be I am just assuming that she lived a full life, a life of happiness and content.

Many of us are journeying in the same boat of insecurity. We are looking for the islands of happiness and love in people with a hope they would make our incomplete selves complete in many ways. But sadly to most this is a never ending journey and a journey to “Never Never land” and a quagmire. Hopefully these deaths will teach us how to live and how not to judge people.

Maharashtra during monsoon

I did a 5 day lighting tour of Maharashtra with my colleague Shatru. With Pune as my base, I traveled 1500 kms in 3 days. I was able to cover places of spiritual significance (Ashtavinayak, Jyotirlings’ - Bhimashankar, Grushneshwar and also made it to Shiridi and Shani Shinganapur) and also got a change to visit Ajanta and Ellora. The monsoon rains had arrived, though not in plenty, but still Maharashtra is beautiful. Farmers had tilled the land and sown the seeds and looking at the sky with hope and faith. In general people are soft spoken and I hear women dominate their men. I also got to taste a few Maharashtrian dishes like Poha, Sheera, and Batata vada.

Pune is a beautiful city with mix of both rural and urban. Like any other city in India, Pune too has power cuts, water scarcity, traffic issues, but I got sold on the greenery in the city. Khadakwasla Dam, Singgad fort, Osho commune at Koregoan Park are other added attractions in the city.

Enjoy the pictures and if you plan to travel that side and need help, give me a shout.

http://picasaweb.google.com/kdbulls/AshtavinayakMaharashtra#

http://picasaweb.google.com/kdbulls/BhimashankarGrushneshwar?authkey=Gv1sRgCNiki6nbg7GKhAE#

http://picasaweb.google.com/kdbulls/Ellora?authkey=Gv1sRgCO-Zg8rOpbmc1AE#

http://picasaweb.google.com/kdbulls/Ajanta?authkey=Gv1sRgCIKCqt_Cy7DVLg#

http://picasaweb.google.com/kdbulls/DirectorsCut?authkey=Gv1sRgCID0-tmdv5rRRA#

Mylapore Karpagambal Mess - Obituary

Whether Goddess Karpagambal is a landmark for Mylapore or not doesn’t really matter, but for the starving tastebuds and empty stomach Mylai Karpagambal mess (MKM) is the landmark. Everyone in Mylapore, outside of Mylapore and even NRIs who come to Chennai during the music festival knows Mylapore Karpagambal Mess. The place is not spic and span and even AC dining hall was a recent addition. It is not well laid out and not as pricey as Saravana Bhavan or Vasantha Bhavan, their adai/avail. Kasi halwa, carrot halwa, rava dosai, filter coffee is lip smacking and famous. Music and MKM goes together like sruthi and layam. There is something in MKM that is not there in Saravana Bhavan or Vasantha Bhavan.

I was at Dakshinamurthy Auditorium at PS high school and when TM Krishna started finished the Bairavi alapanai, I decided I wanted to celebrate the grand Bairavi chewing on MKM adai avail and may be top it up with Kasi halwa. This momentary thought took me to MKM and I missed the violinist delineation of Bairavi. I silenced the salivating tongue and growling stomach and mentally got back again to the auditorium, in time for Shyama Sastri’s swarajathi.

It was little over 9PM and I hurriedly walked out of the auditorium and forayed into RK Mutt road. MKM drove my legs to take long steps and I wanted to hit the mess before the crowd got there. The market on North Mada Street was still busy and vendors were trying to sell their stuff and empty their stock. I made quick left turn at the end of the street and my eyes were looking for back illuminated bold green board and my nose was busy trying sample the air. I thought I had missed the mess and I went up and down the street couple of times. My brain was trying to identify the nearest landmark to MKM and then trace the path again. To my dismay and surprise the name board was not there, and heap of fresh rubble welcome me. My tongue submerged in saliva suddenly truned dry. I was there a month ago for lunch with my colleagues and we enjoyed a full square meal and today it seemed like a hide and seek game. I could not believe this.

I thought this was some renovation work, and when I went closer I saw the roof torn down and the restaurant that marked the tastebuds of Mylapore was reduced to a heap of rubble. I picked up a small stone from the heap and walked home thinking….how can Mylapore exist? I wanted burst into Gopalakrishna Barathi’s song Yeppovaruvaro yendhan kali theera……
Which Emden did this to Mylapore? There is no music without layam and there is no Mylapore without MKM.

Flu....blue..and true...

It was Bird then cow and now it is Swine. I dont know if there is any relationship between the animals and the ones in the Chinese calendar.

A team of scientists dug up data about the last four flu pandemics. Their analysis, recently published in the New England Journal of Medicine, shows that the swine flu pandemic has already fulfilled one of the conditions — it is caused by a new variant of the flu virus family.

Man has tampered too much with ecological pyramid and there seems to be a catching up game between man and science. Man would not have to deal with all this if he didnt create hybrid polutry and dairy varieties, everytime there is break through there is a new disease in the town.

Can anyone win over nature?

Nazism….Ausizm…Obamaism

Before America went to elections India media and journalist went speculating Obama’s attitude and outlook towards India by reading his talisman. What an illogical way to deduce a conclusion on foreign policy based on his talisman. Is it desperation or delusion to think this way? Or both? May be Obama wanted Hanuman, the messenger Rama sent to court of Ravana to be his messenger too?

Obama appointed a few smart Indians to lead a few key functions in Washington. However much Obama tries to sharpen his knife and severe the umbilical relationship between Bangalore and San Francisco, shift jobs from Bangalore to Buffalo, reduce the H1B cap, cut back on sops and tax credits for corporations that outsource work to India, but will this really propel the stalling American economy is to be wait and watched.

Irrespective of the geographies they live in (UK, US, Aus) Indians have commanded respect both in the axis of power and knowledge. Is it awareness or fear that makes them get Indians on their side or make us their benchmark? Sadly this also makes Indians are targets of racial violence.

Post 9/11 a fellow student who went to school with me at University of RhodeIsland abused and accused me and other fellow Indians of taking their jobs away. He used to work at American Power Conversion (APC). A cousin of mine who went to law school in Manchester was beaten black and blue 5 years ago. Then Gandhiji was asked to de-board the train in South Africa, and today Indian students are targets in Australia. Racism never went away. Crudest weapon to use on mankind is the one based on race, color, caste, creed, and sex.

Nazism…Ausizm…Obamaism….

In the wake of all this US and Obama must exercise caution while making reference and comparison to India and Indians. Today American economy is badly hit with recession, unemployment and more American students are going back to school to re-skill themselves. Indian have always pollinated American universities and now Obama’s speech exposes Indians and Indian students to a high risk of racial discrimination. Intimidation and comparison is not the best way to motivate to compete and perform. Obama’s speech only instigates hatred, anger and violence against Indians. See the tone of this message…..Is the Hanuman talisman really working the Indian way?

Here is what Obama said…

Obama said that while at one time America produced the highest number of school and college graduates, PhDs, engineers and scientists, it has fallen behind and is no longer “head and shoulders above other countries when it (comes) to education”. “We’ve got to pick up the pace because the world has gotten competitive. The Chinese, the Indians are coming at us and they are coming at us hard, and they are hungry and they are really buckling down,” Obama said at a meeting in Wisconsin on Friday. “Their (Indian and Chinese) kids watch a lot less TV than our kids do, play a lot fewer video games, they are in the classroom a lot longer.” At present, the US is in the “middle” and has settled into “mediocrity” among the wealthy, advanced, industrialised countries. There is a need to improve as American kids are falling behind when it comes to science and math, Obama said.

Summer of 2009…

The past few months have been heavy on both my mind and heart. I used bring home a dirty laundry of emotions from work and was always occupied with looming layoffs, soiled company brand and uncertain tomorrow. But all this went out the door with the arrival of my nephew, a 26 month angel.

The moment I ring the door bell he yells “Arun mama” and the little feet charges towards the door like a pony. A loud chortle and an incandescent smile and he works his little fingers on the padlock with impatience and urgency to let me in the house. I must confess this is the best welcome I have ever had and no red carpet, confetti, and camera flashes can compare to his welcome.

It was goodbye melancholia and welcome euphoria. And even before I put my laptop aside and remove my footwear he is ready with his arms up in excitement. And the very moment I get him up on my hip he wraps his tender legs around my hip and goes non-stop like Rajdhani express to apprise me of his day. My fatigue and pre-occupation dissipates instantly hearing his narration both in words and action.I discovered the truth in my grandmother’s statement "kids will make you forget any sorrow". Trust me kids are mood enhancers and endorphins unlimited.
Mornings are always busy and hormonal, but these days it is more special with the little one. The first word he would utter when he wakes up is “mama” and it means I have to cuddle up with him in the bed and I have tell him our plans for the day and then slowly cajole him to get out of the bed and entice him to get into the toilet for ablution rituals. I have never felt this important in life. Does it sound like the Adam Sandler movie? Well have a nephew and then you will find out for yourselves.

He is always ashamed of being caught in his naked moments and if caught naked....he would close his eyes and say "shame shame puppy shame". Who will not enjoy this innocent recital? It is fun infinite and 24 by 7.

Just to watch him mischievously pee in the bucket of water (reminds me of Peter Sellers), gleefully lather the fresh bar soap, swallow the paste while brushing the "arisi pall" (size of rice grain) is just priceless. I have never received “Knighthood” to understand the honor and pride, but it compares no way close to “Mamahood”.

At times it his innocence and at times it is his maturity that leaves me in awe. Like a prince he would look up and down his closet to decide on the clothes to wear. On the way out he would reel out the agenda for the day - Citi center, beach, ice-cream and if I didn’t pay attention he would just keep repeating at the same decibel until I acknowledged and agreed on his nagarvalam itinerary. Sometimes I wonder if he was going through his schedule of events while deciding his attire for the day.

Once dressed, he would parade into the prayer room to prostrate and recant "Mudha karatha modhakam" at his own pace and infant style. Even MS will come second to his devotion. After smearing viboothi on his forehead he would end the prayer with "ammachi kaapathu". I am sure almighty would come down to my place everyday to enjoy this innocent, wholehearted devotion.
My life has been completely changed in the past month. So many small things that I never noticed due to fast paced lifestyle suddenly appeared in my canvas of life. Life paused, canvas turned colorful and air filled with child talk. I have childproofed (oovaa, mum mum, thacchi, pappu, etc.) words and at times even added new ones to my dictionary. Definitely it was childhood relived for me.

Everything that he does is a treat to my eyes and ears. It is a pleasure to watch him clap and enjoy nursery rhymes while he gulps down "pappu and thachi mum mum"(a special tam brahm kid meal). And sometimes I will have to come up some random fairy tale to make him eat the meal. It is heartwarming to see him pace up and down the room engaging in a conversation on the mobile phone. There is so much happiness to see him identify FMCG brands and chime in with the jingles. And when it comes to bedtime we have our pillow fights, hide and seek game under the blanket and our kathai session. He sucks his thumb and falls asleep as I keep patting him on the back and there were times when I fell asleep before him.

Every time I wear my footwear he wore his and was ahead of me to get out the door. It was never that easy to leave the house without him. There were days when I was late to work because he just wouldn't let me go and there were other days I proactively diverted his attention by turning on the cartoon channel before I sneaked out of the house. But he realized I was missing he would look for me in every room in the house. I never wanted to cheat the innocent child, but I had no other choice.

Anything that he does there is innocence, freshness and is it full of life. To watch his peacefully sleep besides me was meditative and calming. I don’t know if he felt secure sleeping next to me, but I felt secure sleeping next to him.

Today he is taking a flight to the US and next time when comes back for a visit he would turn a little over 3. It will never be the same again and he would have grown taller, bigger, and learnt more rhymes. He will forgot the games we played and the same home will seem like Mars to him and Mama will be an alien. I will miss those lovely welcomes, toys and balls scattered around the house, empty beds and no more bed time stories. It is now my turn wait for him looking at the doorway, to search for him in the house, pray like him when I step into the prayer room and remember him when I see his favorite jingles on television. Night will be longer even in this part of the world. May be I will use the long nights to learn new tricks for his next visit.

Pediatricians and mothers call it terrible twos, but for me it was alluring. I have had summer vacations, retreats at exotic locations, but nothing like spending time with this little brat. I am waiting for the next summer….

To see my adorable prince visit http://picasaweb.google.com/kdbulls/NeelChennaiVacation?authkey=Gv1sRgCOPrw5Cdpr_Fbg

Home Coming....

Last week my phone rang I heard a distinct voice at the other end, it was Anil. Words and vowels were clipped and sentences well punctuated (even on the phone) and at times loaded with raw British humor – the queen style, huh? You could be from the Queen’s land, but fitting in the landscape of Chennai is not that easy! And that too after spending 8 years in UK.

While moving within India is a big hassle, moving from overseas after a long gap can be overwhelming and stressful. What can make such a big move feel less anxious when you have a gang of friends readily available to plug and play? The ariel view from the aircraft would have shown him a city with a million more vehicles, multitude of flyovers, epidemic of apartments and IT Parks, and interestingly very less billboards, but the view failed to show him his friends and their busy life.

My friend, a doctor by profession, still unpacking his boxes and busy interviewing with city hospitals and caught up in the math and economics that every professional would engage to maximize profit and happiness in life, expected his friends to be ready and available.

He didn’t realize that making friends is a part of the relocation allowance. More than looking for a job, school admission and house in a decent locality it was important for him to re-establish contacts, socialize with lost friends and family. Now his family, including his 5 year old son needed friends to make the move comfortable.….phew…sounds like an extended summer in Chennai.

Some things in life are never plug and play! And it struck me that there is an opportunity for a new business model beyond Facebook and Orkut – broker service to help you find new friends in a new city.

With an air of congeniality, friendship, and warmth Anil rummaged through his closet and tied carton boxes and stored safely in the attic for the telephone book. What was he dusting – was it the box of memories or friendships hidden in them or both? With luxury of time in his hands he went through the telephone book to renew ties from his college days and re-weave his social net in Chennai.

8 years is a long time to for people to outgrow memories and build new friendships and sail ahead in life. But is that same for all friendships and at both ends? But what about friendships where you have been his shoulder when it came to finding love in life, and being emotional sponge and duck-back umbrella for rainy days. Anil called up his closest friend and noticed a excitement on the other end, but it was short and customary.

Anil was always persuasive and he never gave up easily when it came to friendship. Seeing his friend’s behavior he decided to visit his friend and bulldoze him into their life. Anil’s clock stopped the moment he left the country 8 years ago and worked for a few days whenever he made a visit home, but for the others the clock continued to run without a break. Two kids, a beautiful wife, bouquet of professional personal commitments, his friends life was overflowing.
Anil was clinging to the past and halcyon days and he failed to realize that he was bargaining for a footboard ride. He needed them much more than they needed him and was ready to do anything to get back into their life.

Anil felt he needed to thaw the old friendship. He made multiple visits to his friends house, but the response from the other end was lukewarm. This was the guy who shared his desk with him in school and now he was not ready to come and visit him. Culture shock in Chennai? Yes, Anil realized it was 220V back home and not 110 V.

This was the same guy who called him in UK a month ago and welcomed him home and promised to do the same things again in life. But now he was acting weird and at times indifferent. Anil was afraid, anxious and as result the anesthetist lost his sleep over for next few nights and he made one final trip to his friend’s place to validate if this friendship was a one-way street. And if possible he wanted to confront his friend on such a behavior and more than that he wanted to understand if his friend was going through bad times. He wanted to carve a small space, bargain some time, and bring back the same bonding in the friendship. The covalent bond had polarized and turned ionic over the years.

He ended up confronting his friend on the lost intimacy of their friendship. But the reply was short and bitter, “what do you want me to do?” Flabbergasted, he patiently swallowed the surprise, defensive behavior and vaporized saline from his marooned cavity. He called me last weekend and narrated the story….I could sense all the emotion in his voice, and there was silence and it is was not the clichéd chocking, but his hopes were still flying high and not in half mast, “I will always have a seat reserved for him”.

Not all of us end up travelling together in life, and we don’t get to decide who leaves when and who will re-join our journey of life, but can’t we accommodate those who wait outside our steps in search of old friendship, like old wine. Life is always in search of greener and newer pastures.

When a friend calls to me from the road
And slows his horse to a meaning walk,
I don't stand still and look around
On all the hills I haven't hoed,
And shout from where I am, What is it?
No, not as there is a time to talk.
I thrust my hoe in the mellow ground,
Blade-end up and five feet tall,
And plod: I go up to the stone wall
For a friendly visit.
- Robert Frost

Ujjain Express experiences....

Lesson 1: To some life is more about the journey to the destination than the destination and sometimes travel becomes more exciting than the destination. Interesting huh?

My recent travel to Ujjain by Jaipur express taught me few interesting and invaluable lessons. Before we entered the bogie my colleague and I checked the reservation chart pasted near the door. Apart from re-affirming our reservation we wanted to know about our fellow travelers, their age, and destination. Curious cats were at work. Ha ha ha….

The train departed Chennai at 5.30 PM and both of us were mentally preparing to welcome strangers and spend the next 28 hrs with them. To our surprise none of them on the reservation chart boarded the train till bed time and we were both happy and we assumed they may have cancelled the journey and hoped it would be the same till we reached our destination. Isn’t it human nature to get protective about personal space and whom we want to share with and how close we want to get to them?

4 young men in the early and late twenties boarded the train at Nagpur. I am sure they must be having the same thought about sharing their personal space with us. Pradeep and I moved our baggage to safe and secure corner and made room for the fellow passengers. The first few minutes were silent and there was just mere exchange of glances. We felt like some aliens were invading our territory. Our minds were busy trying to make first impressions and comprehend names on the chart to the faces that boarded. Profiling never stops!

Our conversation started to flow freely after they opened a box of sweets. We were apprehensive to accept after hearing various numerous biscuit bandit stories, but there seemed to be an element of honesty and affection behind their sharing. Within minutes they invited us to join them for a game of cards and shortly after that they put their hands into the plastic bag containing Nagpur oranges that we left on the table. They were full of energy and seemed free spirited. Was it sugar from the box sweets or from the orange that made the mood high? Didn’t matter if it was sweets or oranges, the Berlin wall came down and boundaries and personal spaces vanished.

An hour into the journey the guy from the pantry car came by to take orders for dinner. Before we could give our order, Irshad the leader of the gang offered to get us good vegetarian dinner at Bhopal. A friend of him was anyway coming to the train station with their dinner and getting a few extra rotis and veg dishes wasn’t a big deal. We were kind of hesitant to take help from a stranger who only turned into an acquaintance an hour ago at Nagpur. He offered us a choice of menu and convinced us to go with Chilli paneer and smsed his friend for extra rotis. How many such passengers do we come across who travel so freely like air and offer help to strangers? In my 33 years on travel by train I have never come across any one act with such benevolence and care.

Lesson 2: Swap bays and compartments if you find oversized men/women or infants

On the return leg of the journey we had a family of 4 travel with us. They boarded at Bhopal and were traveling till Chennai. Should I have high expectations from my earlier companions? Hmm….Boundaries were marked and demarcated but when it came to food there was no boundaries namkeen and a box of sweet was shared, magazines and newspapers were exchanges, but still the conversation was kept to a minimum. Seldom did I realize that some conversations were reserved for the night.

It was thirty minutes past 9 and the couple pulled up the middle berth and the chain held the berth. They made the bed and the husband, (6 feet tall, with 42’’ inches girth – sign of opulence or corpulence?) snug under the blanket on the middle berth and I was on the berth right opposite to him. Within ten minutes I heard a roaring noise and I thought it was the brakes on the train, but the sounded never ceased to stop. I opened my eyes and fumbled in the dark to trace the origination. I turned on the light on my mobile and flashed it on people above and below me. The rumbling volcano was 3 feet across from me and it was the same (6 feet tall, with 42’’ inches girth) and by now the decibel level went up. I shined the light on his face and what I saw made it feel like watching animals on night safari. His diaphragm expanded, mouth opened and then came a grumble and warm carbon di-oxide was flushed out and the oral cavity closed again and the cycle repeated. May be he was an additional engine pushing the train forward? I was afraid I would be sucked right into pit of the volcano. I pulled myself back into the berth and buried my head under the pillow like an Ostrich. I tossed and turned but still sleep was distant and eluding. I had no choice but to wake up his wife and ask her to mute the rumbling volcano. She had no choice but to wake her husband, but that just helped for a few minutes and rumble returned. For a second I thought how on earth is she putting up with this man night after night for so many years.

Delay…Surprise…and negligence….

There was still 5 whole minutes on my left hand for the train to arrive when I reached Cantonment station last Sunday. There was a huge battalion of passengers waiting for the train and a hoard of stray dogs waiting to give them a tumultuous send-off.

I looked at the hanging clock on the platform, the minute and hour hand was still energetic and busy chasing each other at 11 PM. I casually reached out for the e-ticket that was tucked in one corner for my bag. Surprises, changes and delays are way of life in India and I was not sure if there were any for today’s journey. I had hardly finished thinking and there it was delivered over the PA system.

The announcement of the arrival of Lokmanya Tilak express on the same platform I was waiting on pushed me back but the train number, coach number and berth number were still hanging from my finger tips. Sipping a cup of hot coffee my mind was busy chalking out my schedule for the next hour and the next day. Immediately I memorized coach number and berth number stored them in an erasable corner of my brain and put my ticket aside. I must tell you that surprises, changes and delays come earlier than the much awaited Chennai express.

In the meantime an old diesel engine not as old as the name Lokamanya Tilak honked and made a grand entry into Platform 2. Over the next few minutes there was a lot of commotion, people boarding/ alighting and some running back and forth to board their respective coaches. Then last ritual before the departure then unfolded. Passengers vehemently waving their hands to their loved ones and of course the guard on the last carriage waved the green flag, L. Tilak was out.

So far there was no other surprise other than a 15 minute delay in reaching Chennai, and a fellow passenger besides me was even confident that the driver would make-up for the delay. Indian Railways hmm….I sighed.

The PA system was back and working, the LED displays went blank for a few seconds but soon came back with the details of the next train number and coach numbers and passengers shuffled back and forth to position themselves outside their coach. The next few minutes were dynamic. And the much awaited Chennai Express arrived on Platform 2.

I didn’t bother to check my name on the half torn reservation chart printed on a dot matrix printed and pasted on the side of the bogie with the same “Maida” that is used to make the pizza crust. Half the lights in the compartment were shut, people were already settled in their respective crevices, and roaches were busy doing their night surveillance. Before I found a safe place for my bag and footwear I inspected my berth. Surprise was already tucked in the linen with white in-sheet stained with Robin blue and a pillow for the head. Huh?

Without letting my emotions light up the dark passageway I checked the berth number on the seat and matched with the one on the ticket. Yes, my berth was occupied. I gently touched Mr. Surprise and woke him up. His eyes lit up with another surprise, and asked him for his berth number. He said his was 62, but I told him mine was 64. I politely smiled and I waited for him to get out of the berth. Then I requested him to take the used bedding with him.

The blue night lights in the passageway made it look like the dark room. I reached out for fresh linen stacked on the berth across and flung my laptop on my berth and found a cozy corner for my bag and shoes. It was a long day I was ready to stretch myself in that 6 feet by 3 feet cushioned den.

The train had crossed Bangalore East and was nearing KR Puram, and it was time to rest my eyelids and mind. As the last ritual I pulled my wallet, paper ticket and mobile phone hidden safely in my trouser and put it besides my pillow and snug into warm the blanket. Do you think it is over? Nah! Just wait…

I thought it was the Ticket Inspector who called me, but to my surprise it was a passenger. Remember, what goes around comes around. Sometimes in less than 10 minutes. He asked the same questions that I asked the guy who occupied my berth earlier, and he even said his name was there on the maida glued reservation chart. I could not resist eviction anymore, before he asked me to take the used linen off the berth, I gave him fresh bed linen and walked in search of the Ticket Inspector (TI). That was Mr. Surprise.

Like the scampering roach I went to the next bogie in search of the inspector. I poured my anxiety and told him about another passenger for the same berth. He patiently heard me and agreed to walk with me back to my evicted berth. To his surprise the name, PNR # and details of the passenger matched with one on the chart and the TI completed his ritual and ushered me outside. My heart was pounding, but I showed calm and composure and explained my stance and innocence. Neither of us had an answer for this situation.

I pictured myself back on the platform and calling in sick to work the following morning. In parallel I was trying to create plan B. TI scrutinized my ticket again and was confused how something like this could happen and without asking me to buy another ticket he offered me a berth to retire for the night. It was a big surprise to have vacant berths and have a TI offer it on a platter.I did the ritual again, moved my baggage under another berth and prepared the bed and hoped for no more surprises that night.

Before I heard the alarm on my mobile phone the attendant screamed across the hallway, we had reached Chennai. Most of them were still sleeping while a few rushed out of the blankets and made it to the door. I looked at my watch and the train was 20 minutes ahead of time. Another surprise on the journey…Indian Railways…huh?

I rushed to the pre-paid auto counter and to my surprise there were not many in the line at 4.30 am. Jumping every red light I reached home in 15 minutes. I finished my home-coming rituals and logged on to IRCTC to understand what had happened. My life has never been short of surprises, changes and delays and they seem to continue forever. The Booked ticket module on the site showed cancelled status against this PNR number. I was puzzled, and the scenes from the previous night journey flashed. I was a criminal, traveling without any reservation in a reserved coach. Legally I didn’t have my name or PNR number on the reservation chart and traveled for free from Bangalore to Chennai. Now I understood how the guy with waitlisted ticket got a confirmed berth and had his name on the chart. I had cancelled my confirmed ticket return journey ticket instead of canceling my waitlisted onward journey ticket.

All Journeys lose excitement if surprises are revealed upfront. But definitely this journey had surprises like milestones. I have booked tickets online for years and never have Indian Railways ticketing system failed. And never have I traveled ticketless on a reserved compartment and never before a TI has behaved with empathy. This journey was a lesson.

Revolutionary Road

Are tied down to your job because of your wife, kids, mortgage payments and other financial commitments? Do you feel your ambitions and dreams in life have all been thwarted? Do you feel you have made wrong choices in life and stuck in a quagmire? To add to this complexity you also have a loveless marriage, and a wife who connects and abruptly disconnects like a dialup modem. Isn’t this a perfect entrapment? Who is responsible for all this? Be it America, India or wherever on this earth this is a predicament we are all faced with today. Humans are complex multi cellular species driven by dreams, desire and delusions.

Now what can you do about your life, responsibilities and unrealized dream? Should you be a part of the audience and see life pass by without exercising your free will? Or should you break the shackles and start live your dream and be in complete control of your life?

The movie opens with Kate and Leo exploring the boundaries of friendships at a party. But very soon their exploration puts them together on the journey of life. They embark the journey with the hope they will support each other to realize their dreams.

Is marriage the right choice to realize your dream? Didn’t seem like the best decision in this case. Dreams were shelved and they went around the neighborhood looking for a house and then topped it up kids. The Wheeler’s end up living a mundane, stereotypical urban husband and wife with lackadaisical life. Soon their marriage turns into a battle ground. They end up constantly bickering over their unrealized dreams, and with two kids they were carrying a mountain of responsibilities on their shoulders and wearing a tired, sulking, emotionally drained look on their face. Professionally and personally it was unfulfilling for Leo. This is when you realize marriage is not an answer for fulfilling dreams in life. May be there is answer outside the marriage to realize your dream? Finally it was smoke from the marriage, smoke from infidelity and from the cigarettes that engulfs the screen.

Who will fix the marriage and who will get to live their dream? Kate, the mature mother of two decides by moving to Paris Leo can live his dream, while she dons the role of the breadwinner. Sounds so romantic but is it realistic? This is when the westerly wind drifts the boat away. You leave the movie hall in a pensive thoughtful mood…Is life fair? Is it fate or free-will that win?

Predicaments of life have never been captured so vividly ever on the screen. Kate and Leo, Hollywood’s romantic couple has come a long way from yuppie Titanic stars to responsible adults caught in their mid-life whirlwind. They have done a brilliant job showing hue of emotions on the screen from disillusionment, hatred, infidelity to love all on one canvas. Dialogues and screen play is sharp and poignant (Kate is brilliant when she says “To make the first mistake look right we had the second baby”. Music is exceptionally, especially the violin in the shot where Leo runs away (we don’t if he is running away from or towards something) is just marvelous and strings every nerve in your body. It is a revolutionary road in every sense. Dreams come with a price - both live and unlived.

Kalaimamani Awards 2009

I was proud yesterday for the delayed but deserving Oscar award for AR Rehman and Resul Pookutty, but today I am appalled reading the list of Kalaimamani (TN Government) awardees for 2009. Are awards given to accomplished citizens or given to those who are politically connected? It is not a billion dollar puzzle and you don’t have sit on the hot seat and bite your nails or use one of your lifelines to answer. Just look at Central Government’s awardees of Padmashri, Padmabushan, and Padma Vibushan and Tamil Nadu State Government’s Kalaimamani awards and you will know the answer. Atleast there is a synergy between State and Central government when it comes to awards.

What is shocking about 2009 Kalaimamani awardees is that accomplished veteran actor Saroja Devi (in the film industry for more than 5 decades) is given the award along side Aishwarya Danush who has made no contribution to the society or film industry other than being the daughter of Rajinikanth. Young artist like Barath, Nayanthara, Meera Jasmine and Asin need encouragement, but do they need Kalaimamani with less than a decade experience in the movie industry. It looks like the jury panel made random selection from the telephone book. If I were Saroja Devi I would have politely declined the award.

Let us not forget that tainted Satyam Computer Services Ltd. was awarded the Golden Peacock Award for Corporate Governance last year. May be awards are never earned but always purchased.

Be it Corporate awards, Oscar, Padmashri or Kalaimamani – awards lose value and sheen if they are not given to the right talent and at the right time. Government and respective bodies must be transparent with the criteria for selection of awardees and the members on the jury panel.

Starless movie’s starry night?

NY Times story calls it a Starless movie’s starry night- isn’t this arrogant and brash? True AR Rahman is not a Hollywood star, but he is definitely a star in the Indian galaxy. Let us move away from Rahmanmania look at this accolade both from the time axis and macro perspective. It took 81 years for an Indian to get an opportunity to perform on the world stage, live through the scorching reviews of critics and then win their endorsement to walk home with an Oscar. Wow! Long journey huh?

Our journey to the Oscars was long and elusive. This is not because we didn’t have talented cast, crew, but our story telling was always localized and not globalized. With over a billion people we have a lot of unsaid stories to share with the world – both mythological and real life. Don’t we have a few actors to perform on the celluloid? Well accessibility for our cast and crew was out of question and we really needed someone like Danny Boyle to direct the story of rags to riches and Megan Mylan to narrate the story of Pinki, a cleft lip girl from Mirzapur, UP and bring our talent to the world stage propel our baby steps into Oscar galaxy. Over the years our chin went up by a few centimeters and now we are on the red carpet standing tall, confident, appreciated and recognized. Now “Hollywood wakes up to Indian Talent” and is ready to hear our tunes and stories.

The walk on the red carpet was never straight and simple for Indians though we are the largest in world in terms of ticket sales and number of films produced annually (877 feature films and 1177 short films were released in the year 2003 alone). India accounts for 73% of movie admissions in the Asia-Pacific region, and earnings are currently estimated at US$8.9 billion.. Even actors like Kate Winslet had been rehearsing in private with a shampoo bottle for eight years, and for an Indian an Oscar was even inaccessible in their dream. Though we put a few beauty queens on the ramp year after year but just one of them, Aishwarya made it to Hollywood and even paired up with the former James Bond. This Oscar only rehashes that India is a land of sharp contrasts – beauty and poverty coexists. Surprisingly both were used to make money and fame.

His music and acceptance speech was humble. It took AR Rahman more than two decades to make the world listen to his tunes and dance to them. Though I personally feel that “Slum Dog Millionaire” was not his career best, but it turns out to be a turning point in his career and brought him the long due fame and acclaim. Resu Pookutty and Gulzar also represent India’s finest talent. These men didn’t work for the Oscar, but kept doing their passion for so many years, while success and joy kept following. Though Oscars are just motivational awards to help the artist scale up to new heights, but it came after 100 years of Indian film industry. It is indeed a proud moment for every India. Blinded Hollywood has atlast tuned their telescope to track stars in our galaxy. Jai Ho!

Markazhi Ragam – A carnatic sound and light show

It would not be an exaggeration if I call the movie Markazhi Ragam a Carnatic Sound and Light show. The auditorium was dark; lights appeared and disappeared at appropriate time and to evoke the mood of the song, stage décor and artist costume kept changing as the artist moved on from one rage to another and one composer to another and one deity to another. The dais was free from clutter (are we in Singapore) no flask or Bisleri bottles, no electronic sruthi box to hide notebooks. I could not see any kancheevarams, jasmine flowers, glass bangles, shawls or kurtas, (except for the artists) but instead it was jeans, salwar, skirts, high heals, and expensive perfume fragrance. Does it sound uncarnatic? Are we pushing the boundaries of music, art and culture? or should we call this redifining the boundaries? Is this movie for serious carnatic aficionados or an effort to glamorize carnatic music or bring out the physics of carnatic music? Why can it be all of the three?

You can have diffused lighting, expensive Bose speakers, but none other than Mayamalavagowlai can create the carnatic concert mood and tether all audience in the concert hall. Jayashree in her typically meditative style sang Ponnaiya Pillai’s (Tanjore Quartret) Mayathirthaswaroopini. The camera was busy framing the vocalist, her mohana maalai and stone studded pendent, and exposing the fabric in her expensive silk draped over the piped blouse. Then the camera stood over the violinist shoulder to capture the dynamics between the violinist and the vocalist and finally it decided to settle with Jayashree as she kept pouring the swaras for this lilting composition. The song ended with the Mudhra "Guruguha Swamiku Ne dasu daini" in the Samasti Charanam.

The screen turned dark and blank like the starless and moonless night and suddenly the new dawn broke and Jayashree had taken us to Nagapattinam. One could hear the boundaries of Neelambari sketched with atmost devotion, mastery and sincerity and slowly unfolding Muthuswamy Dikshithar’s Amba Neelayathakshi. Images from 3 cameras were beamed on the screen captured the breaking sweat beads on the percussionist’s forehead and the mike popping out from her sternum.

Jayashree sat on the stage like a fully bloomed lotus with a 1000 petals adorning the pond. Her right hand was busy holding the baby and moving it back and forth while her heart was doing the talam count. It would not be an exaggeration if I said Jayashree became a mother to the mother goddess while rendering this kriti.

Every raga is a fresh canvas on which artists paint their imagination and creativity. The audience was busy swaying their heads soaked in the raga, while some were busy trying to guess the krithi. One could hear enthralling Reethigowlai on the horizon against Jayashree’s silhouette. Subburaya Shastri’s Janani Ninnuvina, the famous beautiful madhyama kaala krithi in Reethigowla raga was presented. Nereval at Saraseeruha lochani Suvaasini Taamasamu Seyakane Brovumu was delectable and effusing with surrender and bakthi. The camera zoomed in on her face while the lights made the diamonds on her nose dazzle (reminded me of Devi Kanyakumari.) while she sang the krithi with poise and perfection. For some music is a hobby, but for Jayashree music was definitely tapasya. There was no change in timbre of tambura, and at an unexpected moment clad in a red kurta and dazzling kadukkan TM Krishna appeared on the horizon and completed the kriti after the taniavarthanam. It was indeed a nice way to introduce him in the concert movie!

I don’t know if it was it Michelangelo stroke, Picasso’s brush or Midas touch, but all of it seemed to be present in TM Krishna’s elaboration of Behag. The raga engulfed the auditorium, while both vocalist and violinist were on a motivating journey to get each other beyond the imagination boundaries of absent rasikas. TMK rendered Swati Tirunaal’s Saramaina Maatalanda chalu chalu ra Javali in Telugu.

Be it reflections of the string, fabric of the bow, craters on the Mridhangam, or viboothi, kumkum on the artist forehead, cuticles on his nails, the camera captured the stage dynamics real and raw without any deception or manipulation. Swaying his arms, and picking up the swaras and sahityam with his right in enthusiasm TMK was playing a perfect volley with the violinist. The eyes of the violinist RK Shriramkumar kept watching the vocalist’s lips and transmitting them back on the strings. While the Mridhangist Arun Prakash was kept his ears open to play apt theermanans for the sangathis rendered by the vocalist.

Could there be a concert without a Thyagaraja krithi? May be Thyagaraja didn’t want Seetha to feel insecure and possessive and that is why he addressed Rama as Seethapathi in the Kamas kriti?

There was no premium pricing for this concert and a front row or back row really didn’t matter and everyone got to see everything clear, candid and without any compromise. May be that was the reason why Arun Prakash looked very conscious, while the TMK sishya on the tampura was joyous all the time, while the French sishya was always hiding behind the Tampura?

Can there be a Markazhi without RTP? TMK elaborated the Subha pantuvarali and presented a short thanam and pallavi “Brahmai vaha kila satguru kripa” in Sama, Kamas and Subha Pantuvarali. It was not just TMK who had less interaction with the Mridhangist, but the cameras too stayed away from this artist. Why this partiality?

If she was a calm ocean, he was a rumbling volcano. Both of them had their distinct and captivating styles. TMK remained muted while Jayashree rendered Kararavindhena Mukharavindham from Balamukundashtakam in Ragamalika in her impeccable meditative style with only tampura sruthi on the background. TMK came right back into the frame to render Purundaradasar’s Jagodhodharana in Kapi.

The sound and light show ended with a piece in raga Yamuna Kalyani. This brought all artist and instruments together – a perfect ensemble and spirit of unity. Jayashree and TMK took turns to render Vandemaataram in Yamuna Kalyani, Kapi and Sindu Bairavi.

Everything seemed the same at the end of this concert on reel. A portion of the crowd that walked in sipping coke and carrying a tub of caramel popcorn seemed happy, contented and musically satisfied at the end. I found them chewing the same cud discussing on camera angles, artist costumes, jewellery with fervor and enthusiasm. A few musical die-hards were busy discussing real music on the reel – ragas, swaras, composers, physics of sound and music.

http://www.margazhiraagam.com/

Abhiyum Naanum

Abhiyum Naanum is yet another Prakashraj, Prithiviraj and Radhamohan combo after Mozhi. You can have the same cast and team, but doesn’t it guarantee success? Did the movie have the same charm as Mozhi?

- The theme is not new to Tamil industry, we have seen movies Paasamalar, Lakshmi Vandacchu dealing with similar sentiments and portraying empty nester syndrome

- The movie is logical at times but exaggerated most of the times (preparing for Pre-KG interview, talking to the Prime Minister), scenes are predictable (Following daughter to the school, daughter taking the father to the lake on a fullmoon night) pedagogical and flat. Reflective narration style is not new, but is becomes very monotonous

- Prakashraj’s affection towards his daughter almost borders Electra complex and it is scary at times

- Both Prakashraj and Aishwarya must learn to deliver dialogues and not scream on top of their lungs. Aishwarya’s voice is raw and jarring on the ear drum. She definitely needs a dubbing voice. I am surprised how sound engineers and editors missed this glare

- Prakashraj overacts and reacts in a few scenes. May be the Director should portray realism and not sensationalize a father-daughter relationship

- Trisha is just a glamour doll and eye candy in the movie with little scope for acting

- Manobala’s humor is like the 6th finger – it looks ugly and makes it look clumsy and useless

- Director was not clear in many places what he was trying to convey and how it strengthens the script? Trish brings home a beggar and she clothes a destitute on the street and Jogi gets a call from the Prime Minister. Can’t we have simple, normal and regular people in the script?

- Director should have done a thorough homework with the characters. Only Aishwarya’s character was close to reality. Why everybody in Joginder’s extended family have lost a dear one in a riot or terrorist attack? Joginder and Trisha are portrayed as angels? Do we need Samaritans for this script?

- Dialogues sprinkled with sentiments, philosophy and reality was heartwarming. The camera has captured Ooty differently and made it look new and refreshing

- Vidyasagar’s music failed to register and the choice of voice used in the songs failed to add flavor to the song

- There is no room for homework and correction now, but as a learning exercise the entire cast must watch “The Father of the Bride” to understand and appreciate how a father/daughter relationship can be shown on the screen without cloying sentiments

Madagascar: Escape to Africa

I had not seen the prequel to this movie (“Madagascar: The Crate Escape"), but after watching trailer and having caught the word of mouth I decided to get myself a seat for this movie. However much fairytale kind and animated the characters are in these movies, there is still some element of realism in the script and theme. The story line is often simple and very pedestrain. Characters fall in love, lose in life, friends who rescue them and adding to this charm and realism there is always a moral that appeals to both younger and older audience.

On their way home to New York from their Madagascan adventure, the four friends crash land in an African nature reserve. The animals are excited when they see more of their kind in the African wild. The excitement picks up when Alex (Lion) discovers his long-lost parents (Zubba and Florrie), Melman (Giraffe) gets an amazing career, Gloria turns into a popular pool girl and Marty is surrounded by stripes.

Every land has its set of challenges; every parent has their set of disappointments from their children, every heart has a unique key to lock and unlock, and there are unfriendly moments in every friendship. The rest 60 minutes of the story revolves around all of the above.

There were so many Aha moments in the movie. I could relate to Alex being forced to take up test by his father and become the Alpha male of the land, Marty kind of a feeling (surrounded by my clan), holding the wrong key to the heart like Melman L, and going through tug-of-war times between close friends Alex and Marty, Melman and Gloria.

The movie was never short of dramatic moments. The tough women Nana shows how New Yorkers are resilient and adaptable. Her dialogues were sharp and sticking. Gloria stopping Melman from being offered as a sacrifice to the volcano. Alex meanwhile manages to rescue both himself and his father by dancing for the New Yorkers. Skipper (a penguin) marries a bobble-head hula doll from the plane and leaves on a honeymoon.

Nothing lasts forever, Alex gets banished but brings water to parched the waterhole and earns the aplha male title and Alex parents have their proud moment, Melman gets Gloria for life, Marty and Alex become friends again..Though the plot was similar to Happy Feet and The Lion King, the characters were lively, cute and moral was loud. Now I am curious to go back and watch the prequel.

Books, Books and Books....

I am an addict and shopoholic when it comes to books. I went berserk when I stepped into Borders and Kinokuniya (largest bookstore in Asia) while in Singapore .Curious to know what came home with me?

Everything from romance, self help, fiction, human psychology to evolutionary biology etc.

1. The Wednesday letters – Jason F Wright
This is along the lines of Tuesdays with Morrie, but has a unique flavor of family and forgiveness. Isn’t forgiveness the need of the hour? Here is the jist - The three children of Jack and Laurel discover a treasure trove of family history in the form of Wednesday letters-notes that Jack wrote to his wife every single week of their married lives. As they read, the children brush across the fabric of a devoted marriage that survived a devastating event kept secret all these years. It's a lovely story: heartening, wholesome, humorous, suspenseful and redemptive. It resonates with the true meaning of family and the life-healing power of forgiveness all wrapped up in a satisfying ending.

2. The myth of Monogamy – Fidelity and Infidelity in Animals and People –
Shattering deeply held beliefs about sexual relationships in humans and other animals, The Myth of Monogamy is a much needed treatment of a sensitive issue. Written by the husband and wife team of behavioral scientist David P. Barash and psychiatrist Judith Eve Lipton, it glows with wit and warmth even as it explores decades of research undermining traditional precepts of mating rituals. Evidence from genetic testing has been devastating to those seeking monogamy in the animal kingdom; even many birds, long prized as examples of fidelity, turn out to have a high incidence of extra-pair couplings.

3. The gift- Cecilia Ahern
I was moved by her books PS I love you and Where rainbows end. Ahern demonstrates a sure and subtle understanding of the human condition and the pleasures and pains in relationships. Her theme in the new book is the way in which we conceal the truth about ourselves -- many people cover themselves in layers of deceit until somebody with the right motivation unwraps those layers and discovers the truth.

4. Thanks for the Memories- Cecilia Ahern
Some cross paths in the strangest of circumstances. They have no idea that their fates are more entangled than they could ever have imagined! In this book Ahern writes about the relationship between a woman and her blood donor.

5. The Mating Mind: How Sexual Choice Shaped the Evolution of Human Nature
We have heard and read Darwin and Freud and some of us have read young Turks like Richard Dawkins and Geoffrey Miller. In The Mating Mind, he takes Darwin's "other" evolutionary theory--of sexual rather than natural selection--and uses it to build a theory about how the human mind has developed the sophistication of a peacock's tail to encourage sexual choice and the refining of art, morality, music, and literature. Why have humans evolved such costly and complex brains? And further, why do we use our brains to produce such seemingly useless behaviors as art or music?

6. Letters to Sam - A Grandfather's Lessons on Love, Loss, and the Gifts of Life
This emotionally powerful collection of letters from grandfather to grandson will touch readers right down to their core. When his grandson was born, Daniel Gottlieb began to write a series of heartfelt letters that he hoped Sam would read later in life. He planned to cover all the important topics and what motivated him was the fear that he might not, as a quadraplegic, live to see Sam reach adulthood. Then, when Sam was only fourteen months old, he was diagnosed with Pervasive Developmental Disability, a form of autism, and suddenly everything changed. This is a lovingly written, emotionally gripping book that offers unique - and universal - insights into what it means to be human.

Books make you laugh, think and at times cry. Aren’t books the best way to start the year and end your day? Circle back after a few weeks and I shall share my thoughts on each of them.