Mel(l)o(w)drama

My friend "Q" once told me, in an attempt to put his recent grief at being dumped for the nth time, his new found feeling of cynicism (as is the case with everybody.. at least till the following day's hangover kick in) for everything worldly, his (albeit sporadic) acceptance of his appearance and his sudden love for being (hypocritically) philosophical (that still pisses me off) into a nutshell, "Life is like one big Soap Opera dude. All melodrama. Only, more boring." (Did I mention he has the alcohol tolerance level of your stereotypical Tam Bram who sipped on a "cutting" thinking it was coke?). He then went on the most inane rant about "Life and its misgivings" that made yours truly wish for a death fit for a "SAW" extra but sugar coated it all with timely interjections of "NANBAEN DA NEE!" meaning "You, are a true friend!", for all the linguistically impaired! THE BASTARD!

Waking up with a seething hangover, I couldn't help but think about what he said. Or in fact how hypocritical he was being, or how wrong-er (I know its wrong! But common! Even you've always wanted to do that!) he could be about the "boring" part. Life is a big SOAP. It is because we want it that way. And for one simple reason! WE ENJOY IT! We just haven't realized it yet.

Why else do we support the "Institution of Marriage" that is supposedly a "celebration of love" but instead turns out to be a celebration of everything that's fulminant, shiny, gaudy, and not even remotely close to the two people actually getting married (apart from the "congratulations!" with the "100 rupee note" in an envelope that has a fake 1 rupee coin stuck on it!)? Why else have SOAPS gained so much popularity, so much that an old lady(supposedly more than 200 years old if you follow the SOAP's genealogy) earned much more than all her generations for just standing at the door "calling out" to her kin? "It's classic escape from reality machan! People need something like that to escape their miserable existence" said a pseudo realist faggot friend of mine. Then why is Reality TV, that is filled with as much melodrama as a Desi's plate inside an Indian restaurant that says "FREE VADAI! ONE HELPING ONLY" being watched as ardently as your average SOAP? Heck I've seen kids fight with their grandmoms for the remote over what to watch - the SOAP or "Roadies"! Or, my personal favorite, why does every graduate student (me included!) write status updates like "GRAD SCUL IS TOUGH! I EVEN FORGOT I HAVE A SOCIAL LIFE", or stay online on Gtalk with his status saying "DND"? Wouldn't it make more sense to not be online at all or not be able to update FB statuses in the first place?

In a nutshell (I do agree I have done as miserable a job as "Q" to put my "ramblings" in a nutshell), life is like one big K3G clusterf@#k. This stage of melodrama, where the characters just keep rolling by, from one plot to the other and the story never seems to end. Where everybody wants to be Shahrukh or Kajol. Where you're the hero, heroine, the villain or the comedian at some point.

If not a "Kudos" this would atleast elicit some foul language! So go on! Get off your asses and comment! Chop Chop!

P.S - The part about the hero and villain was "Q"s idea. THE BASTARD.

Culture Shock..or shocked back to culture

I dedicate the first few lines of this post to try and formulate a reason for the long hiatus in writing a new post (largely because of my eager and anxious readers - I, me and myself plus all you jobless morons coerced into reading this blog by empty threats from yours truly and for the 25+ profile views I have gotten)......there simply isn't one apart from the usual "I'm too lazy to get my ass to write one and even more lazy to coax you people into reading this one".

Time Stamp - 11:30 pm, July 28, 2010. I landed at the Mumbai International Airport (a full 355 days before I was last there), heady with delight and eyes wide with anticipation....to smoke my first Indian cigarette in a long time (quoting Davidoff "Smokers die younger":P). Success, an obvious (un)wanted activation of the acetylcholine receptors (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tobacco_smoking) and a considerable decrease in my lifespan later, I made my way to the Domestic Terminal to wait for a flight (scheduled to leave 7 hours later!) to Singara Chennai. The Security Guard, while giving me the "How do I make money of him" gave me a curt debriefing (figurative!!!) on how I am not allowed to leave outside.

Time Stamp - 3:00 am, July 29, 2010. A gazillion songs, sessions of "Howzat Cricket" on Lounge' sad Wifi and several attempts at visual exercise later, the iTouch decides to play "BC Sutta" that led me to an obvious (albeit understandable) craving. I walked as nonchalantly as possible trying not to draw to much attention to ask the Security if there was a "loophole" in his strict rule. Below is the exact conversation.
Me - "Bhaiya, sutta marne ka hai"
Him - "Rules!"
Me - "Please, Hath per sab kheench gaya hai"(funnier in Tamil - "kai kal lam izhitukuchu")
Him - "Foreign Sutta hai?"
Me - "Phir?! Wo bhi Speshal!"
Him - "10 rs de. Aur do sutta de. Idhar hi mar le"
Me - ":-)"

Although it was during the Sutta session with him that I wondered how this was possible only in "Mera Bharath Mahan". Which brings me back to the crux of this post. I was (pleasantly with wisps of smoke floating around) shocked back to my own culture. Even in Chennai, although not a day went by with me not complaining about the dust, the dirt, the irritating auto drivers (with their pleasantaries about attending their mom's marriages) , the road crossers in T.nagar (which makes you literally go "canine of the female kind", the couples making out like they were on Muesli at Bessy (although secretly thinking "mera no kab aega?!") or even the incessant honking (which I am told has become the most spoken language after Tanglish), there would be only one place I really felt home.

An important point though, is none of this occurred to me even when I was experiencing all of this back home. Its when I came back, with the weight of having to greet every passer-by, or of having to roll my "r"s, or even of having to pay 5 times more for a cigarette I like 500 times lesser ( leading to a decrease in smoking on the up-side) that I realize "Swargame endralum adhu namma oora pola varuma" translated simply as "My town kicks even heaven's ass". http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P5cDHxjP4_c

Disclaimer - This post is dedicated not only to my fellow Chennaites but to all you Country-cursing, MS/PHD-doing, Scene-putting Desis out there.

Mama...Kallu Mama

Kalla. Babban. Dambar. Karu. Karuchatty. Karuvachi. Karuvaaya. All synonymous to our "brotha's from otha' motha's", the African Americans. Their style and persona have sparked many an inspiration in a Desi's lifestyle. With their pants on the ground, oversized kurta-like tall Ts, dog tags and basketball shoes they are a class apart when it comes to fashion. And who can forget the braided hair? Braids look so awesome on them that I'm willing to cash in all my paychecks to produce the "Braidy Bunch" (I know, I'm sorry, but I just can't help it!). Modified Devilles or Mercuries with shining, fulminant alloys and woofers no match to an earthquake in Sumatra, our kallas set the streets on fire. And whoever thought a heavy bass note and beats that any beat box could produce mixed in with a cacaphonous bunch of cuss-words could be music? If ever someone could pull it off, it has to be our mo-frats! You don't see a tamil song with a dhandanakka in a loop and a pallavi, anupallavi and charanam of "kundithevidia"s and "pundamavane"s topping the charts now do you? They haven't even left jewelery alone adding their own twist to accessorizing. Who would have ever thought of jewelery for the teeth? Soon, all Kalla weddings will have golden teeth exchanged instead of rings. Their language is such that they make a dyslexic kid feel proud of his condition. What is more thoughtful than empathy I ask. Their names are so awesome that I'm naming my kids Booker and Shinikua or forcefully bestowing them on my friends kids if I don't have any. Those kids sure would grow up as icons! Who wouldn't with names like Booker "Big G" Iyer or Shinikua "Pretty P" Pillai? And as an icing in the cake, every kid is born with six pack abs and a body to die for or a "well endowed", sculpted figure that would get Hrithik and Bipasha drooling.

So here it is. An ode to the Kallas! Who do what they do. Peace out!

Disclaimer - I don't have a house, or a laptop, or any money. My credit card is maxed out and I forgot the pin to my Debit Account. Just so you think of vandalizing my house with a couple of Air Guns after reading this.

Accenture - Desis with "Twangs"

Desis without Twangs are like an Indian restaurant in the US without a Lunch Buffet. Its bound to happen folks! Notice the already developing southerners' accent overlaying my otherwise immaculate Tam-Bram (in short Petterr) English? Ever noticed the recently opened Indian restaurant with the all you can eat $7.99 weekday lunch buffet dishing out sandpaper-like dosas, rock-like idlys (if we are lucky!), tasteless chicken curry and chai that tastes like overly sweet baby piss? Well such a place can be comparable (with great accuracy!) to the "Swaminadha Gopalan turned Yo I'm SammyG" types or also the "Prateek turned Patrick" types; basically a crop of Desis synonymous to an Avocado cultivation in the fields Ramanathapuram (obviously) gone terribly wrong! The girls are a class apart and end up sounding perfectly like the night time "Amaravathy turned Amy" Call Centre b#$%@s with an IQ of a tea coaster. There is also a "Let me just get a twang so this dumb Amru f#@k can understand what I'm saying" junta where some of the Desis develop rugged mid-western accents and score all the chicks (even the ABCDs!!) and the Amru's approval; on the other hand some of them just end up with a sorry excuse for a southern accent sounding eerily similar to a Vadivel-esque rendition of "Sing in the rain" (no points for guessing who!) The girls in this junta could have fare better had they not sounded like a brainless American teenager going "Basically like, I ddoooon whannna like, ddooo dddis, but uhmm, like, I dddooon rrreeely haav a ccchoiise ya knooww". (Fact - 99% of the Desis develop migranes just because of such inane conversations on the bus to school! So DON'T DO IT!) Although they give an earnest attempt, they are just like an Indian restaurant in the US with poor quality control. And there are the countless Desis who claim to not have one but secretly rehearse their pleasantries to the good looking Amru in the billing counter while in the Walmart queue. Whatever your fancy (or not!), conformity one day sure as hell will nip you in the butt!

As a final nail in the coffin, ever heard a Desis voicemail (atleast those who have set up one)? If not, do that NOW and read this blog again!

Random Initiation

After a great deal of introspection, I brought myself to finally give my random musings or rather "disbursed ramblings" (co-incidentally the name of the blog) a definitive form in an attempt to uncomplicate and disentangle the mess that is my head.