Inside Man

I know it is not a very recent movie and neither is the news that the title song for this 'not just another bank-robbery' thriller was 'Chaiyya Chaiyya'. Yup! the same one that Shah Rukh and Malaika danced to, atop a moving train. The same one that shot Shukwinder to limelight and Rahman to immortality (OK! Rahman was already immortal when he composed it).

Yes fellows! Rahman's Chaiyya Chaiyya was featured in 'Inside Man' and the heartening fact was that it wasn't played out in a 7/11 Convenience Store or a Taxi driven by a desi. I believe the track moved Spike Lee, the director of the movie, so much that he just had to use it. And he has done that without creating a cheap excuse for it.I wouldn't go as far as to say that I feel proud that Bollywood has gained any recognition because of this. Still... I just wanted to confirm that Chaiyya Chaiyya was featured in a Hollywood movie and express that I am happy for it.

BTW, the movie was very intelligent which means that I didn't understand half of it.

A while since the last poem

There was a moment – Fernando Pessoa

There was a moment
When you let
Settle on my sleeve
(More a movement
Of fatigue, I believe,
Than any thought)
Your hand. And drew it
Away. Did I
Feel it, or not?

Don’t know. But remember
And still feel
A kind of memory,
Firm, corporeal,
At the place where you laid
The hand, which offered
Meaning – a kind of,
Uncomprehended –
But so softly…
All nothing, I know.
There are, though,
On a road of the kind
Life is, things – plenty –
Uncomprehended.

Do I know whether,
As I felt your hand
Settle into place
Upon my sleeve
And a little, a little,
In my heart,
There was not a new
Rhythm in space?

As though you,
Without meaning to,
Had touched me
Inside, to say
A kind of mystery,
Sudden, ethereal,
And not known
That it had been.

So the breeze
In the boughs says
Without knowing
An imprecise
Joyful thing.

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From 'Fernando Pessoa: Selected Poems' English translation by Jonathan Griffin

A hairy tale

One of the most memorable moments of Tamil Cinema to me, was in Thillu Mullu when our beloved Superstar had to shave off his moustache to impersonate his fictitious brother. Nagesh, his friend commented then, 'It's just hair. Not your life'.

The importance associated with the caterpillar in the face is astounding. One of my uncles had a 'Ma Po Si' moustache (if you know what it is), that with age, turned a brown-grey resulting in his daughter naming it the 'shoe-brush'. Undaunted, he holds on to his treasure, grooming it with as much care as a pet. My mother would get a coronary if my dad took off his moustache. And a true husband that my dad is, he still keeps his, despite the fact that it is no longer lush and resembles something the rat ate and didn't like.

Traditionally, the moustache has been given far more importance in South-India than in the North. Southies saw moustache as not just hair over the upper lip. It was a symbol of manhood, courage and panache. Again referring to Thillu Mullu, it was also said that the bigger your moustache, the purer your heart was, which would, of course not hold true considering the celebrated whiskers of Veerappan, the dreaded sandalwood smuggler. But we have to give it to him, he had courage and panache.

For the Brahmin community it was a symbol of liberation from orthodoxy. I am told that when my father was a kid, to grow a moustache was a disgrace to the family. That is, if you had a clean shaven chin. So it was either no hair on the face or some face inside the hair. An intermediate state was unacceptable. Out of question. Needless to say, many people sported moustaches as a sign of defiance.

In the North, perhaps the influence of cinema deterred many from growing moustaches. Many actors; Amitabh, Rajesh Khanna, Rishi Kapoor, Shah Rukh, Aamir, Salman, Akshay and others were all clean shaven and the average North Indian idolised these people so much that they imitated their styles. I am not sure if I can make this sweeping generalisation but my Northie friends always associated moustache with Madrasis and mocked it (which is a whole different post)

Anyway this hairy tale is to inform:

Ladies and gentleman, I have news for you. I took off *wails* my moustache. I, who had refused to take my tache for a million dollars, believing that like Samson's hair, all my powers were in it, shaved it off to satisfy a curiosity.

Curiosity killed the cat and lost me my moustache.

Solidarity

I am not directly affected by the Indian government's ban of blogger. It is not that I am unaffected. If you consider that my trusted readership isn't able to access my blog or comment about my very insightful posts, there is considerable impact. Still, there are shortcuts and I got my regular quota of comments. So I have nothing to complain about.

So, I'll just share my sympathies with my fellow bloggers. I stand with you in your struggle to babble freely. (I'll also take this an opportunity to promote my blog. Unhindered by any government agency, updated for your reading pleasure... rkram.blogspot.com. Visit it today *echo* today today today dling ring)

I would dearly like to believe that the government has some reason for hindering access to blogs. I would give anything to believe that blogs posed a threat to national security. There can be several other reasons that I can think of for the government's reaction.

The most likely one is that the present government felt threatened by the growing popularity of, yes, *gasps* my blog. If I can sustain this momentum I would be the unanimous choice for primeminister by next elections and they needed to prevent that from happening. At any cost.

Also possible is that government has a tacit deal with blog hosts like blogger.com to popularise this alternate media. Nothing sells like negative publicity.

Another likely scenario was when Head of DoT went to meet the Chief of NSA. This particular chief was an avid blogger and was at that time reading an interesting article in blogspot during office hours (as most office-goers over the rank of managers do). He was so impressed with the blog post that he turned to the DoT guy and said, "I am gonna blog this". The DoT guy who was hard of hearing, heard it as "I am gonna block this". So he went back to his office, changed his blog from blogger to wordpress and then issued orders to 'block' blogger. And that my dear friends is how it all happened.

Booooommmm

Since my last post, some major things have come to pass, the bombings in Mumbai affecting me the most. Thankfully, my friends and relatives are safe. Still, my heart reaches out to everyone who has lost someone or something in the gruesome attack.

Having said that, the attacks opened my eyes (again) to how the Media has taken over our lives. If the media had chosen to ridicule the government, then we would be hearing how the police were tardy and how members of public were forced to begin the clean-up themselves. Now we hear the resilience of Mumbai and does it make a good story or what. It is not that I don't salute the mental strength of Mumbaiites but the way media went to town about how the train services were in full-swing the day after and schools and colleges with near 100% attendance sounded hollow and hackneyed (maybe it is just me).

There was a lot of anger which seeped into the blog world as well. There were people who wanted the UPA government to resign, others who wanted India to take pre-emptive action against Pakistan (and this when we didn't even know who was responsible for the bombing) much like Israel's attack on Lebanon. And there were letters written to the terrorist, which to me, appeared juvenile.

There were many who wrote about the failure of the intelligence community. I wouldn't go as far as to call them lax. Well! what can they do? In a city as populous as Mumbai, and a rail network as busy as in Mumbai, it would be near impossible to check everyone everytime. And infiltrating a terrorist organisation with deep roots is just as difficult.

There was a guest column by the Director of some agency against cyber-crimes in Rediff who tried to emphasise how effective the intelligence system is, in spite of not being able to prevent the attacks in Mumbai. In Quality Analysis terms we stand at 3.5-4 sigma, he said and I have to give it to the guy; he knew what he was talking about. I mean, even if you did your best, the maximum humanly possible, an inventive terrorist can break through all of it and cause havoc.

The stalling of the peace process with Pakistan, if it happens, would be the true victory for 11/7. Has it occurred to our policymakers that the intent of the attack may not be to prevent people from going to their offices; children to schools. Could it not be aimed at disrupting the progress made in bilateral relations? The politics and public-sentiment is all for knee-jerk 'blame it on them, they are like that' and 'We can't trust them. So no more talks'.

This is a test for the government. Can they go ahead with the peace talks without buckling to popular sentiment and the trappings of politics? Only time will tell.

Friendship: For sale

In the spirit of this fine post by Lalita, I wanted to add some amusing matrimonial ads. But I wasn't going to risk my friends seeing me browse through the matrimonials. Already I get ribbed enough for believing that 25 is not too soon to marry (Oops! Did I say that aloud?). Instead came across these in Rediff Classifieds. Apparently these people were looking for friendship. The ads range from the comical to 'Oh my God! I want to kill myself'.

Looking a Cute Beutiful Girl friend
My Name is Aamir khan. I am 21 Year Old. I am a Commarce Graduate. My Colour is Fare. My Hight is 5 ft.11cm.

Just because you have a name like Aamir Khan doesn't make girls swoon over you. Not with that English, anyway.

looking 4a life partner age40-45
male same as above
loving partner

And they say India is not a progressive country. See how we have an ad for a gay partner in Rediff. Or is it just bad writing.

looking handsam&sexy

I am sure you are.

i am from 21 year old and i blived in simple living and high thinking.

Simple living and high thinking. Where have I heard that one before.

I m a fun loving person, always want to meet new person it is who so ever.

And that would mean? (Lalita! This is a cryptic crossword puzzle. A gazillion dollars if you break it)

lookin 4frndship than can do all

Friendship does do all.

looking for human beings.

And I thought they were involved in an illegal trade of exotic animals.

32,Male, Copy / Script / Jingle Writer.Written 2 buks. Copywriter 4 Archies, Marks Cards, 2nd Buk Published.

I would hate to read that 'buk'.

Looking for N.babu from coimbatore

Hello! That's lost and found.

My friends calling ne Vinu I am seeking 4 good frnds.

Oops! Sorry. You were the fifth respondent. Better luck next time.

Vivartha

Recently stumbled upon a new venture, a Feature Tabloid for Chennai, Vivartha and it gave me another opportunity to don my (dusty) critic cap.

Apparently Vivartha in sanskrit means transformation. 'Be the change', they proudly extol. What change? Change from what? To what? I wonder. I mean that tag would work for a Political organisation, say , an off-shoot of Lok Paritran, bringing about social transformation and all. But for a tabloid. Seriously???

I mean what is this with obscure sanskrit names. And there was something about Krishna and Arjuna in Bhagavad Gita (enlightening with words of wisdom, no less) and Gandhi in their website that I couldn't make the heads or tails of.

Do we infer that they aspire to change the existing journalistic traditions? Of sensationalism, biased reporting and 'Page-3 obsession' of the media. I couldn't make out from their website. Still, we are talking a Tabloid here or did I miss something.

And from the looks of it, I imagine they focus on a niché youth market, what with Pink Floyd, 'togetherness' and bikes. So who is Pink Floyd?

So, what was that about 'Being the change'. There is enough change in Chennai without 'Vivartha', thank you. Do you know a cup of coffee costs 50 bucks? And an evening out a couple of hundred? Youngsters are aping the 'West' leading to a caricature of 'Pizza-munching, Brand-touting, accent-flaunting' delinquents who have no idea about the value of money or regard for their parents' hardships.

Perhaps, all we need is change, but in this direction!!!???

While I support any new venture, I would like to know in KISS terms (no construing this transformation or permeading like the morning sunshine), what they hope to achieve with their tabloid. I am not judging...so if they are going to say cheap thrills, debate on Nike or Adidas, mobile phone reviews, exclusive snaps of Brad Pitt and Jolie's kid and other Gen X stuff for the urban youth, I'll say Atta! boy! and maintain a distance.

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Update: One of the writers of Vivartha has responded to my criticism. I have put it in the comments section.

Sachin's century

A short-story I wrote few months back. Originally wrote it in Tamil and later translated it to English for my friends (and as an exercise in translation).
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SriRamaJayam adorned the top of the page and then she dated it (wondering if it was the first or the second). ‘Safe’, she marked it in the right corner of the letter - an augury that the letter bore no ill news and that it could be read without alarm and then the salutation; Dearmost Mum n Dad. What an antiquated custom! Just as beginning something invoking the blessing of Rama; writing; hand-writing a letter to the ‘worried’ parents. And this even after two-three years of marriage. This in spite of speaking over the phone at least once a week, a conversation which would typically go, “So! What did you cook today? Lady’s finger is cheap this season”. An antiquated custom, a tradition indeed. Her mother, on her part would write twice a month. Without fail. (She loathed the computer with all her heart and all my efforts to educate her to use the internet to send mails failed miserably. I have given up now).

Twice a month. The first one would arrive promptly on the 10th with the standard question - “Any good news?” and the second one around month end would question exasperatedly, “What do you two actually do?” and then in a more concerned tone, “Is everything alright?”

And I will, without chafe, reply, “No!”, “No!”. To both letters. Father would at times scribble at the end, two lines - “Be happy my child. My blessings”

Today, writing a letter is not a tedious chore. It is a delight. For there is news. Happy news. Not just a mere “Fine and hope everything there is fine”. My cheerfulness dripped in the letter as ink. A joyous state that words cannot express. But I continued.

Bhuvana writes thus with fond regards. I pen this letter today floating among a million stars. Emotions unheard of, unfelt before, flood my heart, my whole being. A rare experience, I have lived through. And felt the feeling of completeness. Content that I was born and have lived this life. Ecstatic as being crowned the Empress of all world.

Marriage, I have understood. It’s meaning. It’s significance. Nope! It is not what you think it is. I am not pregnant. Yet. (But I think I AM ready for it now). The cause for my thrill is Sachin’s century yesterday. Fear not; I haven’t become yet another cricket fanatic (Is Babu studying for his exams in between his cricket? His semester exams aren’t far - ask him to work hard!) Well! Sachin’s century was no mere century. It was a miracle.

This is what happened. Sundar was watching the match on the Television, having bunked office. And I figured some snack to munch through the game would be nice and made preparations to cook pakkoda. Chopped the onions, set the pan with oil on the gas and made my batter when I realized that the salt in my dropper was empty. Our grocery carton had arrived the day before and was in the top shelf, beyond the reach of my puny self. And it was heavy. Really heavy. So what could I do. I just called Sundar to give me a hand, as I always did.

And he came. Immediately. With a big smile and a “Whats up?” He fetched the carton for me. Opened the salt refill, poured it to my salt-dropper, spilled it, cleaned the spill, teased me, cuddled me, tasted the batter for salt (praised the magic of my hands), asked if he could do more and then went back to his cricket.

Little did I realize until then that Sachin had been batting on ninety-nine. The cheer of the crowd and the loud voice of the commentator from my neighbour’s TV informed me that Sachin had indeed reached his century. That moment when the whole nation of a billion circket fans waited with bated breath to watch their hero attain the ton, that moment I had stolen from Sundar. And all for some salt. Salt that could have waited. Folly! Oh! What a wretch am I!

Still, without the slightest hint of hesitation, without pleading for another two minutes, without keeping his eyes, ears and heart on the match, and without just fetching the box and rushing back, Sundar had come. O! That moment. That gesture that proclaimed, “My silly girl! You mean more to me than anything in the world. What is Sachin and his century worth to me? Is cricket important? No. It is you, my love. You and your salt dropper. You and your onion pakkoda, the smile on your lips, and your happiness”.

In that moment I was enlightened with the vision of life. And of love. I understood the import of the word ‘intimacy’ in a relationship. That fleeting moment I caught the glimpse of a ‘soul mate’, my soul-mate. Buddha’s Bodhi tree, this Sachin’s century. I realized that a spontaneous deed, a spur-of-the-moment expression of love is more precious than a million rehearsed confessions of love; gifts, songs, poems, ‘love-you darling’s and ‘miss-you sweetheart’s. What can temper tantrums and morning bouts of yelling do to us now? Love. We love.

Anyway, shall talk to you on Sunday. Same time. Take care.

Regards,
Bhuvana

Saroja Ammal, proud homemaker of the last thirty years, laughed. Derision. “Sachin, salt-dropper, pakkoda* and intimacy. It is disgusting. More than two years since they got married and they can’t even have a child yet. Soul mates. Bodhi tree. What crap!”

Ramabhadrar, retired bank manager shed tears. His heart welled with pride as did his eyes. My daughter! He sent a prayer to bless her.

His wife carried on. “This generation! Bookish folks. They read some fancy philosophy and psychology books and keep blabbering about intimacy and soul-mates. My God! Only He has to save them. Enough!” and then ordered, “Sit down for dinner. It is about time for ‘Sorgam**’. Don’t want to miss the beginning. I’ll serve your meal”

* pakkoda - a snack made of besan and deep fried in oil
** Sorgam - a popular TV soap in Tamil Nadu