Pithy Hilarity - 3

Explaining Nalangu to a white colleague (WC):

W.C: Wait, after pretending to come back from a holy city, you have to play games? Like Intra mural sports?
Him: Not exactly. For example, we both have to find a small object hidden inside a bronze thin necked vessel.
W.C: This is madness!
Him: This is Smartha!!

Frank Miller, how do you like them apples?

Slices of Raja - 4

Last night on my drive back home Raaja kept me company, as he does most days. This time he brought along this number for company. If you can disregard the visuals of Mohan in really short swim trunks, this song is an absolute poolside musical treat beginning with the Jalatarang-ish prelude. To top it off the beat is kept exclusively with the aid of the syahi in the pallavi and minimalistic use of the cymbals and bongos in the prelude/interludes and charanams. The resultant effect seems to magnify the effect of large drops of water falling off an emerging swimmer onto his/her skin. There is so much going on in this song and yet being a sucker for melody, my favorite portions of the song were the lines " தள்ளாடும் தேகங்களே, கோயில் தெப்பங்கள் போல் ஆடுமோ?" - in the first charanam by S.Janaki (this woman's voice is the source of so much joy in my life) and " கள்ளோடு பூ ஆடுது, வண்டு தாகங்கள் கொண்டாடுது " by S.P.B in the second charanam. Until yesterday.

I discovered something in this song that nearly caused me to runover a pedestrian in my excited distraction. The bass guitar lines for this song sound like finger pulled notes on a cello or double bass augmenting the already "wet" feel of the song. Raaja reinforces that cliche'd saying of being drenched in a musical shower.

Slices of Raja -3

This song compels me to sing along, especially the aalaapanai followed by the SGRM GRSN SNPM PNSGR (sung by Raaja I believe) in the interlude. Unfortunately my singing is the numerical approximation to Raaja's and Jesudas' closed form solution. While there is the semblance of soul, the structure is so weak that it seems bereft of all the nalinam of Nalinakanthi. The frustration provided by ones own mediocrity is endless.

S.Janaki's rendition is, without doubt, spotless. But much more on her swara-play in another post.

Clam Chowder and Oyster Crackers

Award Winners from last weekend's Boston trip that left me with an ambivalent nose (to leak or not to leak - that is the question).
For place most likely to induce me into wanting to make enough money to own a summer home: To the picturesque little town of Alton Bay on Lake Winnipesaukee in New Hampshire. There is a quaintness associated with small towns that won nature's lottery. Alton bay, with its miniature pier, lakeside crab patty sandwiches and chocolate milkshakes has it in spades.

For most frustrating way to spend time on vacation: Jointly to Ikea and my sister. One for creating incredibly frustrating Lego blocks for adults and calling them pieces of furniture, the other for picking two of their worst creations. Coupled with some truly horrid night time weather they resulted in the loss of a couple of pounds a splitting headache. I lost 9 perfectly good hours that could have been spent at a bar coming up with ways to approach women that would never have been put into practice. The things one does for family- hmph!

For most interesting public art I've seen: To the Porter Square Gloves by Mags Harries. Read here for more information. This particular bronze glove with the baby glove nestled inside was my favorite visual metaphor. It reminded me at once of the need to let go, the inability to do so and also The Untouchables "baby in the pram" sequence. I spent an interesting couple of minutes photographing it while the rest of my family stared on.

For one of the most overpriced meals I have eaten: To Legal Seafood on the Boston Harbor. While the clam chowder was excellent and the ensuing conversation with my aunt on the oyster content in oyster crackers ranked pretty high on the Unintentional Comedy Scale (For the uninitiated I'm referencing Bill Simmons - who can claim responsibility for pretty much all my Beantown knowledge not related to the Boston Tea Party. He is also the inspiration for this post), I am not sure how much better the food was than the crab patty sandwich I had eaten earlier in Alton Bay.

For continuing my streak of meeting interesting people on vacation: To Jill, the cab driver, for her pitch perfect Baahstan accent and constant derision of Starbucks in favor of Dunkin Donuts. She also pointed out some of the more swanky establishments where I might find some potent portables. Specifically one in the Hotel St.Charles situated right smack in front of Mass General. The whole place used to be a prison and, according to her, they didn't change much inside - just converted the place to a high end bar. Now that's one place I would visit if I had cash to loose.

For being joys forever: To the women of Boston in their sundresses, shorts, running gear, miniskirts and hats - absolute things of beauty. They certainly love their summers up there, probably because they get so little of it.

For making me a believer out of me: To Haahvahd (as seen on a t-shirt), for impressing me like no other empty campus has. I have seen quite a few campuses in my lifetime and rarely, if ever, have I ever been so captivated by an aura. I am sure, when it is bustling with students, that it is truly a sight to behold. I will have first hand reports soon and have no doubts that my opinion will be confirmed.

For scandalizing my parents: To the gregarious freshmen on the T at 10:00 PM. Every single freshman cliche' was in attendance. The guy who is about 6 months from coming out of the closet, the girl who is too much in love with him to have a functional gaydar, the player who will probably take advantage of her vulnerability to get into her pants and the tattle tale who will ensure that everyone in the group knows everyone else's business. Absolutely priceless!

*DRUMROLL FOR THE GRAND FINALE*

For providing that perfect moment I strive for in any trip: To Harvard square and a nameless woman in a blue top. As I walked through the square, a very talented street performer forced me to turn of my IPOD. Across the square in near synchronicity the girl in the blue top did the same and we noticed each other. In that moment it didnt matter that the muggy weather was opening up sweat pores where none existed or that both of us had to be somewhere in a hurry. It was a moment of clarity in a cloudy day and we exchanged smiles in its wake ( at least I believe so ). So there it is ladies (I never really cared much for gentlemen), stay in the moment.

ஹைக்கூ ஒன்று

விதிவென்ற உடை களை
அம்மணத்தில் மட்டுமே
உம்மனதை உணர்வாய்

Slices of Raja -2

All the expediency of a brass davara tumbler rolling down the rocky stairs of a mountaintop temple in the prelude. The glorious high-pitched intonation of Jency. The near whimsical harmonium and flute in the first interlude and the multiple violins conjoining to produce the sound of a one-stringer in the second. Adi Penne - My youth is on a golden swing. To see beauty in the idle moments of both nature and a woman is a gift. And to have them enhanced by Raja, is a gift I am unworthy of.

P.S: Is it just Shobha's presence, or is there a strong undercurrent of sadness and longing in this song?

Pithy Hilarity-2

Conversation on Arguments...

Him: There are 2 arguments I don't get into.
Me: And what would they be?
Him: Arguments I know I will lose and arguments I know I will win.
Me: Makes sense.
Him: More often than not, they're the same argument.
Me: Now you've lost me.

He smiled in satisfaction.

A Theist?

WARNING: Ramblings at the risk of reductionist absurdity.

Maybe I'm a little acrophobic. Or is it all the wind at this elevation? Either way, I am standing on my heel edge at the precipice of a snowclad mountain and I'm a little afraid. Ok, I m very afraid. But there is this strange sense of freedom. A freedom that comes from doing something in spite of the knowledgethat it may cause irreparable body harm. A freedom that comes from the lack of routinely taking the safest bet. The freedom of change - mixing it up a little. Why cant every day bring a new experience?

Maybe I have early onset Alzheimers. Or did it plop out of my ear when I was driving with the top down on the PCH? Man if I dont find that blasted bluetooth head set, its a perfectly well spent 50 quid down the drain. Wait, did it fall in to the drain when I was in the bathroom? What the hell is wrong with me. I know I'm short-term-memory challenged. Why cant I just pick a place and store my phone and receiver there everytime? I'm supposed to be able to stick to a routine.

"Do you believe in the existence of god?". It seems there are only 2 possible answers to this question and all of humanity belongs to one tribe or another depending on their answer (Agnostics are bench players, they dont count). Everyone focuses on the "god" portion of the sentence and forgets that there is someone else in that sentence that is more important, "you". The believer is in a rush to uphold his/her belief and the non-believer is in just as much of a rush to denounce it. But what they both miss is that their answers are conditioned responses. Conditioned to the point of reflex. Reflexes that force us to conform. And in conformity we learn less and less about ourselves. The internal dichotomy, much like the need for both routine and change (do the first 2 idiotic paragraphs make sense now?), is necessary for personal growth.

A wise man once said, and I paraphrase, "That there is a God is a lie. That there isn't a god is an even bigger lie". And yet humanity fights over the answer to a rhetorical question. I would be laughing at the irony, if I weren't depressed beyond belief.

Slices of Raja-1

I refuse to conform. There is an unmatched quality to that voice, irrespective of what anyone says. I lay defenseless against the rendering of "Mettioli Kaattrodu" - Raaja at his bucolic best. In a song based in Jog at that. Defenseless I tell you, defenseless.

நெஞ்சமெல்லாம் நீ இசை
புகுத்தி எனை
ஆணவமற்ற நிராயுதபாணி
ஆக்கினாய்

The Space Between

His thought train had carried him out of earshot of the static that emanated from his car stereo. Or maybe white noise was an appropriate soundtrack to self-flagellating thoughts at 2 am in the morning. All that anger he was directing inward was now spilling over onto his parents and their mollycoddling. Even this evening, it had taken Atticus-Finch-levels of determination on his part to get permission to drive out to Lavs' place for her going-away shindig. They were right in assuming that he would drink and then have to drive back from Adyar to Aynavaram, but in his defense he was definitely sober enough to drive. Surprising, because the party had just resulted in sending his already fragile ego into a total tailspin. He had gone to the party in an upbeat mood looking for interesting conversation and a phone number, a validation of his self-worth. After all Lavs was hardly a mental giant - no reason to assume that impressing any of her friends would require any extra expenditure of neural power. He had had Pri's undivided attention until Mur and his socially conscious agenda pushing had barged in on the conversation. Who was this Nikita Mehta anyway? All of a sudden Pri had gotten all riled up about choice, Mur droned on about the origin of life and he had not an opinion to offer. Finally Mur and Pri had agreed to disagree, but not before they decided to continue agreeing to disagree over coffee later.

A sudden lag on the right side brought to his attention that he had literally driven the car into the ground like his parents' forewarning. He looked at his palms in complete defeat realising he didnt know how to change the spare on his car, hell he didnt even know if he had a spare in the car. His uncalloused hands and his uncalloused life disgusted him. He got out of the car, kicked the flat tyre and muttered a few choice curses.

"Innaa Saar Vandi breakdown-aa"

Startled at being addressed "Saar" he turned to see an auto driver watching him like a hungry hawk would watch a field rat. He knew he had no choice but to concede defeat this time, swearing to learn how to change tires first thing the next morning in addition to actually reading the news sections of the paper. He used the help of his opportunistic savior to push the car to the side of the road. After ensuring that all entrances to the vehicle were locked he boarded the auto. Directions provided, he was about to let the rattling of that overgrown tricycle of a vehicle lull him into a slumber, when a voice intervened.

"Naan Selvam saar, Selavanaayagam. Un Per Innaa Saar?"

While the curious juxtaposition of familiarity and distance in the second statement intrigued him, he wasn't necessarily in the mood for a heart to heart with the man. "Vikram" he replied tersely. "Thalaivar padam peru, Nalla peru Saar" Selvam said, pointing to the Kamalahassan picture on the window. Vikram's uninterested half-smile, in response, ensured no further conversation till they reached the rather imposing front gates of his house. Already late, Vikram hurriedly fished out a few bills in the darkness to cover the previously agreed amount, and dashed off into the house. He could worry about explaining the absence of a car in the portico later. Right now, noiseless tiptoeing into his room was the first order of business. Upon reaching said room he proceeded to divest his pockets of its contents. Keys, phone, assorted bills he rattled off his mental checklist.... wait the four 50's were in his pocket as loose change? Had he handed the 500's to the damn auto guy in the dark ? In retrospect, however, this slight oversight stung a little less than the other incidents of the night, so he decided to take recourse in slumber.

Over the next couple of days as he devoured every article on abortion on the front pages, something caught his eye. It was the story of an autodriver who lost his wife at an illegal abortion clinic on the outskirts of the city. He made a mental note to bring it up at the next party.

Mathirakshi

எந்தையும் நுந்தையும்
என்றுமே என் சிந்தையும் மாறி
நலவற்றை
பல்விரும்பும் பற்றை
நாம் பெறவே!

Reading this piece prompted an impromptu purchase of Mathirakshi, an album featuring the musical stylings of Anil Srinivasan on the piano and Sikkil Gurucharan's impeccable vocals, from iTunes last night. To my delight I discovered that the album contained Sempulapeyalneeraar's Yaayum Yaayum on the list of pieces performed. While the album also listed some of my favorite pieces, in particular Piravaa Varam Thaarum in Latangi - a frequent guest on my player, curiosity got the better of me and I decided to sample this song first. I was intrigued because the musicians had decided to expound a six-line poem written in the 3rd century A.D for 15 minutes and change. And not only did this cat not get killed for its curiosity, it was richly rewarded.

Now I must admit, while I was aware of the kurunthokai and some Sangam literature due to my high school tamil education, this particular poem caught my attention only because Vairamuthu decided to draw inspiration from it for Narumugaiye, a lovely romantic number, in Mani Ratnam's Iruvar. Often circumstances of introduction influence your opinion and understanding of the object being introduced. This is true of both people and poetry. Sometimes the road less traveled is so because it is not in plain view. During this revisit of Sempulappeyalneerars words, the gentle breeze of the Brindavana Saaranga in Gurucharan's voice cleared the brush to reveal a more meaningful understanding of the words. A poem that had hitherto had only passionate connotations to me was elevated to one that indicated a more compassionate care for all creation. The words in tamil above are my take on Sempulapeyalneeraar's words.

Below are Sempulapeyalneeraar's words:

யாயும் யாயும் யாராகியரோ
எந்தையும் நுந்தையும் இம்முறை கேளிர்
யானும் நீயும் எவ்வழி அறிதும்
செம்புலப்-பெயனீர் போல
அன்புடை நெஞ்சம்தான் கலந்தனவே

And A.K. Ramanujam's Translation:

"What could my mother be 
to yours? What kin is my father 
to yours anyway? And how
Did you and I meet ever? 
But in love
our hearts have mingled
as red Earth and pouring Rain"

courtesy: The Hindu

Pithy Hilarity

Conversation on arranged Marriage:
Me: So you have a list of qualities that need to be satisfied?
Him: Nope. Just one.
Me: What?
Him: Mananthaal Mahababe, Illayel Maranadev
Shallow reflections.

The Forgotten - 1

Where I hope to chronicle small roles that loom large in my memory.

If you're a chennai denizen and worthy of being addressed as such, you've heard of and have an opinion on Mani Ratnam's films. And if you've had a friend named Chandramouli, you've never let go an opportunity to channel Karthik from that famous scene in Mouna Raagam. In spite of a borrowed premise, be it the bard's Taming of the Shrew or Mahendran's Nenjaththai Killadhey, this movie is vastly more popular than the original and features one of Tamil cinema's most celebrated cameo's. But this post is not about Manohar.

An obviously conflicted Divya sits on the roof of her house - is it still even her house any more? - as her mother tries to talk her into participating in that most well designed of awkward situations, the first of many nights to be spent with someone you barely know. The archaic ceremony that had taken place earlier in the day, something she had been emotionally blackmailed into, had done nothing to change her apprehensions. Her mother repeating banal statements, the understanding of which is predicated on unquestioningly buying into tradition, just serves to aggravate her further. It is the purpose of youth to disrespect age and the bane of the aged to forget their youth.

It is here that Rathnam's writing stood out to me, demonstrating a considerable understanding of the inner workings of a joint family. Divya's sister-in-law (brother's wife), in all probability realising that the argument would hardly solve anything, asks to speak to her privately. The next scene has Divya facing Chandrakumar in a room. Implied is the fact that the sister-in-law succesfully talked Divya down off the roof. What exactly transpired between them is of no importance, because the average Tamil cinema viewer already knew the outcome. The genius in the writing is how this foregone conclusion is engineered. And who better to do it than a character who probably faced similar apprehensions not long enough ago to have forgotten them?

Seminal Second Planet

I remember when I saw her first. It was in a crowded museum. I had waited a half hour to get in and this was after the 15 euros I paid for a reservation on the "special entry" line. I guess it doesnt matter if what you want to see is Venkatachalapathy or da Vinci, money talks. I then proceeded to meander through a multitude of rooms that made it painfully obvious to me how art challenged I was. And then in one of the rooms, as the crowds parted like the red sea I saw her. I t was like the zephyr's were fanning her off the canvas towards me. OK, it wasn't quite so melodramatic. A bunch of japanese tourists decided to point their fancy image capturing gadgetry elsewhere and that brought me up to the painting. And I did what most art novices do - stand and stare with mouth agape, maybe utter an unintelligible word or two. But Botticelli's Birth of Venus stayed with me long after I left the Uffizi that evening.

The second time I saw her, was in the privacy of a barely occupied movie theatre. Delysia Lafosse was exiting a bath, drawn for her by Miss Pettigrew, in a bathroom too ornate to be adressed as such. Delysia, an upcoming actress and prima-donna extraordinaire, had requested a personal assistant to help manage her ever expanding "social" circle and upwardly mobile (Delysia hoped) career. And due to a series of rather fortunate events, an out of work Miss Pettigrew ingratiates herself to Miss Lafosse, landing herself the position. As Delysia alighted from her sea shell shaped bath, she draped herself in the cloth that Miss Pettigrew proffered, one hand holding it to her chest another between her legs. All I could see in the frame was Botticelli's vision, only with Amy Adams as the model. So much so that there was no room for even a passing fancy that the towel protecting Adams' modesty ought to drop in order to complete the intention of the frame!