Long time no see...

God bless the Bangalore International Airport for the 1-hour free broadband in the departure lounge. If nothing else, it at least helped me get back to this long lost art of blogging. The blog comes right at the fag end of a fab 4-day trip to Bangalore, with quality time spent with Vatsa, J and the respective wives. And as Charlie would say, it waf Awefome! (Hint hint about the Sunday evening activity). 2 consecutive days with 9+ hours of sleep, tamil masala mindless (and actually quite useless too) movie, and a solid piece of filmmaking, music sessions, cricket-watching sessions this time (if not playing), amazing food all through the day, all in some gloriously perfect weather. The other guys in the gang were sorely missed, and now am looking forward BIG time to the gang get-together very soon! Heading back to base camp now, normal life awaits. Albeit, with a bunch of lost and found passions, including reading, tabla classes, guitar classes coming up very soon, and the short film scripts that keep getting shelved owing to the unavailability of the script writer's call sheet. Animation films present a whole new passion as well, with me and divya having watched a reel of reels (Ice Age 123, Finding Nemo, Sleeping beauty) in quick succession following Wall E and Kung Fu Panda. Completely smitten by animation films! And even as the announcement says "Jet Airways flight to Mumbai...", I shall hang up, and take leave after this highly happy blog that am sure did not make for easy reading. Thanks nevertheless, if you did manage to stick on! Am loving that am loving writing again!

Part 2: The untold story of Muthu...

{continued from this post}

Muthu's father owned a little poultry farm, and made a living selling eggs. School not being an option for the boy, most of the boy's time day in and out went into carrying the baskets of eggs across to the houses which his father asked him to, and collecting the money that they gave him.
On good days, his father would pinch his cheeks and hand him a 25-paise coin, which he would gleefully put in his piggy bank, to buy himself a Jigarthandha when he hit a total savings of Rs. 2!

The monotony was broken in the month of January 2009, when his father fell ill. Managing the farm now was a much harder task, and Muthu was clueless. The household's loyal servant Paandi - who was Muthu's dad's right hand man - took up the reins of the farm, and Muthu did all he could to ensure he delivered the eggs efficiently to the people of the village. It was not as easy.

Word got around that Muthu's father was ill. The other egg-seller in Vettiyoor, Kumbaa, knew this was the best chance for him to establish himself. He purchased a new horse-cart and did one round of the village every morning, announcing his new special offer, whereby anyone who purchased half a dozen eggs got 2 eggs free!

The next week, Muthu noticed that the number of people who wanted eggs from his farm had gone down by more than half. As he was getting ready to sleep on his newspaper bed on the floor, he wondered how he could counter Kumbaa's threat. He was reminded of something that his father had once told him... the quality of hens that we breed give superior eggs, which make anyone who eats them much stronger! Kumbaa's hens are NOT as good!

Sitting up from bed, he had no clue how he had hit upon the thought. Elated, he went back to his deep sleep, unknowingly spilling saliva on the pehelwan in the Dabur Chyawanprash advertisement in the paper..

The next morning, Muthu was on his way to the house of Ranga, the strongest man in the village. Ranga regularly bought eggs from Muthu, and everyone knew him as the strongman of the village. Making an effort to slow himself down on the way to Ranga's house, Muthu could not help beam with pride on how he had thought about it. Everyone knew Ranga was strong. Muthu knew Ranga bought eggs from him. The only missing link was that everyone did not know Ranga bought eggs from him! Muthu was almost sure that this was the kind of thinking that they taught in the schools. Bah, he thought! He did not need schools.

Ranga it turned out was not in town, and would not be, for the next 2 weeks. His wife Thilaga would not agree to his portrait being painted on a poster that advertised Muthu's eggs. She was worried Ranga might not agree to it. Muthu however figured out that the problem actually was that she was paranoid about making a decision in her husband's absence. He had seen his mother behave in exactly the same manner.

As he started walking back from the house, he saw 2 eggs lying in a corner of Ranga's house, evidently having been used that morning. The flies feasting on the remnants of the egg caught his eye.

The next morning, Vettiyoor saw a very interesting set of posters across the length and breadth of the village. The posters were all over. 2 eggs were painted on a piece of cardboard, and the eggs had 2 eyes and a mouth. The speech bubble from the eggs chorused in unison - "We come from Muthu's poultry farm. Buy us, and you get another one free!".

Muthu's father had not liked the idea. Muthu, though, was of the opinion that this was the most earth-shattering thing that had happened to the people of the village. Given the dismal state of the business, Muthu's dad had allowed Muthu to go ahead. The boy sat up all night, painting on cardboards, and in the wee hours of the morning went around the village putting up the posters wherever he could find an appropriate spot.

The eggs sold like hot cakes(!), and Muthu was smiling again. He smiled to himself when he walked past any of the school teachers.

***

The only 2 things that kept Vettiyoor busy in the first week of February were the village fair, and some new company that was putting up some HUGE towers in the outskirts of the village. One curious boy fell and hurt himself trying to climb the tower, and after that no one tried. Muthu liked to stand near the tower and look up at it, as though he had built it. The tower, to him, was a symbol of him growing up.

The village fair was the most awaited event of the year, and this time it came with a rude surprise.

{to be continued soon...}

Saturday evening live...

Yesterday we went to listen to Vasudha's carnatic concert here in Bombay. And in doing so, got another generous dose of the oft-seen "carnatic music appreciation clique" and their ways.

1. Silk-saree clad maamis with their flowing necklaces and blinding bangles which evoke greater appreciation than the girl singing her throat hoarse on stage. The handbag appreciation society was a Mumbai speciale', and clearly established Mumbai as the pseudest of the carnatic concert destinations!
2. The headbanging maamaas who dutifully accompany their well-draped and well-fed maamis, and lose themselves listening to "O bhagwan.. raksha karo" level songs..
3. The really involved listeners, who sit and make a list of the songs that are being sung, and wait to establish eye contact with the neighbor ladies who would then ask for the notebook, and boost their own egos because they identified the ragams right - this is usually accompanied by knowing smiles and mutual appreciation between the ladies.
4. A poor paatti, who could not sit beyond 2 hours, who walked across to one side of the seating area and repeated the foot exercises she had learnt in school - keep your hands on the hips and raise one leg and rotate the ankle clockwise and then anticlockwise. This again I thought was solely because there was no canteen at this particular hall, which is gross injustice really to the starved peace seekers.
5. The uncle who closed his eyes in a violenty meditative state, and putting thaaLam on his keychain - as inaccurate albeit loud as one can put thaaLam to a simple bhajan.
6. The uncle who had "minnaladikkum vennmai" level hair, who waited till the thani aavarthanam was over, impatiently fidgeting with his car keys, and then flashed a pseud little yellow post-it note from his pocket, wrote "KuRai onRum illai" on it and handed it over looking as obedient as possible, to the Mridangam player, who promptly flashed his "romba sandhosham" smile at the pleased mama (lets call him Ambimama, for cliche's sake).
7. All the uncles who turned and the some who reached out to shake our triumphant and widely grinning Ambimama's hand as a gesture of gratitude when Vasudha obliged. Some evolved aunties did the Thumbs up gesture from the other end of the hall, even as Vasudha could not believe sitting on stage the power of the kuRai onRum illai cult.

I could go on a bit more, but since J on gtalk is telling me to just post it, I shall prematurely truncate the bliss.

PS: Vasudha deserves more than a word of praise for a wonderful concert, smattered with an energetic medley of songs - bhajans, Sruthi bhetham, thillanas and the vritham mischievously sung in raag Vasanthi ;)

For want of a blog entry...

J: what is happening

Girish: nothing da.. am washing clothes at home.

J: am also upto something as mundane only

Girish: and came online even as the washing machine is on wash mode...

J: yeah

Girish: did one round of baniyan jetti, put all those for drying, now doing the shirts...

J: went to the gas office, telephone exchange and grappled with the broadband guy till now - finally after 5 hrs the broadband is up

Girish: and in between i also cleaned the bedroom floor, and madichu vechufied all the other clothes lying around...

J: total 1 week since we applied for bband

Girish: very good. cheers to both of us for having successfully become family men.

J: bband

kindeed

now I am online to pay my airtel bill

Girish: iniku evening ramu mama wil come here and he wil stay for a week..

J: inbetween managed to put tea and give for maamanaar

Girish: so avar vardhukulla i need to clean the floors, peruki thodaichu etc.

my velaikaari is on pregnancy leave..

J: will be upto such nailbitingly exciting stuff for a while I think..

Greatness.

I slept at 3 in the night yesterday, struggling to finish some office work that had piled up.
I woke up at 7 in the morning when the maid disturbed my diaper dreams.
I worked my ass off till 9 in the night today at work.
It was my longest day at work yet.
I came back to a lonely apartment, and cooked Maggi for myself.
One delightful conversation with J. We spoke about one very specific marketing funda.
Divya is away in Madurai, it did not even occur to me that I should call.
Watched Abhiyum Naanum.Actually shed a tear when the dad hugs the son-in-law in the climax. The bloody movie kept reminding me of Appa. So wanted to see him. Still want to.
It was midnight when i finished watching the film.
It is now 1:40 AM.
A full 100 minutes of sheer unbounded joy. It is abysmally unfortunate that there is no one at this hour to share this inexplicable happiness with.
Nandalala. Ilayaraja. Ecstasy.
On just the second listening, I sat up. I did not want to sleep.
I played Roadrash (minus the sounds) with the album on a loop for one full hour. Wanted to keep awake with this addiction. I did not mind it one bit that I was getting "busted" time and again in Level 3.
I still do not want to sleep.
Sheer greatness.
The day the man dies, I am flying back to his funeral to get one glimpse of him. I sincerely wish the laws of my life would allow for that. I am sure I will cry buckets, LOL.
Anyone care to join me?

chEARS to the Hero...

Train journeys on Mumbai local trains with an ipod in hand are good. Better when I have good earphones, and best when Ilayaraja is playing. Listening to songs that I have already heard a zillion times automatically draws me in so much that I end up playing those invisible guitars and drums and keyboards all at once, in thin air, wherever I can find some in those insanely crowded compartments.
A million eyes then fall on you, and you have to necessarily tone down, lest someone calls the police suspicious of terror calls on this weird phone-like device. After a raging internal debate on my duty towards Ilayaraja versus not offending the onlookers, I invariably bow to Raja and carry on in my own little space where every shake of my fingers meets an imaginary snare or every tap of my feet meets a fictitious kick pedal :)

In the most recent such journey, I was stuck at one point where I could not change the song coz there was no way I could reach into my pocket and unlock the ipod and so forth. And that was how I ended up listening to Naayagan for that entire journey. And realised for myself what an absolute gem the album is.
I have big time new found respect for Naan sirithaal DeepavaLi. I think it is one of any composer's best creations. How he manages to make the string instruments mischieviously dance to his tunes in the backdrop of a bombay brothel is simply unbelievable.
And if one were to start singing the stanza - as is the trend these days - it is just brilliant.
The orchestral start to Thenpaandi Cheemaiyile. Sensational.
The brisk violin sections in Andhi varum, the holi song. Intriguing.
The banjo (i believe) in Nila adhu vaanathu. Titillating.
Mani Ratnam must have had an orgasm when he heard the tunes first time.
And when the background score was done for the film, god (aka Ilayaraja) knows what he must have done.

That insanely amazing celebration of strings made yet another innocuous train journey blogworthy. Balls to the onlookers. I will play on all the violins you will never see with your naked ears.

Crisis!

1. I have a strong feeling I am losing all creativity in life.
1a. Creativity/flair has become limited to just those instantly thought-up one liners or those Crazy Mohanish quips during Chai sessions in office.

2. Alarmingly, my attention span is at an all time low, I think, unable to sit and do ONE thing for more than 15 minutes.

3. Just to clarify, the passion's there, no two ways about it. On all things i was ever passionate about, I still am.

4. Reminder to myself:
4a. Write (lyrics/music/blogs/short stories)
4b. Sing
4c. Play (Tabla/guitar/cricket/badminton)

5. Now that I've written one of my worst blog entries, let me go and do the other stuff.