The "Sakhiye... Snehidhiye" Moment.

Disclaimers: As usual, I have not allowed the truth to come in the way of a hopefully entertaining blog post. Like Vidya Balan says in the Dirty Picture, Entertainment is what matters. Not the Truth.

After a long awaited game of cricket today morning, I was on the way back, dead tired, on the Mumbai local back to upstate Kandivali, from downtown Parel, engaged in animated discussions with young Himanshu on how we had grown old and out of touch (conveniently forgetting men who are on an average a decade older than us, and still playing on for a 100th 100). After Himanshu alighted at Mahim, I was on my own, and almost drifting off to sleep.

There definitely is a relationship between me and trains. Its quite a hide-and-seek though, for trains only seem to play host to a lot of my unromance - meaning the romance that almost was.Today was no different, when I got bored of sitting as we neared Malad (a station just before Kandivali), and ventured out to the door of the compartment. Just to be precise, there is no door. It is a simple doorway with a steel pole in the middle, which hurts significantly more than it helps, as millions of people jump in and out the train every day during rush hour.

So there I was, in my dirty cricket tee and tracks, standing by the pole in the middle of the door, the wind and sun on my face. Which is when I realised I had my sportsman sunglasses in my bag, and promptly put them on as well! Now you get the full picture. Basically, no less than Alaipayuthey Madhavan, with a bag slung over my right shoulder.

Enter the speeding local that was almost overtaking us on the parallel track. If i had known what was waiting, the sound of the local would have sounded like a fast Veena in romantic Nalinakaanthi. But since I did not, it sounded like a speeding local. As the compartments went past us one after the other, the ladies compartment came up exactly opposite where I was standing.

And there she was. Heavvy! Completely standing out from the rest of the sisterhood. Literally too, she was almost falling out of the train in the rush. When our eyes met, my first instinct was of course to pull in my paunch. First things first. Those 4 seconds when she was gazing in my direction, and I was looking squarely at her - albeit through my tinted glasses - were when i heard the "Sakhiye.. Snehidhiye" refrain in full volume in my head.

Those 4 seconds... Super mama. Ready? 1... 2... 3... 4!

Inexplicably, there seemed to be a "what a changeover mama" moment, as that gaze seemed to create some sort of distance between us, and she seemed to be withdrawing from me ever so quickly after a brilliant 4 seconds. Which is when I realized my slow local was slowing to stop at my station, while her fast local was just changing tracks to move on the other side of the platform and speed past menial Kandivali to go to happening Borivali.

The humming stayed with me the entire time I walked from the station back to my house, until the moment Divya opened the door for me, with a word about my looks that made me slightly uncomfortable - "Panja Paradesi".

Cha.

But, as Airtel famously says "Ovvoru Figure-um theva machaan".

Nee Naan Sivam...

Over the last 5 days, I had two experiences both of which made me feel hugely good about life.

Sunday, November 27, 2011:

After my Sunday morning session with my Tabla guru (what a genius that man is, he deserves a special post someday!), I was on my way out driving down that slope, when I passed a little boy clutching his eyebrows, with a couple of boys gathering around him. As i continued gingerly down the slope, a lady ran past my car up the slope, with a cry that overtly showed anger, but actually was loaded with love. I tried to look through my rear-view mirror, at what the fuss was all about. The boy had his entire right half of his face soaked in blood that was oozing out of a deep cut just above his eyebrows. The disappointing part of this was that I actually gave it a thought, before I acted on it. But after a quick 2 seconds, I put my car on reverse gear and went up all the way on the slope. "Hospital jaana hai kya?", I said. Within a minute, I had the bleeding, crying son and the wailing worried mom on my backseat, guiding me to the nearest clinic. That minute after dropping them off at the doctor's clinic, where I took leave, and the mother was visibly thankful, but too worried to leave her son's side, felt meaningful. Like Phoebe says, I guess there is no unselfish good deed. Getting back into my car, I quickly flipped radio channels, looking for "Rangrezaa... Rangrezaa", but had to settle for

"Kyu sach ka sabak sikhaaye

Jab sach sunn bhi naa paaye

Sach koi bole tto niyam kanoon bataye

Tera darr, Tera pyaar, teri wah

Tu hi rakh .. rakh saala".

Dont know what the words mean, but they felt bloody damn good.

Thursday, December 1, 2011:

I had a chance to visit a school in a place called Mandideep in Madhya Pradesh, where P&G has one of its manufacturing facilities. This school is completely sponsored by my company, which has helped build the rooms, get the books, pay the teachers, get mid-day meals and what not. Me along with other folks from the Mumbai and Singapore offices were received with a round of ROUSING applause, and as we walked to the stage through the crowd of students, we felt like we had just won the oscars, with the number of kids who wanted to shake our hands! When it started about 10 years ago, there were 7 students and 1 teacher, and today this school has 26 teachers and 962 students, of which more than 500 are girls. We sat on stage, even as the kids performed the local dances on stage, followed by another dance swaying to "Maa Tujhe Salaam". Awesome, awesome experience. I've done NOTHING at all to deserve that affection from those kids, but am terribly happy to be working for a company that cared to do its bit.

Feeling very, very good about life.

I cannot not say it.

Nee.... Naan.... Sivam.

Ghazia-BAD!

The creation of this note has been caused by the fusion of 2 things, like most other creations in this world, only that in this case, it is the fact that an extremely tired me has no energy to talk on the phone for the next 2 hours that I will be on this cab from Ghaziabad to Delhi Airport, and the non-availability of either Facebook or any normal book for that matter, on this god forsaken road. The music selection of my cab driver is very much on expected lines, with yesteryear absolute classics like Pardesi Pardesi jaana nahi, Poocho zaraa poocho, Tum to teher pardesi, Choora ke dhil mera and the like, Kumar Sanu’s jewels that adorned the glorious period of Hindi film music through the 90s before ARR ruined it for them.

Anyway, the objective of this blog is to immortalize my current feelings on the reasonably unique official work that I was paid to do, earlier today. Statistically speaking, I am almost certain I would truly be 1 in a million when it comes to this particular feat of mine. But before we get to that, let’s also immortalize the place where I stayed over the past 2 days – a completely “not recommended” hotel called City Garden, in Ghaziabad. Of course, I wasn’t expecting it to be the Leela Palace, but you would typically expect that the AC would work in a room called the Executive AC room. Or that the tap in the bathroom would spew out some water and not clean air. Or that they would have what their menu called the “City Garden Breakfast”, which was quite the rare combination of corn flakes, coffee and a boiled egg. Of course, I wasn’t even asking for luxuries like a bottle of water in the room or 24 hr power supply et al. Never mind, 1.5K room, so easy goes.

Am fighting all my elaborate blogging instincts to keep this to only as long as the Facebook generation can digest, but what the heck, I have some time on me now, so let me be.

Post my elaborate substitute for the out-of-stock City Garden breakfast, I walked down to the training room. It is not often that you walk into a room, and all the 100 odd folks in that room stand up. When that happened today morning, I nonchalantly and humbly waved them down, with that look of shock and surprise that is supposed to say “You guys are all elder to me, why do you feel a need to stand up when I walk in? Please sit down, O respected comrades”, while I could hear a mix of Yejamaan kaaladi Manneduthu and Hey, Vaaraan da.. Ivan veeran dheeran sooran dhaan da playing secretly in my mind.

Starting my training session, I started off mustering up all my Hindi, with “Aaj hum kiske baare mein baat karne wale hain, pata hai?”, to which I got looks that conveyed the highest levels of interest I have had a group of 100 women ever show in me. Not wanting to hold the suspense any longer, I had to let it out: Whisper Ultra ke baare mein!

80 out of the 100 heads dropped, staring with keen intent at the floor. The other 20 heads turned to look at each other and giggle. My head – in that brief moment – looked up at the heavens to utter a silent prayer. 6 hours to go.

As I started off educating reasonably well-informed women in their twenties with “Whisper kab use karti hai log?”, to which I got one sincere response from what appeared to be an old hand who was surprised that a grown up lad like me did not seem to know this basic life truth, a bubble above my head took me into a brief flashback:

July 2004. National University of Singapore. Girish Kalyanaraman, M.S Computer Science. Somewhere, I could see a godly figure looking down, with a hint of a wry laugh.

Cut back to real life, and the 100 clamoring women who were not very keen to listen to the knowledge about menstruation that this 28-yr old boy was about to impart to them. How I did manage to, and escape from that room unhurt, will remain a memory I would keep to myself I guess.

Life does take one down strange roads, eh?

Till next time, Have a happy period!

Sripathi Panditaradhyula Balasubramaniyam

It is quite unbelievable that the man has been singing in films for 44 years now.
44 years!
We heard him live at Shanmukhananda hall yesterday, and sure enough, every thing is still intact. The typical butter-coated mushiness, the sudden upsurge of manly energy, the inevitable laugh in the middle of a line, the Telugu-sounding English, the immeasurable love for Ilayaraja, the humility to confess to his mistakes on stage, et al. Overall, delightfully pleasant!
After a 5-minute long monologue on stage which started off with "Music is an ocean.. (yeah, you get the drift)" and ended with "... and so I will make mistakes, it is my right, and you guys have every right to excuse me...", he jumped straight into Ulaa pOgum neram.. kanaa kaaNume.., the first in a long list of nostalgic numbers, mostly Ilayaraja's, much to my delight! A lot of old classics followed with the occasional smattering of Telugu (Sankaraaaa!) and Malayalam numbers.
It was quite mind-boggling to hear him say things like "When I recorded this song in 1969..." and the likes. Insane achievement, I must confess, still drawing the crowd he drew yesterday - in a city that has not even heard 40,000 of the 45,000 songs he has sung till date - and still sounding exactly how he sounded at least 10 years ago. Hats off.
Putting together Sundari Kannaal oru sedhi on stage was goosebumpy. Credit to the 9-man orchestra for pulling off the wild number. SPB kicked off the song with the typical words of a south indian music lover in bombay, "Listen to this song, and you might understand why Ilayaraja is a genuis of the rarest kind". Words that I have felt and said to the infinite number of unfortunates who have not lived out their 20s listening to Raja's insanities.
Other notable singers joining SPB were Goutam, Nikhil Mathew, Mrs & Mr. Anoop Sankar and Ananthu. Special mention to Ananthu, who I think is as talented a singer as anyone I have heard. His Pramadhavanam was remarkably perfect, and his Ponnondru Kanden with Goutam was a delight. I dearly wished Viji would sing a duet with SPB, but time constraints dictated otherwise. That Anoop managed to wrap up with his own medley of Raja songs even in an SPB show was outstanding and a simple reminder of his well-deserved growth in this industry, and very reminiscent of the days when his medley at the end of our shows were his signature!
Thanks to Anoop and Viji for the complimentary tickets! Awesome evening guys!

How I met Simran...

As has almost become the norm, here is something that happened to me during another of my rushed official trips to Chennai.
Surprisingly early to check in for a change, I handed my ticket printout and photo ID to the girl on the other side of the Kingfisher counter at Chennai airport. As the girl wished me a good evening, the girl standing in the adjacent queue - also holding a Kingfisher ticket - turned.
WOW.
She was carrying a hardbound copy of a book I had not heard of. Respect.
"Aisle or window, sir?", the girl behind the counter interrupted.
"Can you put me on the seat next to her?", I was almost tempted to say. I didn't. Instead, I shrugged, subtly trying to look indifferent, and hence cool. I noted though, that the girl - lets randomly call her Simran or Simi for want of overusing the word girl - turned to see what my preference was. She chose a window herself, loud enough for me to hear.
Simi finished her formalities and headed for security. Now, when I caught up, there were some 9 people between the two of us in the line, and she branched off to the female line leaving me wondering why there was a special line for women.
I looked around to engage myself in something remotely not her, but some commotion on her side made me look in her direction again. And she looked at me. Again. Interesting.
Some guy had raised a stink about something he had in his checkin baggage, and she seemed a trifle pained. She looked at me -AGAIN! - and her expression said it all. I almost reached out and comforted her with a "Oh never mind.. Some people never obey the rules" level comforting pat on the back. But did not. Instead, I simply gave her a blank stare in return. Cool, still.
Simi went behind the screen that they had for frisking the women, and the officer seemed to have taken a liking to her. Simi did not seem to enjoy that and turned again in my direction with a longing expression that yet again yearned for liberation from this physical trauma (her face was above the screen, and I could see. Or she could, vice versa...). Blank Stare from me. With a hint of withdrawal. Cool max!
She got done in a minute, and chose a seat near the front of the departure lounge. The seat next to her was empty. Gotcha!
I strolled into the departure lounge and casually looked up at the screen showing the departure schedules and gates, carefully appearing not too eager to go find the seat next to her.
The screen said our flight was on time - damn! - only hope now being our seats were together on the flight too. My eye moved to the right of the screen. An arrow pointed upwards, telling me that I had to move to the lounge on the first floor. WHAT!?!?
I turned and looked straight at her, without even considering the possibility that she might be looking in my direction. She was. Embarrassed and exhilarated at the same time, I dropped my gaze, and reluctantly made for the escalator, walking slower than Inzamam's walk back to the pavilion.
The escalator seemed to be in a hurry, and whisked me upwards, while I turned back - for one last time - to see what Simi was upto. That she held my gaze all the way to the top of the escalator was one of the defining moments and possibly the crowning glory of my late twenties life.
Life on the first floor seemed slow and pointless. I called Divya to tell her how my blossoming romance had been rudely cut short by the powers that be. She wished me luck, and asked me to not lose hope yet. Encouraged, I kept turning back to see if the escalator would bring the only good thing about that day back into my life. It did not.
"Kingfisher airlines announces the departure of its flight IT 3184 to Mumbai...". Damn!
Finding my seat next to a balding, obese uncle - not unusual at all - was the last straw.
The surprisingly disheveled air hostess offered me water, which i rather despondently drank down before i dozed off, obviously not noticing her name tag, that said "Simran".
And we soared skyward, and back to Bombay.

Life though, is back to being good, at home with wife.
Thanks for all your wishes and prayers, if any.

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 October 2008, 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...}