[Short Story] Tall Tales We Tell

Arjun sat on the sofa, changing the songs on his play list agitatedly,  tiring easily of each one. Either he didn't know the whole song, or the lyrics were bad, or it was too tough.

He felt his mother's touch on his shoulder.

'What is all that frustration for? 

I pity the music player.'

He plucked out the headphones and flung the iPod along with it on the sofa. 

'The culturals start tomorrow.
The music competitions is day after.
The seniors are banking on me.
And I haven't even chosen the song yet...'

She sat next to him, and rubbed his back.  He slumped down on her lap. He even let her ruffle his hair, which he had stopped her from doing ever since he joined college. 

 

 I think I can help you there.  I have saved some new songs in a playlist... you know... the ones that you haven't heard ... maybe you'll find something interesting...' 

Mothers know their sons best - he did find that magical song.

The beautiful love song, sung in his earnest voice moved almost everyone in the audience. 

 

'She floated into my vision 

 

Like 

A Blooming rose

A Poet's dream

A brilliant sun beam

A deer in flight

A moonlit night

A soft word of delight

A lone lamp in a temple aglow

Every girl present there felt, that he sang the song just for her.

The song helped him meet and marry his future wife Kanishka.

II

Arjun stood in the kitchen, making dhal and parathas. Masala chai simmered on another burner.  The kitchen was an absolute mess. It didn't bother him though since the cleaning lady would take care of it in the morning. 

 

Marriage was fine but it involved sacrifices, chief of which was his inability to meet his friends often or have late night parties with them. He hated having to behave so responsibly all the time.

Now that his wife was away after their first big fight, he wanted to make the best use of his time. ‘Freedom from bland cooking! Freedom from rampant nagging! Freedom from over snooping! Freedom from sermonizing!’ he laughed out loud. He felt rather proud about how he was able to vocalize his frustrations poetically. He slathered more ghee over an already soggy paratha with vengeance.

he was tingling with excitement for the evening that lay ahead. 

Finally, he was having all his friends over. All they wanted was a simple meal, loads of fun, his songs and chai to keep them going till the wee hours.

There was a lively song that was on everyone's lips and he was eager to present it that evening.

He sang it loudly experimenting with dance moves to go with it. 

In his enthusiasm, he failed to notice the generous drippings of ghee that had enriched not just the parathas, but the floor as well.

He feet slid down and he fell in a perfect straddle that any gymnast would have been proud of. He felt  a little dizzy and intense pain. He watched helplessly as the paratha burned and the dhal and the the tea spilled over shutting out the flame. As he dragged himself painfully towards the stove to turn it off a scream escaped his lips and his eyes welled up.

 

He contemplated hoisting himself up slowly to get his phone and call for help. He heard the key turn in the door. 

 

 Kanishka had chosen to cut short her visit and come back early.  She helped him up, contritely, her eyes brimming with love. 

 

III

Over the years she pruned and perfected the retelling of their 'story' to her children and to any one else who cared to listen  of how her husband, had loved her the very instant that he had set eyes on her and how he had even changed the song that he had planned to sing since he was so besotted with her. 

She would say how deeply in love they were and of their first fight  ages ago and how upon her early return plagued as she was by pangs of guilt, she had found him slumped on the kitchen floor, crying his heart out for her.


She would also tell them of her firm resolve to never leave his side, ever again…

And that, my friends, is how myths are born.

[Blog] Posing for photographs...

This is an age for photography- additionally it’s an age of globalization, liberalization, global warming, urbanization and so on… but let’s leave such trivialities to the underutilized intellectuals. As I was saying, this is the ‘age’ for photographs what with a zillion digital cameras flooding the market.

I have become quite shutter happy of late, arming myself with a reasonably good camera, shooting all at sight, (whether willing or otherwise) and sharing the spoils with friends and family and of course posting some on my Facebook wall. While I am very pleased with the very generous comments my friends and well wishers post, I have come to realize one thing though, that posing for photos surprisingly, is not the easiest thing-- just as photography isn’t simply about “aiming and shooting,” posing is not just about “looking and smiling!”  My worst nightmare begins when I look at the photographs after I have diligently transferred them to my computer.

Which makes me wish we were living in the black and white era… In the black and white era – one could wear any saree, any jewellery (It would all look the same anyway) and stand ramrod straight and glare sternly at the camera and it was done. No worries of any kind. But then colour photography entered the scene and someone must have decided "Now let's have some smiling faces!"-People (read the photographer) suddenly took to saying ‘cheese!’  Now I don't know about you, but I have tried saying cheese in front of a mirror but instead of a smile all I get is a grimace!

While posing for group photographs, someone decides to crack a joke with the noble intention of eliciting smiles but with very disastrous consequences and results in a 'natural' photograph of monstrous facial expressions. So posing is indeed one of the greatest calamities confounding mankind. Every time I pose for a photograph all I wish for is to look like this:





 With hair blowing naturally, with makeup intact – instead I end up in most photos with, well smudged eye liner, and a persistent weather competing with my foundation and compact- declaring – "I am way better than both of you combined,"  and yet my true friends write comments like – "I love the natural colour on your cheek!" Dear friend both you and I know – what caused that 'flush' in the first place!

 I guess I should be grateful if I don't end up looking like this:





But when the odd photograph does turn out well and when I proudly share it, what I dread most to hear is the comment, “You are photogenic!” which is not really a compliment at all– what it actually means is  either, the light was great, or your camera is awesome!

But I am really thankful that we have digital cameras now and we can click away all we like till we get the perfect image! And if any of you have some tips on the subject please don't forget to share them...

[Blog] Visa Vista

Have any of you taken leave right in the middle of school just for travel? Well I have done so not just once but many times...

The good old days...

You see, my father did not believe in advance booking of tickets the in summer vacation– he was all for travel in off season- his logic was –that everything was easier this way - less queues, less people everywhere and most of all the weather would be good –so, I would take off, right in the middle of the academic year, citing the death of an already dead grandparent - my poor grandparents- how often have they died for me!

Travel after marriage became infrequent as my husband unlike my father believed in full attendance for my son. So we went back to travelling like normal people in peak summer and soon gave it up for all the obvious reasons.

Then came Facebook...

Firstly it lets you tell everyone where you are and drops a pin on all the places you have visited on a map – I am not usually jealous but, the evil demon enters my heart especially when a friend boasts of a 100 pins on her map.

Secondly my friends post an insane number of photographs of their travel to exotic locations. There are photographs of people in mid air- so I told myself I can’t manage the mid air pose but I certainly can get one against an amazing backdrop... So I took to travelling. I don’t know why but despite experiencing the travails with visa & immigration I still happily pack my bags in readiness for travel.

Recently I visited a new country. The airport was small with a compact waiting area with many shops close at hand. Best of all there was high-speed free internet- I hurriedly accessed Facebook. replied to emails and called my son for free on Skype. I spoke to him for a while – would have spoken longer but he had a pressing engagement -- he wanted to finish the film he was watching.

I quickly calculated the money I had saved in making free phone calls and thought I had earned for self and husband 2 large mugs of Costa coffee. We drank the coffee taking in the ambiance, when my husband suddenly realized that we still needed to complete immigration.

We reached a large hall where there were several queues – we were directed to the first, which was seemingly small. I saw a sign to the left – which read visa in 3 easy steps-

Step one - complete the form;
Step two - eye scan;
Step three - pay the fee.

"Wow!" I thought, "it can't get easier than this..."






In a few minutes I noticed that the serpentine queues to my right were actually vanishing in a jiffy while mine was moving very slowly. I wanted to be the clever Indian and join the fast vanishing queue but my husband whispered in annoyance –that’s for local residents. Finally we reached the counter and I greeted the officer with all the charm I could muster but he was unmoved and all he was interested in, was my husband’s designation. It was only after he verified this did he hand us the form. We filled the form very carefully as the slightest mistake would lead us back to the end of the queue.

We then went for the eye scan- where I had to sit in a low seat and dilate my eyes and stare at a camera that was a little away. Now I have had eye scans before with my gentle and considerate ophthalmologist. Therefore, I was quite taken aback to see a uniformed policeman conducting the test. The official was in animated conversation with his friend in the next seat and was barking instructions at me now and then – he would say right and then left and then right and left – this went on for some time –and I made good use of my training in classical Indian dance (Bharathanatyam) – but it didn’t help much as the official was dissatisfied with the outcome and made me dance some more.

Anyway as I left the room I was distracted by the picture of a monster in the official’s computer and wondered why he would keep such a picture -- but all too soon it dawned on me that it was actually a picture of me taking the eye scan.

I was heart broken and I dejectedly re joined the queue. After what seemed like an eternity I reached the officer who fed our particulars into a computer (I fumbled for my purse to take out the fee for step three) but he nonchalantly waved us to wait.

Finally, six hours after landing, we walked out of the airport.



A great realization has now dawned on me -- for travel one needs energy, patience and a dogged determination and as I am low in all of these attributes I have devised a new plan...

I have identified a photographer at the local studio who has agreed to photoshop my pictures against any background I desire.





Now I am on the look out for someone who will fake the location pins on my face book page.
Can anyone help me?

[Blog] Madras Bashai: The Power of the Spoken word!

I have a confession to make – I have been an ardent fan of this dialect for as long as I can remember. I came into contact with this unique idiom as a child, when my brother would read with great élan and gusto a very delectable section in Madras Bashai from Cho Ramaswami's Tughlaq. I was in the process of discovering new languages such as English, Tamizh and Hindi and here was my exposure to an entertaining fourth. 

 The language felt strange, it needed a different vocalization and it had an element that I couldn't quite put my finger on back then. I was far from the best academically at school but I would meticulously find the meaning of every word and have a hearty laugh at each recollection. Though I knew that there was something very special about MB but only later did it dawn upon me that it is the 'attitude' that comes with the language that makes it so irresistible. The attitude and vocalization is automatically accompanied by an assertive body language. But more of this a little later on…

My interest in (MB) dwindled for some years but thankfully I happened to watch actors like 'loose' Mohan who handled it with such ease much like Rafa Nadal cruising along to victory at Roland Garros.  Other notable contributors that I can think of are Nagesh and Janakaraj but who can forget Kamal Haasan's flawless renditions in so many films?  But for me, MB is best experienced first hand in the streets of Chennai and in conversations with college junta who have taken upon themselves the task of its endorsement.

You might very well ask what sustains my continued interest in this language?  The answer paradoxically links back to my study of English Literature. It is widely known that English constantly expands itself through its borrowings from several languages worldwide. Hence an important component of English Studies is etymology (the study of the origin or roots of its words) - as far as I know MB in a way shares this trait; it has borrowings from the maximum number of languages- Sanskrit, Hindi, Urdu, Telugu, English and of course Tamil. I could spend hours studying origins and the several transformations that words have undergone in their incorporation.

And now to the power, attitude and body language: MB is the language of the streets and a common occurrence is a mild flare-up every now and then as people in vehicles of every imaginable kind negotiate their way through the incredibly narrow by lanes and crowded roads. To survive, one has to blindly follow the dictum- offense is the best form of defense and what better way to demonstrate this than to unleash a barrage of the choicest expletives and establish one’s supremacy- of course one should be prepared to be paid in the same coin in such encounters. Personally, I prefer being  like R K Lakshman’s common man, observing the  proceedings while making mental notes.

While I am all for the purification of Tamizh and ridding it of its many corruptions, calling MB as Chennai Tamizh is simply not acceptable. This move completely robs MB of its uniqueness and hybridity and consigns it to the realm of the pedestrian. It is as ludicrous as  having a gaana concert at Music Academy or passing off instant coffee as authentic filter kaapi. 
  This is simply not done.
  In one stroke such nomenclature dismisses the creative, adoptive processes at work and ignores the talent of the common man.

But, despite my abundant admiration for MB, I must grudgingly admit that while MB gives the speaker a sense of power and can make one feel a lot like HE MAN when he proudly proclaims- “I have the Power!” it is sadly stultified by its limited vocabulary. You can’t write a commentary on the Bhagawad Gita for example nor can you deliver a scholarly discourse on its own merits, using the dialect. But like me, if you have no such ambitions, you can enjoy the language for all the joy it offers and revel in the power it bestows. 

That being said, unleashing a choice phrase or two from MB in a Tamizh speaking crowd automatically livens the atmosphere. And if you ever run out of topics to speak on after you have discussed  Chennai weather- which doesn’t help  much (as its always variables of hot) and quite an undesirable topic of conversation anyway, you need the good offices of MB to the rescue. And believe me MB never fails - it works like a tonic every time, all the time.

So for the sake of all those ardent worshippers out there and the neophytes who have entered the fold after reading this piece, here are a few links for your further research.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Madras_Bashai#Vocabulary
http://www.geetham.net/forums/showthread.php?10670-Madras-Bashai-!-!-!-Njoy
http://slangmela.pbworks.com/w/page/9837645/Chennai%20Slang

[Blog] Up Up Awry!

Am I a patriot? Well probably. if you were to go by my conversations with friends I would be the first to jump up and defend India and rave and rant about the Indian value system and Indian sensibility.

But as we all know India as a nation is a conundrum of contradictions- contradictions that might baffle any social scientist. But we Indians can easily do away with all the accusations about contradictions in one stroke with the the much overrated 'Unity in Diversity' card.

But one area in particular that I can't reconcile to - is the major disconnect between the Indian I encounter on the street - the friendly and usually more than helpful kind and the one that I see inside airports. I can never understand what comes over the Indian the minute s/he enters the portals of an airport.

You get a taste of things to come at the baggage scan counter itself- if you have an extra bag or two and if you are travelling alone you will be passed up at the baggage scan by quite a few passengers who arrive much after you.

As you wait to collect the boarding pass you might be passed up again and again at the security check- and that computer and I-pad which was so useful for your travel is now a curse as you fumble with the bag and deposit it in the tray and look on helplessly as others gleefully inch past you.

You see we Indians don't believe in queues- what is a queue anyway - a foreign word that is as difficult to spell as maintain- so why observe it at all?

But this is just the beginning. There is more trouble awaiting the hapless traveller as most airports in India are undergoing transformation.  One can pray all one want for an aerobridge but all that one is going to get is that impossibly high bus and that difficult stairway.

By the time you take the bus ride and lug your hand baggage up the stairway you are half dead and you tell yourself "A few more minutes now and then I can rest!" pipe dream actually, because invariably the space allocated for your baggage storage is grabbed by the early birds who beat you to it. So you sheepishly put away your own in someone else's spot. What the heck! "If you can do it so can I!"

I don't know why, but most airlines always seem to have this bizarre sense of time- I can almost imagine some authoritarian figure sitting in a well lit, well air conditioned office working on a 9am-5pm schedule sadistically plotting the timings - flights are most active just around midnight. So if you thought you could sleep through the flight and arrive fresh at your destination, think again. Firstly they never serve dinner until much after takeoff (well not that I look forward to it in any sense of the term - who can stomach stale highly microwaved dinner at 2 a.m. in the morning anyway) but cabin lights are not dimmed till dinner is cleared. When they finally put off the lights and you struggle to decide on the best position to fall asleep in the extremely uncomfortable seat, other factors take over and ensure you stay bleary eyed throughout. I can never understand why kids begin to cry the very moment you begin to fall asleep or why most co passengers decide to catch up on the exercise they so easily abstained from on land or even why some folks are so chirpy at 3.00 a.m.  I remember one particular journey where a woman and her husband kept me awake the whole night detailing her medical history (it made me wonder what kept her alive and so voluble at that, given her condition) to a co passenger who couldn't care less-but I have since found an easy saviour from all this noise in noise cancelling headphones.

When the plane gets ready to land- the flight attendants can go on and on with their warnings about switching off mobiles and keeping the seat belts till 'the plane comes to a complete halt,' we Indians don't really care do we? because mobiles ring and seat belts click left right and centre much before actual touch down. And its a real wonder how people manage to extricate themselves, dislodge the luggage and position themselves in the aisle all in a trice, and dare I say that the queue is conspicuous by its absence.

As you can imagine, I resign myself to be passed up once again- I really don't mind getting down last -it gives me the opportunity to collect my things in peace but I do mind being hit on the head and shoulders repeatedly by missiles- sorry bags of the overenthusiastic pushing jostling crowd these bangs are serious enough to cause temporary insanity- but I don't have the luxury of wallowing in this state as I have to negotiate the entire process of disembarkation and exiting the airport which calls for full possession of one's wits.

As I live in the Middle East- I experience problems unique to this sector but that warrants a lengthy discussion rather than a passing mention. It is what Shakespeare might have called - 'And thereby hangs a tale.'
 So do I love India and Indians? I most certainly do, only not the air travelling mutations!

I came across this video which sums it all up pretty nicely: