Enga Aathule Golu

The Hindu, yesterday quotes me recalling Thatha's creative Golus in the article titled

"A look at how Kolu's faring in the city"- http://www.hinduonnet.com/2006/09/26/stories/2006092605910600.htm
It says...
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" Krithika Shukla, corporate communications professional, is on a trip down memory lane this Navratri. "The person, who used to lead the entire family in celebrating Navaratri by setting up "bright and different" kolu, is no more. My grandfather used to make replicas of temples using thermocol every year -- Sabarimala, Tirupati, Palani, Vaideeswaran... There would be priests, gopurams made with gold paper... " At the end of it, everybody in the apartment complex sings and the family will gift `sundal' and some innovative gifts. "
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Each time I used to be the official inviter for my thatha patty's golus "Enga aathule golu vechirkom. Kattayam vandu vethalai paaku vangikanum" went the script. I remember parading in pavadai chattai to all my neighbours houses and singing earnestly to earn the sundal. What fun!

You a jar twister?

Did you know that the male ego is in potential peril when a woman asks a man to twist off the top of some type of container? You bet it is. Its a classic no-win situation. If the man successfully completes the task, its no big deal anyway because lid-removal is one of the few areas in which women find men to be of use.

If however the man fails to perform, the perception of his masculinity can experience major shrinkage.

So guys when you see a woman with a jar approach you --run away or better still keep a band-aid handy and quickly stick it on.

If you have better ideas to save embarassment, feel free to comment!

I fought with my little angel

When she smiled the first time, my heart did a double take. When she gripped my fingers tightly, I made a promise I’d never let her down. When she took her first few hesitant steps, I held out my arms to cushion her fall. When she hurt herself, I wished the pain was mine. When she said sorry the first time I forgave her all her future faults. When she implored me for a chocolate, I wished I could buy her the world. When she sang, my heart brimmed with joy and pride. When her beautiful curls were chopped away during tonsure, I was in tears. When she lost her first tooth, I wept.

God. How much I love my little angel.

But yesterday, I punished her for the first time.. I made her face the wall for ten minutes and asked her not to speak or move till I said so. This was as strict as I could get. Those ten minutes of watching her sad repentant face were the longest and most agonizing minutes of my life. It took me all my will power not to hug her and spoil the impact of the punishment. How bravely she handled her punishment! When I could take it no longer, I held out my arms so we could hug and make up for all the hurt.

But she turned away and plonked herself in front of the television. “No hug for mommy?”, I asked . “No. Because I still haven’t forgiven you for punishing me”, she replied calmly,

God. How I wish I knew how to handle her.

I have a perfect little angel to love. But will I ever be her perfect mommy?

Time will tell!

Unwinding at the Unconference

I am posting this while unwinding at India's largest blog unconference- blogcamp.in. This place is full of energy and excitement. I can see some eager beavers who are here so they may find a few more people who would read their blogs. Some "serious" bloggers as they would like to call themselves are here to say "Hey my blog has a purpose..its not just a diary". I am here as i want to learn. I hope I get to do that.

Midnight Masala

Before your imagination runs wild, let me set this straight. The title is only a teaser. This post is about the masala chai I had at midnight with my old friend.

When Soumya and her daughter landed at my place for an all gals night, we chatted like there was no tomorrow and went on with our jabber session till one a.m. Our daughters too were wide awake and enjoying their sleepover thoroughly.

A little after one Soumya wanted a glass of milk to put her daughter to sleep. But alas, there wasnt a drop at home. I felt sheepish as i had prided myself on being a good host until then. Feeling lousy at my negligence, I called the 24 hour pharmacy only to be told that they didn't stock milk or milk powder. Soumya assured me she would manage. But I couldnt let it go.

I had an idea. Why not go to a 24 hour chaiwala somewhere down the road and buy milk? In the bargain, we would not only get milk , but an adventure too! Soumya being as wild as i am, approved. We set out with our daughters looking out for a 24 hour chaiwala at 1.30 a.m. The children were excited and we were glad to be out too.

After a 4km drive we finally found a chaiwala. While I parked, Soumya stepped out and rebounded in top speed. The place had , on closer inspection, turned out to be a sleazy joint. She had just escaped an invitation from one of the drunken revellers.

We vamoosed from there at top speed. Having lost by then, the euphoria and energy to go in search of a safer chai kadai, we headed straight to the coffee shop at GRT Grand Days.

I enjoyed our masala chai rendezvous at the coffee shop immensely.

But I still felt a pang of regret on the realization that we had just turned out to be one of the snobs and not wild originals as we liked to believe!

Adieu!

This might be my last post, as I have a feeling I might not survive the personal training at the gym today. I kept complaining that my workout is too boring. So my trainer decided to make me regret I said that for the rest of my life.. if i survived..that is.

My will and testament is with my lawyer. And sure enough, my trainer and all of you who are amused reading this post get zilch from me.

Goodbye until we meet in hell!!!

For music lovers.....

If you are classical music lover, this article will give you a lot of insight. read on...

Hindusthani Music and Karnatak Music systems an Analysis- by Padmasani

Before going into the study let us know the meaning of these two very Indian terminologies.
Hindu means the knowledge system that prevailed in India. Sthan means the place. So Hindusthani Music means the music of the place where the Hindu system of knowledge prevailed.
And Karnataka can be interpreted at least in two different ways. a) Karnataka means of the people and the country they inhabit. b) Karna means ear and the old. Ataka means, that of the teacher- which means the karnaparampara or the aural tradition handed down from guru to pupil as an unhindered chain.
When the western authors like Day or Popley interpreted our music they called the music of the south as that which prevailed in the Deccan plateau. Unfortunately the sons of our soil prefer to go by the western authors on our music rather than probe the simple meaning from a Sanskrit dictionary. J
Anyway if you probe History there were only two distinct writers in Indian Music who could be traced as the earliest. They were Bharata and his Natyashastra and Ilango Adigalar who wrote the Silappadikaram. Both wrote amazing details about music and dance. Ilango also relates astrology with music. It is interesting to know that a man from a Royal Kingdom from the extreme south and a man from the extreme north have thought on identical lines. To them both, music was an umbrella term encompassing drama, dance and music. Anyway that shows the Aryan and the Dravidian cultural heritages as highly evolved. By and by the Dravidian tradition of the south was swallowed by the advent of Naik and Marattha Kingdoms. The dominant Telugu and Marathi literature and art forms took sway with which the music of the south also took a tumultuous turn. The Tamil music was replaced by the Aryan form with the Kannada, Telugu and Marathi regional musical and linguistic influence.
The north was no exception to this change. The Mughals brought a fair deal of influence of their own over our music. While the classical art form remained more or less the same, there were other forms like ghazals etc. which came into vogue. North also moved from Dhrupad to Khayal over the period of time. But it retained the originals intact. The music was intact in terms of predominantly creative and not set music.
To trace the textual origin, between Bharata (Natyashastra) and Sarngadeva (Sangita Ratnakara) the music was one Indian Music. By and by the bifurcation started to take place into two different styles of music. While the North retained the original Hindu Music which is raga oriented, the south adapted itself to a confluence of more than one regional influence. Now the music of the south was more lyrically emphatic and descriptive of a theme or subject. It is because the Harikatha was a famous musico-discourse form; the Bhajana Paddati with Radha Kalyana Mahotsav was of a thematic nature. The Kriti form itself served a multipurpose of being used in the above art forms than sailing as a pure musical entity. But one can not refuse that the Kriti form has served as archives of southern raga format. The kriti pool in each raga consolidates the scope of that raga under grammatical peripheries and aesthetic exuberances.
This will be evident if you would analyse the Dhrupad and the Ragam Tanam and Pallavi forms. They are similar.
In dhrupad style the tanam singing is kept alive and the pakhavaj almost equal to our mrdangam was the percussion accompaniment. Khayal is a form with akar alap and tan developed into a more attractive form with tabla as accompaniment.

Super Singer Finalist or Not Worth It Wannabe!

The Super Singer contest is undoubtedly a fantastic event and a great platform for aspirants. Wannabes from small towns have had a never-before opportunity to showcase their talent- and that's admirable.

But what about the ones who didn't qualify or who came all the way to the finals but couldn't make it? What anguish would they be going through? How long before they stopped feeling devastated and moved on to a different stage or another audition? Having been a finalist of one such title myself, I live the pain of the rejected aspirants everytime.

That's why I was shocked to see the utterly insensitive hoarding on GN Chetty road that featured the pictures of the finalists and alongside -the rejects with HUGE RED CROSS marks over their faces.

What kind of a moron came up with this callous idea? Do these people have the faintest idea how hard it is coping with the rejection itself without having to go through the rest of their lives bearing the RED CROSS of it in their minds?

Shame on the Organizers!

Carrot Chair

Often when you are negotiating your final compensation package with the HR executive of a prospective employer, you would find him selling you dreams to help you deal with the lower package he had just doled out. He would take you through what your perks would be were you to grow in the organization and become a VP-- a swanky car, a flat on lease etc. What he may not mention, but you'll know is also part of the VP deal is a much bigger cabin with a view.

Once, after such a dream buying ( job buying too, as I had just signed my acceptance of the offer) experience, the smooth talking enthusiastic HR chappie took me along and introduced a few managers and VPs of the Company. I went around, shaking hands, remembering names and in the process making a mental note of cabins with views as well.

During my rounds, I noticed something else too. VPs of this Company besides getting the etc.s described by the glib HR guy, got to sit on huge comfortable chairs, while all other executives sat on a sorry excuse for a chair with a back rest that ended before it began and a hard-as-stone seat disguised like a cushion.

Though shocked at this disparity, I still joined the Company and got the chair reserved for lesser mortals. After a few months of sitting on the chair I finally understood the strategy behind the chair disparity- To grow in the Company, swanky cars and seven figure salaries cant push you as hard as a perennial backache can. This is the juiciest carrot HR could dangle to a new recruit.

I'm gunning for the VP's chair since day one!!

My Thatha

Suri thatha was the sweetest grandpa God ever made. He taught us love, contentment and how to enjoy the simple pleasures of life. In their two room apartment, thatha and patty have entertained scores of people. We learnt from them, that its not about how large your house is..its about how much love there is in it.

His family was his universe. He would beam with pride whenever his children and grandchildren sang and revel in our talent. Even though we were just navaratri singers, the pride in his loving eyes made us feel special indeed. At a family wedding thatha would take over the event management in his calm efficient manner. Quietly, he would take control and make himself indispensibile.

Thatha was an excellent chef and had a refined taste for food too. To simply watch him mix with gusto paruppu podi with saadham and nei was a delight. Tasting an urundai of what he had mixed was like tasting amrit.

I haven't met anyone who plays better carrom than Thatha. He loved teaching serious learners his game. With him around there wouldn't be a dull moment-he had children in awe of him with his repertoire of outrageous tricks and practical jokes.

As a raconteour, he had us spellbound with his delightful stories. The rakshasa in Sundaram's imagination as described by thatha replete with re-recording effects still sends a chill down my spine. How real he made him sound! He was a great teacher too . Methodical and patient, he could drill mensuration into the dullest brain.

Navaratri is always considered a woman's domain. But it was thatha who brought to life all the south indian temples with his thermocol art.

He had a great sense of humour. Lord Muruga, to him was "Chuppini". Even when he knew he was dying, he regaled us with Milka Singh, Ram Singh jokes.

In a world of nuclear families, not many children get to spend time with their grandparents. But we the grandchildren of Suri and Ganga were blessed indeed. Right down to his great grand daughter, Thatha showered his love and nurtured and protected us.

Love you thatha! Wish we had a chance to tell you how much we miss you!

Camp GULA

My dad started the madness. "A trip to Bangalore would not be complete without lunch at MTR", he declared. We discouraged him, because we knew how crowded it would be. But he insisted, adding, "If I die without eating there my unfulfilled soul would haunt you". So as good hosts, my brother and sister-in-law yielded. They were piqued too, on what made the place legendary.

With great expectations and greater appetites, we, the family of self-certified gourmets and good cooks reached the gastronomical paradise at 1 p.m. Entry to paradise was closed and 50 fellow bon-vivants waited outside. Jubilant to be a part of the top 50, we waited..and waited..

Our smug expressions were soon replaced by despair when we heard someone mentioning "token". We discovered that they served meals only in batches, and to reserve your seat, you had to buy tokens in advance. A snooty clerk declared that tokens were available for the 2.30 batch..an hour away.

"We can't wait that long. Lets go to Woodys instead" said Dad casually. "What?",we cried in unison, shocked at his turnaround. How could he do this? He had dragged us there. My sister-in-law fought though, " Daddy, dont you back out now. Let's eat here, if only to find out what's so remarkable about this place." She was right. Crowds thronged to MTR like devotees to the Tirupathy temple or shoppers to Saravana stores.

"Dont you have commitment to your goal? How can you give up on your dream so easily?", she averred passionately. Her appeal made sense. We hurried back to Snooty, who snubbed, "3.15 batch open now. Take it or leave it".

Curiosity, dogged determination and blasted hunger made us take it. We killed the next hour(wishing to kill Snooty instead) at scenic Lal bagh playing juvenile games with my daughter.

At 3 p.m we were back, salivating in anticipation. My feminine charms failed on the gruff doorkeeper who cried open sesame only at 3.45. Gruffy elbowed us in as though we were annakavadis minus the thiru-odus.

We didn't react. Tenacity was the leitmotif of the day. In true epicurean spirit, we attacked everything from the sweet to bisibela bhaath to thayir saadam. After dessert and meetha paan, we felt so stuffed, we needed CPR.

Little wonder that on the drive back home, there was no conversation. The silence was pregnant with food and memories of our exploits. I started to doze, a myriad pleasant thoughts of cozy beds, soft cushions and sweet lullabys, caressing me into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, a giant claw forced my mouth open, holding a tadpole.. trying to feed me. I lashed out with all my strength sending the tadpole hurtling down space. Cometh the claw again, this time holding a rat. Next wriggleth a serpent. "Stoppppppppppppppppppppppp", I screamed, fully awake, shivering and drenched in sweat.
"What happened?", cried Amma. Sipping water to calm myself, I narrated the nightmare to my sadistic fellow gourmands who laughed in amusement as they listened.

Not surprisingly, my christian sister-in-law could explain it. According to her, I had committed the Third Deadly Sin- Gluttony or GULA as it is called in Greek. What I had just witnessed in my nightmare, she said, was a demo of how they punished GULA in hell.

Billions of mortals commit GULA everyday!
Thousands of mortals commit GULA at MTR everyday!
4 sadistic mortals(My dad, mom, brother and sister-in-law) connived in committing GULA with me that very day!
One cheeky mortal-my dad-started it all, becoming the ORIGINAL GULA SINNER!

Therefore, my question to God...

Why was "I" chosen for the demo?

Perspirational Genius

When I encounter genius I cry. Sometimes weep. I wonder why? What is it that blows my mind away completely and brings the tears gushing out? Perhaps I am weak. Perhaps I am sensitive. Perhaps I am sublime. Perhaps I am insane.

It then dawns on me that I weep, not because of all the above reasons, but because I want to be that genius, and I am not. In fact, I may never be. I am tired of being Jack of all trades and master of none. I crave virtuosity.

My soul meanders desultorily in search of a meteoric streak of genius that will explode from within me. Is there a meter to indicate if i have it in me? Would I see a blinding ray of light to signal my stroke of genius? Maybe a bell would ring to bring epiphany.

Whatever the signs are, I'll wait, albeit impatiently.

Someone said "Leave your footprints on the sands of time". I can bet he didn't write a "how to" manual on the subject? Because you have only one way to do it. Be a goddamm genius!

Math Genius! Chess Genius! Music Genius! Literary Genius! What genius are you? I ain't one today. But, if genius is 99% pespiration, I still have hope.

I will perspire!

Tele Buggies

Tele Buggies are people who bug us on the telephone. Here are some I've encountered with tips on how to tackle them..


'Apram'er

Beware of the 'apram'er. Someone who badly wants to have a long phone conversation, but can't take the onus for it. Whenever you pause while talking to him, he pushes you into carrying the baton of the conversation by simply saying ..'apram?' You fall for his bait and carry on about the neighbour and your dog. When you are just about to talk about the milkman, along comes the next 'apram?'. You take off again panting and puffing and wonder after hanging up, how you fall for it everytime.
Try this when you want to put off an 'apram'er--The moment you hear the question 'apram?', in your meanest voice, hurl a 'vizhupuram' back at him. That should silence the dangerous 'Apram'er!


Cut and Runner

He is phobic to long conversations. Maybe someone told him he'l get electrocuted if he held the line for long. Often , the cut and runner would have hung up to calmly sip a cup of coffee while you are still in the middle of an animated conversation.
To avoid being a victim of a cut and run accident, remember to take a deep breath after every 5 words to check if the line is active.


Just about to call'er

He wouldn't have thought of you for ages. But when you call him, he'd swear that you'll live to be a hundred years. The just about to call'er will not only enquire about your family, your health and everything under the sun when you call, but will also have the gall to ask you for a favour -all at your cost!
The next time you find yourself exploited this way, fight back. Tell him teasingly that he could do all his pleasant enquiries when he calls up and not when you call. Or better still, pretend that you are wanted urgently for some errand, so could he please call you back in 5 minutes and hang up abruptly. That should serve him right!


Comma Caller

The most tenacious tele-buggy is the Comma Caller. His cue to begin is your hello. He cuts the small talk and zooms in with his topic of the day. On and on, he goes whether you are interested or not. So eager is he to share his thoughts, that he forgets the fullstop at the end of every sentence. He is all commas and no fullstop and you are superman if you manage to get in a word edgewise. But fret not.
Here's what you should do when he begins. Place the receiver gently on the table, pick up your ipod, listen to a couple of your favorite numbers and while you are at it, take a short nap too. You earned it. After doing all of this, quietly pick up the reciever and cough or sneeze loudly and intermittently for ten seconds. This will surely disrupt the comma caller's flow and make him pause. Listen carefully for this pause and in between coughs, excuse yourself to drink water, adding that it was wonderful talking to him. That's it. You are freeeeeeeee!


And next time do install caller-id on your phone!

Kali Amma and The King!

Our family's conversations over filter coffee every morning are exciting discussions that cover anything from politics to gossip to recipes. Its a ritual we enjoy and can't do without. Especially when we critique someone's behaviour. This morning the victim was my mom.

According to the world...Amma is an elegant sophisticated and charming lady who is known for her grace, poise and patience. Someone who thinks before retaliating, never raises her voice and hardly flares up in anger. In brief a benevolent angel who can do no wrong.....

But my dad begs to differ...

When they have an argument, my mom takes Durga's or sometimes Kali's avatar. She retaliates vociferously and defends herself admirably-- and most of the time, wins the argument too. Poor Dad who has been labelled a "ferocious tiger" retreats like a beaten cat meowing back into his den.

I am usually a witness to Amma's kali avatars and this morning, I threatened to expose her "black" side to humanity. A victim of blackmail, my mom begged me not to "tell all". She reminded me of all her sacrifices in raising me and appealed to my gratitude. It didn't work.

Then she tried bribing. She promised to cook all my favorites and wait on me hand and foot like she did when I was in school. I still did not budge.

As a last ditch effort, she tried her final asthra -the brahmasthra. She said that if I truly loved my DAD, I wouldn't do it. "What is the connection?," I asked. Her reason-- spoken like a true pativrata-- exposing her kali avataar would also expose dad's saadhu avataar. Everyone who feared his ferocity would see him as the blue jackal who pretended to be king. Her mighty tiger would then be dethroned and she cant stand that.

That did it. To protect my dad's reputation , I reluctantly gave up blackmail.

Triumphant Amma still oscillates between benevolent Parvathy and angry Kali, and loyalist that I am -I still protect the King.

Love me back!

When you expect love in return, your love ceases to be unconditional.
How can you ask for unconditional love, when you can't give it?

Love is a "condition". A sweet condition.

Krithi's Law of Swimming

The day you struggle to swim the breadth of the pool and almost drown, the eight year old boy you want to impress laughs at your inability.

Addendum
The day you finally swim the length of the pool and even dive, he doesn't turn up!

Die honorably!

I've always thought I'm invincible. But learning to swim has humbled me.
Today is my eighth day at swimming class and I still can't swim the length of the pool. What a shame! Children do it efffortlessly and I am amazed at how I have let my fear and anxiety cloud my basic instinct for survival.

But I am not giving up. I psyche myself to blow inside the water, do a namaste with my hands then bend, kick and join my legs, while coming out to inhale. Phew!! This isn't easy.

After a few trials of breathing kicking and namasteing, I feel buoyed to swim at the deep end of the pool and call out to eight year old Rohit to watch me(challenging eight year olds can do wonders to your ego).
I dive in and glide gracefully for a few seconds and start my first namaste. This feels wonderful. But suddenly my namaste clashes with another namaste under the water and before I know it I am drowning. " Rohit, heeelllp", I scream. But Rohit can't hear me as even i cant' hear my voice.

I move about in panic desparately trying to clutch something, anything that will save me.
I am terrified.. Of dying? Certainly not. What really scares me now is dying a cowardly ridiculous death. "Woman drowns in a 5 feet pool" the headlines will scream tomorrow. Oh noooooooooo! Can't allow that. I want to die in honor. Don't we all?

In a mammoth effort to save myself from a pusillanimous death, I leap, kick, blow, namaste and ahhhhhhhh find the bar. Eureka. I made it.

I know, that I am living to die someday. But then, I'm dying to live everyday. Today, I am glad to be alive, perhaps to die honorably another day.

I have no excuse

My grandma wants me to be a writer. She also wants me to be a great mother, a successful career woman and a great housekeeper. That is when i am not learning tailoring or anchoring tv shows. So you see, she has a wish list and I being who i am, feel compelled to tick everything off. And if you are wondering how many are pending in the list--Ive done the anchoring, I sing whenever I have an audience(which would be just Patty most of the time), I have a great career, as housekeeper--i keep a decent house. On tailoring, I am yet to score. And ah!! Writing. Call it writer's block, inertia or sheer laziness, I havent put pen to paper in a long time. But now thanks to technology, I can not only write , but get it published too. I have no excuse. So Patty and all of you-- here I am at large all set to share whatever I am excited about. Hang on and visit me often. And Dad--do join me on board!