Other Palettes are more Palatable

A couple of days ago I stole a book SS had kindly gifted to a mutual friend. Why oh why did I not know of the existence of Nina Bawden before this? I really enjoyed reading Carrie’s War. After a long time, got hooked on a book before I finished the first page.

The story starts with Carrie returning to the small Welsh mining town where she and her brother spent close to a year during the war. Carrie is now a grown woman with children of her own, struggling to reconcile herself to her new widowed status. On a journey, they veer off into the dying mining town, much to the consternation of the children because Carrie wants to see if some of the magic of that year is still left. Disappointed when she sees the ruin of what used to be Druid's Bottom, she tells her children of the events of the year and the ‘dreadful’ thing she did which destroyed it all. The tone and the point of view reminded me a lot of Paddy Clarke Ha Ha Ha, although the world that Carrie and her brother inhabit in wartime Britain is a lot more idyllic. Everything is told from  a child’s point of view. Without knowing the details of what is wrong, children do know that something is. They can describe some of the events but are not quite able to put a name to it. Both these books do a great job of just describing the event (or the part of it observed by a child) and to an adult reading it, the unstated message is that much more powerful. Carrie’s War , like a good children’s book, even has a happy ending, which satisfied me immensely. Full thumbs up!

P.S. What made it even better – in parallel, I was reading Incendiary, a book  I chose based on how similar the cover design was to Mark Haddon’s brilliant The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night. Just goes to show, never judge a book by its cover.

The Boss!

 

For connoisseurs of the ridiculous The Boss has much to offer. Every scene has crazy built into it – men who paint their potbellies and jiggle them in lieu of a dance, sequences that have hero and heroine change race, go blond, go angelic white and of course, the come back to life after electrocution thanks to defibrillator thing. And all this lasts for 4 hours.  

When the credits roll you realise this movie features the who-is-who of tam filmdom and you think “Is this what they could come up with?!”. The director has sacrificed storyline and economy in his attempt to showcase the superstar’s style. Full of references to his past hits and punch dialogues and attempts at them – the movie still falls flat on its face because the superstar is 57 and its showing!

Rajni is the gum-chewing, cool saying, ‘software architect’ who comes comes home after 20 years in the US of A so he can provide free education, free hospitals and free jobs in mills with the 200 + crores he has amassed. Significant portions of said 200 crores he sacrifices in paying bribes only to see nothing coming of it. In between he romances the Shreya who is supposed to be ‘Tamizh Ponnu’ except she morphs into Baby Doll a little too often,. The first half sees Rajni the benevolent NRI-cool-dude who runs around giving away money and bad economics lectures reduced to penury and giving his beloved merc away to lawyer as fees for a case he loses. Second half started off with some hope when Rajni goes Robin Hood and funds his dreams with blackmail and black money. But everytime the action gets going they remember this is a ‘rajni the superstar movie’ and they do some song or some strange aside to showcase his ‘superstarness’ and phat!  Rehman’s music was quite forgettable per me. The rest of the cast hardly shows except for Vivek. Don’t even get me started on the whole love interest thing in the movie and what it says about popular culture.

There were flashes that were interesting– the spoofs of Shivaji and MGR, the sequence where they take on the whole ‘must be fair’ thing that tams have. Oh! That reminds me – the product placements! Fair and Lovely, Nokia, British Airways and I even suspect the Merc. Wonder how much each of them shelled out – and how much they regret it now.

All in all, full thumbs down to the boss. But this might also be me the philistine when it comes to my native culture speaking. Go watch it for yourself and decide.

Root Cause

Yesterday was not the best of days so I had to turn to random poem on minstrels for consolation. Having done this quite often, I’ve now got it down to the level where I look for omens in the poems the algorithm throws up. By those standards, yesterday became very good. I got lovely poems and poets thrown at me. Even one billy collins that I didn’t recall reading before. I also had this one thrown at me

What He Said

What could my mother be
to yours? What kin my father
to yours anyway? And how
did you and I meet ever?
But in love
Our hearts have mingled
like red earth and pouring rain.

       — Cempulappeyanirar

This poem has always blown me away and I thought, if its this good in English the original must be even better. A bit of searching led me here. It took me a few minutes to string the alphabets together and read it and then I realized I didn’t understand a word! Tchah.

Thank god for translators – those wonderful folks who are in touch with their roots and know their tam. 

Talk the Walk

For the past few days in Bangalore I come home and at about 10 PM I’m taken by the urge. So one day, at about 10:30, I sneaked out of home with my ipod to go for my walk. Why sneak? Because I have parents and grandparents who would disapprove intensely and much discussion would ensue – “Where did you develop such strange  habits. You have no routine and no discipline. And ultimately it would lead to a discussion on all that is wrong with you.” To  be avoided at all cost.

So there I was at 10:30, on a street I had walked for much of my life and I set off as usual to dear Micheal Hutchence and Bono encouraging me to Slide Away. 2 minutes later my every city instinct was screaming at me to go back home. Most streetlights were off, there were strange people on cycles lurking in the dimmer corners and yours truly was out there with ipod on and pony tail swinging. Fully slasher movie – though of course, I would not have been a very 'cute' victim. So I was back home by 10:35 and verrry frustrated.

A couple of days into a week that went downhill from there I found myself in a city  I admire for the convenience it offers though I find it a little difficult to reconcile myself to its artificially created prosperity. Singapore is nice if you want a break from the wear and tear of routine – there is much routine but no wear and tear! 

Anyway, at the very reasonable hour of 7 PM on a weekday evening I decided to avail self of the services of hotel gym only to find that it works 9 to 5. Wow! Great logic! It then occured to me that I was in the 'safest city' – so I could muffle the 'running in strange place instincts' and wander with the pod into any odd corner. Hit the road instamatically.

All the old colonial houses on Scotts Road have become pretentious looking art galleries or salons or restaurants. The pedestrian path is neatly cemented and separated from the road by  broad herb borders. At regimented intervals there are trees planted – far enough away from each other that their branches do not touch. But I felt happy and on my way to adrenaline heaven.

About 400 metres along if one takes the right uphill at the traffic signal, there is a turnoff to a Y leading into the jungle paradise locality. All the houses are set well back from the road. A couple have big manicured lawns, affording a clear view of old style houses with huge wrap-around verandas but most have left the trees alone. So apart from the occasional glimpse of a drive through the trees or a balcony here or there, one has the feeling of being alone in the jungle. Unlike on Scotts Road where all flora has been tamed to human sizes, the plants here grow to their native size. Everything is supersize, very very green and the slightly bitter smell of wet vegetation is thick in the air. It was a little past twilight and I had only the occassional bat flying overhead to keep me company. Looks like all the natives were sticking close to the air-conditioning, leaving the world outside to me. 

Now I want to move to regions equatorial for a while so I can have more time with the trees. Me Mowgli?

Beat the Heat

Wunderground tells me I have missed a weekend of record temparatures (49 and 50 degrees celcius respectively on saturday and sunday) by running away to Bengaluru. 

Damn!

Classical Gas

The days I run out of gas (the LPG kind … the other kind I seem to have enough supply for seven janams) stand out as red letter days in my life. There was the first time, when it ran out on the day my fussy family arrived and then my mom and aunt, tired from a two and a half day train journey cooked a full South Indian meal for six people using an electric rice cooker. That was the day I realised what the pioneer woman spirit was, and that I certainly did not have it.

Then there was the ‘miracle’ day that it ran out while I had left the stove on. Came back home, clicked lighter a couple of times and then realised what had happened. That was (one of) the days I realised how death walks very much in step with life.

And then was one calm day when it ran out with no one at all around. And I lugged the cylinder to the depot and a full one back and screwed on the regulator myself. (After much cursing.., but still I did it). That was the day I realised I might have SOME pioneering woman spirit after all.

Finally, there is today – when the Gujjars decided to hold the nation’s capital to ransom. I was already unsympathetic to their cause but doing thod-phod on MG Road which is precisely where Manjit Gas Agency is located, and denying me my dosai and my cup of chai has permanently alienated me. ST status. Hmph ! On the other hand, it did motivate friends to come home bearing baby, picnic basket, much cheer and home made kulfi. Sigh. Now is it Hmph or Hurray?

Shuga Free Sundays

While I am being remarkably irresponsible in my duties as a working adult some lenient fate is rewarding me. Good books, nice movies, pleasant (if mildly depressed) company in those activities that demand it and a lovely full moon to keep me company on my walks and make my adrenaline high even higher.

Earlier today was lucky enough to get tickets to ‘Cheeni Kum’ on short notice. Good chick flick after a long time. Especially appeals to those of us that wait and wait and keep thinking ‘true love will happen when it will’. So now I think I can wait till I’m 64 and my Tabu might come along. (I’m sorry… but she appealed to me a hell of a lot more than AB did). The first half of the movie with its snippy dialogue worked a lot better than the second. My favourite scenes are definitely the ones with the mallu waiter. They were laugh out loud funny. The second half flags inspite of a good performance by Paresh Rawal. One rather wishes they had kept Zohra Sehgal around to give AB advice on how to conduct his campaign instead of sending her off to Hardwar and leaving the job to a dying 7 year old. Ok the characters and some of the story line are very trite, but when it comes to chick flicks, t’is best to be trite and give (this) audience a happy ending!

Fruits of a Pleasant Saturday Afternoon’s Reading

I wish I had read Gerald Durrel when I was younger. Being educated in what is politically correct I could not help but wince through all the ‘masa’s’ and the unwittingly patronising ‘me white man’ tone the book hits on several occasions. As a child I would not have noticed it and would have just enjoyed the mad animal stories and the madder people that live in his books. Even now, once I got past the wincing, the giggling began. The tales he tells are tall, (even taller for being true!), funny and very often touching. So for those that have not already read him – I recommend.

I particularly noticed this little extract where Durrel reports on a conversation he and companion had with a couple of locals about a possible python acquisition

‘Where is it?’ he (Bob) asked, his voice quivering with ill-concealed eagerness.

‘’E dere dere for bush,’ said Augustine, waving a vague arm that embraced approximately five hundred square miles of forest. ‘‘E dere dere for some hole inside ground.’

‘Na big one?’ I asked.

‘Wah! Big?’, exclaimed Augustine. ‘’E big too much.’

‘’E big like dis,’ said the giant, slapping his thigh which was about the size of a side of beef.

‘We walka for bush since morning time, sah’, explained Augustine. ‘ Den we see dis boa. We run quick-quick, but we no catch lucky. Dat snake get power too much. ‘E done run for some hole for ground and we no get rope so we no fit catch um.’

‘You done leave some man for watch dis hole,’ I asked, ‘so dis boa no go run for bush?’

‘Yes, sah, we done lef’ two men for dere.’

I turned to Bob. ‘Well, here’s your chance: a genuine wild python holed up in a cave. Shall we go and have a shot at it?’

It startled me to read so much pidgin. About half the book is, so I soon got used to it, but this passage made me pause. It reminded me of how much I used to wince (okay – I still notice them and then consciously decide NOT to wince) at signs like “taxi available for higher anytimes”. At work I find myself doling out ‘ you must improve your oral and written communication skills’ which is really corpspeak for ‘go get your english straightened out’, and I think of all the times that I am caught out by the dhobi and the grocer and any of the many people I deal with on a daily basis to whom I hesitantly hand over Rs. 31/- when they very clearly said ‘Ektaalees’ to me. They must think I’m a moron.

Yo Ho Ho!

So why am I up at 1 AM? Sparrows of one kind wake me up early, but it seems Jack Sparrow can keep me up late. I confess. I managed to miss Pirates 1 and Pirates 2 and never really thought it was something to regret (it IS a Disney movie) And then I saw Pirates 3. Johnny Depp rocks!  Any pirate who can mince as beautifully as he does and say dialogues like “and its pronounced egreegious, darling” while still staying intense… ummm. Okay. I am a recent convert to the Johnny Depp as Jack Sparrow fan club and that is showing.

The movie is a bit long and there is a little too much of Orlando Bloom, Kiera Knightly and true love in it. I didn’t get nearly enough of Johnny, the monkey, the parrot and the various crew members of the Black Pearl. But there is hope. Johnny has set off in search of the fountain of youth (ye! There will be a pirates 4) and now that Orlando and Keira are married, and like good married couples do it once in 10 years, we can leave them out of the cast.