Eclectica

Sep 23, 2011: Priyadarshini – Remembrance.

2011-09-26T08:27:00.000-07:00

My first abiding memory of Priya – cut back to 1986 Stella Maris – she was practising a dance for the annual day. We weren’t very close then – still finding our feet in college in our first year. She went on to win the General Proficiency prize; I won the Academic Proficiency that year. A connection was forged.

By the time we stepped into our second year, we were inseparable. We were five – in alphabetical order – Anupama, Leela, Madhavi, Priya & Tara - & for some unfathomable reason, christened ourselves the Five Pop-Ups. It could be attributed to our tendency to sit in the first bench, right under the noses of our esteemed professors & behave like the most committed of students who also got away with murder. We popped up with the most intelligent answers to questions posed, we also tucked into snacks, made fun of certain professors, & laughed like there was no tomorrow. But we were never taken to task.

So that was how we came together. And we stayed together.

Priya & I continued our lives in Chennai, a city I have come to love & we were the most natural allies, if you know what I mean. We were each other’s sounding boards; it was like some kind of ESP that we shared – they way we sometimes read each other’s mind & completed sentences.

Priyadarshini - her name means dear to sight. That was the tip of the iceberg. She was indeed dear, so very dear – the richest human being I have ever met – rich with goodness, giving, compassion, friendship, intelligence, with, humour, intuition, patience, sweetness, sincerity, love, equity, talent & total humility; grace was her aura, serenity her colour, & calm composure her core.
Right from our days at college, through the turbulent times of adulthood, be it choice of a career, venting about situations, search for the right man, my dad’s demise, married life, health, life’s purpose, Priya was phenomenal – be it guidance, intuitive help, honest feedback, inspirational thinking, just listening, Priya was there, always there, for succour & support, unstinted & unconditional. Countless days & evening were spent studying together, visiting exhibitions, British Council, coffee shops, bookstores, tailors, discussing life & lessons threadbare – many times to the bemusement of the family around, as to what we were talking & laughing about for so long. After her marriage, we continued our primeval friendship thanks to the wonderfully supportive family that she married into. We loved English theatre & used to go for as many plays as we could. Husband JK played patient parent, sitting in the lobby of Music Academy with a baby Nitin while Priya & I watched the play inside. That is the kind of empathy, love & mutual respect the couple share.

The most enduring attribute of this sterling woman was her ability to strike a chord with whomever she met. We used to host lunches, dinners, birthday gatherings at home, where the guests would be my friends, & my family friends. She had a word for everyone; her gentle humour & grace enveloped every soul at the party. Whoever my sister – Urmila & I spoke to are feeling bereft – they all recall her goodness & wholesomeness. My sister Urmila, who is devastated by this shocking early exit, & calls me every day to talk about her, remembers Priya from the time we were at the printers, submitting our thesis. She told me later; this girl is the most unselfish friend you can ever have.

We discussed everything, laughed about stuff that may shock others, were old-fashioned enough to be shocked at the rapidly changing social landscape & the place of children & young adults in this new new world of generation F (the facebook generation). We were, we are, soul sisters.

For a week since she ascended into the heavens, my People page in my mobile would automatically open to P with Priya JK right in the centre. The first number I would call after leaving office was hers.
I received an SMS from Priya’s phone on Friday Sep 15th at 1.34 pm, saying -Thanks Leela, my back pain is better now, thanks to painkillers - that message was never found in her Sent Items & neither did her sons or husband send it. It was her way of saying, I am right here. It’s the sweetest reassurance that only someone like her could offer.

I feel her presence every day. I am surrounded by her grace, like I know each one of you in this room must be.

Aunty, Uncle, Balaji, Vinitha, Aunty, Uncle, JK, Harsha, Nitin – everyone in the family – hold your heads high that a woman such as Priyadarshini is a member of your family. Such treasures are rare. Whoever has partaken of this treasure is truly blessed. This is not extravagant praise of a friend. This is recognition from the heart of a soul sister.

Nitin, Harsha: you have a great responsibility to honour the legacy of your manifold mother. Listen to her as you step forward in life & you will be secure.

JK: you are the rock she stayed anchored to. My sincerest prayers that you will anchor the family & steer everyone through life, one redolent with Priya’s benign glow & grace.

My darling Priya, you never wanted to leave. You did not even know that the Almighty had such plans. I saw that as you lay waiting for everyone to catch their last glimpse of you garbed in this body.

You rock, Priya. You always will. Be at peace. Know that all of us here on earth are the richer for your presence.

With my love always.
I would like to read out a poem by one of our favourite Romantic poets – Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night
Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright
Meet in her aspect and her eyes:
Thus mellowed to that tender light
Which heaven to gaudy day denies.
One shade the more, one ray the less,
Had half impaired the nameless grace
Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling place.
And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,
So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,
The smiles that win, the tints that glow
But tell of days in goodness spent,
A mind at peace with all below,
A heart whose love is innocent!

Jamming at the Gym!

2010-09-12T07:33:00.000-07:00

Some of my friends on fb have been enquiring as to why I have 'silent' on fb of late. The reason is hardly magical, mysterious or morose. It's more in the region of the modern mundane, to wit, evening sessions at the gym.
With other preferred modes of exercise (think, walking & yoga) not making it to my self-motivation list, the walled-in, mechanised exercise drome prepped up by pumped-up men & women professional trainers seemed to be the only way out of a sedentary slide into shapelessness.
Armed with a fair degree of determination I went ahead & enrolled myself in early August. The one-hour fitness profiling undid my hitherto fit feeling the very next day when I was physically tired & mentally groggy. This, combined with work beyond usual hours ensured I dutifully absented myself for over two weeks after signing-up.
Aherm. Conscience, coupled with consideration for the money I had invested in health & fitness, stemming from a healthy respect for well-being, nudged me briskly back into the cool, colourful, steel & glass spaces where professionally trained men & women smiled & gently but firmly took the novices through the paces.
So that's where I have been spending most of my work evenings these last two weeks.

And ladies & gentlemen, boys & girls, I am now ALL admiration for you folks who are in the modelling, film, well any profession where the fundamental premise is prime physical fitness. I see 'normal' (the corporate types, housewives, retired personnel, students etc.) men & women around me doing feats with machines & weights which seem jaw-droppingly formidable. I cannot BEGIN to imagine what professional models, actors, bodybuilders, security agents & the like do to maintain & sustain thier physical perfection.

The trainers (all in their teeming, towering, testesterone twenties, btw) on the floor who assist us wet-behind-the-ears beings tells me in a PT master's tone: "No, no, not 5 pounds, take 7.5'' when I pick up the 2nd lightest dumbells. Feels quite bad. When I go for the machine-enabled routines, I feel even more bemused. The person doing it before me (an average Joe) was attuned to 50 pounds. I set mine to 20 & then quickly to 15. Tell myself "early days yet". And then I think of the comment a personal trainer made (in the trial one-day session) "all loose, madam" & equally quickly sounded "but you have maintained well'. Ha! Loose & well-maintained, indeed! Reminded me of a sagging sack of sodden spuds.

But yes, I have increased my level & pace on the treadmill. yay!!

Increasing speed or level on EFX though is more of a bleak proposition.

Whew, DOES it take serious mindmuscle power & sheer fortitude to grin & bear the pulls & puffs & stretches & weights to pull off a perfect figure - be it brawn or size zero!

Methinks it easier being an intellectual heavyweight than a muscular one. Give me TS Eliot & Beckett anyday!

But yes, more power to all the gym visionaries & the increasing population of trainers. We need more of you now & going forward, as open spaces get more clogged & roads unsafe to take walks in. Keep up the good work & get more of us into shape!

Reflections on Friendship Day

2010-08-01T07:19:00.000-07:00

"A true friend is someone who thinks that you are a good egg even though he knows that you are slightly cracked." -- Bernard Meltzer.

We were slightly cracked, all five of us. Christening ourselves The Five Pop-ups we jauntily jammed into the first row, in the centre of the class, brimming with the bright-eyed enthusiasm & zest for life that only 2nd year undergrad students can truly be said to possess.

Part of the bright & bold brigade, we delved into Donne & doughnuts with equal gusto, right there, in the first row right under the presumably eagle eyes of the esteemed Professors of English Literature at Stella Maris College. We exchanged witticisms, giggled uncontrollably, straightened into seriousness, mimicked faux accents, declaimed Milton, enacted Shakespeare, sung ballads, ‘popped-up’ with the correct answers, delighted profs with our pithy insights and drove them to indulgent despair at our sometimes incessant laughter & irreverent repartees.

It was magic – the way we connected. As if a magician had waved his wand and five young girls from different backgrounds & upbringings clustered as though they were magnets drawn to each other. Acquaintances in the 1st year, we were thick as thieves the following year. This was the beginning of a lifetime (fingers crossed) of friendship.

Each one of us was different (but naturallyL) with unique sensibilities. In alphabetical order, A was a feisty intellect, an Ayn Rand aficionado, full of fun, yet supremely grounded as only Virgos can be. (Yes, those were the heady days of Linda Goodman & zodiac signs, which I understand still remains a college crush). M was a whimsical dreamer pragmatist (no this is not an oxymoron) & a fellow Pisces. P was beautiful, bright, benign & innately helpful. Another Pisces. T was a sensitive soul, consumed with the question of Being, cracking everyone up & being cranky as only Cancerians can be. And then there was moi, mad about books, plays, poetry & stimulating talk, a romantic, funny, with a fancy for the good word & turn of phrase.

Years passed. Everyone moved on. A & M eventually made the US their home, A as a
social activist, M as a professor. In Chennai, T became an acolyte, P an academician, while I joined the corporate workforce. M slipped out of touch for a while, till facebook became the great reconnector! Apart from M, all of us met at my wedding five years ago, moments which infused my special day with a glorious glow. In fact A & P hosted a bridal shower for me with such thoughtfulness & care that it endowed the term soul-sisters with a higher meaning.

The Five Pop-ups share an immutable bond that was forged in the anvil of innocence, of a quest for knowledge, of an unburdening of hearts, of an unlocking of intellect, of practicing for plays under the open skies, of sundry shopping, of poetic raptures, of mad movies in the front row, of a shared high humour & wit which others often found hard to understand, of oh-so-many-big-&-little-things, but most deeply of an empathy where “A friend is one who knows us, but loves us anyway.”

Thank you girls, for all your unconditional support, guidance & love, for lighting up my life beyond ordinary measure.

Happy Friendship Day!

Pls pls relive the miracle moment!

2009-01-19T00:51:00.000-08:00

The ring went missing again! On Sat morning. Spent the better part of Sat & Sun mornings looking for it. No luck as yet.
Please help me get it back. It's my engagement ring.
It reappeared last time like a beautiful miracle.
I pray it will again.
I have faith.
God, are you listening?

Hell's Kitchen!

2008-12-30T00:57:00.000-08:00

Murphy's Law played out last night while fixing dinner and this morning while fixing breakfast in frustratingly relentless fashion.
Weighed down by a late entry home with hubby and cousin, I was determined to whip up a quick yet tasty (favoured by all) meal. Sambhar was already made. Planned to pressure cook rice and make a neat potato curry as the typical Tamizh way But when the mind and body are distraught [I was trying to keep up my juice fast/diet the whole day & eventually succumbed to Priya's offering of heavenly plum cake in the evening, and ended up with a headache by the time we reached home, thanks to a rich repast after a juice cleansed day :-(] even the simplest things turn messy.
Instead of adding 4 cups of water to 2 of rice, the mind-numbed me added just 2! Needed to cook it thrice over to get it right! Talk about overcooked and undernourished, albeit the intangible kind, as seeing/eating it no one would ever know. Then my still whacked mind told me that maybe the rice was a lil less for 3 men with big appetites, as were the potatoes. So double trouble: one more cup of rice, 2 more potatoes to boil.
Eventually turned out that my original instincts were right. Both the additional rice and potatoes were extra! Not in vain though. Served for one cousin's lunch at home :-).
This morning started just fine. Made a neat carrot-bean upma for breakfast/my lunch, and then set out to make the coconut chutney in the mixie. Phat!!!! A loud whirring sound, coconut pieces all over! Happened twice over. You know why? Cos the pieces were not small enough! Seems pretty simple, but to still wet-behind-the-ears-in-the-kitchen me, it was ... well ... a timely learning.
All's well that end's well. Third attempt at chutney was fine.

Year-end in Calcutta: memories

2008-12-11T04:38:00.000-08:00

Misty mornings, crisp chill, mellow sun, flavourful Darjeeling tea, warm buttered toast, aromatic sausage and golden omelette. Woolled-in, walk in the dew-dotted lawn while the sun is still stretching its rays, the cold mysteriously warming the cockles of the heart. An invigorating chill that makes one raise hands heavenwards, smile at the blue skies, sing and dance in an abundance of feeling. Slice of heaven. On earth. In the innocence of non-adulthood. But for me, the age label would be irrelevant. I just know I will still feel this way if I were ever to relive those golden days in Cal. Will I ever grow up? Circumstances around me certainly are overwhelmingly 'grown-up' and I seemingly sway in their embrace. ;-).
Grown-up. That was what I desperately wanted to be when at age 12 I attended my 1st New Year's Eve Ball at the Tollygunje Club and sought reassurance from family friends - the uncles & aunties - that I actually looked 16. I remember an uncle finally obliging. It was a glorious evening, a perfect 'coming-out'/prelude to teenagedom. The huge swimming pool had been evacuated, and was on that magical evening transformed to a glittering dance floor which was exclusively for the youth. There was another even bigger wooden dance floor erected on the lawns which was for everyone to jive on. Chill in the air, aroma of barbecued food wafting all around, lots of interesting people, and I was asked for a dance! And I declined! Yes. Cos the appearance of the gentleman in question was to a girl of 12 - intimidating. He was attired from head to toe in black leather, had jet black hair and a black mustache. I was in a long blue gown trying to look dyed-in-the-wool 16, while my insides were beating to a heart and mind of a 12 year old. While I didn't have my first dance with a tall, dark & handsome stranger, I did have many others with our family friends (read: uncles, aunts ;-). After dinner, we walked ahead towards the course where the tent-pegging (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Tent_pegging) was to happen. It's an out-of-the-world atmosphere. Past midnight, a group of dashing horsemen gallop up, attempting to dislodge or hook the pegs which are embedded in the ground. I don't know if they still have it as a NYEve ritual anymore, but it's a powerful touch of the past. After all that equestrian excitement we headed to the big, bright bonfire sinking into the seats in front of the blaze, warming our well-chilled selves and sipping hot chocolate. A true molten gold experience.
If memory serves me right, we also tucked into an English breakfast in the early hours before heading home! ;-)
A treat for the senses, and for a 12 yr old, a Cinderalla-at-the-ball high!

Times of India HEART BEAT concert, Dec 2, Chennai, University of Madras Auditorium

2008-12-02T23:12:00.000-08:00

'AWESOME!' My 21 yr old and 18 year old cousins exclaimed in unison. A response which seemed to reverberate unanimously across an audience of disparate age groups & socio/cultural backgrounds.
Yes, I am talking about the Heart Beat concert organised by the TOI (I am a complete convert now and will commence subscribing to the newspaper right away) in Chennai last evening with free passes for the music aficionados of the city. It was worth every minute of the wait in the heart-stoppingly long snaking queue in and around the auditorium.
TOI has been leading the way in organising such events ever since it trumpeted into the city (Chennai). This however, is the 1st time, that I attended one. Thanks in part to some advance notice by a colleague, and a TOI spotted in the office, carrying the advertisement.
Sivamani (drums), Selva Ganesh (kanjira), U Shrinivas (mandolin), Shankar Mahadevan (vocals) & Ustad Zakir Hussain (tabla) took the packed auditorium by a joyous, sometimes mellow, sometimes crashing in crescendos, uninhibited, ravishing musical storm as they merged together and held their own in heart-grabbing, goosebump-inducing perfomances that delighted the entranced souls in the audience. One didn't have to be a connoisseur of music to appreciate the different jugalbandis, solos, and quintet perfomances that rocked the auditorium. One just had to have the senses of sight and hearing and give up them up to this feast. The sheer, unrestrained, spontaneous joy that spread its effulgent glow over each and every musician as they led each other in the concert, their mutual admiration, their individual and collective genius and potent finesse had everyone bursting into applause and rising to their feet every now and then.
Sivamani and Selva Ganesh were possibly the most versatile in terms of the repertoire of sounds they concocted.
Shrinivas & Zakir Hussain played like maestros though the Ustad seemed to take some time to 'warm up' in his solo slot, probably because he was a little perturbed at the sometimes whistling crowd, something not normally witnessed in a classical music audience. He in fact urged the audience to treat music with 'reverence' and not as a panderer of 'cheap thrills'.
Shankar Mahadevan was outstanding as unusual in the guise of a classical musician! I have only ever heard him crooning to popular numbers. Having said that he did improvise on 'Blues from Chennai' which impressed! I was hoping for a 'Breathless' perfomance, but that was not forthcoming. The closing 'Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram, Ishvar Allah Tevo Nam' was beautiful & especially poignant in today's terribly troubled times.
All in all, a heartbeat throbbing mid-week evening.

The Miracle Moment!

2008-06-23T06:11:00.000-07:00

Indeed, it was! A sheer miracle!
My breath caught in my throat, as my eyes widened in dumb disbelief, while my heart raced in sheer surprise as I gazed down into the rich velvet compartment of my jewellery box and devoured the sight of my 'engagement' ring right there in the middle. The ring which just could not be found - after my little niece had upended the box on the dressing table where the ring had nestled on top - after many a sweeping of far corners and clearing the boxes beneath the bed.
HOW did it make its way into my jewellery box INSIDE the locker INSIDE the steel cupboard, when it was last seen on top of the box on the dressing table AND which my niece had upended while playing, ensuring it had fallen on the ground, is a mystery that will remain unsolved to the logical mind.
In my mind I was clear that I would not seek a replacement, that I DEFINITELY would get THIS very ring BACK. Infact hubby purchased another ring for me which I wore on the index finger, NOT on my ring finger where I had been sporting the engagement ring ever since we decided to get married.
Was it a case of mind over matter? And the powers that be in this wonderful universe heard my inner resolve and responded so sympathetically.
All I can say is Thank You, Dear God, and all's well that ends well. Please extend this Divine compassion to other areas in my life.

Swatch Slips Up - Again!

2008-05-05T01:18:00.001-07:00

Yes, it happened again! This time with my husband's watch - a Limited Edition Gold dial Swatch which stopped working after minimal usage, and which CANNOT be serviced because it is of the MOULDED type (like all Swatches are!) and must be relegated to the dustbin or the attic/its equivalent.
I am terribly terribly disappointed (understatement) and feel completely let down by this sort of thoughtlessness/callousness of Swatch designers who make us spend so much money on what is ultimately a 'use and throw' watchpiece.
Is anyone in Swatch reading/listening???
I don't think any other 'brand', that too, international makes such pricey and yet puerile pieces.
Do any of you who've stopped by, have a similar experience to share?

Nakchappi

2008-04-09T03:26:00.000-07:00

It's a week to the day that I vanquished the decade-old demons of dread and just sat down at gunpoint - to get my nose pierced!!! YES, I DID IT! FINALLY! After years of wishful thinking and paranoia, it took a moment of pre-meditated suddenness (it's not as oxymoronish as it sounds, really) to succumb, in the splendour of the new and magnificent (the Joy Alukkas showroom in Chennai showcased as the largest jewellery showroom in India, or is Asia?), and well, it was over before I could say 'now, here comes the pain'. Miraculously, there was no pain, only a momentary 'shaken to the core sensation' which as I said, disappears even before realisation dawns. The involuntary yelp did of course escape my lips, much to the amusement of the Malayali male staff who were attending to customers around my chair, and they were, as typical of the gentle tribe, most solicitous and reassuring. I'm not so sure about the advice administered by the manager who triggered the gunshot - that I could change the stud for another one after a week. Anyway, armed with that encouraging piece of information I marched upstairs to buy my first ever diamond - you guessed it - a diamond nose-stud! I was quite happy with myself - sang-froid during the piercing, the motivation thereafter, no nagging pain like many of my friends had in their experience, and so on.
Now it's a week and I am SO tempted to switch the studs! But my colleagues tell me to exercise patience and hang in there for another three weeks or so before I don the diamond. Sigh. Anyway, I don't think I will have the courage to do it myself. Will probably hop back to Joy Alukkas and seek their help :-)

The Rightness of Time

2007-12-13T02:42:00.000-08:00

Life is a moment to dream
To live the dream
Is destiny divine.

Take action, take action!
Sound voices around.
When action yields to emptiness
Hollows abound.

It will happen when it has to
Reassures an inner voice.
Which begs the question
- WHEN? -

15th March 2007!

2007-03-28T05:17:00.000-07:00

It was a day to remember! I was nudged out of bed at the stroke of midnight with a whispered "Wake up, baby, Mom wants to wish you". Not yet carried away into the depths of sleep, I woke up readily enough and glided from the bedroom to the dining room. And - my eyes and mouth widened in surprise - there was a large, dark, chocolate cake with a lighted candle atop it, sitting plum in the middle of the dining table! And giving them company was the Happy Birthday song chorused by my husband and mother-in-law! Sigh :-)) My insides melting, I made my obeisances to the duo & proceeded to blow the candle, cut a smooth swathe of rich, yielding dark chocolate cake - it was from one of my favourites in the city Cake Walk - popped a piece each into their mouths and of course mine! Midnight notwithstanding, that mesmerizing concoction insinuated it's way into our accomodating stomachs till mind smothered matter with protestations of reason, and we stopped short of satiety. Second surprise - a friend & colleague - Lavanya - had given my birthday gift to hubby darling, to be given to me at midnight! A pair of lovely silver danglers - just my kind! While on gifts, hubdub and mom-in-law had earlier presented me with a an absolutely darling gold enamelled set which is purrfect for office does and elegant parties. I love it!
Snuggling into love and sleep, woke up to bright sunlight, hastened to get ready - wore a new churidhar kurta ensemble and my rubadubtubhub's jewellery set - and visit the neighbourhood Pullyar (Ganesha) temple. Wishes via calls & smes had started streaming in from family & friends. For lunch, I had suggested having the traditional luncheon treat for my friends in the office, but The Man in my life had planned on a twosome ;-) The place was kept a surprise. We were to leave at 12.30 from work and return by 2.30 pm. So far so good. Lavanya (sitting at Tidel) chatted with me about what I was wearing, and was eager to see me, suggested dropping in at Khivraj after lunch. Just as we were about to leave, hubby asked if we could take Sarat as well. Huh? I thought it was just you & me. If we take Sarat, what about the rest of the team? Hubby quickly capitulated and brushed aside his silly suggestion, and made a sensible one now of moving on. The drive was short - we stopped at The Duchess, a superb multicuisine restaurant, especially famous for its continental dishes (Hubby knows my weakness for Conti concoctions). Smiling in delight I happily trotted into the welcoming ambience. And almost teetered in surprise. For there was this loong 15 seater table, filled with 10 smiling faces including Lavanya (some red herring that chat was!)greeting me Happy Birthday! It was our friends from work! My methodical husband had planned this to the last detail! It was a lovely surprise, and a real feel gooder to be surrounded by friends and well-wishers! Very soon, all the 15 seats were filled, including Sarat :-) and a good friend (Rajesh) who had left our company, and came all the way in the middle of a frenetically mad Thursday to wish me and spread the cheer! And then I got my second cake of the day! Lights went out, the waiter ceremoniously hoisted a platter bearing a black forest cake, a candle, and the group burst into song, as I melted for the 2nd time in the day and did the honours. Some glorious gifts followed - gorgeous gerberas, Svarovski earrings, stained glass flowers, lipstick and mascara. It was a delicious and delightful lunch and I was still stunned from the surprise and wondering how every one of those 15 folks kept this under wraps for the last 3 days. In retrospect, Reshma had come closest to blowing the whistle, as she would keep telling me that 'I am more excited about the 15th than you are! What will you be doing?' Etc, etc. But this observation is in hindsight ;-)
Well, after that lovely lovely lunch, headed back to a long meeting at work. At 5 pm, I was asked by the Admin executive, Francis to please come to the main bay. Approaching the bay, I saw this BIG cake laid out on a table, and all our associates gathered around. Deeply touched, proceeded to thank everyone, and went on to cut my third cake for the day! By the time I left office at 7 pm, I was overwhelmed in every sense of the word. The evening was relaxed, and I sank into early sleep.
The celebrations weren't over as yet, though! My darling mother had planned a get-together on 18th, Sunday, where she had called some of my closest friends and family for lunch!It was a wonderful afternoon, replete with FABULOUS food (every single item prepared by Mama and there were 12!!) and CONVIVIAL company, which just stopped short of being a crowd with 17 people. Everyone had a great time!
The great part about a 'birthday' - the day one turns a year older (as my husband teased - when he heard Mama was planning a big lunch - 'you aren't exactly sweet sixteen for Aunty to throw a party for you') - is also a great day to celebrate life, family, friends, teamwork, love, happiness, health & success, if you tend to inadvertently ignore this big part of your life(as most of us do) for the rest of the year!

People, Society, and Culture in Chennai

2006-05-08T08:02:00.000-07:00

Better delayed than deserted. Am referring to my promise in an earlier blog, where I had stated that the subject of the next blog would be People, Society and Culture, but didn't quite deliver, what with my Swatch swearing and other distractions and duties coming in the way.

Let me plunge into People and the rest without further ado. I have already referred in my earlier blog to the sometimes childlike, often overwhelming, in parts enervating and endearing curiousity displayed by people around us in our early days in the city. Curiousity in college reached culinary heights when my classmates, unable to contain themselves on watching me munch Monday lunch from Taj Coromandel cases, cracked a "Does your Dad work as a chef in the Taj?!" Well, no, he works in a fuddy-duddy regular organization, but yes, we do go to the Taj Coromandel every Sunday for tea/dinner, and I carry some goodies for my Monday lunch. I am rather amused by the reaction of my maiden mates - from exclamations of "You go to a Five Star hotel every weekend??" to thinking aloud - "You must be very well-off". The first was true. The second - not if you measure 'well-off' by Tamil economic standards.

Let me expend a few words here to elaborate on the blatant (at least, as seen in the late 80s) difference between Bengali contentment and Tamil security. A Bengali is first and foremost, an epicure. A Tamilian is first and foremost an economist. Good food is endemic to Bengali existence. To an average Tamilian, food is something to satisfy one's hunger, and there is no need to make such a fuss about it. Financial security for oneself and the family is the topmost, perennial Priority. Not that it is not for the average Bengali. Financial security is the fulcrum for every one of us in urban society. The difference is this: a Bengali, who takes home Rs 5000 will easily and naturally spend Rs 400 on Hilsa mach in the Sunday market without batting an eyelid, or feeling his heart flutter. He is house-proud and his house will usually be pleasing and aesthetic. Socialising, adda comes naturally and feelingly for him. He will have some Fixed Deposits, Life Insurance and put the rest of his money in his Savings Account. The numbers will be modest as his expenses on food and other essentials will take priority. Stocks and shares are usually not his forte. Thinking of his children's educational future will not normally extend into long-terms savings for a professional degree. Neither will buying sovereigns of gold for his wife as investment, though he will buy gold, silver and semi-precious jewellery, more as jewellery, and less as investment.

In my early experience of South Indian families around me, the first lesson I learned was not to mistake appearance for reality. A neighbour of ours invited me over to her house for a chat soon after we had moved into the neighbourhood (remember I am still in the late eighties). Outwardly the house was an architect's delight (her father was a civil engineer and into the construction business), and I was looking forward to some correspondingly aesthetic interiors. I was in for a rude shock. The drawing room or 'hall' was bare, bereft of any furniture but an old wooden chair, an old table, a TV with a TV stand. Inside, one bedroom had a bed; the other was bare, except for a cupboard. No paintings or pictures on the walls. What was REALLY mystifying was the FACT that her father was a VERY RICH MAN (as our Brahmin neighbours obligingly updated us)! It was very difficult for me to reconcile what I had seen with what their financial reality was. The sobering realisation was that here was a man who, forget about wearing his wealth on his sleeve, was indulging in some sort of reverse no-show. He was in fact saving his hard-earned money for a secure future for his wife and only daughter. And the family seemed to be well-adjusted to their (in my eyes) empty environment. This would be completely unacceptable to an average Bengali in the same financial condition. An average Tamilian is comfortable with his curd rice. He really does enjoy it and can make a complete meal of it. This would be anathema to a Bengali, just as ‘unnecessary’ spending on food or aesthetics is anathema to an average Tamilian.

This difference in food habits however is the magic behind the robust health of an average Tamilian and the lack of it in an average Bengali. Within the austerity of Tamilian cuisine lies the tidings of good health and longevity. How many Tamilians do you see with myopia, heart problems, obesity or cancer, as compared to those from the land of Tagore? Not to mention their disciplined lifestyle which on an average starts at 5.30 am, unlike that of an average Bengali which starts around 7 am. This observation comes from folks around me and not from a ready reckoner of statistics.

Hey – this blog is long enough for a refresher. Let me come up for air.

Slippery Swatch :-(

2006-04-25T04:32:00.000-07:00

I just have to vent!

I was just told that the most expensive watch that I owned, a Swatch CANNOT be repaired! That a watch I barely wore for 2 years, and in periodic intervals must be consigned to the dustbin is the most disillusioning discovery of today. I just cannot reconcile the seductive signboards, and attention-grabbing advertisements with the barrenness of such callous dereliction, not from a reputed international brand such as Swatch! I say callous, cos, apparently 'moulded' watches CANNOT be repaired! Well, in that case, isn't it pretty much a case of use-and-throw?? And if so, WHY don't these glam watch boutique salesperson SAY so? They entice you with the elegance, glamour and perceived perfection of a Swiss make, and close the deal with a mere year's warranty, and lo and behold, this pretty piece of precision, goes inexplicably (NO watch service centre, except for a Helvetica, could figure out what was wrong, and Helvetica couldn't do much except to certify it as irreparable - gulp, sob) erratic and sputters to premature halt.

I have owned Indian-made, Swiss-made, UK-made, US-made watches, and NONE of them ever suffered the indignity of such an unfulfilled, short life.

I am grieved enough to publish this post, and I beseech all you Swatch aficionados to arm yourself with all information, and potential risks when you are buying a Swatch.

I wish I could reach out to Swatch manufacturers in Switerland. Lemme check Google now. Wish me luck.

Caste in Chennai

2006-04-14T08:36:00.000-07:00

Part 2 of Curious, Captivating Chennai!

You might recall the Brahmin bit in Part One of my musings on Chennai.
Caste was and is the defining characteristic/raison d'etre of every individual in Tamil society.
From well-meaning neighbours, to strangers in social gatherings, to staff in airline counters, to domestic help, society all around enquired "Brahmins aa?" (We are not, by the way).

I realised the repercussions of belonging to the "Forward Caste", when I submitted application forms to various colleges in the city. At the interviews the Professors intoned, seriousness writ large on their faces, "We have only 10/6/8 (depending on the college) seats for FC's (Forward Castes). Let us see." Fortunately for me, I had topped the assessment and interview in Stella Maris, and ethics ensured that the Department accept my application and candidature. College was great and friendship amongst peers was thankfully NOT determined by caste. But that was the period of the Reservation Crusade, and I was privy to the underbelly of this well-meaning and what was essentially conceived as a corrective policy for the needy and disadvantaged in society. One of my classmates told me in no uncertain terms, that if I had to get anywhere in this society, I should become eligible for Reservation. She patiently went on to explain how. "Get yourself a false Backward Caste certificate. It's quite easy if you know the right people. Our family got one, and we are enjoying the advantages of Reservation!" And this classmate was by NO means needy or disadvantaged. I was quite dumbfounded, to put it mildly and did not dare suggest this to my family, even in levity.

The memory of this advice came to haunt me when I visited Stella a few years later for my sister's admission. Notwithstanding the fact that I was an alumni, I was proffered sympathetic advice - "Leela, your sister has scored only 93%. She can write the exam, but we are not giving any guarantees. There are only 4 seats for FCs this year in Chemistry including Management Quota. So if there are others with better marks, and they also do well in the test, then it will be very very close. Our advice is let her join another college, if she has already got admission." I was never so disillusioned and frustrated in my life. It was even more harrowing to know later, that some of her classmates had got admission here with 50 and 60 % marks, thanks to their privileged membership in the BC and the Catholic community. Fortunately for my sister, she secured admission in another good (though relatively new) college, and moved on in life with great academic strides.

Next post - People, society and culture.

Curious, captivating Chennai!

2006-04-02T08:52:00.000-07:00

My first blog just must be about Madras (Chennai), the city I was brought to many moons ago. I say brought to and not moved to, because the move was not something that I was particularly thrilled about, and not in my control. Leaving all my friends in Calcutta, including the man I had a crush on for years together and just a year into a new school, was a bittersweet feeling.

Still, I warmed to the thought of Madras, as it was not entirely unfamiliar. I had, after all, spent two years of my childhood here. So here I was, an excited teenager, waiting for the Coromandel Express to come to a halt at the Central Station in Madras, eager to jump out and explore life in this southern city. It was the evening of 31st December, so the weather was invigorating and inviting. We disembarked as quickly as it was possible for a family of six, which included a fiesty toddler.

An old friend of Dad's had come to meet us, carrying a hot pack redolent with the aroma of fish. It was our dinner. He introduced us to Sundaram, who would be our chauffeur. Sundaram saluted smartly and beckoned us to a white Ambassador, which would be our car.
Off we went, driving down the wide roads past Central Station, through Poonamallee, Kilpauk and into Annanagar, which in the late-eighties was the hot new happening 'planned' suburb in the city, and the chosen home of many folks north of the Vindhyas. En route, our dear driver exhaled in 15 minute intervals - "Muruga!" - which to my untrained-in-Tamil ears, sounded suspiciously like "Murga", and my only association for "Murga" was "chicken." Both amused & bemused, I was determined to seek light once we settled in.

Settling in involved a mammoth cultural adjustment. In Calcutta, my life revolved around my school, the building where we lived and my friends therein, the clubs we visited on weekends, and of course my family, family friends and relatives. It was a protected upbringing in a sprawling, crowded, gigantic, pulsating metropolis. In Madras, Annanagar, my first impression was of glorious independent houses, with small and big lawns, a huge park right in the middle of Annanagar, neat, clean roads, the bustle of a big city, without the hustle, noise and crowds.
It was almost idyllic ....

That spell didn't last for more than a day or two. Idyll metamorphosed into invasion. A neighbour across the street, smiled at me from her gate, and asked if we were Brahmins. Our Brahmin neighbours next door were a little alarmed that we would be cooking fish. Our neighbour behind our house (our kitchen garden faced his backyard) asked whether we would like some coconuts from his tree. Another neighbour's daughter (all of nine years) wanted to know how much rent we were paying for the house, and what was my father's position in the company. Another neighbour, staying opposite, mistook our open doors for open house, and walked in whenever she wanted to make phone calls. One lady left behind Rs 10 (beneath the telephone) when she made five calls. Everyone around was very friendly and very inquisitive. I had a huge collection of books, which I had faithfully lugged all the way from Cal. A week after unpacking, one fourth of my collection was in different hands, borrowed by friends/acquaintances I had made over the fortnight. Everyone visited us, and wanted us to visit them in return. I found a common characteristic in all the social visits we paid to others. We would sit in the drawing room, or 'hall' as it is commonly known in South Indian homes, making polite conversation for the better part of an hour, of which more than half comprised questions about us, our backgrounds, whereabouts and everything else about us. This entire 30-60 mins would be unbroken by any offers of tea/juice/anything edible. But the moment we got up to go, the mistress of the house would smile and ask "Some coffee/tea/juice?"

Tamil (our lack of it, rather) was a stumbling block in everyday communication. But despite the difficulties, Mom was thrilled, as she felt people in Madras were very respectful, using 'Ma' as frequently as they did in conversations. We picked up Tamil - the manage-with-shopkeepers, autos, maids-style - soon enough, and bravely used it in the face of much geniality and tolerance. But the accent and nuances - so very important in comprehension - took some more time. While on a Ladies Special bus, I was passed some change and a word 'Luz', which is to say, please get a ticket from the conductor to go to Luz. In good faith, I handed over the change to the conductor and said 'Luz'. Apparently this wasn't good enough. After much repetition of 'Luz', and increasing incomprehension & impatience from the conductor, a kind fellow passenger asphirated, 'LuZZZZZ", and lo and behold! the conductor beamed, all irritation gone, and repeated "LuZZZ aa, appri sollo ma (Luz, is it, you should have said that)!"

End of Part One ....