Hope Springs Eternal

Few days back, the online version of Hindu had the CBSE class X results on the first page. "Girls Shine Again" it reads. "Again" ?? Why "Again" ?? As if there ever was a ever a break from this trite.

Kindergarten is only a hazy memory. Anycase, we had time only to cry after parents dropped us at school and to get scared when the anglo-indian teacher appeared with dotted-canes. So "A" grazed past the rest of the guys to be teacher's pet and first rank holder, all by telling people A is for Apple and B is Ball while intelligent guys were left wondering why isnt A for Audis and B for Benz.

Elementary school was supposed to make us wise. We ensured that it was only "supposed" to do that. Scientifically, it has been concluded that the much-prevalent jewellery craze in the opposite sex begins at around 6 years of age. Since pendants and diamond rings are saved for a later date, to be delegated to some bumbling chap after 15 or so years, the nearest the women could get to were badges. Shiny, well polished badges that read "class pupil leader" and "first rank". "S" was upto it. I remember her telling in the class that she wanted to be a collector. She definitely did a good job collecting lots of such badges. Guys, Nah. We were busy eating kulfis and playing duster cricket. Who wants to wear a badge anyway ??

Middle school was worse. It was double trouble. "JF" and "JM" were so studious that the world really had to try hard and keep pace with them. Now this is the time of our lives when we start getting imaginative and write reams and reams of answers in the hope that the paper's weight atleast gets us through. Even if we had managed a tonne every exam, we wouldnt have had a crack at the top. Can't really blame the teacher. On one hand, they have "JF"s paper, written in blue ink with her hand-writing rivalling a russian ballet dancer, complete with margins drawn with pencil, sub-headings underlined in red and important points double-lined with pencil (am still with the periphery, havent started about the contents), and on the other hand we have mine, that looks more like rice noodles spilt on the ground and trampled over.

High school was even worse. Cant really blame "MS" and "GBLG" for coming out on top because high school happens to be the age when the teenager knows that life is not entirely about strawberry ice-cream and playing cricket. Well, ermm, thats enough for the blog, otherwise it would start sounding like a confessional. So, while the boys were busy getting surprises at each and every turn in life, the girls just rip-roared their way to the top. The girls got great marks, the boys got wiser. Fair deal.

Higher secondary was better. "P" was there, "L" was there, "V" was there, but more importantly questions about my future, if one was indeed present, were also there. Tried studying and was able to score higher than "V", study hard and was able to outscore "L", study harder but i was never able to outscore "P". (Well, what were you expecting ?? a fairy tale ending where i studied hard and beat everyone ?? Oh yeah, tough luck.)

And then it was college. For the first time in many of our lives, we saw guys getting the top rank. Not just in the first or the second semesters, but all through. In every paper, In every semester - It was guys. Finally, we did it. We broke the mantle that was believed to be girls'. We proved to the world that even guys can be class toppers. It was time to celebrate, after 17 full years of playing second fiddle. It was like splashing your face with cold water after a morning run. Pleasant, refreshing, new, rewarding. Amidst this euphoria, my conscience sneaks up from behind and taps me on the shoulder.
"But you studied in a boys' college, didnt you ??"
"........, Shut up".
Never stop your celebrations for such trivial details. Neva.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

Thannanne Thaana Nanne

Take Vadipatti, A rural hamlet down in the southern part of ThamizhNadu.

Take Vijayalakshmi Navaneethakrishnan, Pushapavanam Kuppuswami and Paravai Muniamma - Some reknowned and some not-so-reknowned artistes of folk music.

Take Blondie, your average foreigner. One who has only seen the Karagattams (an art where holding the attention of the audience is second in importance to holding a pot on top of your head), Mayilattams (a dance which is supposed to make a peacock die in shame at its own inadequacy of the art, but at times kills it in disgust) and Kaavadiaattams (Carry a protractor-like device, equipped with the feathers of some unlucky peacock and exhibit your gymnastic skills) on TV and Tape and considers following it to be a matter of superior taste.

Blondie, who has been in India for only four months, but still yaps about how he has become one among the general public with his faulty imitation of the local dialect.

Blondie, who enters this tiny village hamlet thinking he is going to see rural india in its true shine and glory.

Take some stereotypical vadipatti village folk wearing veshtis (dhotis), striped half-shorts which are held at the waist by a red string, soiled loin cloth and other exotic ways of exposing oneself.

Give the stereotypical villager his favorite brand of fag: beedi - malabar, five flowers or chokkalal. Brand is not a criterion, but the stink is.

Have the s.t. villager hold a dirty glass with light colored frothy liquid purporting as tea.

Give the auditorium that familar smell of cow dung. So thick that you could actually touch it.

And amongst all this, throw our armani-wearing Blondie, who does not know that apart from these popular dance styles mentioned above, you have other fire-brand varieties of Aadu-Puliattams (A cruel depiction of a tiger killing goats, made only more cruel by applying litres of varnish and paint on some unsuspecting human being) and the ever popular "Flower stamping Festival" (A euphemism for walking/running on a bed of fire).

Seriously, What chance do you think an alien would have in such intimidating circumstances, when a man dressed like a tiger growls some 2 feet in front of him, asking for money and when half-dressed middle-aged man wearing a frock is dancing with a pot on his head, with his makeup heavier than a roller used in the english summer ??

Before you take pity on poor blondie, replace Vij. N. Krishnan with "Mudvayne", P.K. Samy with "Rob Zombie" and Paravai M. Amma with "Black Label Society". Replace the "Folk Arts Festival" with "Ozzfest 2005". Replace the veshtis, loin cloth and pin-striped underpants with t-shirts that swear aloud, denims that are torn around the knees & sporting a different colored patch around the thighs and leather pants with steel buttons. Replace the beedi with Weed, retain that similar stink. Replace the frothy liquid in the glass with another frothy liquid made out of barley. Replace blondie with the author. That should more or less summarise my first experience in a metal festival in the US of A.

I do not know which was startling: Was it to be to stuck in between two giants at 6'5" screaming "yeah baby yeah" or being few feet from a guy who has "White Pride" tattoed on his back ?? I think both of them were. Living in the bay area can give you a false sense of security that you are living in mylapore, because at times, the ratio of Indians to Americans can be alarmingly similar. The shoreline amphitheatre in Mountain View offered a different perspective. Turn around, look over, look under and Indians seem to be as far away from sight as India itself.

I had just entered the auditorium and "Mastodon" had left the stage. The prospect of not having seen Mastodon before getting killed in the arena was mildly disheartening. As I was pondering the list of things I could do in the last few hours of my life, Iron Maiden took to the stage. For the next 70 minutes, it felt like varnasi and the bodhi tree, only with Eddie hiding behind the leaves, with his evil smirk.

The amount of energy that maiden exude on the stage is quite unrivalled. In a metal-fest, with some 12 other bands playing on the same day, with only sixty minutes stage time and only a second billing to black sabbath, if they could manage so much creativity and music, i cant wait to watch a maiden show live. Scream. Shout. Show the sign. Head bang. Sing Along. Growl. And just when you think it cant get better, dickenson moved on to arguably one of maiden's best number lyrically and rhythmically - Hallowed be thy name. Steve, Bruce, Janick, Adrian, Dave and Nicko - Sirs, Indeed, I was hallowed :-).

Before the elated feeling of having seen maiden could wear of, there was someone else on stage. Ward, Butler, Ozzy and The master himself, Tony Iommi. 70 minutes. Sheer godsent music. What Ozzy missed with his voice, Ward, Butler and Iommi made with their instruments. As the time draws to a close, as everyone is waiting for the big ones, they come with a bang. A double whammy with "Paranoid" followed by "Children of The Grave". Again, scream, shout, only this time rip open your vocal chords to shreds.

As the concert gets over and the fear of getting out uncrushed and unscathed emerges , i think about my unwritten will which would pass my unearned riches to my unborn heirs, Bump, I ran into a 6'5"-er again. Yes, I can see him, and i can see his friends, all seemed to have come out fresh from the foundry. As i calculate my chances against a group of American Football player-likes, he says "Excuse me" in the politest tone imagineable like a padre and walks past. Talk about stereotyping people.

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...

A House - Two Doors

Door 1:

Showing around the US to a first-timer can be the easiest of things. Its the rough equivalent of taking someone who has only seen panagal park and airdrop him into jurassic park. One would see surprises regardless of which direction he/she turns. Or so joey thought. When a first-timer to the US landed last week, and joey had to show him around, he thought he could get away with showing him the nearest downtown and a few drives up or down the freeway. No, not when the traveller has spoken to others who have different priorities and stayed longer than joey has. It could've been far better if the powers-that-be in India had spun their stories on other worthwhile places, but they had to go ga-ga over Reno.

Reno, NV is a pretender. If Virender Sehwag is the next Sachin because he has a batting stance bearing a striking physical resemblance to sachin's, then yes, Reno is as good as Las Vegas. The problem with Reno is that she tries to emulate her elder sister Las Vegas, fails to realise LV is the Big Momma of 'em all, and by refusing to give up, falls with a resounding thud like someone pulled a dirty carpet from under her.

Reno has only one thing to offer the unsuspecting tourist apart from the faded walls, jaded people and dirty carpets. And that is Slot Machines. A lot of them. A real lot of them. A frigging sea of them spread across a huge block. Not that Joey is James Bond in disguise who can play blackgammon and trump the table, but he cant help but wonder the amount of brain activity involved in playing that slot machine.

step 0: Choose a nice looking slot machine - with a star wars theme (if you are under 15 years old) or a pamela anderson theme (if you are male).
step 1: Throw coin into dilapidated opening by the side of the slot machine.
step 2: Pull the lever
step 3: Give a constipated look at the slots
step 4: Slot machines goes rat-at-at-at-rat-at
step 5: If you are lucky it spews a few coins. If you are not, it doesnt burp.
step 6: remove your brain and replace it with a peanut and go back to step 1 to play again. But this time, choose another slot machine. Different theme, different busty-babe, but same mental challenge.

While their children are taking better vacations in Bali and Seychelles, A horde of old people with full wallets and empty eyes, sitting in front of those machines and seeing their lives disappear one second at a time. God, We all know Joey is Evil. We all know the biggest punishment you give someone is by making him/her die alone. But God, Please, Dont make him die with a slot machine.

Door 2:

Sam is an unassuming guy. In pretty much the same way as Idi Amin is a philanthropist. If its too cryptic, here is the real deal. Sam doesnt know/understand/experience this word called modesty. So when he started driving cars in the US, he made sure that it was on the news tickers on CNN. Sadly, he doesnt want to remember that its probably one of the easiest things to do in here. When Sam had to drive the traveller down to the City of Angels, he was all too thrilled to showcase his driving talent. What he didnt count on was that he would have to drive all the way alone to LA, in the night, on one of the notorious stretches of highways around, and when he is half asleep.

After close to 5 hours of intense three-way wrestling with crazy traffic and ghostly darkness, Sam managed to reach Los Angeles at midnight. The Angels seems to have taken a vacation and went back to eden leaving Los Angeles in our able hands, and mankind has surely done a good job to make it a nice entertainment spot. Los Angeles, City of Angels, City of Hollywood, and if i may add, The city with the highest percentage of thrill killing and highway shoot-outs according to wikipedia. Gulp.

Shooting seems to be like eating a pan after lunch. Someone overtakes you at a turn, Bang. Someone honks at you, Bang Bang. So the number of times when Sam had to allow a car tailing him to take the lead by inexplicably driving almost on the pavement cannot be written off as cowardice, but as sheer presence of mind or Sam's unwillingness in letting his body to be used as a sieve yet. About those countless time when he turned around quickly, almost ducking when the water bottles in the boot shook with a violent turn, you can call it reflexes. About all the times when he refused to make contact with the driver of the adjacent vehicle, even if it was a 70+ granny with phony teeth, well, call it anything since sam doesnt care anymore.

House:

What do you expect ?? Joey and Sam turning out to be alter-egos of Dent ?? Heck, you thought this is some kind of K. Balachander movie ??

Read on ... (at your own peril, obviously) ...