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.