Archive for the ‘avala nirutha sollu’ Category

Home

August 10, 2009

Driving home from work, I was mesmerized by the darkness of the roads. They were blankets of black, straight and winding (what are the odds!) at the same time. The rhythmic hum of the engine and the radio kept distracting me from the thought of beer and chips I’d have after I got home. Beer is harmless, easy on the liver and lands on the stomach like fluffy flowers. Soft like a newborn’s cheeks, the head of a North Indian who eats dosai with knife and fork, and soft porn.

An idiotic woman driver cut into my lane and an iPod punk took his own sweet time to cross the road, making me miss the green. Just as I got the green again, another idiot pedestrian jumped out from nowhere. I motioned him to go ahead and he smiled at me. That is when I realized how much I feel at home here. This is my home. I live, work, sleep, shit and drink here. This city is as comforting as a mother taking care of a baby, spinning a cocoon of warmth and coolness at the same time, maintaing thermal equillibrium. It shelters and houses me, like Michael Jackson took care of teenage kids.

I am not quite given to homely sentiments. But this city is same and different as Madras, yet it is 8600 miles away.

Advertisements

Ilk

August 7, 2009

Maha is going green not with recycling but with envy that a woman commended Sriram on sticking to his Brahmin roots. Maha blamed kali yugam (not the Prabhu film one hopes) and suggested writing about the woman and her ilk who agree with the views presented on that blog. Consider the below carefully:

1. Someone thinks that “views” are presented on Being/Empty Hip Flask
2. The insinuation that anyone would agree/disagree with those views.

Presumably, the ilk consists of people with earthy appetites. After all, who can have bigger appetites and who can be more earthly than people from the erstwhile Thanjavur district? Mangayarkarasi would write in her travelogues about the open gutters, dinosaurs pretending to be mosquitoes, outbreaks of filaria and the overpopulation of Iyengars, distinctive of — if not unique to — Kumbakonam.  But that would be unfair to the people of Kumbakonam. Someone should confiscate her free Railway pass and Internet.

ii

July 21, 2009

The American fixation with doing things together as a family and spending time together in the process often puts a Thamizh man in quandary. If the wife is pregnant, he has to go through all of the following:

Take the wife for long walks in the evenings presumably to ensure suga prasavam, sit through excruciating birthing classes, watch videos of women in labor and practice the “ha ha ha hoo” breathing patterns. He has to arrange for “surprise” baby showers with his desi colleagues and friends : rotis, samosas and dahl from the friendly neighborhood gujju lady, fanta in styrofoam cups, a handycam for the video and a still camera for creating a picassa album, all make up for the seemandham. He has to put up with visiting in-laws who always seem to have something to complain about — how teens wearing tweeny shorts portend apocalypse. He has to drink his whisky in the car and trash the bottle before entering the house. As if that weren’t enough, he has to constantly assert that his education is world class and comparable to that of their friends’ kids who went to Stanford and Sloan. He has to stand by the wife’s bedside as she goes through the labor and later learn the craft of changing diapers.

Instead, he’d prefer the time honored tamizh tradition : Send the wife to her porandha veedu after the Seemandham, savor old monk, chilli chicken and adult video at home. Upon receiving a telegram that instructs him to ‘start immediately’, board the mofussil bus to see his wife and the newborn. Some oranges and a bottle of Horlicks would affirm his love for them both. He’d come back and go again in about 4 months time to fetch the kid and the wife. By then the child is old enough to be held and bounced. The kid’s bladder and bowel activities follow a pattern and could even smile when tickled. This way, the not-so-cute part of the parenting process is neatly hidden from him.

Ngotha.

Travelogue

July 9, 2009
Mangayarkarasi, wife of Senthilnathan, a Lower Division Clerk in Southern Railways, has traveled the length and breadth of Tamil Nadu with her husband’s free Railway pass. Her travelogues establish how refined and well-traveled she is. In short, she travels and she can write.
 
————————8<———————————
Of all the places that I have been to, Pulichamorepatti stands out as prominently as the race of the current President of the United States. Situated 20 miles from Neikarapatti, Pulichamorepatti is not one of your run-off-the-mill towns near Madurai. This town does not have a rice mill at all. It is further enriched by the complex tapestry of traditional and modern values.

In Pulichamorepatti, the shopkeepers are disinclined to serve you the goli soda and kathiri beedi for free. Your Amex Delta Skymiles card means nothing to them. The women are buxom with an overpowering stench of love juices and sweat. A railway track runs through the middle of the village and is lined with dried shit.

There is also a modern twist to the otherwise rustic life. Davani clad teen girls who work at the nearby tannery giggle in the morning as they board the minibus. The repressed sexual tension between the girls and the lungi wearing youth is evident. May be a couple will sneak into the maanthoppu later in the evening. The local BSNL tower, (pictured below) has become a part of the village landscape just like the banyan tree and the striped jamakkalam have been for ages.

 

tower

(I will be posting about the bedazzlement caused by the amazing network of intriguing extra marital relationships and the rampant underage sex.)

–Mangayarkarasi, w/o K. Senthilnathan.

Chivas Regal 12 yo

May 26, 2009

The first time I went to India as a visiting NRI, I was smuggling three bottles of Chivas Regal and a bottle of wine. I had come up with a brilliant idea to fool Indian customs: tucking the three bottles full into my unwashed Wal-Mart jeans. Ha Ha. Since then, I have delivered several bottles of liquor into India and several more Chivas Regals  into my gut.

Notes: Initially, smells and tastes of caramel, fruits and chocolate. Then, wood, oak and charred vegetable till the finish. Very diverse, complex and mature.

Cheetah

May 20, 2009

The site of the Battle of York in the War of 1812 is the city that hosts the most number of Thamizhs outside South Asia. No thanks to another war spanning three decades. When I was living in the Madras of the West, I was regularly warmed by the instant affection Sri Lankan Thamizhs show for Indian Thamizhs. I also get cooled by a beer that is locally brewed and named after a cousin of the Tiger tiger. Cheetah.

Notes: Honey, old grain, malt and corn. Smooth and crisp at some moments, weak and  flat at others. Better than many North American beers, I’d think.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

March 31, 2009

Marta Kauffman must be having a wonderful sex life — she fucks my nimmadhi and sandosham every evening. In keeping with the recent fad of not letting a crisis go waste, I have developed three business plans.

1. Buy all seasons of the crappy sitcom, all the trillion episodes, replace laughter track with boos. Or develop a system of embedding video tags and insert a sarcasm tag in all laughter tracks.

2. Build a time machine, go back in time and kill her.

3. File a class action suit and retire with my share of the spoils.