Endless Affair....

Maybe if people are looking for synonyms for this word ‘Bibliomaniac’, they can put my name against it. Been completely addicted to books and the legs stop by itself if I pass through a bookshop, be it a roadside one or the airport one. My affair with books is an endless one.

Just that I can’t stop reading one, I can’t stop buying many too. Till I read Robin Sharma, the guilt of having so many books in the shelf that are unread was weighing heavily in my mind, but now I am OK. I have also started reading faster that I cram up more books per month than what I used to.

I have built more shelves in the recent past than anything else. And I was so obsessed about running out of books in a trip that I carry more books than what I can read in a month for a 2-day trip. Now I am better. Don’t stock that much in a tour. Just keep telling myself that if I run out of books, I can always buy one in that town and that prospect is even more enthralling.

So, last Sunday was no exception. Bought books as if the world is coming to an end that day or reading is going out of fashion the next day. But only on coming back I realized that I not only read books, but I read a huge variety of them. The topics range a fair span. Just to list what I bought on Sunday

• The Last Mughal (could be termed as History)
  
• Why men don’t listen and women can’t read maps (maybe sociology??)
  
• Thuppariyum Sambu (a collection of Humorous Sherlock type stories written in Tamil 50 years back)
  
• Restaurant at the End of the universe (sci-fi)
  
• Why men stray & men stay? (Once again sociological, psychological)
  
• Humour me (a book of Humour by an Aerobics practitioner)
  
• Bloods (a book on how African Americans were forced to fight the Vietnam war and how racially prejudiced the losses were)
  
• Reflections on a Gift of Watermelon pickle (collection of modern verses)

And, I just bought ‘In spite of Gods’ by Edward Luce a few days back, which is about Modern India. Earlier there used to be a thrill to have these kind of books in the shelf. More to show off about what all I read and have! But it helped in a way; I started reading many of them. And anyway I wasn’t letting people even see my books, as I was obsessed about not losing them. Now I am beyond all that, by this time people around me know of my addiction and hence no real need to show off.

But the point is, there are so many books that makes very interesting reading! The Net now has almost everything and it is my best companion at anytime and it helps me read better. (Otherwise how will you even know what is Anhedonia in the middle of the night). But they can never substitute books. There is a charm about printed books. And in the net, barring blogs, it is all information and nothing is opinion or an author’s thought, which is what books are.

And there is no feeling like getting a great bargain on a book of your favourite author or subject which no one in the world care to read.

Invaders

I had been reading this book ‘Last Mughal’ and I have mixed feelings when I read about the treatment meted out to Bahadur Shah Zafar. Sometimes I feel nauseating and angry at the audacity and inhumanness of the so-called civilized British. But sometimes I feel fairly blank as if I am reading a story.

As William Dalrymple says, the history about the 1857 riots is always one-sided depending on who writes about it. It is either a Mutiny if the British historians do the writing or the First War of Indian Independence if the RSS types write it. Truth is somewhere in between. It was a culmination of many events starting from religious unrest to urban riots.

Anyway, the riots ultimately happened to end as a power struggle for Delhi (a city according to Kushwant Singh has seen more blood on its streets than any other) and so everyone was ultimately marching towards Delhi to either defend it or win it. This is what is anathematic to the Hindu nationalists and to a great extent to me also. The Hindu nationalists could not bear the fact that people were rallying behind Bahadur Shah Zafar to restore the glory of Mughal Empire.

So am I unable to bear it, not because I am a Hindu myself. But because I could not understand the logic behind it!! What makes it ok to back the frail old king against the British?? Is it the frailness, lost glory, familiarity of an old foe than a new one, or is it the Stockholm syndrome?

According to me, both the Mughals and British are invaders. They never belonged to this land. They came from somewhere, claimed ownership and governed the country. Neither of them were religiously tolerant, though there will be claims about the British being so. Both had their interests foremost in their minds, which is the Indian wealth and the grace and charm of the land. Both believed that the locals were unfit to govern themselves and were infidels with their idol worship etc.

As much as the Mughals were willing to mix races, there had been British – Indian marriages too (it will make an interesting research to see the original cross marriages, the British were marrying the Muslims more than the real locals) The British that way were still unwilling to look at the natives, as the Mughals were willing to.

But the point is, as I said both were Invaders. Just because one did it 500 years earlier than the other, does not make it better or them as the rightful owner of the country. And what kind of loyalty or attachment would make the natives fight against the British to restore the Mughal throne I can’t fathom.

Reality is somewhere in the midst of all these. Bahadur Shah was more a figurehead in the first war. He was anyway incapable of rallying people for a cause, good or bad and as all Mughal Emperors were, he was more run by his Empress who was 50 years younger than him and he was smitten on.

But prompts me to think what kind of a tolerant society we are. Despite all the skills and power, even now we are being treated in a biased manner. There are match referees who punish a humble and true guy like Sachin and the Australians who are nothing but forest inhabitants go scot-free on all crimes they commit.

If Victors wrote History and they can get away with their crimes, then it is time to rewrite History. Because we are the Victors now and the Jallianwala Bagh’s and the 1857 Delhi riots were nothing but war crimes committed by the British.

We should be fighting these now; demand and get an apology from the throne and the Kohi-Noor back symbolically. Otherwise, in another few centuries we will have new masters and we can do what we do best. Be Slaves.

Bomb with me

These security checks are a big parody. Wherever it may be!! Airports, Software parks, Malls etc. Everyone employed in security agencies do their job mostly because they just want to do a job and not save lives etc. Afterall this is not an army job right?!

I can’t help but laugh at the insipid attempt to spot terrorists at these places. If these are the people we trust our lives to, then I have a huge issue. And if they really spot one and stop him, then the terrorist should be a fool of a first order himself.

I always secretly harbored a thought that the airport security guys are gays. Just imagine what a nice job then it would be. Day in and day out, keep on feeling someone. But that’s what they do precisely. A cursory feel-over and they know you don’t carry a bomb. Awesome, isn’t it?? These Einstein’s are what India needs.

Now this morning, I had a full experience of how silly security checks and arrangements can be. Last night I left my car at the office and got myself dropped home. Went to pick the car this morning. I asked my wife to come with me. I had my ID card and these guys won’t allow my wife with me.

And they deliberately employ people from deepest villages of Bihar, so that whatever you talk, you don’t strike a decent conversation with these higher primates. They insisted that I get a visitor’s pass for my wife.

I wrote a request form, saying that she is there to meet me and signed her name. And I was with her. These jokers stamped it and gave me. Bingo…

They do all these elaborate arrangements to check the car underneath with a mirror and all, but you can easily carry a bomb in the boot. That they wont open the boot. Afterall they want to really work hard to catch a terrorist.

Anyway, with that stupid visitor’s pass we walked through easily and no one after that checked us.

But my million-dollar question is that, how come they knew that my wife is a bomb??

Taxing Really

Come March, I have this peculiar problem. It is the taxes. Not what I have to pay. That’s all beyond redemption now. My issue is that the Tax guy at office shares my name. And the initials!!

I get mails after mails, giving some detail or other. And I am in a predicament always, whether to dutifully forward it or trash it. One part of the mind says, poor souls should be helped, as a few thousand bucks would mean a lot to them. But then, I can’t be coordinating on taxes for a 2000 strong company.

I usually junk them, because there is a separate mail ID for the tax guy, which is not his name. If someone is going to take extra care in finding out the wrong name and mail details, then they should be taxed.

Now it has gone one step further. They somehow get my mobile number and start discussing their tax problems. Well, I am not an expert in tax matters, but when a pretty young thing calls you and shares her woes, you can’t really ignore her. Can you? What will happen to chivalry then!!

But this time around, one PYT dialed my number, just called my name and said, ‘my mom wants to talk to you’. Now, PYT’s are one thing and their mothers are another thing. I don’t even talk properly with the mother of the PYT I live with (not exactly young, but ‘pretty old thing’ doesn’t sound complimentary and also the abbreviation comes as POT, and that will be a taxing problem for me at home, despite me genuinely meaning the first letter)

I started wondering who this mother could be?? And tax my brain to figure out what I did so bad to get a mother speaking with me and to whom. Anyway mercifully she started saying ‘I saw her LIC papers’ and then my heart went back from my mouth to where it belonged.

But I thought, if so many girls are going to be calling you, you might as well be a tax guy. So, either I am going to change my name now, or become an expert in tax issues and offer some consultations and get to know them better.

And start liking taxes!!!!

Meetings, Meetings, Meetings !!!

I am fed up with meetings really. Just because there are too many of them!! Life is one endless story of meetings. I will tell you why I am bugged about them.

Firstly, only around 20% of the guys have brains. Of that only half is positive and are willing to look at what should be done than what has happened in the past. Rest is Sherlock Holmes. To tell why things do not happen. And with no solution on what should be done if the situation is so bleak. That’s not their job. They will find out, that’s it. Someone else should solve the problem.

Ok somehow you can be Enlightened Zen monk and stand these 20% guys. Try to atleast stimulate their brains. Others are my big issue.

In that 80%, worst is the set that believes it has brains. Make one fantastic PPT, that I wonder what their job is?! Jokers should find a job at beauty parlors, as that’s the only thing you can see in their presentations. No content, absolute zilch in what they are supposed to say. And with the presumption of having achieved something really great!! And they will have backers too. Similar hare brained creatures.

And then the balance are ok, can be suffered. After all they disturb only the krackjack and coffee and busy with their sms.

And all of them invariably have the life-threatening issues spoken only at these meetings when they should have called attention long time back. And feel so cheated for having been made to operate in such conditions and still deliver.

And after all this, there will be reams and reams of paper minuting actions that will be opened only in the next meeting. No one will implement anything of what is spoken and agreed. And you will be called again for meeting for reviewing what we failed to do on the last meeting’s action points.

Normally I try to look at things humorously, but I am so bugged about meetings that I can’t see anything humorous at all.

Only wish I have, whichever place I go, heaven or hell, there are no meetings atleast there. Because in this lifetime, I think I am destined only for boardrooms.

Honey I shrunk myself

I am afraid I am shrinking in size :( It is kinda crazy. Haven’t yet bothered to find out when this happens. But I know it happens. Worst is that I expand too.

I say this because, my shirt size ranges from 40 to 42 at any given time. I was thinking that I was 42 and bought a lot in that size and suddenly felt it was hanging on me and I was walking inside the shirt before the actual walk. So, I shifted to 40, which seemed to be perfect, meaning both me and shirt was walking together.

Everyday it has become an ordeal. Like a man possessed I have amassed clothes and shoes. And me being as fashion conscious as an African tribe member, my wife goes through the ordeal really, when I have to choose what to wear. But despite my color blindness and lack of trendiness, I sure have an opinion about what’s good looking and what’s not. The issue gets compounded only here.

She will pick a pair, but that day would be a Size 40 day and I would look like a homeless bum in that dress. So, we have a huge ruckus about it and she ultimately gives up vowing not to be my fashion consultant anymore, till next day morning.

But I am a quick learner you see, so I label that pair as a bum pair and I don’t try that again, till curiosity gets the better of me. And when I do, if fits :( . This is what the issue is. I don’t know what size I am on which day. How can I even try hundreds of shirts before starting to office everyday?

Maybe I am wood and I expand in winter and shrink in summer. Or some such stupid stuff!!

Added to it, there are presuppositions about colors men should wear and what they should not. Pink, Lavender and such colors are crime I guess. But all my shirts have one line or shade of pink that it can be spotted only by the eagle-eyed women at office. And I don’t understand why on earth they make shirts of that color if we are not supposed to wear. I surely don’t buy them at Bollywood; the Van Heusen’s and the Arrow’s sell them.

There are many men who go through this issue and they solve it the best way possible. They wear whites & blues. I hate it. But, I don’t know why I feel eyes at my back when I choose an abnormal color to wear. Who cares afterall? It is my choice anyway.

But if the pressure gets too much to handle, I am gonna find a unique solution which surely would be unpalatable :P But that choice will be better than a Pink color, hanging shirt on a homeless bum.

Bridges of Madison County

I have never been so moved by a work of fiction as much as by reading ‘Bridges of Madison County’. I have seen the movie earlier and with Clint Eastwood being my most favorite director, I immediately fell in love with the movie. But, it was later I got a chance to read the book. Pretty late that was.

Somehow all through the book, I was feeling that I was there at Iowa watching Kincaid and Francesca go through the pains of love. It was as if, I was wanting to butt in at some point and say, ‘Guys, enough is enough, please get the f*** out of Iowa and go somewhere’. The pain was so terrible.




The book was just not about love between two people, but more about the pain of a parent / spouse who needs to make a choice between love of her life and the institution of marriage.

Marriage sometimes gets into inertia. A protracted custom! All marriages, or for that matter all relationships are susceptible to that. Custom brings predictability and thus comforts. So it is a kind of internal struggle between comfort and breaking the monotony. The reasons that Francesca gives are so very right that even the last Cowboy ‘Kincaid’ could do nothing but yield.

The last letter is a work of art and I don’t think there could be a more tearful and honest account of oneself expressed elsewhere anytime. Somehow I was also moved because I felt I saw a lot of similarity between myself and Kincaid that the book appealed to my inner senses more than any other book.

Like Kincaid I also

Value Privacy and am a loner by nature
Like Dogs and Outdoors
Mourn about the loss of “free range”
Occasionally write
Believe that am an artistic and intelligent soul
Always wanted to play a guitar like him, but yet to though.

I feel can also call myself a Last Cowboy. The book is so earthy and characters are ordinary who actually grow big later because of the deeds they do or what they stand for at the end.

Robert James Waller could not reproduce this magic again, though ‘Slow Waltz in the Cedar Bend’ was fairly close, only issue being that the book runs for 30 more pages after the story ends.

The epilogue he attempted for ‘Bridges’ through ‘ A Thousand Country roads’ was a disaster. As it is, if you have landed up with your magnum opus on your first work of fiction, you are going to fall flat in the other works. But choosing to do an epilogue is actually suicide.

I felt like I lost Kincaid in that book. He was not the same guy he was in Bridges. The only romantic moment being the potential chance meeting of Francesca and Kincaid at the Roseman Bridge, which never happens and the tragedy is mercifully allowed to continue.

As Times aptly reviewed the book, ‘Roads has none of the pounding passion of Bridges but twice the pathos--it's a book about aging, a reprise in a minor key. Or put another way, it's less about the bridges, and more about the water under them."

Aromas

Aromas of tenancy is a special thing. A home has a nice & warm smell. That’s what keeps them special. It could be anything, starting from the Phenyl in the floor, to the smell of food, flowers, burnt wick from the pooja room, oil paints in the kid’s room, room freshener, soap, powder, perfumes and sometimes even the discarded socks. : )) But that’s what makes a home.

Compare it to an unoccupied house or an office building. I remember a distinct smell of ledgers in my father’s office still. Or the lack of smell at some offices!!

An unoccupied building just smells of fresh paint and gives an eerie feeling to me. It keeps reminding that there are no people yet in that place.

Smell has a very deep association inside the mind. I have had some very bad experiences with incense sticks, because we once burnt dozens of them to keep away the smell of a friend who drowned to death. I used to hate it for ages. Or the antiseptic smell of clinics and hospitals remind me of my first job as a medical representative and the tyrannical Boss I had then. Or, I get a very warm feeling when I come across the smell of a burnt wick when I enter home, which somehow is a kind of a reassurance to me that God is around somewhere. Or the smell of the salty sea that reminds me of home if I am away somewhere. Or the soil’s smell just before it rains that is typically Madurai for me! Thank goodness I liked Chemistry that I withstood Ammonia and the professors.

I still get a sense of deja vu when I use a particular perfume I had while I was at college. Suddenly your mind is transported to distant places and time and all the happiness and miseries associated with that time. The air of Kodaikanal is filled with eucalyptus and as we climb up, before a few miles and invariably I get a smile in my face.

Even today, I go out to the terrace to get a few flowers of a variety of jasmine we grow and put them near the AC. I can still tell from miles away, the fragrance of ‘Lily of the Valley’ that my wife used when she was in college. : ))

When I was in Pattaya recently, whenever I crossed a firang I had this peculiar smell, which later I discovered as sunscreen lotion.

But nothing gives me greater pleasure than the fragrance of a baby mixed with the smells of baby powder, lotion and a uniqueness that is only babies’.

I douse myself with perfumes & aftershaves before I leave home and after I reach home as if I am man possessed with it. For me, it’s all about how it plays in my mind. And I bet I can even be hypotinised with the right fragrances. Pretty dangerous!!

A Walk to Remember

I was very happy with my psycho-thrillers as I decided earlier. I vowed not to touch James Redfield and other brain stimulating writings. These psycho-thrillers were fitting the bill perfectly. Stories of badly mutilated bodies in car trunks suit me fine!! As long as I don’t get into analyzing the dark side of human minds that would do such stuff.

And then, I screwed it up. Picked up Nicholas Sparks’ “A walk to remember”. He along with Erich Segal, Robert James Waller owns the patent for lachrymal glands of all the English reading human beings in the world. They normally pick 10000 words, take a tank full of tears, dip each word into that tank and then print them.

My wife can actually cry at the excitement of Beauty Contest winners. And with these books around at home, I sleep in a swimming pool everyday.

The story by itself is fine, in fact I would say too good even. Almost like ‘Bridges of Madison County’. Written so very well that, you will get out of home and fall in love with the first monkey you meet in the street. Love is so glorified. Am not against love stories as such, I like them and two of the authors mentioned are my favorites too.

But these stories appeal to you, as per your state of mind while reading. If you are really cheerful and happy and in love, such stories stoke your imagination so highly and you start falling in love all over again. But, if you are in a depressive mood, you really start getting irritated about such glorifications.

Anyway, the worst is that, the book turned kinda preachy. God, Bible, Letters to Ephesians, Book of Job and stuff like that. And that was precisely I was running away from. But, on the whole, Nicholas Sparks has a wonderful style of narration; he almost speaks with you and makes you a feel a part of what’s going on. In a right frame of mind, he would appeal to the deepest of your senses.

Finished the book cover to cover in a Chennai – Mumbai flight and now happily back to Jonathan Kellerman’s book called ‘Monster’. It’s about a prophetic loony house murderous inmate. And all his colleagues are big time killers. Now that’s my kind of story!!

Going to Ibiza

Come March, the buzz starts at home. My elder daughter’s motivation to go through the final examinations is the ensuing holiday trip.

Every year, first there will be a list of exotic destinations that will drawn up. And the Internet will be researched for all the great places we can go and we can do. All places look great in the Net. I am sure about that.

But what looks better is the sparkle in my folks’ eyes. They are already there in mind. They are already choosing the dresses and making up the shopping list.

My daughter though this time, has grown older. Nonchalantly & unilaterally she decided to go to Malaysia, Singapore. Don’t know whether I am invited yet. But she is going nonetheless. : )) She has scouted for the best deals, pushing me to endorse it.

Actually there is nothing like being on a holiday trip with the kids. It is a pain for my wife though. With the constant crease in her forehead on what will the younger one eat, waking them up, readying them and what not? Used to think that she never has a real holiday herself.

That will be the day, we all leave on a holiday and she stays at home. Maybe that’s the best holiday for her.

Saving Faith

It is slightly a long gap considering the recent spate of postings that I do in the blog. Was for once, totally occupied mind and body in activities that needed me. Started a few, left in between, just because I didn’t get the 15 minutes that I need to write or someone has something to ask me. Now lets make it up.

Last evening, I was in two school functions, both of them in contrast to the other. One was my daughter’s, which is an international school with children of many nationalities performing for an aptly thematic program called ‘Colors’. Another was my wife’s school, where she and many others have toiled to train ‘special children’ to perform on the stage.

I could not help but wonder about the divide between these two and also about the cruelty of God.

The first one is a pompous and rich show, so much so that we as parents had to pay 500 bucks to see our own kids performing. No photo’s, videos allowed as if it is a military secret, the real ugly reason behind it being, footage is a serious money making opportunity. Some of the patrons of the school would be potential BCCI office-bearers.

And it was also a stark reminder of how culture & civilization does not grow with money. Mine, a Chevrolet was the smallest car, then you could imagine how rich the parents are. But, they too behave like illiterates by blocking seats for someone else who will walk in late. Absolutely silly, after all any parent would be keen to see his/her child performs. Nonetheless, the show by itself was amazing, what with all the kids in myriad hues and various stages of reproducing the newly learnt art. When one sits, the other one will stand, when one looks at the right, the other will look at the left. But the imperfection in their performance was what so very appealing and on the whole, we had a gala time.

Next was my wife’s school day, where special children performed. These kids are either Autistic, mentally retarded or with some learning disability. Now, it is almost next to impossible to make them listen to you. I keep seeing it when my wife takes them for coaching at home. Very tough to make them reason out, follow logic or even get them interested in doing anything. But, music has a universal appeal and all of them somehow are interested in performing for music.

Considering their disabilities, it was a great show and the enthusiasm they showed was unparalleled. Some of them were even over enthusiastic and could not stop what they were doing.
It was a touching moment when all the teachers who made this a reality come up on the stage at the end for ‘Healing the World’.

It kind of made me feel very sad to look at the parents, who were confused between emotions of whether to enjoy their child’s performance or about why they had to suffer with these disabilities. It is at these moments I start questioning Faith. These people invariably go back to God asking for mercy and consideration. But should not they be equally angry with Him for having made them go through this unhappiness. Why were they chosen amongst the millions? Why should they even save their faith???

But, almost as if there is an unwritten answer given by God then and there, we see hundreds of people who had come forward sponsoring and helping the school and the kids. God has been greatly magnanimous in sprinkling kind-hearted people all over the place and almost in the right places too. This is some design!!!

I can always hear my mom let out a sigh of relief and cry a bit, whenever she talks about us. Being a big family, the last few of us were really unwanted. So, in the first trimester, our mom had tried her best home remedies to get rid of us, but we being we, stubborn even as an embryo, refused to be eliminated. And then, she says it was a very painful time for her for the next 6 months thinking whether we will be out as a full baby, physically and mentally. She was always scared that her misadventures would result in some handicap in us. Mercifully it was not to be.

Now I thank God, just for letting us live in this planet with no disabilities, leave alone money, fame and happiness.

Selective Hearing

Looks like the ear has a mind of its own. You only want to hear what you want to. Maybe the mind trains the ear to do so.

Somehow everyone hears the bad stuff only when you speak and you hear only the good stuff of what you want to hear. Real Murphy’s law stuff.

If I murmur that her saree looks like a curtain cloth, my wife can hear it loud and clear. But not once she has heard what I say as something that should be done. I never can understand how that can happen.

People have a tendency to smell disastrous stuff and hear what you really don’t mean. It happens with everyone. There are guys at office, who can keep asking me what they want, but never hear what I want.

My daughter can get glued to TV and never hear what I say. But do you think its good? She can jump at something I say which I am not supposed to.

You generally float around in the world, training the ears to listen to potential nuclear fission information, sharpening them to pick up bad news, which even CIA & NASA are still trying to perfect yet.

Come to think of it, I guess we all are insecure ourselves, that deep in our mind, we keep saying that, what we do, wear, act is not good and sniff around for such comments.

Am not like that though!!! I don’t hear the bad comments and that’s the issue with people around me. They can’t understand how no advice ever gets into my head and am so self-centered. A different kind of 'Selective hearing'

Women in Kollywood

You can classify the roles women actors get in Tamil movies in a fairly simple way. They are either mothers or sisters or vamps or lovers.

Nothing can glorify a mother, like Tamil movies. There is so much of sentiment that is displayed that it is nauseating. They are the embodiment of all good virtues and gets treated badly in the climax to get the hero realize his courage, stand up and fight. All of them I suspect will be paid some 100 litres of glycerine as salary. Because they cry, cry and cry and make the whole cinema hall slippery and wet. They will love their sons so very much and invariably get a bad husband as a deal. It’s like saying ‘ You want a good son, then you can’t choose having a good husband too’. They need not worry too much about it, because the sons anyway carry them, bathe them, feed them food and cry with them, when the going gets tough. This is irrespective of the fact of whether they are rich or poor. The most died character in movies and provide tremendous scope for the sick & graphic scene of cremation.

Sisters are the next. If there was one hero who doesn’t love his sister, then he is a Martian or something like that. Their primary KRA is to get molested by the villain, secondary KRA is falling in love with a bad guy. The second gives tremendous scope for the hero to display his sacrificing abilities, as he will fall at the feet of the bad guy and suffer indescribable insults to demonstrate his love for the sister. The sisters can also sometimes be helpful in having friends who can be loved by their brothers. Sometimes they may die for the cause of the storyline including some gory fights. They are banned from wearing sexy clothes and mostly will be seen in a half-saree.

Lovers are the worst. Atleast the sisters & mothers can pretend to have a useful role. They may contribute to the movie’s progress, by crying, dying, getting raped etc. But this lover character is the ultimate. Invariably she will be a rich & arrogant girl who gets humbled by a 3rd standard dropout of a hero. The guy would have nothing to charm her, but she still would be charmed. Will get some scope for flying out to exotic locales and do some jigs in stupid Indian costumes in a very cold Scandinavian country. They will be an epitome of vulgarity and they get handsomely paid just because they do some intimate scenes with a stinking hero. I think a percentage of their earnings will go into makeup stuff for their public appearances. Couple of times I have seen a few of them without makeup and my kids were mighty scared.

My choice always is the vamps. Invariably they are most good-looking, sexy and they carry some attitude. They care a damn about guys, and treat them like a piece of dirt. Some of them screw this up, by turning good gals in the end. But most don’t. They stick to their bad virtues, have a super cool time, don’t get raped, don’t dance around trees like monkeys, wear awesome costumes and freak out totally.

There are rare, very rare exceptions where women will be something in Tamil movies, but even in that they will somehow contrive to find a guy with better virtues.

So my toast for the ‘Women’s Day’ is for all the vamps, in and out of the silver screen.

Emptiness

There is this sudden blankness again. Not about what to write or stuff like that. Some kind of emptiness on the whole!!

This keeps happening every now and then. It will appear like everything is going well and suddenly nothing will mean anything anymore.

I think life keeps moving forward in a continuous march towards some deadline, goal post or an event. If something was to happen, lets say a week from now, the entire time preceding that moves with a sense of purpose towards that event.

It could be a B’Day that is coming up, or a holiday or a meeting. Something to stay focused at, for the next few days. When there is nothing of that sort, the emptiness creeps in and rears its ugly head.

Maybe this happens because the regular life looks too mundane and flat, that you have to set some artificial milestones to look forward to.

But everytime, you look back and realize that there is so much time that has passed through, you get a feeling that life is willing to go on without your participation.

I am wondering what will happen if I really chase my dream and get into an idyllic village, doing nothing and try to spend time reading and writing. On hindsight, it looks like a very depressive situation.

I think I should stop reading James Redfield, Paulo Coelho, Robert Fulghum and Robin Sharma for a while. Life sometimes is better off without thinking about God, Philosophy. Just not think too much and keep running it simple and straightforward

Home Theatre

“All the world is a stage” is what Shakespeare said. And when your world is just home, the home becomes the stage & theatre unto itself.

Now my home, or what I call as home are all of 3 other people. My wife and 2 other wonderful daughters. There are many other characters too in my stage. But these three are the protagonists.

Each one a different character by themselves! My youngest is the best of the lot. Most times, I think she is a pantomime. And someone holds the strings somewhere to move this lovely puppet. Her roly-poly has me in splits and the eyes are a revelation. I wonder whether we can ever get that innocence and brightness ourselves again. Her eyes speak a million words. And one charismatic smile that will sweep you off the feet! How can such small non-speaking part in a stage make such a profound impact beat my imagination greatly! She will appear as if, if love had a form walking around, it would look like her. And the pantomime’s role is not all humor and love. You should see the anger in her eyes when we say something she doesn’t like.

Next in line, is an advanced pantomime. The elder one, with her childishness and an inherent motherliness is all you need in life. You don’t know what to love really, her childishness or the resemblance of your wife whom you stopped saying you love. Or some parts of you as a stupid kid that you seem to love yourself about! She has a world and stage of her own and I am probably a speaking part in that, albeit beyond his prescribed dialogue.

The hero of the stage is my wife really. Did someone tell you that there are only 9 different emotions in a person? If you find that guy, let me tell you, beat him to death. The sheer range of emotions she can display will put Marlon Brando and Sivaji to shame. And the fact that, emotions are displayed in a very logical manner is a fallacy. I told you before; a leaking tap is my villain (always believed I was worth more). Afterall you don’t get to direct the play. You just play a surprise part with no pre-defined dialogue and script. And if you think your actions will only elicit an appropriate emotion, then again you are a fool. The stage today is different buddy. Learn that first!!!

And for me, did I say I have a role?? I just was self-indulging. Humoring me. A clown needs inspiration afterall. I am more a spectator and a stand-up comedian who never really stands up. : ))

Disclaimer

“Whatever I write, is purely a figment of my imagination and in no way resemble any living thing. And resemblance, if any is purely coincidental”.

Well, I am forced to put this disclaimer on my blog. My wife has been threatening to leave me, if I continue writing all stupid stuff. (well, its again a joke, don’t ask me why I am not jumping at the offer)She says that, on me making such a drama out of the incidents and a character out of her, which is completely ‘out of character’ of her.

One of our uncles in all his books writes in first person narrative and main characters in the books are an existent wife and a non-existent brother-in-law. Thocchu & Kamala are fixtures in all his books.The only thing that is really common about the character and the real Periamma is just the name. I just could not imagine then, how she became fodder for his humor. Now I can. You just pick a personality and make humor. That’s it!!

And humor is mostly exaggeration or over-simplification. Something out of place in real world!! Like Disney’s four -legged creatures walking in two legs and talking. Or a misplaced word in a most opportune time, or a right word in the most inopportune time!!

Not all humorists are PG Wodehouse’s, who to quote one of the other uncles, ‘Had a logic in humor".Honestly, the criminal in the blanket stuff could be me. But then, the blog is mine too. Hahahaha…

So, please, please, let the planet understand, what I write is just a figment of my imagination and any resemblance, if any is purely coincidental.

But how come, it resembles someone I know is a million dollar question that bugs me consistently. :))

Tom & Jerry

I had been getting rave reviews on what I write these days. Particularly the ones I write about women, the difficulty in marriage, being a male etc.

Now I don’t take them to my head and bloat in ego. I completely understand that it is not about writing; it is because I seem to touch an emotional chord with my fellow males.

There are many males in this cruel world, who seem to suffer the same fate as I do. But the male pride is not allowing them to bitch and moan about the fight for a blanket! Or betray their incompetence in dealing with simple and straightforward problems in real life.

Problem with a dealer?! Ok no issues, it will be handled! Haggling for the best deal?! OK no issues, it will be handled! Odd time of the night, something is stuck, absolutely no issues, we have the mindset of Zen Buddhist monk. Nothing ruffles a male mind.

Males are a walking encyclopedia of ‘How to fix things yourself’. But for God sake, don’t ever think ‘things’ include owning a blanket, understanding your partner of 20 years, growing up etc. These are unreal things. Stuff for aliens to handle!

We, men can just probably fix business problems, but not the one in an apartment complex. Can sweet talk colleagues into doing the unthinkable, but not daughters into accepting what we say.

We men would know what is right and what is wrong in office. But have we ever dressed decently, or have we bought the right vegetable? My dad, visited subzi mandi’s all his life, but the brinjals he bought never met my mom’s approval for 50 long years. He will innocuously say to mom ‘She (the vendor) told the brinjal will be good’ and cut an extremely sorry figure. The incredulous look that my mom gives him, which would say ‘How can this man be so naïve’, while he had 100’s of people waiting to serve him and for his word!!!

I am certain that all women think that the entire corporate world should be full of fools, to hire nincompoops like us and pay us money too.

There are completely two different worlds that exist. One of males and another of females! And sometimes they are like anti-universe to each other.

And it should rate as the greatest wonder of the world that we can’t co-exist without each other. Like Tom & Jerry!!

Blanket Business

I just imagined myself being interviewed in a show for couples, and asked what is the worst thing about marriage. My answer was waiting in my lips as if the question was leaked earlier.

It has got to be sharing a blanket. That is the worst. Nothing compares to it. Any other discomfort in a marriage can be put up with. Can be compromised. But not the blanket for sure!!

Think about this, you are a person who is a born insomniac. I know you can be. Because one of my friends during a surgery, after being administered the anesthetist’s concoction was asked to count 1,2,3, which is the normal practice to put them to sleep. When the doc came back, he was counting some 1000 or so. Certain people just can’t go to sleep. I am one like that, with the only exception being flights.

Now you understand the difficulty I undergo to sleep. On a typical day, when at last after a battle of about 2 Hrs I doze off, I wake up with my toes getting chilled. An extremely feline & gracious movement of my wife in the bed would have just rearranged the blanket. And there it goes. Another 2 Hrs of battle again!!

And the next time around, the movement will not be that feline. A sudden tug at your side of the blanket, you start all over again.

When you get lucky again and sleep, there will be a violent action that will completely take your blanket off. And to add to the misery, it will be firmly tucked underneath her and you may have to enlist the help of Arnold Schwarzenegger to really get your rightful share of the blanket.

After such battles with your wife, around the wee hours of the morning when you manage to doze, you will have one of your grievous sins creeping into the bed. I mean the kids here. I don’t know who on earth teaches the kids to sleep horizontally in a bed.

Even in the extreme good fortune conditions of having vertically sleeping kids, the size of them is too small that they are sunk inside the huge blanket and basic survival instinct for such a small creature would make the blanket being pushed down to suit their body.

Now the toes will be laughing at the torso like a villain with room temperature IQ, as if meaning to say ‘I know you will get your turn before the night ends’

Those days, when the huge battle ends and I start sleeping, I will have my dog licking me in the face warmly & sounding like a pregnant cat as it is her time to get out.

I will tell you what; this time around I figured a solution. I am going to buy a blanket, take it to the best tailor in town and ask him to stitch it around me, head to toes. And sleep under the bed…

Spam, Self Esteem & Humpty Dumpty

Everyday I get spammed to glory. Some of them improve my self-esteem to an unbelievable extent.

Who on earth will just like that grant a loan of some .3 Million dollars for a mortgage? Or for that matter, Nigerian kings bequeathing millions of dollars for an unknown Tambram should be something, isn’t it?

And the marriage bureaus making me feel like I am an eligible bachelor all over again. Malls selling me gifts for all kinds of festivals, Jobs pouring breaking the skies. There is one guy who says ‘start earning the salary you deserve’, as if I don’t want to!!

The sheer range of offers screaming at you like ‘ you have the freedom to choose’ etc, makes you feel almost like you are a king and your self-esteem shoots through the roof.

But the ones that chase me no end, is on improving my performance, you know in what? Starting from extensions to staying power, there is a solution. Looks like whoever has used their services should be doing something the whole day with time for nothing else. That’s the promise they make.

In the midst of all this, there could be a mail from your spouse asking you to do a certain stuff which will get missed and then all these spammers together also cannot help you any which way. And you are nothing but Humpty Dumpty.

Laissez-faire

Just got prompted to write this, when I received a ‘forward’ this morning about what a man should do to please a woman. The list was some 53 items long. Starting from being a friend to being a plumber. :))

And it also ends up saying what should a woman do to please a man. The answer is pretty straightforward and simple. ‘Leave him alone’

OK, I am not being sexist here. But having said that, I think all men are invariably sexist as much as women being sexy.

I could not help but wonder about the truth in the statement though, no debate about the 53 items. For a man, the best you can do is leaving him alone. That’s when he is at his happiest. Read in the book, ‘Why woman cry and men lie’ about how our brains are hard-wired differently for millions of years that any attempt now to change it will only be futile.

It comes from the need of men going out to hunt those days and it warranted total silence, lest the game gets scared away. So, even when you are amongst a group of people, if you are a man, you never spoke. (Unless there is too much beer in the system, but then there is nothing called as ‘too much beer’)

On the contrary, women were never sure about the return of the partners that they felt it was imperative to socialize. So, even after millions of years, men speak 1/4th of the number of words in a day as women.

There are funny examples about how men can spend 4 to 5 hrs with a friend and still not collect any worthwhile information about his life, family etc. Maybe that comes one own ‘Leave me alone’ attitude.

I hunted whole of Pattaya to buy a T Shirt that said ’Leave me alone’. I can’t help but marvel at the truth of the statement so.

Sometimes gems of revelations happen through mere forwards!!