Tuesday, Mar 31

Fuck!

Requiem

I wish I'd known you better.

I wish I had flirted shamelessly with you some more.

I wish I had seduced you and broken your heart into a million pieces.

I wish we had argued and debated.

I wish we sat on your terrace and spilled gyan and secrets over juice.

Anything but this.

To Arjun Vasudev, truly one of the nicest and most gentlemanly boy I ever knew. You deserved to have lived for a lot longer. I will miss all the things I never got to do with you. Be at peace brother!

Cabin Fever

My first real highway drive. I can barely sleep with fear but I convince myself One's gotta do what One fears every month or so to feel alive. (doesn't the blue-line test count?)

5:30 am - bleary eyed and bushy tailed, with tonnes of supplies, we load up the car and roll out of the front gate.

5:50 am - Dad gives me wrong directions and we make a ten min, 7 km detour. He checks his watch every 5 secs and tut tuts. (you meant 'tutu-tutu', didn't ya?)

6:30 am - We hit the highway post buses and I clock an average of 100.

10:30 am - We cross Hosur. Trouble starts.

Dad (in front seat right next to me) - Shit, I think we missed the Ashok Leyland plant. How'd we miss it? Its supposed to be huge.

Me (grimly driving with concentration) - Why do we need to see the plant?

Dad - I cant believe we missed it.

Me - Whats the landmark?

Dad - How'd we miss it?

Me - Why do we need the plant?

Dad - You think it was on my left and not my right?

Me (yelling) - Why is Ashok Leyland plant important? Is it the landmark?

Dad - Maybe we aren't there yet but there's the check post. I think we missed it.

Me (a little calmer) - Ok, so what am I supposed to do after the Ashok Leyland plant?

Dad - Nothing. It was supposed to be here. You think its further up.

Me - Sigh!

10:50 am - We're on Sarjapura Road. My star navigator dad, has a whole bunch of messy directions. {messy directions...i remember the time a certain somebody (i won't say who but her name sounds like swam, without the 'w') wanted to reach Tidel Park from Adyar. She took the Besant Nagar-Kalakshetra-Tiruvanmiyur-OMR road. Summin abt the genes..}

Dad - Get on the right and 3 kms down at the circle take a left. There'll be a lake on both sides of the road, then take a right and you'll see the foodworld. Their flat is the next building.

Me - Ok.

3 mins later

Dad (on seeing a bike trying to just get by) - Son of a Bitch. Dont let him go. Push him off the road.

Me - Appa, calm down.

Dad (yelling) - These Bastards wont let you go, why dont you listen to me, run him off the road.

Me - Stop yelling so near me you're making me nervous.

Dad (yelling at the oblivious motorist) - Motherfucker, why dont you use the fucking shoulder, why are you on our road?

Me (yelling) - Stop yelling.

Mum (in the backseat, yelling) - Stop yelling, you're irritating her.

3 mins later

Dad - I think we're lost. We passed 3 kms, you're not there. Lets stop and ask for directions.

Me - If X said 3 kms, he doesnt have an internal ticker, lets just go for another 2 mins.

30 secs later

Dad - We're lost.

Me - Sigh. So get down and ask for directions.

Dad (rolls down window & yells) - Varathur (name of town)

Passerby (unintelligble) - hogi halli (and a whole bunch of kannada words we didnt understand)

Me - Why dont you get down and ask?

Dad - You get down and ask!

Me (yelling) - I'm driving.

Dad (yelling) - I'll ask this way to a hundred people you just drive.

Me (yelling) - But you havent got any directions. At least call and speak to X and get directions.

Dad takes my phone, fumbles, cant unlock it.

Me (yelling) - Dammit, how hard it is to press a couple of buttons and unlock it?

Dad (yelling) - Stop getting irritated, we'll go when we go now, just keep driving.

Me (yelling) - Why am I driving straight if I am not sure its the right way?

Dad (yelling) - Unlock your phone.

Mum (yelling) - Stop yelling at her.

Me (yelling) - Here, just call X

Dad calls X, describes name of every board, X unsure and reiterates original directions.

Dad - Stupid man cant give proper directions. Your whole country is fucked. Why cant the educated here ever talk properly? Why dont your roads have any signs?

Me - What'd he say?

Dad - Nothing of any value.

Me - Why can I hear some talking? Did you hang up the phone.

He did not.

Me - Sigh.

5 mins later.

Dad - I think we're lost. Lets ask for directions.

Me - So get down and ask for directions.

Dad (yelling) - You get down.

Me (yelling) - I'm driving!

Mum (yelling) - Stop yelling.

Me (yelling) - I tell you to do *one* job and you dont do it right.

I get down and ask for town name and a few blank stares and vague directions later, we're dirving straight. We reach a level crossing.

Dad - Why didnt the man say there would be a level crossing? Thats a much better direction to give. This whole country is going to the Dogs.

Me - Call him and ask, and this time hang up before you abuse him.

Dad calls, X is unsure there'd be a level crossing.

Dad - Why cant the man ever give proper directions? He cant mention a level crossing.

Me - What'd he say?

Dad - He's not sure. In this country the education system fucks you guys over. None of you have any brains.

Me - Did you hang up?

He did not.

10 mins later.

Dad - Is this the "big" lake he mentioned.

There's grass with a few birds on it.

Me - Why dont you call and find out?

Dad - I'm not calling him, he cant give any directions.

Me (yelling) - You wont call or get out but you want directions? How'd you hope to achieve that?

Dad (yelling) - Just drive di, there'll be signs and boards.

Mum (yelling) - Why do you keep yelling after she says it makes her nervous.

Me (yelling) - Let me call him.

I describe whats around and am told I'm on the right track and I should keep coming straight.

He's wrong. We're back on the same road. Magically we've retraced our steps.

By this time, I know the drill (and so do you), I take a few blind turns and finally we're on the road we're supposed to be. There's a T junction.

Me - Ask the guy where Foodworld is.

Dad - He's a fish vendor.

Me - So? He can still speak cant he? Just ask.

Dad - He'll stink.

Me (yelling) - I'm not asking you to hug him, just ask him for directions.

Dad (yelling) - Just drive.

Me (yelling) - Its either a left or right, which one am I to take?

Mum (yelling) - Why dont you just ask for directions?

Dad (yelling at the guy) - Foodworld?

Meekly he points left.

He was wrong.

Me - Whats after Foodworld?

Dad - Their flat. Keep your eyes peeled.

Me - You keep your eyes peeled and look, I'm driving.

Dad - Whats foodworld?

Me - Its a supermarket.

Dad - (scoffs) Supermarket! Like this country has good supermarkets. Back home, there are supermarkets, now those are real supermarkets where you get everything.

Me - Just look will ya?

Dad - Its not there. The man knows nothing. He gave us wrong directions again.

Me - Hang on, there are no high rise buildings, forget the supermarket, if theres a 15 storey flat, we should be able to see it, why dont you scan for that?

A Junction, this time I ask. They point back where we came from.

Dad - I told you he was a fish vendor.

Me - Stupidity is not exclusive to smelly people.

Mum - You know fish is supposed to increase your brain power.

Dad - Course she'd say that. She's from Kerala.

Mum - We never ate fish.

Me - Why is the cop flagging us down.

Dad - Maybe he saw the illegal U Turn you made.

Me - If it was illegal why'd you let me make it.

Dad (yelling) - Just stop the car.

Me (yelling) - I am. Can't you see I am slowing down?

Mum - Even spinach is supposed to increase brain power.

Cop - Show me your insurance papers.

Me - Here you go.

Cop - Where's your emission certificate?

Me - My what?

Cop - Dont you have one? Every vehicle should have one?

Me - My vehicle is less than 3 years old.

Cop - You still have to have a certificate.

Me - Well I dont, so just tell me how much the ticket is and I'll pay you.

Mum - The phone is ringing.

Dad - You dont know you're supposed to get an emission ticket?

Me - No one told me. Pick up the phone.

Dad - I dont believe this. How can you not take an emission certificate?

Me - I wasnt told alright! Pick up the phone.

Dad - You should always get an emission certificate every 6 months.

Me - I will as soon as we get back, will you pick up the damn phone.

Cop - What do you want to do?

Me - I told you already, spare me the lecture and just give me the ticket.

Dad (yelling at the cop) - Do you know where foodworld is?

Me - Appa, dont yell at him. And pick up the phone.

Mum - How come no one told us about the emission certificate?

X is briefed on my trangression.

Cop - Just gimme a hundred.

Dad - Here you go.

Me - Well so much for being a model citizen, we just bribed a cop.

Dad - Every 6 months you should get an emission certificate.

Mum - I think thats why Malls are smart. Its all the fish they eat.

Dad - Malls are all Communists.

Me - Did you hang up?

He did not.

We still dont see foodworld.

Me - Call him and tell him what we see on our left.

I slow down and see its the Apartment we are supposed to get to.

There we were 90 mins later than we should have been. Huge Sigh of Relief.

(Now about the time she got lost in Madras on the return journey...)

Brace yourself Bangalore!

Here I come! Two days of Shopping! Two days of quality me time! Dont say anything Fao San.

Take care blog world. Dont become too advanced in my absence!

Your father is a killer and your neighbour is a lecher!

Something I wrote for this magazine.

The Pulp Fiction World is murky and dangerous for women; at every corner lurks temptation and disaster. At any moment she could be abducted to be used sexually and killed or she could fall into the hands of her uncle who leers lasciviously at her and her fortune. Her entire presence is distilled to two facts; at all times her honour could be decimated and she could be led astray never to be mentioned in polite circles or she could lead a quiet virtuous life and no matter her status, deliverance would come in the form of a rich, educated, and sensitive man and all her previous cares would be forgotten.

If that sounds like a subversive kind of chick lit, meet the other woman in Pulp fiction, an archetype herself but modelled on whom exactly? She is spunky, knows Karate, can defend her honour, and if necessary, hatch plans to escape from the lair of the evil scientist. She wears t shirts with sexy aphorisms that are too tight, is aware of her erotically charged relationship with her male colleague and hides it with matter of fact diversions or bullies him into looking at her as a sexual object through coquettish jealousy.

If all this sounds complicated and overwrought, you must excuse my feminist professors for teaching me to read meaning into the patriarchal writing. Lets take a step back and look at it again. You might as well strike out the first two paragraphs (but please don’t coz I crafted them meticulously and will get back to them in a bit) because these women are only marginal figures in pulp fiction, serving only to drive the action forward which will be take over by the men.

Ahh, the men! While the women are sexual objects, there to arouse one into thinking and action with names that slip out like semi-orgiastic exclamations Asha, Leela, Pushpa, Kamini, and Kanchana, the men are their antithesis. Devanathan, Shankar Lal, Narendran, and Sasivaran; thinking individuals with thick moustaches and hard skulls, capable of keeping their cool even when a gun is pointed at them, especially if a gun is pointed at them, these are the men for whom its written.

The Sabapathy, Velupillai, and Ravis of the world buy these magazines and fantasise about the Kaminis and Kanchanas of the seedy underworld who run to them with heaving bosoms seeking their brawn and brain to rescue them from the clutches of evil and in return give them the promise of eternal devotion and undying love or just an unforgettable night of passion!

The Blaft Anthology of Tamil Pulp Fiction has excellent translations from select authors and a marvellous translator’s note which I urge you to read. If it seems like my delicate sensibilities are wounded by these portrayals, you could not be further from the truth! Full of energy and suspense, these are page turners that offer you value for money.

Sometimes you also find social messages woven in; this authorial angst is quickly masked in the action of seedy underworld men but these flashes of conscience (as I’d like to term them for my own slotting purposes) are topical.

Most of us may not know Rajesh Kumar, Indra Soundararajan, Pattukottai Prabhakar (on an aside, whatta name!), but we do know the 80s movies. The spate of detective movies that came out was astounding and for the longest time, I assumed our Kollywood had been “inspired” by the film noir genre.

Maybe their inspiration was a little closer to home! The evil politician rapes any woman he comes across; the virginal sister of the hero is abducted on her way to typing class (why this obsession with typing classes? Was that the mark of a girl with a useful mind who didn’t want to waste her intelligence making kaara kolambu for her in-laws? Was the rhythmic click clacking of typing such a charged atmosphere that it became synonymous with buxom youth and hidden desires?) and the hero is hired by her brother or happens to be her brother.

While he was the carefree youth cavorting with the rich girl in Woodlands Drive-in or in Ooty singing melodious duets in the first half, he’s called upon by Dharma itself (in the form of the hand-wringing mother) to fight the good fight during the second half and boy does he! Single handedly he busts a prostitution racket or reforms the villain who had some mountain cave he hid in, or sometimes, just for our viewing pleasure, there were crocodiles thrashing in a glass tank in a Technicolor basement of an abandoned bungalow!

Sounds familiar? Before we knew heroes who flicked cigarettes, every Tamil family was familiar with these worldly wise heroes and damsels in distress from their steady Pulp fiction diet. Mention Pattukottai Prabhakar (bear with me while I fixate on this name) and if you happen to be in a room with individuals over a certain age (*cough cough* older people), they immediately rattle off Resakee, Tamilvanan, Pushpa Thangadurai and Ramanichandran as though you’re playing some weird Antakshari with them.

Published in weeklies such as Kalkandu, Dhinamani Kadhir, Anandha Vikatan, Kumudham and Kalaimagal, these titillating tales of crime and punishment were condensed lectures on modern day morality. Then there were other publications; super novel, ungal junior, and today crime, these were not freely distributed among members of the family. The writers were the same; the subject was the same but the language presumably was less constrained because they needn’t fear corrupting the minds of young girls from good Tamil families.

These ten rupee novels may have been mid-morning escapes for many but in them lie nuggets of the era they were written in. The reader can glean what the common man was feeling and thinking. These “pulp” reads are a treasure trove for a mind keen on understanding the sociological issues of an earlier era. It is more accurate than History and certainly more fun and racy!

The Diary of Events

K kicked off my Birthday celebrations on 6th February announcing she was gonna give me 30 gifts till 5 March.

I thought she was trying to buy my affection.

Many polka dotted fuschia pink lingerie, face masks, and cosmetics later, I'm happy to report my affections have officially been bought.

Day itself was uneventful. Most people forgot twas my birthday. Some called.

The highlight was new post by Fao San wishing me kinky things and the din din I had with her.

A fine meal, good company, some embarassing geographical confessions later, my marvellous gifts were unwrapped.

Jewelry and Perfume! Am I not the luckiest kept woman ever?!?

Thanks for great day K and Fao San. To the adoring masses, thanks for the wishes.

Now to look forward to London!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM SAN!

Wishing you so many good things for all your senses that you lose memory of all things bad! Hope this is your best year yet! Continue to entertain, regale, comfort (and point and laugh at) people the way you do. You rock, my sismance!

Wish her all things kinky, dear readers (yes, i used the plural form. I'm allowed to be giddy and delusional on Sammeh's birthday!)

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, SAM SAN SUPERSTAR!

My Tarot Reading for Monday

Here's what the Wise man said:

You start the week at breakneck speed, dear friend. Nothing can stop you this Monday, because as your first card shows, you have Strength on your side. Willpower, ambition, persuasiveness: you have a hand full of trump cards to play over the course of an extremely busy day that sees you conquering a mountain of work. Theres no better mood in which to start off your working week, so dont waste a minute: get to work straight away!

I just took an online tarot reading. How productive can my day have been?!