What's in a name?

11 July, 2006

Joy bubbled and effused the mood which prevailed that evening. The sun had started hiding its disc of rays causing the purple sapphire sky look greyish black. The bride, in her own way, chose to ignore the banters, while our home had already adorned the sensational vibe. The Kannans, should be highly relieved for they would soon accomplish the mighty task of seeing their daughter married to a worthy individual.

An event of marriage in a conventional south Indian town has perplexingly assumed a level baffling complexity, allowing families to cut corners in their pursuit of happiness and perpetually living in a world of stress and peer pressure. Why care about companionship and ponder the trivial question of life, its meaning and the role of marriage. We can blissfully clog our minds and immerse ourselves in mundane and trivial pursuits of getting into a wedlock before 26, bearing kids before 30 and live life completely before 40. Pursuing financial success shall be the only goal that we would carry until we rest in our graves. As the marriage is round the corner, it is worthwhile to bridle our minds and cease asking irresponsible questions and more so not stupefy elders by speaking your mind.

As one happy family, we were all gearing up for July 13, the "M-Day", and we would have never imagined even in our wildest possible dreams what the evening of 11th July would offer us.

Paappa - is how she is affectionately called - is one of the most responsible and loved soul in our compound. Short and dark, Paapa had the most beautiful incandescent eyes and her pink lips always curved in a smile like an inverted Australian boomerang.  Plaiting a curvy and curly hair can be a strenuous task and I believe she should have been spending an hour on it daily. I might be wrong. I once asked my wife - she was already on the second hour in straightening her hair, a rigorous intense daily ritual -  how much on an average does women spend on fixing their hair. Lucky me, my wife just had a hair drier in her hand and not an assault rifle. But unfortunately, I ended up listening to a long sermon on how should I try to be a gentleman. I would have definitely preferred the assault rifle. Paapa would have given me a beautiful smile, had I asked her this question. I wanted to ask her many questions and one among the many was to ask her what her real name is.

A mother of two beautiful and gorgeous kids, Paapa is always my mom's favorite for she would take care of our pondicherry home - when we are away - as if it is hers. Paapa is a house wife who has all the time in this world for her cute little kids and her husband Dharma who works for a small pharmaceutical company in the town outskirts. Seldom, the little family had visitors and all that Paapa had was her family while she was leading a content life which the Gods must have envied on.

Muffled cladestine whispers crawled our living room to pierce the clattering noises drumming out of joy and excitement. Flabbergasted, to find an infiltrated coup in our compound, my inquisitiveness turned wild. Short and dark Paapa, with her neatly plaited hair has no reason to be sitting on the streets with Dharma lying on the ground and comfortably burying his head on Paapa's lap.Like a strong wind blowing out a life in a candle immersing the place in a abysmal darkness, death spoke to us like a whiplash coming out a cruel master.

Chaotic frenzy filled the air and incomprehensible suggestions were flying around, Paapa was in complete control of the situation. When Dharma collapsed dead on the road, the unkind auto driver, refused her plea to carry him to a nearby hospital and whisked away cursing his ill-lucked customers and ended up throwing the corpse in front of our home. She had tried to undo Dharma's death by pounding and pressing his chest until she gave up and realized it has been a while before his life departed, waiting for none.

With help from a couple of family members we shifted him from the road to Paapa's home and laid him in the living room where the innocuous kids jumping on their dad, assuming he is in his deep slumber. The news of the death, in a compound that'll host a marriage in the next couple of days hit the superstitiously charged locality as a sign of bad omen. Few even spurted out their great theory rutted with inhumane attitude. A death can turn light into darkness and evade the mood of cheerful energy to cast its tentacles of gloominess and anxiety. Every death seems to be untimely. We have never lived enough!

Paapa's mind was racing fast and as she laid out instructions to people around her. She called for an ambulance to bring the corpse to Dharma's village. She packed basic essentials and fed her kids and made couple of calls to inform her family and friends. In all stillness, she sat in a chair looking at her home entrance for the ambulance to arrive. She calmed her friends and her old mom and urged them not to raise a whimper as that would forever spoil the exuberant mood of the impending marriage in the same compound.

While she prepared to leave with kids carrying her dead husband in the ambulance, she walked into our home and wished the bride good luck and apologized for the commotion. Not a word said, as people were taken aback on how swiftly she reacted to the situation in hand.  My heart bled profusely when Paapa apologized for having brought her dead husband into a house preparing for marriage, as she did not have any other place to go.  Haply, the terminated fate of his might change the destiny of the family, and the children might cease to witness the sacrifices that a father would dutily do, sealed is Paapa's dreams of building thier own small sweet home.

Paapa never returned back, but she had sent her brother to vacate the property, a month later. Among many other things, I wanted to ask him what Paapa's name is. I know I'm not going to receive the same smile that Paapa would have offered. I mumbled to myself and asked "What is Paapa's name? while the truck carrying the last memories of Paapa and her family quietly left the compound.
 

Facebook !!!

Facebook… “Facebook Jamal Ibrahim”. How many “Like” would the name manage to get?
A Young Egyptian couple in their twenties is inundated with gifts and wishes for having named their new born as Facebook, in tribute to the role played by this networking site in emancipating Egypt. The day is not far when networking sites would determine what we do and what we intend to do. In the days of Google, Groupon, Twitter, Linkedin, etc., we would let these sites manage our beliefs and attitude.
81 Million Internet users- and still growing exponentially strong - 44% of which being students and youngsters, I only wish India will have a compelling story to tell in the coming years. But what more can be disturbing than looking at the recent string of events – the commotion during a bus day celebration, havoc in a infamous Madurai college and many more involving students - will help you evolve a different story – a story of stinking politics, wretched inhumane attitude, gory violence and inconsiderate behavior of the growing youth. (There are always exceptions though). We have to take cognizance of the fact that sizeable population of this youth crowd, involved in the above incidents, mostly come from middle income or low income strata. Never do these students have a clear visibility on their future. In the contrary, seldom do we see such incidents orchestrated by students of engineering colleges, who to a greater extent have secured their future. Thanks to their American dreams and the still existing labor arbitrage in the IT / ITes industry – read as low priced knowledge workers. With the existing environment prevailing, I could only predict the income gap widening in the Indian economy where there already exists a steep economic inequality. Also there might be a strong income gap between the above mentioned category of students. It would only be a dream come true if the students community can choose as how they come together to help the country and thereby help themselves by addressing issues that are haunting the country today. The answer would be – Social networking sites like Facebook.
In a country, where multi -crore scams are reduced to a mere SMS, where corruption is accepted as a way of life, where violence is seen as the only tool of power, where people exhibit insensitiveness to atrocities happening in their neighborhood, where votes are sold and democracy burnt, where movie stars become the only source of inspiration – would we need to foster change. This change would only be a dream if the students don’t come together and fight for it than squandering their time and resources on bus days and ridiculous college spats. They have technology at their disposal. What are they waiting for?
Arise, Awake and Stop not until the goal is reached!!!

123...What is LEFT???

At 22, While I was still wet behind my ears, and in my first assignment as a Project Leader, I was conducting a feasibility study for a power major. It was during this Market research, I did get an opportunity to understand the power woes of India. Needless to say, the project was a ultra mega flop. Trying to enjoy this monumental victory, I gulped down 10 bottles of beer - believe me, I drank them all without puking (for all those who know my Beer Quotient, you can ignore this).

Hyper-demand for power in case of a "transforming" nation (Courtesy: US state Dept for having moved India from underdeveloped to developing and now to transforming nation) like ours, cannot be over-emphasized. Economists and few politicians claim, this strategic Civilian nuclear programme with the US would do India many good. But in this case, I firmly believe, the left is right. Had it not been for the left, the BJP would have sent troops to Iraq and we would have supported a wrong cause, a cause which had left .6 million dead and 2 million homeless, a cause which had successfully dethroned dictatorship only to build a nation of graveyard and feed through the oil pipes, a few rich rodents in the US. Left, would be correct in this case too and I don't see it as pro-Chinese. Americans are probably are the most friendliest guys, but their leaders are not.

Americans see the Middle Kingdom as a threat to their unipolar world, a threat which might question their hegemony and their never ceasing heinous crimes. Reactions from US on our Pokhran I & II, Uncle Sam' Machiavellian policies with Pakistan, Afghan, Iran,etc(you know, the list is endless) should be pondered on before hugging the US of A which would stab us with its traditional double standard foreign policies.

India can still leverage on Coal based production of electricity(NTPC produces environment friendly electricity at the mouth of coal pit heads) and tap non-conventional energy resources than trusting a chameleon with a venomous snake's tongue kissing the growth of India. Meanwhile, Dr. Singh, should develop a robust foreign policy and focus on alternatives than running amok like a headless chicken;-) while I join the left singing ...

Big fella!!
You got blood on yo' face
You big disgrace
We will we will rock you
We will we will rock you
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NRI & PIOs in the US are making big strides, is an outdated news, but the recent one about the Indian Playboy Mr. Richard Menon is not. He used all his "spare" time to create one of top porn production company in the US. Call it porn capitalism ......What a Stupid way of growing rich!!!

From the desk of Nary - 8 facts about me…

You know life gets hectic. I spent the whole last week immersed in one of the most exciting books – Ponniyin Selvan. Having reached the climax of PS and with enormous requests mounting from my beloved friends who have started falling in love with my words and who perennially urge me to pen down my thoughts, I decide to share with you, friends, 8 facts about my life. Thanks to Mathi who tagged and nagged me for quite sometime now. Here you go…

1 – I aspired to be one of the most creative men on earth, until one day I read a research report which said 70% of creative men are gays. Please get me “straight”, I’m not creative.
2 – Invariably everyday I have at the least 2 to 3 sweet-voiced young women - probably beautiful too - calling to persuade me to use their services. I’m highly disciplined enough to say “NO”.
3 – I hate using credit cards. (Couple facts 2 & 3)
4 – I’m emotionally strong and I firmly believe my EQ is significantly higher than my IQ - This is the reason I provide for not being so successful in competitive exams.
5 – I go around preaching my friends not to a have a girl friend. Not because they are too expensive but because I don’t have one.
6 – I’m a glib liar. I’m good looking, innocent and have a heart that beats for others.
7 – I believe, Woman is god’s best creation on earth. (No, I’m not lying)
8 – I would NOT tag my friends. Not that I do not want to, but when it comes to blogging we are a bunch of chronic laggards. Let me spare them…

BLOG OF FAME...

One morning after the regular morning prayer assembly, Rev. Fr. Paul came with this wierd idea of re-sizing sections. Shahul and I were unfavorably placed as this unexpected displacement would bring new changes in our daily routine of trading trinkets and choclates with MADE IN FRANCE embossed on it. Our inability to penetrate the new market filled with studious kids, made me allergic to trade and concentrate on my studies. Soon, I was moving to the top ranks and it was not until then I earned friends and one among them was a fragile, pale, thin kid - Pari aka Rangan. We grew together like brothers and shared similair interests and passion. Pari unlike me is a great "Kalaakari". I always urge him to pursue his passion - art and paintings and what you would find below is a small collection of Pari's in my BLOG OF FAME....

The Street of Peter Nagar

Tall houses queued up in a neat row on either side of the street; Peter Nagar had its old memories hidden beneath its thick tar roads. Puddles of water would ornate the moist red sand road with crisscrossed and rutted gutters making the street adventurous for any rider. Deciding to dress the red naked road with black tar, the municipality authorities would rob the street of its sheen burying the natural look it adorned. It should have witnessed every phase in the lives of Peter Nagar inhabitants – birth, death, failure, success, grief, hate, passion, anger ……it had managed to conceal their secrets under its dark tar coated mask. It remained a silent spectator when we witnessed Paapa-akka’s life taking a twist; it chose to remain still when her husband tumbled down gasping for his last breath. It was still, when the incorrigible alcoholic Albert kicked the bucket; it did not react when Allwyn, the state topper, adopting priesthood frustrated with materialistic life. It remained calm reacting to none.

To me, the street of Peter Nagar is more than just a street, it was my arena where I exhibited my cricketing prowess, it was my favorite rendezvous where I made friends for life with whom I shared moments which I would carry to my deathbed and even beyond. It is where we held our clandestine meets to decide and host our “Group Study” and we would vote the absolute choice as Appu’s place, as he was the only privileged one to possess a VCR then. Appu & I would stroll up and down this street sharing lighter moments, trying to impress the Patrick’s girls who managed to ignore our superior stunts. With no four walls around, it is where we disclosed our dark open secrets, debating on trivia, thumping on accomplishments, expressing our love, friendship and envy.

Appu & I, befriended Hemchand with the strategic intent of leveraging his cricket kit, since then, cricket was even more fun with keeping gloves, BDM stumps and a fresh SS willow. Hemchand, I should say, gave a new fillip to our street cricket. His long run ups to bowl the most expected wide balls demanded him to take long strides like a bulky monster rummaging the already dent road. The blue TVS champ (had been the most coveted to make fun trips after winning matches) wearing his constipated smile and self proclaimed “I, me, myself” stories were his Unique Propositions. After Class X, Appu & I drifted away from his company and I would occasionally meet him up to exchange pleasantries. Otherwise, he was almost a forgotten entity.
Few days back, Dr. Hemchand fell as a prey to the ebb tide of his ruthless life which left him crippled and his legs amputated. When Ramesh apprised me on Hemchand’s ill fate, my heart was drowned in pain as I sympathized with a young lad dreaming to make big in life. As a kid he dreamt of marrying the actress Meena, riding a Tata Safari, starting his own hospital. The street of Peter Nagar would no more feel the real legs of Hemchand denting it; the fate made the street devoid of the rummaging that Hemchand would make on it, the road would no more be privileged to see him running mad after he picks up a wicket in a wide ball. I walked the street with a heavy heart unable to digest the fact and wishing it was a nightmare, while the street lay silent trying to offer me solace. The street should have seen many good times and bad yet it remained calm trying to empathize with my thoughts hiding its own sadness it should have felt for Hemachand. It hid its sadness beneath the dust laid tar road as I walked down the street searching the past.

Sivaji – The BOSS (Bachelor of Stupid Show)

A Hyper-hyped India’s most expensive movie starring India’s greatest style icon raises a simple question. Why the hell the movie was made?

Conspicuous, throughout the movie, is the dilemma that the director should have faced – either to present a Rajini movie with no content or to direct a Shankar movie and deliver a message in his own extravagant style – and successfully failing to create a movie which is neither of the two. Invariably, a normal viewer might miscomprehend Vivek as the protagonist and Rajini as a comedian who accomplished an unsuccessful attempt to make the first part of the movie a slap stick comedy, thereby making a gleeful suicide attempt.

Horrendous comedies, awful screenplay, pathetic direction, poor characterization, weird re-recording and appalling acting constitute the movie Sivaji. Sum of parts is always greater than the whole and the role of Shreya is mere a constant C in the equation y=mx –c and she balances the failing, down-sloping equation. Evident it is - both Shankar and Shreya should have forgotten their brains in their wardrobe. AVM should have been frugal enough to spend on Shreya’s costumes, as the only cost they should have incurred is on a couple of Maagi noodles pack. Wearing these threadbare noodles in all the songs, she reveals all the interesting and barely managing to conceal the vital.

In short, Sivaji is a poorly executed low-quality movie contributed by powerful band of bigwigs thereby enlisting it as another stupid movie produced by the mighty Indian cinema house AVM.

Sivaji vaayula mannu thaanda(pallavi) ….
Sivaji Thalayula thundu thaan da ….
aaheke right a Sivaji right a
aaheke right a Sivaji right a (chorus) …