Sumankumar's yak pad

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noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 13:11:00 +0000

Grandmaster Muniyandi - 1

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Tue, 06 Jan 2009 06:25:00 +0000

Vishy Anand won the World Junior Chess Championship and the small Chess community in Chittoor celebrated. They met at the NGO home, next to to the sub-jail, like every evening; the Chess association secretary distributed sweets. It was business as usual after that in the NGO Home. Some men played 'Ring' in the front lawn. The chess club members huddled over Chess boards, under ancient filament lamps with monstrous glass domes. Right beside the huge teakwood table that hosted Chess, people played Carrom board, which had a filament lamp hovering over it... it made the Carrom players look hideous, as the Carrom board reflected light and lit their faces partially. There was no other lighting in the Home's hall. It was always dark, damp, and smelt like an old book.

Muniyandi lit his 240th beedi of the day, adjusted his glass eye, and tried to focus on the chessmen with his good eye. Muniyandi always complained that he could see only half of the Chess board, a ridiculous idea all right but people indulged Muni. Muni also claimed that there were thirty criminal cases on him (including attempt to murder) but the cops would not dare apprehend him. "Othha they know how I lost my eye now, don't they?" Muni would snarl. If any unsuspecting person did inquire about the lost eye, Muni would seize that opportunity to take the inquirer to the tea stall outside the NGO Home, sit him down, and start his unbelievable story. It was all fiction. We knew. But that's what Muni did to get sponsors for his tea, snacks, and smokes. The general concept of his 'how I lost my eye' story hovered around Muni's valor: how he fought 45 (or 150 sometimes) rowdies single handedly, before losing his eye in hand-to-hand combat. There were a few at the Home who believed that Muni's wife must have popped his eye off. It seemed quite plausible, for Muni was an incorrigible drunk and he stole money from his wife when he ran out of cash.

So how did a big-mouth, 4-anna hustler develop a passion for Chess? No one knew. It was one of those flamboyant aberrations of life. Muniyandi, however, claimed he was always in love with the game. He was a good player. His tactics on the board were nothing short of brilliant. But he lacked the much needed strategic perspective to move up and become a rated player. Also, he could not afford Chess books, the best resource for learning the art. Not that it would have made a difference, for he couldn't read or write. There were a couple of 'rated' players in the club: Ravi, the second year B.Sc student from the Arts college, was one of them. Muniyandi revered him.

Muni accompanied Ravi to all tournaments in and around Chittoor. The year before Muniyandi had even participated in a tournament in Penumur. Ravi got the first spot and Muni actually got the third place! For reasons best known to them, the organizers chose to call the third place winner as 'Man of the match'.

Muniyandi collected the prize money, a princely sum of 75 Rupees, slipped out, got drunk, and came back to extract revenge on the organizers that had played a cruel joke by calling him 'Man of the match'. It was his maiden win in a tournament! According to Ravi, Muni pulled a switch knife and waved it at the terrified organizers and said "Nee amma! Man of the match! This is fucking chess, thoo nee amma!"

Only Ravi knew that Muni was harmless. The people of Penumur actually fell for Muni's antics and believed that they were in the presence of a fearless outlaw. Ravi whisked away Muni before the shit hit the fan and jumped on the first bus back to Chittoor.

From then on Muni became the self-proclaimed bodyguard of Ravi. It was irritating for young Ravi but his sense of humor prevailed and he generally did not mind Muni and his antics.
NGO Home's only hope, its rising star was Ravi. He won the district championships, and went on to win the State championship. The modest chess club from Chittoor produced a champion! The Chess club presented Ravi with a cheque of four thousand Rupees. Ravi used up the cash to buy a good Chess clock and books on Chess openings. Muni found a lot of pride in being Ravi's assistant cum bodyguard. All the retired, older men did not quite like it but they didn't want to argue with Muni, understandably so.

Himabindu, a stunningly pretty girl moved to Chittoor from Kurnool. She became Ravi's classmate too, in the Arts College. She was also the state number two in women's chess. Himabindu attracted a lot of attention. She was probably the first girl in Chittoor that wore Jeans to college. If that wasn't revolutionary enough, she wore a t-shirt, which said 'Little Bo Peep did it for insurance.' Not one guy in college understood what that meant but they did stare at the location of that text for prolonged periods, making guttural noises. Himabindu ignored the naughty boys in college that passed comments when she passed by. She refused to accept any love letter from anyone. She broke quite a few hearts. But no one tried to mess with her. Her dad was a high ranking official in the Zilla Parishad. Her uncle was a top cop in Tirupathi. So none of the boys tried getting cute with Bindu.

Amid all this love blossomed. At least in Ravi's heart. To him Bindu was the dream girl. She played chess! Was a champ! Looked like a goddess... he dreamed of discussing chess with her, going on long walks behind the Z.P quarters right behind the college. He also dreamed of Bindu embracing 'Indian' clothes, just like those once-arrogant heroines in Telugu movies that saw the wisdom behind the villager hero's words and ended up wearing Kanchi silk saris even to bed. However there was a small problem. Bindu made no attempt to make friends in college. She was always spotted reading some book or the other, all by herself. When some girls did try to make conversation they were met with a luke-warm response. However, there was hope. He was the state champ and she had to come around. She did.

That year the Chess club at the NGO Home hosted the university chess championships and Ravi swore to himself that he would produce a spectacular performance. Muniyandi never left the table where Ravi played. He was more nervous than Ravi himself. During a game in which Ravi played black, things got tricky. Ravi played the French defense and his opponent launched an all out king-side attack. It looked bleak but Ravi knew that it was only a matter of time before he wrested the initiative. But Muniyandi could not see as far. When Ravi stepped out after finishing his 40th move, Muni ran behind him and very seriously suggested "If it looks like we are losing, I can arrange for a win. I just need to have a word with your opponent." A horrified Ravi explained to Muni that it was not needed.

On the girl's side, Bindu was cruising to the first spot. It was the penultimate round that swung Ravi's fortunes. Ravi sacrificed his queen, the most powerful piece. It may seem spectacular but Ravi knew exactly what he was doing. But the spectators gasped as he played that move and before long, there was a small crowd huddled over Ravi's board. Bindu was there too. As Ravi wrapped up the match in style, the crowd applauded. Bindu shook his hand. As the crowd dispersed that evening and Ravi packed his bags to go home, he spotted her walking towards him. His heart rammed against his ribs and his knees started shaking.
"You were brilliant... It is a privilege, meeting you." She said. She had large, expressive eyes, which were accentuated by Kajal. Ravi wanted to reach out and touch her face but he thought the better of it.
"Oona ulkah hrooo?" he said. He wanted to say "You are a champ too"
She shifted on her feet and raised her eyebrow as if asking 'What the fuck did you say sir?'
Ravi cleared his throat, took a deep breath, coughed and said "Pleased to meet you. It is a privilege to meet you." He found it difficult to not stare at the wonderful contours her t-shirt made. Just when he was about to thank god, Muniyandi appeared on the scene from no where and said "Hello madam, come tomorrow for autographs, sir is tired now." (concluding part in the next installment)

Happy New Year Folks!

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 31 Dec 2008 06:32:00 +0000

To all ye folks out there in the civilized world, Spotty, my Owlet buddy and I wish you a happy new year.

Chennai Vs Bangalore Debate

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 17 Dec 2008 06:32:00 +0000

I wrote this post as a response to SelAm's post. First things first, I am a Chennai boy that lived in Andhra Pradesh for 20 years. I moved back to Chennai in 1993 and quit the city in 2001. I moved to Bangalore about five years back. I have lived in Pune and Indore. When I say lived, I mean lived there for at least six months.

I visited Bangalore first in 1996. I was deputed to Tata Yellow Pages's Bangalore office. I spent a couple of months there. As I was a salesman, I had to go around the city and thus was well acquainted with the city and its culture in a short time.

I don't know if one is predisposed to be biased about his home town, but I thought Chennai was better than Bangalore back then. There was no logic or rationale to that bias but I believed in it, fought for Chennai, and was quite sure I was right. My facts were rock solid: Chennai had better roads, better public transport... you know?

This is exactly where SelAm went wrong. If one were to go by infrastructure, I'd rate Kuwait better than Chennai or Bangalore. But, the question is, would you live in Kuwait? I won't. My liberty is more important than a pothole in the road. A city is not about roads and amenities. It is mostly about people. And culture. Both cities are rich in that regard. You really can't and should not choose between cultures. Each city has its unique personality and it'd be foolish to pose the question 'which has better culture?'

That said, we are left with this really tricky benchmark called 'Cosmopolitan'. Is Chennai more cosmopolitan? I don't think so. Having lived in Bangalore for close to five years, I can vouch for it: Bangalore is more cosmopolitan.

Take for example, food: the sheer number of cuisines Bangalore offers is a small yet significant testimony to that fact. I know people from Chennai will cry foul and throw a list of eateries in and around Chennai. Hang on people. I am talking accessibility and abundance here. Almost every street, lane corner has a food place in Bangalore. I *know* that is not the case in Chennai. Let's not even talk about variety of cuisines. Chennai is far behind Bangalore.

I think Bangaloreans are a liberal lot. This is my personal opinion but I don't think I can say that about Chennai. I thought of a million examples to illustrate my point but I thought better of it. It is *my* opinion! Bangalore's Cinemas show Tamil and Telugu movies. Chennai's don't show Kannada or too many Telugu movies. You tell me who is cosmopolitan.

There was some talk of who speaks better English on SelAm's post (see the comments). I don't understand the relevance of this point. So I choose not to respond to it.

Personally though, Bangalore makes better coffee than Chennai. Surprised? Walk into any of those 'Darshinis' and drink coffee.

Finally, I have to tell you this. Not because it is important but it reflects the hypocrisy of Chennai, the so called conservative 'Tamil' loving city.
Why the fuck do you need to be formally attired to go to a pub? And, these rules are only for us brown skinned bastards. If a white guy walked in clad in his undies, those ugly bouncers will let them in. Don't believe me? Why don't you try it yourself? 1) Residency Towers and 2) 10 Downing Street on North Boag road.

As far as the 'safe' city point, I don't think any of our cities are safe for women. So don't give me that bull on how Chennai is safer. No city is safe for Indian women in their country.

Don't rush to hate a city. You'll never realize how bad your crib is until you get out of it. And see some real cribs. I love Chennai for different reasons and Bangalore for different reasons. Though I was irritated with Indore, I grew to like it later. Or, my hometown bias has waned because I have lived in multiple towns. Whatever. I urge you to get your ass out and travel. Don't throw stones when you live in a... ok, I won't say it.

The Historic Test's Last Day

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Tue, 16 Dec 2008 05:15:00 +0000

One of the images that will stay with me for a long time is that of the lady from the cleaning staff of the MAC stadium in Chennai, running up to Sachin Tendular, shaking his hand, and blushing and running back. I was not planning to watch the match in the stadium. One of my friends asked if I would be interested and I said 'Yes'. When we walked into the stadium Dravid was already gone. Gambir and Sachin were at the crease. 'Same old story!' I thought but I was wrong.

Let me assure you that being there with the crowd is a fantastic experience. If you want to understand and experience the Indian Cricket Mania, go watch it in the stadium. I saw old men, with packed lunches, sharing their wisdom with strangers. "Now, he will bring the forward short-leg." the old man told the guy sitting next to him and to my amazement, KP did bring in a short-leg fielder.

The guy sitting behind me has an amplifier in this vocal cords I think. He kept screaming at Sachin. "Thambi! Paathu daa kanna. Rahu kalam will pass at 1 PM. Go for your fifty then!" and "Otha oyeee! Flitooffu, oootukku poi sera maattey!" He was with his sister and two nephews. He was screaming at his nephews "Otha saapda vandheengla match paakka vandhingala? Lavadeykabaal!"

He was actually having a conversation with Sachin. He reminded me of my friend's brother who used to 'put mandhiram' when the opposition was playing. No, he actually believed he got India wickets with his 'spells'.

The TNCA lunch was delicious. It was a typical Iyer lunch. So the veggies had a lot of fun. During lunch I overheard an old man recounting a story from the 80s to his friend. Another TNCA staffer predicted that Sehwag would be the Man-of-the-match. Another was rattling out statistics on all the winning 4th innings chases and a break down on successful chases in the sub-continent.

As I walked back in to my seat, I thought 'Hope Sachin finishes this one unlike that Pakistan match!' A shudder went up my spine. The master did not make that mistake this time. The mad guy behind me was now coaxing Sachin by screaming 'Thambi, come back for tea, don't get out now!' I also found it enchanting that the crowd applauded good fielding efforts by England. I don't think you'll see a better sporting crowd in this country.

To watch VVS hit those sublime drives is sheer joy. I don't think there will be another artistic Indian batsman as VVS: his silken touch, grace, and elegance is beyond human comprehension.

The only regret I have is Dravid's horrific form. I hope this man bounces back fast enough, for it would be a shame to watch one of the greatest batsmen this game has ever seen, walk away in the shadows of obscurity: unsung and hurt.

Just before tea Yuvi hit a massive six off Monty. Somehow, I realized that we were going to win. We still needed 100 plus runs but I knew the result. Indian cricket is in good hands. The guy sitting behind echoed that thought by saying 'Apdeedhaan thambi, Kulla, nee weight machi!'

Amen!

P.S. I did not translate the Tamil in this post. You need a Chennai boy to translate the slang. Sorry!

Orissa Govt Does it Again

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Thu, 11 Dec 2008 06:25:00 +0000

Orissa cops have taken the term gag order to a new level altogether. A Leftist writer and the editor of Oriya literary magazine Nissan, Lenin Ray was quite literally stopped from speaking to the media by policemen who muzzled him as he was being produced in Bhubaneswar's district court. [via NDTV]

How long will we let BJP get away with murder? What happened in Gujrat is haunting us even today.

Security Starts at Home

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Thu, 04 Dec 2008 09:25:00 +0000

You must have gone for the candle light vigil in your city. Tweeted or blogged about how India should respond or how courageous our soldiers are. Some of us hurled insults at the government and its 'inaction'. All of the above is needed. But what we need is grassroots responsibility.
If you are a salaried employee, you must, most likely, be working in one of those business complexes that house a number of business houses. I work in one too. After the Mumbai tragedy, the chief of security of the building called for a meeting to all the occupants (business houses) of the building. "Out of 50 only 12 representatives turned up" he laments. Somehow we seem to live in a bubble called 'it can't happen to us!'

Face it. It can happen to you. What are your options given that the security apparatus of your building (and your city) is not sufficient? We blame others all the time, but have you ever wondered 'What can I do?' For starters, attend security meetings in your building. Ask questions. Point out lapses that you noticed. Most often than not the person in charge of Security of your building has to deal with under-staffed teams, lack of equipment, cost-conscious builders, and apathetic tenants like us. What is the one thing you can change in that list? Apathy. Urge your 'I-am-too-cool-for-this-shit' colleague to participate. If you have an emergency response team at your workplace, talk to them, support them, and help them stay motivated. If you don't have an ERT, start one!

Ask the builder questions. Given the economic meltdown, no builder is willing to spend. We have to pressurize them to get them miserly asses to swing into action.

Make a list of Dos and Don'ts and circulate. For example,
1) Report unidentified objects in the vicinity.
2) Always. Repeat. Always wear your ID.
3) Don't let people tail-gate.
4) Report people moving around suspiciously near your work place.
5) Co-operate with Security. Don't act like you are being stopped from launching a spaceship when they run a metal detector check or frisk you. It's your ass, remember?
6) Have a list of important phone numbers at hand, all the time (cops, hospitals, ambulance etc)
7) Take Mock Drills seriously. The next time, it could be for real.

I am sure there's more, but I hope you got the drift.

Do the Islamic Terrorists Care for Muslims?

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 03 Dec 2008 10:07:00 +0000

I doubt it. A cursory glance at the deceased list from the recent Mumbai attacks is enough to conclude that these cowards merely want to spread terror. They are not really bothered about Muslims or Hindus. Their motives are political and far removed from a religious cause.
Muslims form approximately 15% of the civilian causalities. See deceased list.
Now tell me, does Islam condone killing of your own brethren? No. I think not. However, the foaming-at-the-mouth fanatics will come up with some screwed up theory that Allah understands collateral damage. The cliche is true: terrorists do not have a religion, for no religion accommodates killing of innocent people.

So if you by any outside chance thought that you were safe because you are a Muslim, perish that thought. They don't care about religion. They don't care about you. And, most importantly, they are not fighting for you.

Mumbai under terrorist attack

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 26 Nov 2008 19:50:00 +0000

if anyone needs help contacting folks in bombay - drop in your message here - http://mumbaihelp.blogspot.com/2008/11/can-we-help.html

http://search.twitter.com/search?q=%23mumbai for real time Twitter updates.

Photos from Mumbai terror attacks at http://flickr.com/photos/vinu/
More than 40 dead says a TV Channel.

Hats-off Chiba San!

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Thu, 20 Nov 2008 05:40:00 +0000

At Toyota Kirloskar�s 10th anniversary do, a Japanese employee does the late Shankar Nag proud in the land of his birth, in the language of his life. [link]

Aside:This is an Ilayaraja number, which makes it more special.

Testing trutap from my mobile

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Mon, 17 Nov 2008 23:51:00 +0000

I have added a pic taken with my phone too. . . This is cool.

Sent from my phone using trutap

Hindutva Logic

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 05 Nov 2008 03:06:00 +0000

"I do not know Pragnya Singh at all. But I know she is not a terrorist."
"No Hindu can be a terrorist."
- Praveen Togadia, leader of Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP).

Are we, the average citizens, morons? At least, that's the impression I get from speeches of the Thackerays and the Togadias.

The Tailors of Chittoor Part 3

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 22 Oct 2008 05:00:00 +0000

With a week to go for Diwali, my mom broke the news: 'Go to dad's office and pick up the cash. We are shopping for your trousers today!' She said. It was a second Saturday and a holiday for me. She was happy for me. She had convinced dad that she didn't want anything for Diwali, as she had a new Saree; a gift from her sister.
'Where are we going shopping? Shoba Paradise?' I asked her.
'They are expensive da kanna. We'll go to Setty's shop in Greamspet?' She said, cajoling me. It meant we were going to buy a pant 'piece' and have a trouser stitched out of it by none other than Balaji, the master stylist and self-proclaimed fashion aficionado. I could live that I thought.
Dad's office was some two kilometers from home. I had to walk to the Colony gate to catch a bus. I normally got down at the MSR cinema stop and walked up to my dad's office next to the RTO's office on Darga road. I was giddy with excitement. A million thoughts raged in my head. A trouser meant that Vachi will no longer look at me as a 'boy'. That reminded me about that Rose. It would bloom in another couple of days. I realised that some girl on a gleaming BSA SLR bicycle was screaming my name. Vachi! She was riding a brand new girl's bicycle. The vermilion and sandalwood paste dots on the cycle were probably still wet.
'Got it today! Appa's gift!' She gushed and rang the bell 'trrngggg'. I looked around if people were watching us. I didn't want to give more ammunition to Tailor Balaji. That's how small town romances worked. All hush-hush. Only, there was no romance here. Just a boy and a girl meeting up on the road and we still were not old enough to worry about prying eyes. She was wearing a purple dress that contrasted her lemony complexion. There was that sparkle in her eyes. And of course, the Gokul Santol fragrance filled my lungs. I was happy that I met her but something was tugging at my heart, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. I wanted my dad to buy me a cycle. But I knew it was not going to happen. I mean I almost had to hire a lawyer to fight my case for a pair of trousers.
'Where are you going da Kutty?' She asked. She was the only one, other than my parents, that called me by my nickname.
'I am going to my dad's office. To pick up cash. We are going shopping today for clothes.'
'Hey! That's wonderful. So you are getting your trousers? Your mother was telling mine how you were adamant about it.'

I cursed my mom for letting out my personal information to, of all the people, Vachi's mom.

'I want to be the first person outside of your family to see you clad in trousers da Kutty. I will never talk to you if show your trousers to someone else first.' She said.

That was the first time, in the two years I had been friends with her, she had said something like that. Something personal and intimate. I liked the idea of her having a 'right' on me. I smiled.

She rang that god awful, shrill bell again and said 'Bye da. I have to show off my cycle to my girl friends.'

I said 'bye' and started walking when she called out again.

'Hey, do you want to borrow my cycle?' She said.

The sun was behind her. She was the world's best silhouette. I wanted to say no. One, I didn't want to be spotted riding a girl's cycle. Two, it was her brand new cycle, which she got probably a few hours back.
'No Vachi. I'll take the bus...' I said.
'Why are you treating me like a third person?' She yelled.
I looked around to see if anyone caught that intensely personal remark. I didn't know what happened to my girl that day. She was being all mush. It was new to me. She was never like that. Personal and demanding. She was always the girl with pigtails, who liked to play silly games. But that day she was being, um, one of them, you know... Women!

'Ok! Ok! Stop screaming. I will take your cycle. Are you sure? Your folks won't be mad at you?'

'Don't worry about that. I will wait for you in Sreelakshmi's house.' Sreelakshmi, her classmate lived in the lane right behind her house.

Somewhere at the back of my head I felt it was a bad idea. But I could not say no to her. So I took her cycle and was on my way to dad's office. I stopped at Balaji's tailor shop. He raised his eyebrows and said 'Whose cycle is that da Madraas!' I ignored his question and told him that I will be giving him the trouser cloth and that I wanted the trousers a day before Diwali.
'Don't worry da. I will deliver it two days before Diwali.'
I stood there staring at him cut cloth. The Scissors made a lovely, smooth sound as it cut through the cloth 'Katchikk'.

'This is my first pair of trousers nnaa. Please make it memorable for me.' I pleaded. He stopped cutting, dropped his scissors, and patted my face. He was moved I guess, with my melodrama.
'Don't worry da Madras. I promise, you'll remember me all your life.' [...to be contd]

SimplyMarry.com is a Spam Site

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Thu, 16 Oct 2008 08:33:00 +0000

Out of the blue I started getting mails about 'matches' for my profile in SimplyMarry.com, A IndiaTimes site. I never registered on the site. So I followed instructions and sent a mail to unsubscribe@simplymarry.com. Even that didn't stop the spamming. So I called their Call Center and the staff their told me that 'Someone must have registered on your behalf. I will send your password. You tell me the password and I will delete your profile.' He also explained that he can't see my password hence he is having the site send it to me. When asked 'what is the point of having an 'unsubscribe' feature, he obviously did not have an answer. He told me that he has deleted my account and I won't be getting mails after 'a week'.

Either people at IndiaTimes think people are dumb and they are really smart. They actually think they can get away with this spamming. Why do business houses get away with such atrocities just like politicians get away with murder in our country is something that baffles me.

What do you think I should do?

While we hang our heads in shame...

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 04:44:00 +0000

"My appeals to the policemen who were standing nearby and watching only resulted in further beating. At one point the nun slipped away to plead with the police for help but she was dragged back by the mob and her blouse torn," he said. The nun was gang raped in a nearby building, and he was doused with kerosene by the mob, which threatened to set him on fire. [Via The Hindu]

If we turn a blind-eye, it will come back to haunt us. It is such acts of barbarity that widens the divide. I don't want to get into the argument about how some missions are forcing conversions. There is no excuse for raping women, like there is none for killing innocent people in the name of Jihad. Hinduism as I know it does not condone it. We were taught to worship women. And look what the so called Hindutva torch-bearers did: they gang raped a nun, with cops as witnesses. Now pray tell me, if our cops can't stop a rape, how in the god's name are they going to save us from terrorists and their bombs?

If you think about it for a moment you'll understand how a bigot can exploit this terrible situation. It is easier than ever before to hate us Hindus. If we turn a blind-eye, it will come back to haunt us. Remember Gujrat? We are still paying for it. Do you think our children should pay for Gujrat too? I don't think so.

What is appalling is discovering fundamentalist, religious rhetoric from blue-collar voices. Like I always said, education does not teach you civic sense, culture, or tolerance. I am hurt. I am ashamed. I hang my head low today. I probably will for a long time.

Scaly Breasted Munia

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Tue, 30 Sep 2008 03:27:00 +0000

The Tailors of Chittoor Part 2

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Tue, 16 Sep 2008 01:16:00 +0000

Continued from Part 1:
Diwali was on November 2nd. They were dismantling the huge shelter, at the entrance of our colony, they'd built for the Dasarra festivities. Strangely, the weather was cold. It was seven in the morning. I was walking down to the entrance where I had to catch a town-bus to school. The cold air caressed my legs. Balaji Tailors were open early that day. On an impulse, I walked into the shop and found Balaji and his assistant laboring away. Balaji was probably 27 or 28. A tall, lanky chap with soft hair and naughty eyes. I did not like his mooch though. That was probably because I was not able to grow one. There was a huge teak-wood table at the entrance and under its glasstop, Balaji's collection of all those newspaper cuttings and ads from magazines stared at me. I stared at those models wearing those trousers cut by angels. Oh those pleats and the baggy cut! I was not sure if Balaji could make a trouser like those in the ads. I have heard of guys complaining about crotch-smothering trousers and about how Balaji always defended "That's what you asked for! I followed your instructions." I thought of hiring the services of Hi-fashion Tailors or MegaStar Tailors in the town. But, they were expensive and they won't take my order in the first place: they were too busy during Diwali time. I sighed and looked at Raju, the assistant stitching buttons on a flouroscent orange shirt. Whoever the owner of that shirt was, he was definitely brave. Raju bit the loose ends of the thread and spat out.

"Ennadaa Madras, when are you giving your clothes for stitching? I am busy already. If you want yours by Diwali, hurry up. Tell your dad." Balaji said. The 'Takai' Tape Recorder was playing some shitty song. Any song on that thing would sound awful, that's another thing.

"Get yourself some Spun material. I will make a nice baggy trouser for you." He said and pointed to a model under the glass on the table. "That's the one I am talking about." 'Yeah. Yeah. Sure!' I thought.

He was a smooth operator all right. Rumor had it that he had moved to our colony because he was thrown out from the center of town: he was getting naughty with the girls . He was a good looker and definitely had the charm. I had seen so many girls spend hours standing outside, behind the glass-top table and laugh even when Balaji sneezed.

"How is your girl friend da?" Balaji asked. A big grin creased his otherwise flawless face. This was his favorite theme to tease me.

"Get lost!" I said. How the hell do these guys figure out these secrets I wondered. I had feelings for her but I hadn't told anyone. Not even to my close friends!

"She is not my girl friend okay anna? Don't say such things again." I said.

"Okay! But she asked about you. You are not in the same section I see? She is in 8th A? Yeah, she was asking me if you gave your clothes..."
I jumped on it. "When? When? When? What did she ask? Was she alone..." and he started laughing. The retard Raju was also laughing unmindful of the spittle spraying on that orange shirt.
"Get lost nnaa!" I said and ran from there.
"Give your clothes fast da!" He yelled out.

I reached the arch at the entrance of the colony and No. 4 'Vedam' arrived with it musical horn. 'Paapa-peen-peen-pa. PaBaaaan!' I jumped into the bus from the driver's end and waved at Qadir behind the wheel. He had a permanent smile creasing his awkward face and the pronounced, firm jaw added a steely aura to his demeanor. He nodded and winked. I settled down in one of the front seats and rummaged through my pockets for change to buy the ticket. I was wondering why Qadir had winked.
"Ah, rey-rey" the conductor gave his signal and banged that bell. I took the money out. The bus had not moved. Probably someone was coming. I turned towards the colony and found her running.
The sun caressed her golden face. She looked stunning even in that stupid Green and white uniform. I looked at Qadir and was surprised that he was looking at me with a knowing smile. Why was the world being so nice to me, I wondered.

She jumped in, saw me, and sat next to me. She was gasping for breath. The bus moved.
"Thank you da!" She said. She thought I'd stopped the bus. I did not tell her the truth. When the world was being nice to you, you enjoy the ride. Her arm was grazing against mine. Her hair was neatly combed back. Two really cute clips stood proud at the front. A dash of ash (Vibuthi) right beneath the black bindi, in some weird way made her look hot. The fragrance of Gokul Santol Talcum powder filled my lungs. Vasanthi a.k.a Vachi was a beautiful girl.

I knew her from sixth standard. We were family friends apparently. The moms met often. When my mom made a special dish, my mom would send a portion of it to them. Her mom too reciprocated but not as often. I hated the way her mom looted our Curry leaves tree. The tree was bald now, thanks to Vachi's mom. I was planning to give the first bloom from our new Rose plant to Vachi. I wasn't sure if it was the right thing to do.
[...to be contd]

The Right to Stupidity

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 10 Sep 2008 06:23:00 +0000

I wonder why we can't make Cigarettes, Bidis, and Ghutka illegal. A little Googling reveals that the government does not have the guts to do so:

The Indian government considers Tobacco as a legal, agricultural product.
Cigarettes contribute nearly 10 per cent of total excise to the exchequer. [Link]
The Indian government has invested 33% in equity holdings of India's main tobacco companies. [Link]
Tobacco industry gets every type of subsidy from A to Z and from Z to A -- agriculture, seeds, transport, water, electricity, the works. The total estimates have never been calculated.[ Link]
ITC alone employs more than 20,000 people. So, if we made Cigarettes illegal, thousands of people will lose their livelihood. The government obviously does not want to get into this issue.
Other than that, the bulk of India's domestic consumption of tobacco is in the form of chewing tobacco or smoking bidis. Because Bidis and other forms of Tobacco products are largely in the unorganized sector (and can't be brought under the tax net) the government screws the Cigarette smokers, who amount to only 13% of all tobacco smokers (see link) and pay 55% tax on every cigarette they buy. There is no way we are banning Cigarettes or declaring Tobacco as an illegal product.

Our Honorable Health Minister has hogged a lot of media coverage, thanks to his high-profile, high-visibility campaign against Tobacco consumption.
CNN-IBN quotes him:

"Right now the fine is Rs 200 rupees, but soon we want to make it Rs 1,000 for individuals and Rs 5,000 for institutions that are allowing this," said Ramadoss.

And, we all know about his public tiffs with Bollywood celebrities. To make his case, he comes up with statistics. He says "13 per cent children in the age group of 13-16 years consume tobacco." Yes sir, that is very sad. What is the remedy to it? Make a law, like in the USA, where one can't buy smokes unless he or she provides an identification and age proof. Now, you might laugh and say 'hey that is impossible to enforce in our country.' I agree. But so is the public smoking ban that will come into effect on October 2nd.

Some reports state that enforcing a ban on smoking has given positive results in developed countries. I am not against ban on smoking in public places mind you. My angst is that our Health Minister is doing this for publicity. There are graver health-care issues facing us.

A UNICEF report says:

With over 240 million children under the age of five, India contributes 25 percent of the world�s child deaths. It is evident that a major turnaround in India will ensure a significant impact globally!"
"The message of hope in this challenging scenario is that a vast majority of children can be saved through a combination of good care, nutrition, and medical treatment. It is believed that other easy measures could prevent 90% of diarrhea deaths, 62% of pneumonia deaths, 100% measles deaths 92% malaria deaths, 44% HIV/AIDS deaths and 52% neonatal fatalities."

We are a different country. Statistics and research from the so called developed countries are not entirely relevant to us. The tobacco consumer profile is unique in India. The health minister should be forming his anti-tobacco/anti-smoking policies based on ground realities and not on some fancy report from the West. And, he should be saving our dying children instead of trying to save idiots that smoke out of their free will. An adult smokes knowing fully well that it is harmful. That is his liberty. It is impractical and silly to play the big daddy and think for every goddamned adult in this country.
We voted for you sir but we'd like it if you stopped poking your nose in our personal lives. Stop shopkeepers selling smokes to kids and leave the adults of this country alone. If an idiot chooses to die, he will. Ban or not. I am an idiot and I know it. And, I have the right to be an idiot, as long as I am not enroaching on someone else's liberty.

The Angry Young Teacher

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Fri, 05 Sep 2008 06:36:00 +0000

Everyone was scared of Suresh sir. The new science graduate from PVKN College, Chittoor. His explosive temper was almost legendary. Even Mallik, the Correspondent of Anita Tutorials avoided confrontations with Suresh. The lady teachers though had little to worry about. Suresh was nice to them, especially to pretty lady teachers. I kept a very low profile in the Tutorials. Especially in Physics and Math classes which Suresh taught. We were five of us in the 9th standard classes (English Medium). One pretty girl and four boys. And I was the shorty of the class. As you may have already read elsewhere, I wore 'Knickers' or Shorts to school as well as the Tutorials. The other guys wore trousers. Shaved daily. And looked like men. Probably were having sex too on a regular basis. I, on the other hand, hanged with the 7th standard boys, played marbles, read Disney, and sat in the front bench. I looked the part I must admit but the three guys didn't give a shit about me as I posed no threat: I was not in the race to win that girl's heart. I was her kid brother's friend. Sigh!

I was happy with my uneventful life until the day Suresh started Magnetism classes. I had read up and researched on it earlier and I couldn't keep my mouth shut. While he was explaining the basics of Magnetism, I just put my hand up and finished the class for him. Now, I am no geek. It was just a coincidence that I knew Magnetism better than my entire class. It was an aberration. My family celebrated everytime I scored more than 35% in math. But Suresh thought I had potential. Our Tam-Bram connection too probably made him pay attention to me, I don't know!

"Dey Soplangi, when did you study about Electron spin and all?" Suresh said.

I looked around. My heart was racing. My nails dug into my clenched, perspiring fists. I unclenched my fists and rested my hands on the coarse floor. I wanted to take a leak. I was resting so much on my hands that my crossed-legs slightly lifted. Iyengar yoga I guess.
I wanted to say something cool. Something that told the arrogant bastards in my class who I was. And, of course, I wanted this moment to change the way Mini (the solitary girl in the class) looked at me: I wanted to graduate to 'my friend' from 'my thumb-sucking kid bro's friend'. But all that came out was

"Eyouhaahazti?"

The sniggering echoed against the unpolished, jagged walls of the room. Mini looked uninterested. She was busy poring through the text book.

"Enna daa? Muttaal! Say something coherent" Suresh said.

I took a deep breath and said,

"I read up on it. Sir..."

"Very good." Suresh said and turned to the losers and Mini and said, "I'd appreciate that kind of proactive learning. Don't study only to crack exams. Study to know. Your Physics book can be as exciting as Desmond Bagley's The Golden Keel."

An uncomfortable vacuum developed. All of them wore blank stares as if saying 'What the fuck was that? Golden Keel?"

Suresh turned to me and raised his eyebrows and said
"Dey Asamanjam, do you know who Desmond Bagley is?"

That was familiar territory, all right. I was one of the two guys, in our class at schoool, that read English novels back then. And, my family physician had a small library. It had James Hadley Chase (with newspaper covers to hide those lovely, revealing women on the covers), Alistair Mclean, and of course The Golden Keel.

"That's a novel about Mussolini's hidden treasure and how a group of adventurers smuggle it out of Italy, using the keel of a ship..." I said. My chest expanded by some 40 meters.

Suresh stared at me. A crooked smile was creasing his bespectacled face. I noticed the green veins on his muscular forehand. He punched walls to strengthen his punches. Some of his thick, unruly hair stuck to his forehead. A trickle of sweat drifted down his side-locks. He was still staring with that 'Unfuckingbelievable!' smile stuck on his face. I glanced around. The boys were already packing their bags. And, Mini was smiling at me!

"Not bad at all!" He ended the staring and said.

I wanted to tell him that I was not exactly one of those studious and/or brilliant wankers that aced all their exams and went on to become engineers or doctors. I was in school because my dad wanted me in it. I hated school. I was not a complete dufus all right but I wasn't Krishna (our class topper, another shorty) or Ramesh (topper from 9th C). He slapped my back with his Pop-eye arms and said,
"Class dismissed." The other boys slithered out of the class. Their worried faces told me that they knew, they now had new, tougher competition. Mini stayed back to edit her essay with Suresh's help. I was about to take off when Suresh said, "Dey wait, I need to talk to you." I slammed my brakes and I stood there like E.T. in a bowling alley. Mini had expressive eyes. She had a way of animating with her arms. Like when she asked a question, her outstretched palm too asked it... almost like a classical dancer. I was salivating at her and before long she finished her essay discussion and left. I thought she flashed a smile at me but it was probably my imagination.

Suresh was busy stacking up some papers on the shelf behind his desk. We were in the office room now. He switched the table fan on and settled down on his chair.
"Sit da!" He yelled.
I sat at the edge of the chair.

"What else do you read?" Suresh asked.
I stopped playing with the paperweight and told him about Chase, Mclean, Tintin, Asterix, and of course Disney. I also told him about how I read anything and everything. About my disagreements with Yendamuri. About how Yerramsetty Sai copied Wodehouse. He did not utter a word through it all. When I ended my chatter he said.
"You don't want to be an engineer, no?"
I gulped. It was like swallowing a Cricket ball. If I said 'no' and he went and told that to my dad, that would be a catastrophe. I blinked and made some incoherent noises.

"It is okay if you don't want to be one. At least you know what you don't want da. Look at me, my dad wants me to study engineering after my BSc and I have no choice. I have to do it. You don't know my dad. Hitler never died. He came to Chittoor and married my mom."

I nodded. Hmmm. Even teachers suffer from dads. He continued.

"Your dad seems a man of reason da. So tell him what you want to do. Set his expectations. You still have time."

I nodded in agreement.

"You got talent da Soplaangi. Make use of it when you have time. Have a dream and pursue it." We spoke for some more time. He treated me like an equal. He wanted me to read Ayn Rand (I will never forgive him for doing that to me. That was death by prose!)

That was that. As he pedaled away on his Bicycle down the slope, I felt a strange pain. I wrote my first novella in a 200 page notebook that night. I wrote till 2 A.M. When I finished scribbling 'The End' and closed the notebook, I knew that Suresh sir was indirectly responsible for unleashing another wannabe writer.

I never did any of what he asked me to do. I did miserably in school and college. I never bothered. But his words from that day made a lasting impact. He was the first person who told me I was good. That I was talented. I don't know if I am, but I believed in him. I believe in myself. He probably forgot all about me. He probably forgot our conversation in the next hour. But, to me, it was a start. I don't know how you tell a good teacher from the ordinary, but I know now. A good teacher makes you believe. That, and only that counts.

Happy Teachers' day.

The Tailors of Chittoor Part 1

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Tue, 02 Sep 2008 11:22:00 +0000

Winter was just around the corner and my folks finally agreed to get me full pants (or trousers as they are known now). My dad found it inconceivable that an 8th standard kid should be wearing trousers.

'I wore half pants in PUC!' He exclaimed every time I raised the topic. I am sure your dad wore loin-cloth in college I used to think. Almost all the boys (but for Koya I think) had graduated to trousers. The peer pressure was tremendous. Stonewash Jeans. Classic Denim. Baggy trousers. And I was the odd boy out. The sore thumb. The front bencher.

A trouser those days (new clothes in general) was a costly affair and it was indeed a luxury for us. Readymade branded wear had yet to make a splash in Chittoor. Shobha Paradise had just started advertising their ready-wear in Gurunadha Talkies I think. Before Diwali though, Shobha Paradise intensified their marketing promos. They hired auto-rickshaws fitted with those loudspeakers (those cone-shaped monsters, yeah) and sent the auto around. The ad man sat in the back, next to the PA equipment and between stanzas of Chiranjeevi songs, shouted out the script: "Shoba Paradise! Visit today! Shoba Paradise, sirrrr!" I suspected that it was the same guy that hawked Ginger confectionery at the bus stand (Inji maraabbbbbbbbbaa!, sirrr!). Every time the promo auto passed our street, I used to stare at the display hoardings stuck to the auto on the sides; at those kids clad in with a million pleats and imagined myself walking into my class, clad in those trousers and a baggy t-shirt.

I gave up on my dad and started pestering mom. It took me a week to convince her to try convincing dad. A few days later, my dad summoned me after dinner. He was sitting in the Verandah, drowned in the old wooden chair that creaked everytime you moved. Mohd Rafi was singing a soul stirring melody (Ab kya Misaal dhoon...) in the Philips radio. Despite the static, Rafi sounded like God. A couple of moths were flying around in the Verandah. A dirty 60W filament lamp was struggling to keep the dark at bay. And I could hear the strains of Ghantasala's Bhagavadgita from afar; the Durga temple at the entrance of our colony was playing it. Some over enthusiastic kids were already bursting crackers. Diwali was still a week away.
'This Diwali we'll get you trousers along with half-pants da.' Dad said.

I was confused.
'Daddy, I don't want to wear half-pants anymore. I am only growing older if you didn't notice? Even Koya has decided to quit half-pants... It will be very embarrassing for me, no?'

My father grunted and sighed and mumbled something under his breath. He looked up at the noisy fan and told my mom 'We need to clean the blades, borrow the ladder from the landlord.'

I bit my lip and started slapping my sides. Dad finally cleared his throat and said,
'What I meant was, we'll buy you new half-pants and I wanted you to alter one of my old trousers and start using it...'
I shot a glance to my mom and she shrugged hinting her helplessness. I wanted to scream.
'So I guess that is fine then?' dad asked.
'....'
'What?'
'No dad, I don't want the half-pants. I want a new trouser.'

His head rose from the newspaper and through his thick-glass spectacles his eyes started drilling holes on me.
'It will cost you only a little more... come on, please.' I pleaded.

There was a long pause. An irritating pause. He knew I was restless and anxious, yet he chose to mind-hump me by pausing for an eternity and talking about cleaning the ceiling fan. I was staring at the alarm clock in the hall . It tick-tocked away, while mom was cutting Spinach. My dad snapped the newspaper straight for the 34000th time and did his grunting routine again. Every penny counted for him. Every extra penny meant compromise. The festival advance that the government gave its non-gazetted officers wouldn't buy all the boys (we were three) loin cloth. I was feeling guilty but I chose to ignore it, for exposing your hairy legs brought with it something even worse: ridicule. And I was ready to go on the guilt trip. I wanted my trousers, for my knickers were in a twist.

The Great Himalayan Bird Count 2008

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Wed, 27 Aug 2008 05:15:00 +0000

Prateek posted this on the BNG Birds Yahoo Mailing List. If you are a birder, you wouldn't want to miss this:

The Great Himalayan Bird Count, Winter of 2008 is planned on the most popular trekking trails situated in the valleys of Yamuna; Bhagirithi; Bhilingna; Ganga; Mandakini and Alaknanda rivers in Garhwal.

- The Bird Count Dates are: 14th to 17th of November, 2008

- The bird count will start and finish at Dehradun

- We propose 15 Groups undertaking 34 different treks of +/- 10 kms each between 14th and 17th November 2008 (Each Group size will be a maximum of five birders plus 2-3 urban school students) local village youths and govt. school students will join the trails at the
count destinations itself.

- We are involving young school children because we at ARCH feel that young minds should start thinking of Conservation as an academic and career pursuit instead of just another constructive activity.

- This event will be organized with the support of Uttarakhand Forest Department.

- There will be a Orientation and Debriefing Workshop at Dehradun on the 14th & 17th respectively.

- The 14th & 17th are also the dates for to-&-fro journey to the count destinations.

- Most of the groups will be undertaking two treks during the Count but one or two groups will be undertaking 3-4 treks in the Count.

- It is an encounter-rate baseline data generation and conservation awareness activity.

- Each group will accommodate some local youths and young school children from the area and will provide orientation & motivation to take-up bird watching as an revenue generation skill.

- Each group is encouraged to conduct a small half-hour workshop with the local village elders to generate list of vernacular names of the bird species found in different river valleys. They are also expected to document any references occurring in oral folk.

- This is not a commercial activity, so we expect the participants to share the cost of lodging, Boarding & travel expenses at actuals.

- During the count modest lodging & boarding will be arranged at the Forest Rest Houses of the area.

Friends now you know the dates, so plan your schedules accordingly and kindly let un know of your intention (with your trekking & birding experience of Himalayan bird species) to participate in this wonderful birding opportunity at the earliest possible.

Kindly take an early Registration initiative to avoid any disappointments later.

Each Group size is restricted to 5 birders only, so please hurry...

On hearing from you we'll furnish the Count Trails and Registration Details at the outset.

Our next count "The Great Himalayan Bird Count, Summer of 2009" in Garhwal Himalayas is happening in May 2009.

Regards,
Prateek Panwar
Founder Trustee ARCH
Action & Research for Conservation in Himalayas
MDDA Duplex Villa # 3, Sahastradhara Road,
Dehradun, Uttarakhand 248001 INDIA

Tel# 9412054216
(0135)2114649
Email: arch.birdcount (at) gmail (dot) com
arch.birdcount(at)yahoo(dot)in

Oriental Magpie Robin

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Mon, 25 Aug 2008 15:24:00 +0000

On an overcast day in Siddhapur, Coorg, I was sitting around lamenting over the weather and bad light and this angel swung by to make my day. Did I grab the opportunity and make the most of it? No. Chromatic aberration screwed the pic.

When the Universe Unfolds...

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Mon, 11 Aug 2008 13:09:00 +0000

The universe works in weird ways. The markets are looking up. We won a Gold in Olympics. That's fucking historic. You know? The medal I mean. The markets were buoyant because of the medal? I would love to think so but I know not many would like to believe me. But, I believe this day is a turnaround day for the country my fellow citizens. Drink a 90. Celebrate. Savor the moment.

P.S. Abhinav Bhindra is very, very cool. I love his unruffled, cool demeanor. God, man! he made it look like he got his monthly haircut and was walking out bored! Hats off sir!

Subramaniapuram

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Thu, 07 Aug 2008 05:01:00 +0000

A laid back suburb of Madurai. A gang of friends that have no (real) jobs. A politician. A girl. The rich, rural 80s life. And, um, violence. Yeah. That sums it up. Is that it? No. The 80s backdrop is what makes the movie Subramaniapuram intriguing and watchable. I hear quite a few disapproving groans out there, but to me the movie started with a lot of promise and fizzled out in the second half. The 80s backdrop alone is not enough to make it a cohesive story. But boy did I love the 80s theme! Director Sasi Kumar uses Ilayaraja's music cleverly to tap into your nostalgia. I have to take my hat off for the attention to detail Sasikumar pays in creating the 80s theme. And I don't know why, but I love that girl. I love the way she rolls her eyes while flirting with the hero. Her face lights up with a thousand titillating tales. This girl's got a future Jack. Mark my words. Unless she is devoured by the mediocrity that ails our movie makers. The boys in the movie are, well, ordinary. Don't want to waste screen space on them. I really hope that one day they learn to act and not talk like drunk Langurs.

James Vasanth's music is dreamy and poignant. But of course. He uses a lot of material from Ilayaraja. That song Kangal Irundhal is a take off on Chinna Kannan Azhaikiraan. Me thinks.

Sasikumar, how does a jobless, infatuated youth turn into a monster? He needs strong motivation. I am from a violent small town and I know how it was. But it takes a lot for one to become a killer. The excuse of 'they made me beg for my life from a woman' does not stick sir and is cliched. You became lazy or you were too anxious to finish your script. What kind of a love affair is that? The hero doesn't even want to hold her hand? Ganja Karuppu's character does not stick either. Sometimes a simple closure is the best way out, instead of scrounging for, and ending up with, a brittle 'twist-in-the-tale' closure that is as convincing as lipstick on a pig.

I don't agree with people complaining about the gore and the violence. What the fuck! The real world is worse. If you really don't like gore, close your eyes when the scene arrives. And shut up.

P.S. I am glad this new breed of directors is trying to tell captivating stories unlike the so called veterans like KamalHassan. Kamal has become self-congratulatory and suffers from a serious case of delusion. I hope this new breed does not succumb to the hypocrisy of Kodambakkam. Good luck gentlemen.

For a litter-free Nandi Hills

noreply@blogger.com (suman kumar) — Mon, 21 Jul 2008 03:20:00 +0000

A few of us have planned to clean up Nandi Hills... and attempt to make it stay clean. We're planning to swarm and clean the place on August 2nd. You can find the details at :
http://cleannandihills.wordpress.com/

If you're interested in joining this exercise, register online at http://spreadsheets.google.com/ccc?key=pcg6l1lkoIvWHV7LIScCKMA&hl=en