Sumankumar's yak pad

RIP Michael Jackson

2009-06-26T11:55:00.003+05:30

It was raining and we were scurrying for cover in VGP Golden Beach. It was 1989. I refused to budge. They were playing Thriller. That was the first time I heard MJ. I was transfixed. "What music is this?" I asked someone and they laughed at me. "That's Michael Jackson, stupid!" Now, I was a small town boy and we didn't get any 'western music' records. When I walked into the music store on Church street in Chittoor, the next week, and asked for Thriller the store guy clucked his tongue and said 'No. I have to order it from Madras. Double charge. Will take 10 days. Shall I?"

I hadn't heard his music before. I heard of this guy MJ all right but for a 16 year old back in 1989, 200 bucks were a lot of money. To this day I don't know why I said "Yes!" to that store guy. I am glad I did.

I played Thriller endlessly on our Dyanora-National '2-in-1' Cassette player. Before long I had Bad too in the collection. My neighbours, who thought I was this nice kid that knew his manners, were in for a shock. They enquired about those strange, loud noises that exploded from my room. It was me practicing the MJ hiccup. Or the squeal. My mom proudly proclaimed to her friends "Vaadu Ingleesh paatalu paaduthunnadandi!" (He is singing English songs). The next thing I did shocked the shit out of everyone. I put some FEM facial bleach on my side locks and hey presto! I had light brown side locks. I cut my hair and ensured that one strand of it fell on my forehead. The strand became brown but refused to curl up despite hours of trying it.

I know that all kids go through this. But to do something like that in Chittoor back then was true rebellion. There was no real TV. There were no top 20 countdowns on the radio. There was no Internet. Heck, if you had a phone, you were considered a rich man!

I am sure most of the people thought I was a clown. They were right. I wanted suspenders, I think because I saw an MJ's picture in which he wore suspenders. Now, forget suspenders, Chittoor was getting used to trousers only then. I was way ahead of time. So I decided to make my own suspenders. I bought two thick strips of elastic and had my tailor stitch it to my new chocolate brown baggy trousers. Believe me when I say this: I wore those custom made suspenders and tried hitting on girls. In retrospect, it explains why I never got any.

I felt sad when I watched Chiranjeevi (I am a big fan!) dance for 'Kashmora kaugilisthey...' in Dhonga. It was a poor imitation of the legendary Thriller. When I whispered to my friend sitting next to me in the movie hall "That's a copy of..." He interjected "Impossible. Chiru doesn't tolerate copying." I mumbled "Right!" and realised that I was seeing, listening to, and understanding things that the average lower middle class Chittoor kid would never imagine existed. That's when I decided "I need to get out of this town." And I did. No no, not that I don't love that town... just that I knew that I had to get out and see other places. Bigger places.

MJ has provided 'inspiration' to quite a few movie music composers in India. I know composers that made a career out of Dangerous alone. One of the reviews of Dangerous said "...bound to provide content for the Indian movie music for years to come." And, you know that is the truth. Before long MJ was a house hold name. I can't think of any 'western' musician that achieved the same distinction. Of course, when Prabhudeva was given the dubious title 'MJ of India' I laughed.

I think MJ is the only western musician my grand ma tolerated. I think she actually liked his music though she doesn't understand a word of what he sings. I am quite sure my granny is sad today. So am I. I know I'll forget this day and move on to grapple with vicissitudes of life. But I want to pause and pay a little to tribute to dear MJ. Thank you for the music MJ. Rest in peace.

Yahoo Domains: Insufferable and Dirty

2009-06-24T17:04:00.004+05:30

I booked a domain name last year using Yahoo Domains. This year they increased their renewal prices without a notification to my principal mail id (which is Gmail).
They bill my credit card without asking me if I want to renew a domain for 34.95 USD Yes. 34.95 for a domain name.

Fine, probably I didn't read some fine print. I am a moron but shouldn't there be a way I can get in touch with them? I mean I fucking paid money and bought something from them... No. There is a convoluted wizard where you choose your problem and click continue... see http://smallbusiness.yahoo.com/contactus/. After I clicked Continue, a cute little note said:

So I tried setting up a "call back" with Yahoo. You make an online request and they'll call you. But no. Because my yahoo account did not have my phone number, they wanted me to updated my account with my phone and then request a Call Back. I tried that too but it said "Sorry the system accepts only 10-digit numbers..." And by that time I was like "Can't you count bitch!"

Anyway. I want you to do me a favor. I want Yahoo to answer me just one question.
"How the fuck can you hike your prices and bill my card with the new price without asking me if I am okay with it?" And, the only way I see it happening is by you and me making a lot of noise. So please post a link to this post on Twitter, Facebook, Orkut, Myspace and what not. Will you do that for me? Please?

Music Yogi: "It is okay if you don't buy our CDs"

2009-06-16T12:16:00.003+05:30

A colleague of mine recommended a CD of Karnatriix. I fell in love with their music. And Karnatriix sells their CDs on Music Yogi. I wrote about their "IE only website earlier... If you thought that was bad, check this out.
I called Music Yogi. They provided a number on their website. Some guy picks the phone

Me: Is this Music Yogi?

Guy1: Who is this?

Me: I got your number from the website?!?

Then the guy yells out to some other guy.

Guy2: Hello?

Me: Is this Music Yogi?

Guy2: Yes?

Me: I have some feedback on your websi...

Guy2: Yeah, we are having problems... which CD do you want?

Me: Album called Namaste by Karnatriix?

Guy2: You can send a DD if you want...

Me: Dude! I thought this was 2009??

Guy2: Dude! That's what I told you! The site is not working. I am giving you options.

Me:Listen, I don't think you should get cocky. I mean you're trying to sell something to me and your system is broken! I don't think I have time to go cut a DD... so I...

Guy2: I will give you options, if you don't buy, that's cool too.
Me: !!!! okay! What other options do I have?

Guy2: I'll give you a user id. Use that to log in. Punch in your card details. And we'll send the CD. Or you could transfer the money to an account number and let us know...

Me: Erm, No, I'll pass.

Click!

Whoa! And I thought they were serious about their business. Imagine. He is asking me to use some login credentials that is not mine. And, he has the audacity to ask me to feed my card details. Good luck Music Yogi! And like I said, this is 2009 and it is a sin to be clueless on how to run a simple e-commerce site to sell CDs.

And when you publish a phone number on your fucking website, you don't greet callers with "Who is this?" I am sure you are a cool cat. Been there done that and all that crap, but as a customer I expect a little bit of courtesy.

2009-05-30T13:24:00.001+05:30

Testing ping.fm ignore.

99 Movie Review

2009-05-25T22:45:00.004+05:30

A low-profile movie (by Bollywood standards) that has no real star power releases. It doesn't get too much media attention (by Bollywood standards again). But slowly but surely it creates a buzz. A friend mentions it on the phone. Colleagues talk about it. No, they are not gushing about it or anything. It is a calm acknowledgment of a good movie. It has grossed 7.24 Crores under two weeks. To me that's an indication that people enjoyed the movie. It is solid testimony to the fact that if you stuck to fundamentals and create a rewarding, engaging experience for the viewer, you will succeed. Star or no star. Media hype or no hype.

99 is a laugh-out-loud funny movie that tells the story of two young men that want to make it big (hit a century, if you will). Centered around the match-fixing, betting controversy, this tightly scripted tale is a laugh riot. Mahesh Manjrekar who plays the bookie called AGM will be long remembered for his role. Except for Soha Ali Khan who plays Pooja, each character in the movie pulls it weight and helps in making 99 a cohesive, endearing, and thrilling movie experience. Cyrus Broacha is a revelation on the big screen!

Directors DK and Raj painstakingly recreate the mad mad years gone by... when the mobile phone was still a fad. When polyphonic ringtones were not mainstream yet. The attention to detail was fantastic.

The humor is not the typical filmy slapstick but is more like funny situations and one-liners that we come across in our day-to-day life. You will relate to it. Also the irreverent, Guy Ritchie-meets-Tarantino style kind of worked out.

However, the first half slightly drags but in retrospect I understood that it is that way because the directors were setting it all up for a racy, thrilling second half. Save the best for the last I guess.

Watch out for DK and Raj. Their best is yet to come. I am guessing their second or third Bollywood venture will make history. Good luck boys!

My Friend Sancho - Review

2009-05-25T08:34:00.003+05:30

Amit Varma's debut novel My Friend Sancho is a welcome change. I say this not because of its literary merit. It is a welcome change because a) It is pop-fiction b) It does not try tricks like that IIT-MBA fellow whatever his name is (blending bollywood and cricket, well fuck you!) and most importantly c) It is almost-honest writing. No holier-than-thou shit.

It is a funny book. For people with average sense of humor that is. That's like 99.999999% of people. So I enjoyed it. For example, that MF line. And the oft-repeated imaginary dialogue. Note to Amit: Stop saying 'So there.' so often. So there.

Amit Varma uses his book to promote his blog. That's quite smart. I am sure Amit, on his birthday every year, sends a 'Congrats' card to his parents.

But does Sancho provide a great experience? Well not quite. I know Amit is capable of much, much more. The book hurries you. I was expecting an Andhra meal and I got a vada pav. For instance, Muneeza's character was till growing on me when the book ended. Is she a modern, muslim girl? A middle class chic restrained until now but waiting to fly free? Doesn't she want a boyfriend? Did she ever date? Did any guy hit on her any time? If yes how did she react? The trouble with the character is that the minute you realize she is a victim-muslim, you think "Zaheera!" I am sorry but I couldn't help it. And Amit's effort to position Muneeza as a 'modern' girl does not quite succeed. But, I won't blame Amit for it. Like I said I am the average reader with average intelligence and imagination. Or maybe Amit was so caught up with Abir Ganguly that he missed some fine tuning on Muneeza. Amit may claim that he is not Abir but hey! :)

I don't know if I am writing this because I have followed Amit's blog and met him a couple of times... I tried to be as honest as I can be. Um, so there!

This is the kind of a book that you'd finish in one sitting. Probably during your commute. And you'll probably startle your fellow passengers with your laughter. So go ahead and give it a spin.

Observations of an Amateur Bird Photographer

2009-04-20T11:25:00.003+05:30

I had posted this on India Nature Watch long time back...

It is the journey. Not the destination.

I used to go to Hebbal lake to photograph birds. What's the big deal? Only, I was armed with my mighty Nikkor 18-70 MM and I used to wonder 'Why in the god's name do the Pelicans appear so distant.' Yeah. Laugh away. That's when one of the gentlemen who was armed with something that closely resembled a Bazooka told me 'Er, you need a bigger lens?' And I bought myself a Nikon 70-300 G for a little over five thousand bucks. Improvement? Yes. Satisfied. Hell no. Well, my point here is, whether I was trying to photograph birds with my kit lens or my poor man's telephoto lens, the journey has always been the same. I discovered my inherent ability to get closer to birds. My wife laughs every time she catches me crawling on all fours to shoot birds at ground level. Once in Savandurga I spent more than half hour getting close to a Magpie Robin. I had to crawl through thorny bushes; in fact I managed to cut my calf muscle. And, just a microsecond before I squeezed the shutter, the Robin took off. And in Lalbagh once, a Purple Swamp hen came and stood right in front of me and I had to freeze for well over five minutes. And, resist the temptation to scratch my neck. The journey, my friends, was and still is the same: exciting, fun, and inspiring. So on days when you go back home without a single decent shot, well, don't be too hard on yourself. It is the journey that counts. Not the destination or that award winning pic.

Let them come to you

I know that all the bird watchers I admire, including Sudhir Shivram, Vijay Cavale have this to say about getting close to a bird: let them come to you. Simple? No! It is easier said than done. Last week in Nandi Hills, my excitement got the better of my judgement and I went chasing a bunch of Orietnal White Eyes. I was exasperated when I realized that there was no way I was going to capture them in a frame. So, I wanted to rest. I found myself a quiet place, surrounded by bush and untouched for the day by humans. I dozed off on a rock. When I woke up after about 15 minutes, I realised that I was surrounded by at least 20 birds! Red Whiskered Bulbuls, Rufous Bellied Babblers, a solitary Jungle fowl, and of course the White eyes. I made it a point to not make any abrupt movements. In fact I did not even feel like taking pictures. I spent the next twenty minutes watching them go about their business. The babblers were building a nest and were busy collecting nesting material. The Bulbuls were just hanging out in pairs mostly. And I also spotted a Scimitar (my first sighting). The White Cheeked Barbets were singing away a heart-wrenching love song... Moral of the story: take a break and don't run after them. Walk down and relax.

The equipment does/does not matter

Sigh! Just when I was convinced that my 70-300 'G' was why I was shooting crappy pictures, I found someone posting great pictures shot with that same lens! Though it is natural to run to Jayesh and buy that 300 mm F 2.8, in my opinion, every aspiring photographer should start with a point and shoot 35mm film camera. And they should upgrade only when they are sure that their fundamentals are strong as required. I know people that own SLRs (for years!) and can't tell aperture from apricot. I'd say start with the basic camera. Learn making pictures with it and then, you can conquer the world with your 300... no 600 mm F 4. It is a hard fact to digest I know. I used my Sony 4.5 mega pixel point-and-shoot for a long time and actually got some good pics with it. In fact I became interested in photography only after I got me self a point-and-shoot. The equipment matters, but only when you are clear about what you want from life. You don't need a sledgehammer to crack a walnut. And, a toothpick is not a replacement for your dentist. Now that I am done with my metaphors and similes... find purpose, equipment will follow.

A backyard in hand is worth two Ranganthittus in your dreams

When I got my SLR (complete with the powerful 18-70mm kit lens), I went straight to Ranganthittu to shoot pictures. I failed to notice that the exposure compensation was +7 or something like that!! I did not even know where my focus was! I was just clicking away from that boat. And I had a smirk whenever I saw those normal humans with their point-and-shoots... Anyway, I finished my adventure at Ranganthittu and was reaching Bangalore when my 70 year old dad called from Chennai.
'I went for a 'shoot'' I told him.
He grunted and asked 'shoot what?'
I said 'Birds dad. Painted storks, Pelica...'
and he cut me in half with 'Why? are there no birds in your neighborhood?'

Now a days I go sit in the private park that belongs to our apartment complex and spot the sunbirds, flowerpeckers, and Ashy Priniass every day. Every single day. Sometimes I manage a White Cheeked Barbet. A few weeks back it'd rained on a warm Sunday afternoon. After it stopped raining, I went down to the park on an instinct. I spotted six Asian Koels. I also spotted a Barn Owl in the nights. Since I am ending all my gyan with a punch line, let me do an encore here. Frame the Prinia. The flycatcher will follow. Or, better still, if you can't play in your backyard don't go to the stadium... :-)

Aandal Part 2

2009-04-17T13:00:00.005+05:30

Read the first part

It was a Sunday afternoon and Aandal was squatting outside our grand ma's. She was telling my granny about this mentally challenged kid in one of the homes on Alwarpet street. She was talking about how that kid was always screaming for food. "Maami andha payyan eppo paaru bun kaapi bun kaapi nu Katheenu irukkum" (that kid screams bun n coffee bun n coffee all the time). So Suren started imitating her and she lost her temper. "Ayyy chinnadhu, Koluppaa? Pichi puduven!" (something to the effect hey you small one watch it!).

Now in all the years and all the maids that passed through our home no one has ever dared to mock us. It was us! Suren and I! Whatever hesitation we had about ragging Aandal was blown away and we stretched and cracked our knuckles, sighed, and said 'here we go!'

The next day Suren proposed to Aandal. "Aandal I - I love you... will you scrub my back?" She laughed baring her remaining, tobacco stained teeth. She was illiterate but who doesn't understand 'I love you' ? She referred to 'Love' as 'Labzu' and she complained to my mom "Maami idha paaru maami Chinnadhu Labzu pannudhu!' (Maami, see your younger son is doing 'Labzu')

Aandal worked in many homes in Alwarpet street and she was on a tight schedule every day. So she could ill afford any delays. We knew it and exploited it. When she came in the mornings to do the dishes and mop the house, Suren took his own time in the shower. Aandal started with gentle knocks on the bathroom door but she realised she was dealing with assholes, so the gentle knocks became explosive thumps, which were always echoed by Suren's devilish laughter.

When we bumped into her on the street, we always blew kisses and she would spit on the ground and mutter some unprintable stuff. Within a few months Aandal was quite famous among the boys, the shopkeepers in the neighbourhood, and the jobless adults that hung about the street.

I vividly remember Aandal giving one of those guys her piece of mind.
As she was walking by to 'Bhai's' provision store, the gang of boys sitting outside the store went 'hoo hooo Aandal I love you!' Aandal stopped in her tracks, surveyed the gang and picked one guy and said 'Thevdyaa payya, Why don't you go do labzu to your mother? I will chop it off!' A roar of laughter erupted and Aandal's voice became shrill as she started abusing that guy, but now she included his aunts, grand mom, uncles, wife... she also asked him 'dey! do you know who fathered you? I bet your mom doesn't know too...go fuck a dog!'

She never used such choicest abuses on us. She loved us I think and she knew we were harmless. She became quite a friend to my grand ma, probably because they were of the same age. When Suren made fun of my granny he attracted Aandal's attention too.

The days chugged on and Aandal got used to the ass holes that we were. Actually when Suren or me went out of town and were missing, Aandal gave us a rousing welcome when we returned. 'Take off your Saagunu! And put if for wash... take bath and eat... you need rest!' (Saagunu meant socks in Aandalese).

She hated the girl friends that visited home. Especially those that wore shorts. "Ayyyaaa! Ennaadhu idhu! Payyanaa ponnaa!? Ippidi thodaya kaattudhu!" ("Is this a guy or girl? And why is she exposing her thighs like this?")

But she hated drunks. She got extra ballistic on any drunk that crossed her path, including Ginny, my uncle. [...to be contd]

Partha Sarathi MBA

2009-04-15T15:00:00.003+05:30

"I am an MBA." He announced and laughed revealing his yellow teeth. He was standing in a corner, nursing a 90 of cheap whisky along with some beer. The veins were pronounced on his hands. He pulled the sleeves of his once off-white shirt yet again; it was an involuntary, nervous reaction I guess. I offered him a smoke. "I normally smoke Marlboro sir, but today I'll smoke my own Wills. Sorry eh?" He said. I shrugged and started talking to Sam. I ordered one more 60 of Old Monk rum.

"My name is Partha Sarathy." He continued. "Is that Godfather? Mario Puzo?"
I nodded in agreement and said "It is the latest in the series. This is not by Puzo though." He shook his head a hundred times and took the book from me. He pretended to seriously appraise the book and placed it on the wooden ledge that served as a place to set your drink down in Sapthagiri Wines. He finished his drink even before ours arrived. There was a bench along the wall and three guys occupied it. The leader of this group was already staring at Mr. Partha with adulation filled eyes.

"I helped this contractors get business worth Crores. Crores! And see what they have done to me. I told them that I didn't want a penny and walked off. Do you see this mobile phone? This is mine. I didn't even have money for the bus... I walked seven KM saar! Seven KM!"
He told his sad story. I was wary of him but Sam, as always, started his anthropo-neuro-psychological study, yet again. Sam introduced himself. Mr. Partha exclaimed, "So you are a doctor in Victoria? I know your chief... what's his name again?" Sam told him the Chief's name. "Ah yes! Same person. How is he? Don't tell him you met me here eh?" And he laughed that psychotic laugh again and said "I normally drink only in 3-star bars. But today..." He diverted his attention to me and said "...But today because of those bastards!" He tried to muffle his sobs. He wiped the tears with the sleeve of his dirty shirt.

I remained impassive. However, the trio on the bench were nonplussed and moved. The leader of the bench trio asked us in Kannada, "Yen aayithhu Saar? Ishtu Chennaga Ingleesh Maathadthaa idhaaney!" (or something to that effect) Sam explained to the bench trio about Mr. Partha and how his Contracting firm conned him of Crores. The leader of the trio immediately asked one of his gang members to stand up and make place for Mr. Partha.

Mr. Partha bummed a smoke from Leader as he sat down. He even spoke in broken Kannada. "I am an Iyengar sir. I can dictate 600 words a minute you know?" I nodded as I didn't know how the hell I should react to such a monumental statement. So I turned away and adjusted my position in that cubbyhole that was the bar behind Sapthagiri wines. I hardly had space to move my arm. With my back to Mr. Partha, I told Sam that we should be leaving. Sam nodded and he noticed that Mr. Partha was now putting a scheme on the trio. I lost interest, I mean I knew what his game was.

Mr. Partha called me after a few minutes. I turned around with a lot of difficulty. And he dropped his pitch on me.
"Don't mistake me..." He started, sipping on the whisky that he'd bummed from the trio who were sobbing now after listening to Mr. Partha's story.
"...I have to go to Chennai to meet my business partners." He paused as the Leader offered him some spicy Chicken.
"...I have to meet my partners in Chennai, and I left all my ATM cards in those bastards' office...can you give me 200 Rupees?" A brief silence ensued and it was broken by Manja, the waiter-boy, shouting out an order to the Counter: 'Half Khoday's rummu, ondhu packet Small illi!" I stared into Mr. Partha's eyes that were lodged in deep sockets. I smiled and said "If I had 200, why would I drink here?"

He chewed on it for a little while and said "Yes yes. How about 50? At least 20?" I said no. He shrugged as if he forgave me, started to say something, and decided against it. He returned his focus on the trio and started his pitch.

As I was leaving with Sam, he called out and said "Don't mistake me, ok?" I smiled and waved a bye to him. As I waited near the Counter to settle our bill, I could hear him swear at his Contracting firm and sob. I thought I also heard
"If not 500, at least 200? Yes, yes. I will transfer it online."
"..."
"Oh you don't have Internet okay! I'll give you a check, yes? Wonderful... Yeah just one more 60 for me sir... can't drink too much!"

Aandal

2009-03-11T08:50:00.002+05:30

You knew Aandal was in the vicinity when the atrocious stench of her chewing tobacco (called Panneer Pugailai in Tamil) assaulted your nose. It'd normally be early in the morning, around eight, when she would turn up to perform her duties as our maid. No one really knew how she ended up in the neighbourhood. When we moved to Chennai, mom was on the lookout for a maid and she hired the services of Aandal who was already working in our grand ma's. When I first saw Aandal I was petrified. She looked like the vampire version of Miss Grundy. A million wrinkles creased her face and that nose protruded at a right angle to her face. And, her teeth, whatever little that was left of them I mean, were a deep, dark brown. The most petrifying thing about though was not her looks. She served up whiplashes when she spoke.

Now, Suren, my younger bro and I had a tacit agreement right from when we were in prep school. It was more of a mission statement than an agreement really: we would bully the shit out of the maid. Any maid. No, no, it was not a result of some traumatic experience or something. We just love bullying people. The maid was the perfect target. They wouldn't dare retaliate and even if they did, it'd be at best a complaint to mom.

When Aandal came on the scene, Suren and I were suffering from withdrawal symptoms. There had a been a long hiatus, of almost ten years since we had bullied a maid. We were not kids any longer all right. I had started working as a salesman and Suren had started college at the New College in Chennai. We let Aandal be for a while. I mean she was as old as grand ma and we were not sure if we should really be bullying her. Our apprehensions were blasted to pieces one day. [To be contd...]

'Pitchi' Rammurthy

2009-02-25T21:34:00.004+05:30

The bogeyman of Pagadamanu street in Greamspet, during the early 80s, was none other than 'Pitchi' Rammurthy. Pithchi means mad in Telugu and no prizes for guessing, our bogeyman was as mad as mad can get. He strutted about, perennially clad in a dirty white shirt with no buttons and a dirtier white dhoti, drawn up and tied up at knee level. His yellow, front teet jutted out and rested outside his mouth; you could drive a car through the gaps between his teeth. He was half bald. The remaining grey, frazzled hair clung to the back and sides of his head. He looked the part but that's not what made our hearts skip beats. It was his war cry.

He walked up and down the street around lunch hour, when the sun tried in vain to fry the town. And he would scream at passers by. "Narikey. Lanjakodukuni narikkeyy!" (Hack that bastard down!). That was his war cry. But he never stopped and troubled anyone. He just walked about cursing. No one knew who or what he was cursing. But new comers peed in their pants during their first encounter with Rammurthy. Funny thing was no one had ever heard Rammurthy say anything other than the war cry. Not a single word!

I have heard young mothers tell their kids that refused to eat or do their homework "If you don't... well, I'll hand you over to Pitchi Rammurthy!" It worked like a charm.

The teens in the neighbourhood teased him albeit from a safe distance. The adults steered clear, for I am sure they were scared of him but their pride didn't allow them to admit it.

Rammurthy survived on the left-over food that the folks gave him. He never begged mind you. He was too proud I guess. He'd just make an appearance and the generous, kind hearted housewives offered him food. He retired for the night in two or three houses. By that I mean, he'd sleep outside in the verandah or on the granite benches ("dhinna"). He was the bogeyman for the kids all right but folks knew that he was quite harmless.

Mom gave him food on and off, and I stared at him from behind the window in the bedroom. Though he never spoke a word to anyone but he expressed his gratitude with his body language. He'd nod or offer a slight bow, eat his food, and depart.

One morning, I think it was a Sunday, I got up around seven and opened the heavy wooden door only to find Rammurthy sleeping. He got up with a start and glared at me for what seemed like ages. He had dark circles around his brown eyes. Just for a moment I thought I saw an incendiary rage in his eyes. Just for a fleeting moment. But it instantly changed to a kinder look. He clucked his tongue, adjusted his dhoti as he stood up, and said "DheergaAyushmaan bhava!" Sanskrit for 'wish you a long life.' Of course, no one believed me when I told them that Rammurthy spoke to me.

Years later, after we moved out of Chittoor, I heard from a friend that Rammurthy passed away. Somehow, I felt sad. After all he was probably the only benign bogeyman in the world.

Grandmaster Muniyandi: The Sham-Sac (concluding part)

2009-02-20T16:02:00.002+05:30

[Continued from Part 1 and Part 2]

Young people, especially those that are heartbroken, are a showy lot. Ravi was no different. His world knew that he was, to use the archaic term, �licked�. Or as boys in Chittoor called it, �she gave him haath�. Like all rejected lovers, Ravi went into a stage of sleeplessness, lack-interest-in-life-ness, and solitude. He tried talking to her but the city girl was brutal: she would not budge. She even cracked smart lines (which part of get lost you didn�t understand?). Some thought she was overboard, and some, enjoyed it.

Then started a procession of speakers, veterans at the game of love, that argued, pontificated, and reiterated the rallying cry of all failed lovers: girls are vicious.

Ramesh, poet-cum-failed lover-cum-classmate told Ravi, while smoking endlessly into the night, �They look for status. Money. Bike? Cars! And not your heart. Never! Your heart Ravi, my dear brother, is of no value to them. Look at the irony! You don�t even possess your heart now, for in the name of love, you gave it away.� Ramesh sucked hard on the dying cigarette and as the smell of burnt filter filled the calm night, he shrugged as if saying �No further questions your honour�.

Ravi took to drinking. Once, when drunk, he carved her name on his arms with a switch blade. He listened to Telugu movie love songs and cried. His parents misunderstood his drinking as the usual juvenile enchantment with intoxication and admonished him as they saw fit. But Ravi walked through it all, like a zombie. He did start taking precautions to avoid confrontations with his folks. Himabindu on the other hand completely ignored him and stopped all contact. His efforts to gift her 200 roses were met with an icy �Get a life!� So he spread the roses outside the college and told curious onlookers �Moksham for the flowers when she walks on them! Narakam for me, for she did walk all over me.�

Ravi stopped playing Chess too. The NGO Home panicked. They tried talking to him and cajoling him but Ravi just was not interested. �When love deserts, what can Chess do?� He told Ramanan, the retired Commercial Tax Officer, who was utterly bewildered by that poetic line.
�Try ENO, it will help.� Ramanan said to Ravi.

At the end of the academic year, Bindu left Chittoor. Her father was transferred to Vizag. And Ravi was inconsolable. He somehow found her address in Vizag and wrote letters. When the letters didn�t elicit a response, he started sending Telegrams. �My life is as meaningless as playing without a queen.� �Your en passant killed this poor pawn.�

Bindu�s father made a phone call to his brother who was a top cop. The Circle Inspector of 2-Town station visited Ravi�s folks and explained in no uncertain terms that such acts can make life uncomfortable for Ravi. �I am sure he can get a loan and set up a pay-phone booth to make a living out of it, but think about it, your son will be a physically challenged person� right now he is only mentally challenged. Please fix your son unless you want us to do the honours.� The Inspector apparently told them. So Ravi, who had flunked his exams, was forcibly packed off to his uncle�s home in Mysore. His parents wanted him to realise his dream of becoming a Grandmaster. The Mysore uncle, who was the reason why Ravi started playing chess, wrote to them saying �I will ensure that this young Knight is back to the central squares. I will do all within my reach to move him from this dark, corner square.� Using chess metaphors, it seemed, was an age old custom in Ravi�s family.

All this while, an interesting development took place. Muniyandi, who was doing odd jobs at the Jaggery Mandi, made a come back to the NGO Home. A few of the regulars did rejoice upon his arrival but the emotion segued to rude shock when Muniyandi stood at the head of that huge chess table and announced, �I want to play a �simultaneous�. With all of you. Now! Thoo nee amma!� Muniyandi wanted to play all twelve of them simultaneously. Ramanan had a knowing smile on his face. He knew that it was the pictorial Chess problems book that he�d gifted that propelled Muni to take such a stance. �Tactics� Bala, the guy with really curly hair and a pock marked face lit his cigarette at the wrong end and he coughed out like a bat flew into his throat.

The gang did agree for the match. Probably because they didn�t want to dampen the enthusiasm which Muni amply demonstrated. Who doesn�t like an underdog? As it turned out, Muni beat ten of them, drew with one, and lost a match. The net result of this exercise was that Muni started playing tournaments. The one-eye chess hurricane from Chittoor impressed the fraternity not just with his chess but also with his showmanship in the evenings. Snippets of Muniyandi�s exploits started appearing in the papers. The NGO Home gang pooled in money and bought decent clothes for Muni after the fiasco in the highly rated Palani tournament. Muniyandi entered the tournament hall clad in a blue and white checkered Lungi, unkempt hair, and with an unlit beedi dangling at the side of his mouth. The tournament organisers had a collective cardiac arrest. Some of the country�s best players were playing and they didn�t want an incongruity that was Muni to be a part of the otherwise perfect picture.

Muni left the hall and came back after a couple of hours. Drunk like a rapist in a Telugu movie and armed with a switch blade. He threatened to obliterate the reproductive systems of the organisers. The cops came in and all in all, it was seen as an insult to the fraternity in Chittoor. So the NGO Home gang took it upon themselves to make Muni presentable. They bought him nice clothes and got him to cut his hair. They even made him promise that he wouldn�t smoke or drink during tournaments. Of course, Muni also had to take an oath on his violence.

Through it all, Muni kept asking Ramanan on Ravi�s whereabouts. Ramanan visited Ravi�s folks and found out about Ravi�s Mysore plan. He wrote to Ravi and asked him to play in the prestigious Rajiv Memorial in Tirupathi, one of the most prestigious tournament in the state. But, Ravi wrote back, saying that he was not interested. The NGO Home gang then did a signature campaign and sent a letter with some 50 signatures and a thumb impression (of Muni�s) and urged him to come back. That did the trick and of course Ravi�s uncle in Mysore apparently told him �You are declining the love of so many people just because one girl was mean to you? It is like saving the queen and losing all your other pieces!�

Muni did bump into Ravi at the NGO Home but he was utterly shocked at the sight of his Lord. Ravi was a mere shadow of the man he was! Dark circles under eyes, a stubble, and a generally depressing disposition made Ravi look like a patient. Another man would have put a arm around, or even hug and say a few comforting words but Muni lacked that knack. He just flashed a bleak smile at Ravi and kept to himself. Ravi really didn�t care too much about Muni anyway, so the stalemate persisted.

They went to Tirupathi in an APSRTC bus. One of those Red ones. Muni, knowing that he won�t be able to drink during the tournament, was drunk. He smoked much to the irritation of his fellow passengers. There were also a bunch of piligrims from Tamilnadu and Muni tortured them by screaming �Govinda Govinda� at every hill he spotted. The Lord�s seven-hills abode was another 40 km away but the Tamils didn�t want to take a chance and joined Muni in a chorus of �Govinda�. After a while Muni got bored of it and slept.
The tournament organiser was also the State head of the Chess association. Mr. Naidu escorted the gang from Chittoor to a wedding hall, where accommodation was arranged for all players participating in the tournament. They had arranged for cooks that made food for the players in the kitchen of the wedding hall. That night Muni picked up a fight with the head cook. He called his Sambar �Cow piss, thoo nee amma!� Before they hit their beds, the players socialized and before long were playing rapid one-minute games with the aid of chess clocks.

The tournament went on smoothly. Muni and Ravi were the only ones from Chittoor that registered wins in the knock-out tournament. The rest became spectators. Ravi sailed through seven rounds. Though he was not at his best, he still was a handful. Muni on the other hand was the surprise package. In the seventh round, his opponent was Rao from Nellore, number two of the state. In the morning while inspecting the pairings along with Ravi, Rao asked him �So is this Muniyandi a rated player?�
Ravi said �No� but I hear he�s good. He has only one eye, I hope you know that.�
�So that�s a free point for me right there huh?� Rao said.
�You can say that��

Muni was playing black, popularly considered a disadvantage as White gets to make the first move. Rao played the first move, by moving the King pawn two squares up. Muni thought for ten minutes. It is unusual for players at this level to spend any time in the opening. Most of the opening moves are well theorized and are dispensed with, with minimal thought. Muni�s clock was ticking away. When he made the first move, he had consumed ten minutes of his two hours. He played the French Defence. It was not a popular opening as it cramped the Black in the opening stage and most times did not allow Black to castle his King. Rao started a vicious attack on Muni�s King. Muni, it appeared, was clueless. Around the 26th move, Muni stunned Rao by capturing a white pawn and placing his Queen in a beautiful position to charge Rao on the Queen�s side. Rao�s attack slowly dissipated and before long he was frantically defending his game. Around the 37th move, Rao capitulated and resigned.

It sent shockwaves through the tournament. �Was Rao too careless?� �I thought Muniyandi played a brilliant, unconventional line� and so on. Ravi was surprised but happy for Muni. The only thing that saddened him was that Muni would meet him in the final round.

The final round started. Muni played white and opened with the King pawn. Ravi played his favourite Sicilian defence, a combative opening where Black played for advantage and not just equality. Around the 30th move Muni sacrificed one of his Bishops. A gasp echoed in the hall. Most thought it was a blunder. Ravi too didn�t quite get it. Four moves later Ravi realised the beauty of the combination that Muni was playing. It gave Muni a staggering advantage to attack the King. Muni who was poring through the board all this while looked up and saw the look of devastation in Ravi�s eyes. Ravi looked at Muni and managed a feeble smile. Something happened to Muniyandi at that moment. He stormed off after playing a move and lit a beedi.

Muni was sad. He didn�t want to hurt his Lord. After thinking hard for about ten minutes Muni entered the hall. Three more moves later, Muni gave away another piece. Ravi was stunned. It looked like a good move, for it allowed white to make a lot of noise. But, after thinking through, Ravi knew that his opponent, who was playing like God until then, had miscalculated. This was surely a blunder! A few more moves later, Muni resigned. However, he was the number two now. At least in the district! Ravi slapped Muni�s back and said �You almost got me there!� Ravi never told anyone that he almost resigned after Muni�s first Bishop sacrifice. After the prize distribution was over, Muni headed to the nearest wine store and got drunk. Not because he was sad but because he was ecstatic.

As he was drinking his third one, Rao and Ravi entered the store and Muni ducked for cover. Ravi told him that it was all right.
�Saar why are you spoiling your health? Don�t drink saar please!� Muni said to Ravi.
�I am drinking because I am celebrating Muni. For coming back to the right path after getting lost.�
Muni nodded as if he understood. �You want pickle saar? Tastes nice with the rum.�

�He almost beat me!� Ravi said.
Rao nodded watching Muni, who was talking to the wine store clerk.
�Almost. Yes. But he knew what was more important.� Rao said.
�What?� Ravi was amused.
�He played the second sacrifice to lose the match. And he didn�t want to offend you by making an obvious blunder. So he thought of a combination that looked lethal but lacked the venom. He is a genius! Now, don�t ask him and kill his happiness. Look at him! He is so happy!�

Their Final Words as The Grunts of Circuit City

2009-02-05T15:12:00.001+05:30

Now here it was the final day. We opened and were immediately rushed with people. I mean it was crazy. Now we still had some software and ink, plenty of cables, plenty of media, along with other random stuff. At 1 PM a manager came on the loud speaker. "For the next 20 minutes only take and additional 50% off of everything." So that continued for two hours. At 3 he started naming stuff that we had plenty of (like ink and cables) and said that the stuff is $1. So I grabbed a PlayNC card for $1. And back to work. By 4 PM most of the stuff had died down, but we still had plenty of cables and ink. The liquidator just grabbed a cart, filled it with random shit and said " WHOLE CART FOR $1". So everything else went out the door fast. But a buddy of mine did come up with gold. He got a lens (which was in plain sight and wasn't stashed) and a flash for $10. Now the lens was a $400 lens and the flash was $200. So I'm sure he ebayed that for some pocket.

Grandmaster Muniyandi-2 - The Queen's Gambit

2009-01-20T15:33:00.027+05:30

[Contd from part 1]
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 nowhere and said "Hello madam, come tomorrow for autographs, sir is tired now."

Ravi felt like a whore in the church. 'Thank you god, that was a nice touch' Ravi thought and turned to Muni and was about say something when she said "Who the hell are you now? His personal assistant or something?"

Muniyandi nodded in agreement and said "Yes, yes. Sorry but you won't know how Chess can make you exhausted..."

"Shut up Muni!" Ravi shouted. Muni was bewildered. Here he was protecting his lord from an unruly fan and lord doesn't even say thanks!

"I am sorry, he is an idiot. He hangs around here all the time and acts like he is everyone's best friend." Ravi told her.

Muniyandi's world blew up. The weight of his master's words took a little while to sink in. When it did, Muni felt like he was mowed down by a speeding truck.

A crestfallen Muni left the hall and lit a beedi and sucked in a lungful. As tears broke free from his good eye, he sat down on the Cement bench in the lawn and mopped his face with a dirty towel that he always carried. His wife was right. She always warned him, 'Ravi saar is from a good family... I know the girl that works as a maid in their house. So don't you get him into any trouble!' He always dismissed her. 'Hey sarthaan podee, I know what I am doing. Thoo nee amma!'

As darkness fell, Ravi emerged from the hall but stopped to talk to Ramanan, the retired Commercial Tax Officer who played lousy chess. That girl was not around; probably, she left? Muni got up from the bench and waited at the gate. In the adjacent, dark lane that bordered with the sub-jail, people were throwing stuff into the cells. The lane was always dark, for people broke the street lamps every time the Electricity department replaced them. So they stopped replacing lamps. The cops knew about people passing on stuff from across the wall, but didn't bother too much... after all it was the petty criminals that were remanded to custody here. Muni felt sad for them and so once in a while he would throw a pack of beedis or some snack like Murukku inside a cell. He would scream 'Muniyaandi gift raaa! Thoo nee amma!' And they always thanked him in chorus 'Namaste annaa!'

He moved away from the glare of the tea shop's Hurricane lamp and waited in the shadows. The 'Pump' stove from the tea shop was going at full blast and a bunch of vadas sizzled in the pan. Muni longed for some tea and a couple of those hot vadas. But he suppressed his craving and got ready to apologize to Ravi.

As Ravi approached the main gate of the NGO Home, Muni became nervous. He stood in Ravi's way and said,
"Sorry saar!"
"What sorry? Don't you have manners? It is all my fault. Who the hell are you to tell my friends what they are supposed to do?"

Muni gulped. He didn't understand why Ravi was being so irate.

"Saar, I know how Chess can drain you..."
"What the fuck do you know about Chess? Just because you know how to move the pieces does not make you a player! You don't tell me how Chess works. Enough, I don't want to talk to you or see you again. If you disturb me again, I will call the Police."

Muni bit his lip as tears rolled down his face. He adjusted his glass eye, blew his nose, and mopped his face with the dirty towel again.

"Saar don't say that please... you know how much I respect you and how much I love chess... please saar"

"You love chess? What the- never mind! You claim you can't see half of the board... why don't you go get a job or something? Love chess! Now, leave me alone. Like I said, I will not hesitate to call the police if you disturb me again."

And Ravi left a wounded Muniyandi.

That night Muni visited the Arrack shop near Prathap cinema. He drank like there was no tomorrow and started abusing people around him.
"Thoo theri maaki! Chess theriyumaadaa bosadikey! Chess? I am a chess player. Man of the match in the Penumur tournament. And you, ask me to shut up? Lavadey ka baal! Narikesthaa! I will cut you to pieces and make a side-dish out of you." He told the guy behind the counter. And before long a scuffle broke out. Three guys beat the crap out of Muniyandi and packed him off to the two-town police station. It would have been fine if Muni had shut his mouth with the cops. He called the constable's mother some unspeakable things and opined that the sub-inspector was a 'Kojja' (eunuch).

Muni's wife pleaded with Ramanan, the retired commercial tax officer and lousy chess player to help. Ramanan was also a former office-bearer of the Chess association and he always thought Muniyandi had potential. He spoke to the cops, paid bribes, and got Muniyandi out. But by that time, the cops had had their share of fun. Muni could barely get on his feet. His glass eye was missing. They found it by the water pot in the corner of the cell. They had to carry him to an auto. It took ten days for Muniyandi to get discharged from the government hospital.

It made news in the NGO Home. Some sympathized with Muni. Ravi was not one of them. Most people extracted entertainment out of Muni's misery. They made jokes and laughed out loud. Ramanan visited Muni who was still recovering and gifted him a wooden chess board and a Chess problem book that did not require one to know how to read. Muni cried yet again. After Ramanan left, Muni's wife asked him,
"What the hell is wrong with you? Saithaan!"
"..."
"Why don't you go to the Home in the evening ya? Play some Chess..."
"No. I am not going there."
"What happened?" She persisted.
"Nothing dee Kaidhey! Summa iru, nee amma! Thoo!"

That was that. No one saw Muni at the Home after that for more than six months. No one knew what happened. No one cared. Once in a while, someone spotted him in the Jaggery Mandi, unloading sacks.

In the meantime, Ravi's hopes grew. He met Bindu every day. He even went to her house and her father was pleased to meet the Chess champ.

One day after college hours, Ravi and Bindu were discussing a variation of the King's Indian Defense.
"Your birthday is coming up... what plans?" He said.
"It is just another day and I am an adult... nothing I guess?"

Ravi nodded. He could not fathom it. Is she attracted to me? Does she know what I feel for her? He could never tell. She had a lot of guy friends that wrote to her. Ravi was angry but was careful enough to not display it.
'You should meet Pawan, he is such a sweet heart you know?' 'Once Raju, Prince, and I went to the Golconda fort...'

What the fuck was wrong with that city? How could a girl go on an excursion with two guys!? A girl that wore tight Jeans and tighter t-shirts! God! Was she 'experienced'?

These questions swarmed and buzzed around in Ravi's head. His friends also told him how city girls were 'fast' and about how they don't care for 'love' but only for bikes, biceps, and money. Once or twice Ravi decided to not pursue her but the resolution lasted only till he met her next. All she had to do was laugh. Her lustrous, smooth, raven-black hair bounced around in utter glee when she laughed. She clapped when she laughed and looked to heavens. The gentle undulations of her t-shirt added a beautiful touch. And he fell in love again. And again. And again.

The college grapevine speculated: Ravi got her. We saw them kissing in the forest department nursery. They got secretly married. And, people congratulated Ravi. Winked at him. Slapped his back. 'You think she does not know what you feel for her? Get out of here! Women! I tell you. They want you to make the move first.' Ravi was almost convinced that it was only a matter of articulating it and formalizing the relationship. He can ask her to stop wearing jeans and t-shirts after that.

On her birthday he met her at the Durga temple in the morning and gave a bunch of roses and a greeting card. 'I have something to show you... after college?' Ravi said. She was thrilled with the roses he thought. It was all falling in place. They would be just like the Thipsays. The husband and wife chess champs!

Ravi could not concentrate in the class. He waited for the final hour to end. As soon as it ended he ran to the park bench under the Neem tree and set up the Chess board. He arranged a chess formation. It was a Checkmate in five moves problem. But there was more.

She came after a while.
"What are you doing here?" She said, shaking his hands. He shrugged.
"Mate in five. White wins. You think you can crack it?" He said.
She smiled and hunched over the board. After a few minutes she got the solution. It was quite simple. The white queen moved right next to the Black king and it was mate.

He was quiet. He collected his thoughts.
"That's what happened to me too." He said.
"I didn't understand...?"
"Um... You came into my life. And mated... I mean, it was checkmate for my black... I mean I have nowhere to go... I l-love you?"

The afternoon breeze picked up and whistled through the trees. From beyond the ZP quarters a goat bleated.

"WHAT?!" She yelped.

"You love me? God! Now you know why I never tried being friends around here? You guys... Ravi I thought you were different!"

A sledgehammer crashed into his heart.
"Wh-what? I thought you knew it all along... I mean... what's wrong with me?"

"It is not about wrong or right... I don't feel that way... anyway, never mind, it was nice knowing you. Good bye."

And she stormed off his life.

(will surely be concluded in the next post)

L.K. Advani 2009

2009-01-07T16:09:00.002+05:30

Grandmaster Muniyandi - 1

2009-01-06T11:55:00.028+05:30

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!

2008-12-31T12:02:00.005+05:30

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

2008-12-17T12:02:00.009+05:30

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

2008-12-16T10:45:00.003+05:30

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

2008-12-11T11:55:00.005+05:30

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

2008-12-04T14:55:00.004+05:30

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?

2008-12-03T15:37:00.004+05:30

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

2008-11-27T01:20:00.002+05:30

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!

2008-11-20T11:10:00.003+05:30

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

2008-11-18T05:21:00.001+05:30

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

Sent from my phone using trutap