What I have registered from a TV serial

Good days are really good...and bad days are really bad. But each does pass for sure. That's life...?

I can't say I care much for Tamil TV serials in spite of watching one now and then (ONLY now and then -- one is always in serious danger of an overdose with these 'megaserials'). Mindless TV of the lowest kind, I say. Too often, they are nasty, have nasty characters etched into them (the kinds you certainly will NOT tolerate on your doorstep leave alone have them close to you as an aunt, step mother or mother-in-law!), horrible dialogues, bitchy women, weak, STUPID, insipid and/or dangerously evil men, with some children thrown in in the middle of all the hysteria and used as victims, women who are evil beyond your wildest imagination, and so on...

The detailed funeral scenes in these serials are breathtaking to say the least and obviously, NOT in a good way! Long-forgotten and best-forgotten rituals associated with a corpse can make the strongest of stomachs churn unpleasantly and you simply switch off the TV in disgust. Or you SHOULD. But then, I will also say you should not be watching these in the first place, right? And, days of mourning will follow. Why, why, why? Why do people want to watch them? The most-often heard response is: "I have nothing else to do. How will I pass my time?"

May I suggest a few hundred options like blowing bubbles, giving yourself a foot or any-other-body-part massage or better still, getting one from someone else, sleeping, reading, singing, listening to music, forming a book club or even a recipe or cooking club...even eating! Stuff your face or on second thoughts, exercise, walk, shop, window-shop, join some course, do some course-homework, or simply sit in a park or roadside or terrace top and gaze out and about. Or just switch to a channel that has music or laughter or ...ANYTHING else. Best is meeting up with other people to talk and make merry, who would otherwise rot and languish in front of these horrible TRP-rich brain-fryers...there! You would be keeping them out of mischief too; doing good to society.

I believe TV serials are like any other temptation that one must resist and distract self from. (Am talking about those who are compulsive TVserial watchers).

There are too many people in my household who watch them. Therefore, the first hand info. The ONLY good thing -- if I must call it that, that has come of being exposed to these daily nightmares is that there was this one dialogue in the forerunner of Tamil TV serials with one-perfect-woman in the lead -- Chithi. It was delivered by the highly annoying character of the actor Shivakumar (yes, yes, the father of the terribly popular DARE I say a wee bit of a metrosexual actor - Suriya). In his usual tacky and boring style in delivering serious dialogues, Shivalumar's character often said therein: "Idhuvum kadandhu pogum". (This too shall pass). For Shivakumar fans, true, he has given formidable performances in the past (YAWN!) but the only one I can personally agree with is in the film SindhuBairavi, but alas, even that film had his usual 'ways' in it.

Anyway...

So, this dialogue was annoying then but always made sense. Moreover, I really do think about it a lot now and then. Of course, never during the good times...;) Who in her right mind would want THAT to pass?

But I have to say...thence, ten years later, I have still not come across any other useful (if you could call that that!) thing in ANY of the serials I have had the misfortune of overhearing or chanced upon.

People need to focus away from theTamil megaserials. Oh and am sure TV serials in every other language are equally bad. English, Hindi, Telugu or whatever. Clearly they are being designed to feed the LONELY, nasty, vengeful, even evil sides of the viewers. There is 80% negativity in them. Every true life's happening is tweaked a LOT to make it a LOT worse before it is presented as a part of the Tv serial to you. After all with serials, no disgust-value, no TRP-value, eh?

Mind it! Or should that be Miiiinnnd Eeeeet...

Love may do the trick

I am likely to incur the wrath, fury, annoyance and more/less of some people when I say this: If you really, really, REALLY love someone...anyone...then, you are indeed a believer. I feel, when you so love someone, you simply have-to-have-to have the faith. I don't see how you can get by otherwise. I just don't.

I mean, when your loved one is sick or in danger, what do you do? Fret? Cry? Despair? Stay practical?

Or...secretly pray?

Not that anything you (the non-believer) say to this may be convincing enough and I daresay you may not really want to bother with explanations here, but still...I have said it. And I would definitely love to hear the other side's thoughts . Who knows, there is a good chance that the answers may be intelligent and perhaps even set me thinking. If someone I love ran into some grave trouble(God forbid!!!), I just don't know what I would do other than pray. For me, there is no other recourse. I mean, yeah, I would do other things necessary to help that person and not JUST pray (that would be stupid and irresponsible), but I would not just do everything in my power to ease things and then sit back. I would pray mighty hard.

I have to admit though, that if you are the detached type, perhaps you really could stay a non-believer. That is possible...

Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm.

Note: This post is NOT aimed at anyone in particular. Not as a jibe or poke, definitely. This is just some loud thinking being aired -- a loud wondering if you will;)

Of lizards and cockroaches...

The very word 'blood-curdling' is brought to my mind every time I encounter a lizard or a cockroach...and inevitably, scream! Is it just me or is it a fact that the more scared and averse you are to something, the more likely it is that that 'something' presents and REpresents itself to you?

A few months ago, I had the misfortune of stepping on a lizard (yeah, yeah, poor lizard, sure, enough of that!). It happend this way: I was ready to go out and was hurrying in to the kitchen for a drink of water. Usually, I wear 'bathroom slippers' (why is it always called that anyway?) inside the house, mostly because I want to 'warn' the lizards that reside in my kitchen that 'I am coming, so HIDE', but that day, I did not. (And usually I go thump thump thump in to the kitchen. Not very graceful, but hey! Grace is not everything especially at home. Me, I WANT to be clumsy at home!!)

Anyway, I strode in to the kitchen only to step on something slimy and SICK. Disgusting. Annnd, there was a squirmy thing happening too. I simply realised in a second what had happened and started screaming...unbearably, and even to my ears, it was terrible. I launched myself on to the kitchen counter (don't imagine it) still screaming and...actually crying. It was simply awful. To make everything worse, there was no lizard in sight, just a wriggling, jumping lizard-tail! Utterly sickened, I must say I cried like a baby with no feelings spared!! Oh God! Even today months later, I shudder. Apparently, lizards can shed their tails at will and the damn tail has some fight left in it too. It was soooo disgusting. I actually looked up google images for lizards and cockroaches but even the images put me off so much, I am not going to use them here with this post.

Theer is a superb Tamil word for aversion : 'Aruvaruppu'!

And that brings me to the villain of villains.

The cockroach.

WHY do I hate the cockroach so? Irrational fear, is it? The worst kind is the flying cockroach. Uggggh. Even as I am typing this out, I feel all shaky and fidgety all over! The flying cockroach can make me let out the same kind of scream as for a lizard, only, it will curdle more than just blood, I tell you.

The screams my inner self seems to have reserved to let out for these two beings -- a reptile and an insect, could wake the dead! Not that I want to think about corpses now...Oh dear. Now THAT's a real uncomfortable subject which I can come to later....or not.

I am still wondering how I can get rid of these fears.

How, how, how?

Friends o' friends

Friends are obviously so very important to most of us. The 'gelling', the vibing, the many things in common and even endearing differences...they are all a part of that world.

But, what about the tricky matter of friends of friends? Ahhh. Sometimes it clicks and sometimes it does n't.

I have a few friends whose friends easily become mine -- well if not my FRIENDS then, my very amiable acquaintances. But with so many other friends, I can barely tolerate their friends and vice-versa. It is a rather delicate situation really. What if your friend's friend cribs to your friend about you and / or you crib to your friend about his/her friend? (Ahem, not sure this sentence makes sense!) Anyway, unnecessary and sticky for the friend sandwiched in between.

Therefore, apart from a few well-thought-out experiments, me thinks it's best to stick to one's own friends and let them stick to theirs separately, rather than throwing all together once, twice, too often!

Note: Personal experience may or may not be the lead to this post!
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Except...
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it IS!

Cheers!

Oh no, MJ has gone away!

MJ in my favourite stage of his life -- the looks, music, everything

Michael Jackson (MJ)

The news of Michael Jackson's death has pushed me out of my inactive mode on this blog. He is one of my all-time favourite musicians. I was around 10 when I first heard his 'Beat It', 'Thriller' and 'Billie Jean'...and my father got the newly released 'Thriller' video and its making, for my sis and me. We watched it nearly everyday until we had the whole thing by heart -- the steps, the moves, the songs (we blabbered most of the words thanks to his style of singing), the dialogues...even the details of the make up, as he was a werewolf in that, and agonised over his chemistry with 'that girl' who had acted with him in 'Thriller'.

The 'Thriller' link, a must-watch: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9Xs9OQHpwDE

I was really upset at the news of his death this morning, much to most people's surprise. I cannot say why I am so upset. It may be because I associate MJ with some great memories. He enriched my musical inclinations. He along with 'Wham' was 'up there' at one point for me, both literally and figuratively. Their posters were all over the walls at home.

I am going to list out the memories I have in connection with MJ...as a tribute to this awesome performer who is no more. I actually harboured secret hopes of attending one of his concerts somewhere in the world...sigh.

• I got my own room around the 'Beat It' song period -- small room no doubt, but my 'own' nevertheless. Own room with own tape recorder so I could listen to my own music. A lot of it MJ.
• I would listen to him religiously, so much so that my 80 year old grandad in the next room decided he needed to know what the fuss was all about and borrowed the Michael jackson tape from me. This was a typical, religious thaathaa who performed 2-3 hour long poojais every day! He seemed to quite enjoy it and only returned it after ten days or so when I made him!
• For a time, everyday after school, I would watch 'Thriller' with utmost fascination. Like a ritual.
• That was the first time I ever heard of a werewolf and my sis and I are were thereafter inspired to watch the 'adult film' titled an american werewolf in London which in turn, had inspired MJ to make 'Thriller'.
• I had fun entertaining my sis with the steps from the 'Thriller' video. No doubt, even the thought of this will entertain all now;)
• At that point MJ with his trademark crotch-clutching moves never struck me as vulgar. It was just a unique thing he did. Thankfully, I considered it inimitable so never tried it.
• I did try his moonwalk and it looked like nothing on earth...hey, after all, it was the moonwalk, heh heh. I think I fell a few times trying it since the floor and my footwear had to be slippery for me to accomplish a moonwalk. My older sis, the only privileged audience-member no doubt, was kept thoroughly mesmerised by my antics.
• When MJ performed Billi Jean on stage, it was fantastic. Truly one of the best stage performances I have ever seen. I still like it.
• Sadly, at ten and just above, hailing from Tamilnadu and based in the South of India, it was rather difficult for me to make out the words of his songs, which limited my rendering these numbers anywhere. His gasps, rasps and weird little breaths and noises, hoots, etc. in his songs required an extraordinary amount of guts to even try and imitate! BUT, it was super fun singing my versions of his words.
• It bothered me greatly that I felt he sounded girlish. And strangely, although I knew he was a guy and I was crazy about his music, I never had a crush on him in the romantic way. (I had way too many crushes back then!) I had a huge MJ fixation alright, but I guess he was too thin and too non-masculine-sounding for any romance!*sniff*
• The actual music in his songs even today is simply fabulous.
• His obsession with colour, black or white, never bothered me. I simply did not care since his music and performances were above colour. So, literally, I must tell him: it don't matter if you're black or white. However, I must say I preferred him black anyday.:-) It suited him so well.
• I had a poster of MJ's gifted to me by my Dad who adopted the if-you-can't-beat-'em, join 'em way, since he was the one who would bring us the latest music from all over the world and therefore the reason for the MJ craze in our home. This poster was not a very flattering one and my sis who was never a sucker for obsession as I am, simply refused to let me put it up in 'our' room. (Read: 'her' room -- one of the reasons I moved out into my own smaller room, hmph. The poster-decisions were all hers!)) . I did not want to put it up in my new room for what reason I forget... oh, yes, the poster was simply too LARGE, and so, I put it up in our bathroom, the one shared by my mom, sis and me. It was fixed with some new, then-latest, extremely effective adhesive blobs right opposite 'the throne', so that MJ would look down on us as we downloaded you-know-what-on-the-pot(!). My mom would get extremely annoyed and frustrated every time she went to the loo saying 'he makes me uncomfortable'. :-). When we finally decided to take it off after some years(!), I ended up giving it away to one highly grateful-to-the-point-of-tears, crazy-about-MJ classmate called Gina, whose claim to fame in school WAS being MAD about Michael Jackson. Hey Gina, wherever you are (I hardly knew you I know!), I wonder if even you are this moved today with MJ gone. If you are still an MJ fan, let me raise a glass in toast with you then...to MJ!
• At that point (early teens, etc.) when I saw any live concerts of his on TV, I would be amazed at the hysteria amongst the audience. Girls weeping, others clutching at their heads (even men), throwing off clothes, etc. I never understood that as I was too young. Frighteningly, I understand it now. Mob mentality catches on, I guess!
• In the song 'We are the World' (USA for Africa), he was easily the most interesting singer. Loved his parts. A very 'fervent' singer. Really felt his music. That was his specialty. Not to forget to mention his superb dancing skills.

'Billie Jean' video link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8VASYhabHkM Don't miss the moonwalk!

I don't think any of my friends 'got' MJ like I did then. I think Gina and I (I was more understated!) were the only ones in our class at school who really liked him so much. I guess the Tamil/Indian imitations of MJ's antics including Prabhu Deva, put people off! Ha ha.

Me, I still regularly listen to his numbers...

The scary case against him was indeed scary...but since he was acquitted, I am going with his innocence!

Amazing what music can do for you and to you. My favourites of his songs are Thriller, Beat It, Billie Jean, The way you make me feel, Girl is Mine, Bad, Wanna Be Startin' Something, and Ben, One Day in your life, Rockin' Robin when MJ was a kid, and many more.

May the King of Pop's soul rest in peace ...or perhaps even be reincarnated for some even better music if possible. That would suit us MJ fans just fine.

You had to be there.

My two old friends and I. We have known each other for twenty odd years and can just 'click' like we have never been apart, even when we have not seen each other for some years. That evening, we were to have headed for Subway for the healthy sandwiches, what with the word DIET trailing us and snapping at our heels all the while. BUT, we managed to kick it off in the nick of time and headed towards Cascade (a chinese restaurant) for some Indian-Chinese food. We had even parked outside Subway but a quick conference paved the way for an evening of confusion at Cascade -- with one not mentioning that she did not like Chinese, and the other not mentioning that she was on a strict diet. I was the third who was OK with both Subway and Chinese -- GRR.

With this suspense hanging heavily in the air (although I did not realise it then since I love Chinese ...and all the damn frieds that it means here in India), we parked outside Cascade. Just after some 'hi--what-fun-to-see-you-again' giggles (childhood friends DO that), we got into the elevator and actually went up three floors and down with no apparent aim, while continuing the staring around and giggling. Finally, we learned that Cascade was on the fourth floor and got there. We insisted on a corner table owing to our past history of wrecking nearby patrons' quiet evenings with our guffaws and (unnecessary) giggles, and settled down for dinner.

Then it came out. One was unwilling to eat the 'just anything' that I wanted to order as she was not supposed to be eating the wrong foods (sniff*sniff* like I am!), and the other was all 'la di da' about thick soup vs clear soup and such. I was so hungry I could have eaten the both of them and so, I proceeded to order my favourites. When I am hungry, I don't see red; I just see what I like on the menu and demand it!

The food arrived and the 'no-food' one proceeded to slurp quietly on her apparently very bad soup (It was a tomato and spinach combo -- what do you expect?) and the La di da one complaining loudly and for the first time, that she did not like Chinese. I decided to get mad AFTER I had attended to the Hungry Henry in me and did just that. After much 'we SHOULD have had subway' and 'why the hell did n't you tell me?' and 'what's WRONG with you?', we paid up, packed for a doggy we do not have and headed to the beachside looking for a strawberry ice cream that La di da wanted to have. "I want a strawberry ice cream and not from just 'any'where", said she. History has always seen us eating, drinking and making, and so we dogged after the elusive ice cream. After a few bad-luck-no strawberry flavour-heres, we finally found a yum ice cream joint on the beach side. We entered after La di da had finished dramatically dodging the various dogs that happened only her way. She has always been petrified of them so we two others did not bat an eyelid at her antics, whines and fearful pleas.

The ice cream place had no strawberry flaour, but I was running late and pointed frantically and convincingly to a Ferrero Rocher flavour. Next. La di da wanted a cone ice cream. This was really not our night cos the guy had no cones left but he pointed to a floppy waffle like thing made of the same biscuity-cone stuff, masquerading it as a 'cup'. The No-food girl said 'my, that looks like a very tired cone!' and that started us off on our laughter train. Cackle cackle cackle. In that confined space, the ice cream guy looked rather taken aback at this unabashed show of cackles. This made things funnier.
You had to be there.

La di da cheerfully accepted the floppy cone and so we asked for two scoops with three spoons. While he did the needful, No-food asked for toppings as she gazed longingly at all the ice-cream posters stuck on the wall. The guy said there were no toppings and that they would get them next week! That set us off. "Here's your ice cream. Come back for toppings next week" we told each other and began guffawing even louder than the cackles. I laughed so hard, I actually dripped ice cream from my mouth!
You had to be there.

The guy decided that he could do nothing about us and proceeded with the bill. Clearly, he was used to crazies! We stumbled out with La di da holding on to her floppy cone for dear life. And then she began her usual mumbling as we stood by the road.."If a dog comes from somewhere now, I might leap into the air and my ice cream will go flying...", she said. As usual, No-food and I ignored her. In fact within a few seconds, I spied a smart doggy galloping towards us and I considered teasing her by startling her at the last minute, but decided against it since we each had a spoon and were digging into the ice cream with gusto. I could not allow that tasty ice cream to go flying. I told her casually (so as not to alarm her) that there is a dog on the way so she stiffened until he passed although he did not deign to give her even a first glance!

Then, glancing around, we read the ice cream poster on the wall -- it said the ice creams were '68% air'. Wahh? That set us off again -- that we were eating ice cream that contained air.
You had to be there.

Regretful that the evening was coming to a close, we headed for the car since it was getting late and then made plans to meet up again soon. We were quite light headed and heavy-bodied from the laughs, chinese and ice cream. T'was fun.

Nothing like uncontrollable laughs with old friends, eh?:)

Really, you had to be there!

Cheers!

Weighty tale

Further to and with reference to my previous post, I must reiterate that I don't want to share 'stuff' in 'bublic' (thanks, Shyam) although I do express my gratitude to Sundar for encouraging me to, he he.


I did, on one occasion, not manage to avoid sharing this particular info (weighing scale figure) with someone. It was in 1991. My dream then was to become a pilot. We had just moved into a new house in a new neighbourhood and our next door 'mama' was a nosy one. We called him 'M-square(d)' -- i.e., Mottai Mama (Bald Uncle). Sometimes, when he stood on his terrace, we would call him M-to-the-power-of-4 (Mottai Mama on a Mottai Maadi).


Sadly, he knew my dad quite well apparently, and came over for a cuppa one morning. My Dad chose that morning to share with him that I had this aim of becoming a pilot. M-Squared was also pretty know-it-all (empty vessels and all that) and, say-it-all. I froze as I was passing that way, that minute, and looked back.

I should n't have. I was beckoned. I went, but not without reluctance. MM looked me up and down brazenly and said: "Pilot? I also used to fly". (YEAH, RIGHT) "Hmmm. How much do you weigh?". At that 'eng' age, it's difficult to avoid answering direct questions from wolder people. I thought wildly about coming out with a wisecrack or two instead, but decided against it. Like a bandaid, best done swiftly. I told him my weight. (Yeah, am not telling you now either!) To that, he exclaimed: "Oh, you really need to lose weight before they let you become a pilot!" How sweet, thank you, MM. Like I did n't know.


Thing was, he himself was pretty big. Hard to imagine him inside a Cessna 152 aircraft unless doubled over and halved.


However, the truth is, to learn flying, you only need a medical certificate that says you're 'OK' (not FIT, just OK) and more importantly, you need much guts. Which of course, was not a problem, big gut and all. So... problem solved.



Gosh do I have more such tales up my sleeve!

At the gym

I have many gym tales to share and have done so before. Here is one more very tame one.


Having a personal trainer at the gym is...very personal. Really. Among other things, he or she will get to know your vital statistics (and very vital they are!!), and he or she knows your innermost desires and needs and supposedly, chalks out the path to 'there' for you. Right. So you are overweight and not the kind of person who would go around sharing your weight (in kgs) with all and sundry the way some skinny folks do...or the ones who have no weight issues. You know the type: -

"Arre, I think I have lost two kilos ONLY yaa, and I have two more to go. "
Hrrumph.

"My target is 50 kgs! Now, I weigh 51."
Hee haw.

"My aim is to lose 3 kilos -- they are JUST not goinnnng."
Barf!

"I have been the same weight for twenty years -- I was 62 when I finished college and I am still 62. Maybe a kilo or two here and there, but I quickly pull it down with my regular walking and I don't take frieds...sweets..."
Stop talking, stop talking NOW.

"I was 60 kgs after my delivery and now, I am 54."
SWAT!


Buzz off little bees, this post is not for you.


So with the personal trainer, it's like you have just shared your deepest, darkest secret with him, and he is still conscious(!!!), he knows your fitness level and is generally quite encouraging if not downright pushy...and therefore, you don't TOTALLY freak out when he says after a few days of workout: "Now, let's check your weight again, shall we?". I did n't freak out but I balked. "I don't want to..." I whined. "If I don't see good news, I will become depressed." In his usual nonchalant personal-trainer way he said "Well, who is asking YOU to look? I want to see, don't worry, there WILL be a difference." OKKAY. Have hope, faith and charity.



So I trudged along with him to a room that had two guys (gym staff) hanging around. 'My guy' goes in and switches on the weighing machine. Stupid digital thing that counts up to the last grams in your body! I looked at the two guys (gym staff) who were standing there and they seemed pretty much rooted to the ground. Now, having had many many bad social experiences at gyms, I tensed, hoping...willing them away. What did they think? That I was Aishwarya Rai who had signed up for weight gain? Sheesh. Now, I never used to be the outspoken, snappy type either, for the idiotic desire to 'be nice'. But this time I was fed up. Exasperated. Even my trainer did n't get it. And this was a small room, mind you, the size of a 4 star hotel bathroom. Quite a crowd in there for the momentous moment! I finally asked those two hangers-around, "Do you REALLY think I want an audience right now?". Thankfully, they took THAT hint and murmured sorrys and dashed out. I got the act over with (not sharing anything more here, heh heh) and when I came out, the two guys apologised again but I was quite happy that they DID leave the room at the crucial moment, so I brushed it all off.


This was not rude on my part if you consider what some of those same gym's trainers have said to me in the past.



Honestly.

What's the meaning?

There is many a supposed-Tamil word / slang that is most amusing to hear and which I dare not use mostly because I don't really know their meanings.

The following swear words commonly used on Chennai roads especially by autorickshaw drivers, bus and automobile 'drivers' and cyclists: -
1. Bemani
2. Porampohkku
3. Saavukraki or Saavucracky
4. Somari
There are more on my list of Tamil words the meanings of which I don't know, but this list has been based on a gut feeling (!) that makes them seem safe to ask out in the open.

Going by the sounds only, my personal favourite is somari. Sounds so cute(!!) and crisp although yes, I do realise it is used to call someone a'bad name' like stupid or idiot. Porampohkku is also quite satisying when you swirl it around your mouth rolling the RRRs in true, dramatic Tamil style!Bemani sounds downright funny while Saavukraki I feel has something to do with a person who courts death ...or loves courting death.

!!!!

Love 'Pannu'!

We Tamils have embraced some English words and phrases with aplomb. Even folks who supposedly speak and understand ONLY Tamil, will be able to understand these. Most of the thanks would go to Kollywood, for making these phrases popular. Examples are..

"Youuuuuuuuuu....SHUT UP!"

"STOP IT!"

"Will you please GET OUT?"

"Bullshit" (pronounced 'Bullsheet')

"Damn It" (Okay, 'it' is almost always 'eet'.)

"Beautiful!"

...And so on. Not the least of these is the phrase "I love you". I think 99% of the films must feature at lease one dialogue which is 'I LOVE YOU'.

Ickily, a Bollywood film even shortened 'I Love You' to ILU.
UGH and BLEWACK!

We in Tamilnadu have translated the phrase "Do you love me?" to "Nee yenna love pannriya?". Now "Love pannriya" actually translates into English as 'Make' or 'Do' love! Curiously, we usually pretend-bashful folks should have been alert to this and scrambled to change it. But, no. "Love Pannu" (Make or do love) is now the accepted phrase associated with being in love, that's most prevalent in Kollywood. This adoption is so overboard and curious that there is even a song which has the reglar refrain that sings out "Love Pannu".

Do check it out at:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8PV_hS7WRE4&feature=related

So funny.

Cheers!

Chained to ...what???

Dealing with forwards is not for everyone. I used to detest forwards, thinking that they were very impersonal until I started enjoying some of the funny, clever ones. Very useful stress busters they can be at times.

Forwards or forwarded emails are either sincerely despised by the recepient (cos they feel they deserve better -- like a hello, how are you, I miss you, take care!- sort of mail), or rank low on the recepient's priority(IFF I have free time, I will read them, else, will delete them to clear my inbox), or, of course, rank very very high (Yayyyy!Yay boy yay! Some fun in in my inbox). For the third section of recepients, it's like your postman delivering you mail -- remember those good old days? Was n't it so very exciting to receive letters? It used to be the highlight of my day to receive hand written letters.

Sigh. *Moment of nostalgia*

Okay -- done. (Nothing lasts very long these days, huh?)

Forwards. I have friends who have flatly told me not to send them any. Still others who say nothing at all about them and of course some who actually want to discuss a particularly funny or thought-provoking forward or two.

I also have my moments with forwards. Most times, I am enthusiastic but sometimes, I can ignore them. No way am I averse to them because they can be quite entertaining and somewhat equal to being in touch -- it shows you at least 'flashed' through the sender's mind for a moment indicating they thought of you that day! Many friends send me forwards which I kindly pass on to who I think are delighted readers.(!!)

However...

There are the chain mails. They threaten you with serious consequences if you don't pass them on to others. Even though I know they are stupid and meaningless, they irk. Why try to bother someone that way? Very silly indeed. So, I refuse to entertain them.

Exaggerated examples are:-
If you don't send this to 5 people in the next fifteen minutes, your nose will grow longer...
Me: Great, saves me the trouble of finding a plastic surgeon.

If you don't send this to 6 women in the next 6 minutes, you will grow six horns...
Me: Hmmm. Maybe the six horns will distract others from my many bad-hair days?

If you delete this email, YOU will be deleted from ...LIFE...
Me: Same to you. Good bye.

If you don't send this email to 20 people in the next 10 minutes something BAD will happen to you...
Me: I feel like doing something BAD to you right now!

The thing is, the folks who send me these chain mails are generally pretty sensible ...or so I would have thought until I receive the said forward! Actually, this fact makes me think I am far more sensible than them, heh heh. And to think I thought I was a silly billy!

Cheers!
P.S. Oh and I am also not a fan of those holier-than-thou, goodie goodie email forwards that have flowers and cute animals crawling all over them, advising you on life (no less!AHEM). However, in an indulgent mood, I can pass them along...although I do always select my recepients with care.

No worries!

What does 'no worries' mean exactly?


Because, I suspect that it meant one thing (apart from one actually having no worries, i.e.!) and then, is used generally and freely these days.


Me: I don't have a pen.
The other: No worries.
(I get it)


Me: Thanks a lot.
The other: No worries.
(I don't get it)


Me: Sorry about that.
The other: No worries.
(I get it)


Me: That was so nice of you!
The other: No worries.
(Eh?)

Virtually there

People seem to be living much of their lives virtually these days. Chatting with friends, browsing,'facebooking', orkuting, blog hopping, commenting with passion and even arguing their 'some-parts' off on subjects they feel strongly about, never mind the audience...and so on.

This is the world the world seems to be turning...virtually!

And then, there are the games on your comp that can keep you busy for hours, even days, if you did not have to eat, work and sleep.

I would love to play some of those games myself. But I won't. As it is, I feel I am quite addicted to my comp. Throw in these games and I will be hooked for too many more hours. Game or no game, interesting or not, enjoyable passtime or no, imagine wasting away in front of a machine! No, you don't have to imagine. Just look around or peek into that mirror again! I did and it is a scary thought.

I really worry that this trend is more unhealthy than we give it debit for (!!my poorly earned BCOM degree comes to mind) and is not going to take us to any 'good place'. Soon, people will just be happy to see their virtual pals online for the chat of the day, express themselves through words or smileys or whatever else online and completely miss out on the real folks and things they have access to.

Either that, or people have too much free time when they ought to be ...WORKING???!

I do love the Internet and its possibilities. I can keep in touch on a daily or hourly or even minute-ly basis with people most geographically distanced from me and the cost is like peanuts! It's wonderful. But this good thing can easily become too much of one!

Me, I don't ever want to become a nerd. I am quite the social animal -- you know, that's the animal that is getting closer to extinction all the time. The same animal that does extensive research on other animals facing extinction! Soon, man will be just an animal.

I exaggerate?

This post ends here, so that I can quickly return to my REAL world.;)

Ow, ow, owwww!

Like Hobbes pouncing on Calvin with one flying leap from the top of the stairs.(Arrrrrrrrrgggggggggh!)

Like Jerry chomping on Tom's tail. (Yowwwwwwwwwww!)

Like hitting your elbow on a hard, sharp edge when you least expect to. (ohhhhhhhhhhhhhoh)

That's how it was getting my eyebrows shaped. I was in a constant state of 'OWW'. Not a delicate Ouch, but a real 'OWWWWW'. Sure, many many many a woman gets it done without batting an eyelid. But either such a woman has really thick skin, or she just likes pain!!

Thread, thread, thread, pull, pull, pull, pluck, pluck, pluck.
Pluck is what you need, I tell you, to get your eyebrows done.

Why then?
Social pressures. Oh what a fickle world this is!

I determinedly avoided getting them done for the longest time and even for the 'specialest' of special occasions, but then finally caved in. The face clears up and looks a tad better, you know!

I also started grinning in between all the OWs -- and this is the thought that got me through -- in the sitcom Friends, Joey for some reason had ended up in a beautician's chair to get his eyebrows shaped. The moment she begins, his reaction is one of complete shock at the pain. Finally, he runs away from her with one eyebrow shaped and one eyebrow 'as is'. SO true.

Why oh why does everything that makes you 'better' have to be so difficult? Eyebrow plucking, waxing, exercising (there are days your body just won't move even, leave alone move quickly), staying away from frieds and sweets, waking up early to get that damn worm(!), cutting short a nice juicy chat on the phone to hit the bed early....the list is endless.

Does it all really 'build character' as Calvin's Dad says?

Why not just be a hairy, flabby, lethargic slob? Huh?

Oh wait, I know the answer.

It's ...............................................BECAUSE!

Say cheese!

Posing for photos is quite an art. I know many people who when called to strike a pose, would do just that. Smile cheerily and toothily and respond to 'say cheese' with...just that. "CHEEEESE", they would say. Click. Photo taken and no qualms. All's well that ends well.

Then there are those like me. When confronted with a camera wielding human, I freeze instead of saying cheese. Then I think furiously about whether I look presentable enough to be featured in a snap. And then, I think about whether I want to be looking serious or all smiley. By the time I finish with my thought processes, the 'click' would have happened and I will be left glaring helplessly after the photographer.

At a recent family celebration, there was a professional photographer on the prowl. I forgot about his omnipresence (!) as I went about 'mosskufying' (gorging) on some yummy starters like Cauliflower Manchurian and Baby Corn pepper salt, then had a quick drink and settled into a chair somewhat sated(!). As is natural, a burp then followed. Alas! the burp coincided with the much dreaded 'click' sound. I looked up in dismay only to see the photographer actually looking disapprovingly at me. Like it was my fault he clicked my burp. Yes, apparently, he had captured my just-burped expression. Hmph. Not a pretty picture, I am sure.

Now, I don't burp that much, in fact, I hardly burp. I don't like the sound or the taste of a burp. And now ...this. I told him in no uncertain terms that I would pose for him again but that he would have to delete that unfortunate picture. He looked back at the burpy picture and agreed with me! Ugh. A part of me wanted to see it but I thought I did not want to put a serious dent in my self esteem and so thought the better of it. I posed again and I suppose it came out quite well. (Hiiiya)

I just hope he deleted the burped up snap.

I have always been wary of these 'photographers on the prowl'. Now I know why.

Happy with a shrug

Slumdog Millionaire bagged 8 awards. ARRahman as music director won two. Super!

But was it ARR's best work?

No, I think.

Let's face it, slumdog millionaire was a good platform (British director) to give the world a glimpse of Indian talent, that's all. Of course, ARR has given us much fab music. And great that he got away with two big ones at the Oscars and created history. Good for him too. Sure, we are proud and thrilled for him. It's like winning a major competition.

But why are Oscars so important to us?

Filmy talk -- 'Naan Kadavul'

"Aham Brahmasmi" is the protagonist's refrain in the film 'Naan Kadavul'. Don't ask me what that means exactly, but I think it means 'I am God' because that's what Naan Kadavul means!

I am sure I cannot elucidate as I should about this film because I am not very knowledgeable on the subject involved. But since this is my blog, I am going to say it like it feels to me.;)

The film is not particularly enjoyable because it revolves around beggars and a sect of sanyasis or sadhus (is there a difference?) called agoris, who are apparently equipped with superior knowledge and insight, as they seem to know how to differentiate the evil from the good with the naked eye. i.e. just by looking at the person. They also believe they have the power to eliminate the evil person. They also believe that they can help a much-suffered soul to attain moksha -- and free him from this life and all future births if they deem fit.

The part of the film that focusses on the agoris is most interesting. The part of the film that focusses on beggar rings, the heartless monsters who run them and the beggars themselves, takes you from depression to anxiety to fear to hatred to repulsion and then to feeling very very sorry for the pathetic victims -- the beggars, that is. The humour that the director (Bala) brings out from the general characters of the film as opposed to usual, 'designated comedians' is commendable and somewhat incongruous (because the beggars seem to enjoy a wonderful sense of humour), but utterly believable.

Then comes a revelation -- the actress Pooja. Honestly, I thought she was only fit to run around trees like a mindless glam girl. But in this film where she plays a blind and most pathetic beggar, she has done very very well. Damn near steals the show. I just hope she dubbed for herself. This is something that always bugs me about many of the Tamil heroines. Anyway, she is no 'heroine' in this film. Just a blind girl to whom a viewer's heart can not only go out to, but in the process, get as battered and broken as the character does! Sigh.

It also had many scenes that say 'accept the disabled into your picture'...as we should. As we had better, rather!

Then comes my favourite -- Arya. This guy is 'wow'. He has always been a good actor(in the few films he has acted in), but in this film, he really gets into the groove and plays his role to the hilt. He has readied his physical appearance for the role and manages many scenes with aplomb in spite of wearing the barest minimum clothing. This takes him nowhere near a pin up boy or anything (!!) because this is simply not that type of film and I am sure there are hardly any other actors who would dare to bare as he does. Male or female, we are not in the garden of Eden & so, this attempt to shed clothes and extra weight, grow hair and maintain it as unkempt, etc. etc. is commendable as it lends a great deal of crediblity to the role. And the scenes where he stands on his head are simply mindblowing. Serious admiration in progress...

This is not a film for those who love sweeping 'unpleasantries' under the carpet or for those who prefer to stay away from films that contain no romance or flowery scenes, show of riches and unnecessary fights. It is also not for people who cannot stand violence or bloodshed.

This is a film for those who appreciate Bala with all his obsession for depression and gloom (!) because he is a director who I think has substance, etches superb characters however sad or pathetic, and executes a neat film with apt music. Ilayarajai scores as usual. Maestro na maestro dhaan.

That said, there were (I am sure) many scenes missing from this film. Seems to have been cut like nobody's business. I believe it was said to have some 'cannabalism' involved as well. Ugh. But did n't get to see it. It was gory enough anyway!

Still, it would have been more interesting to see the full version and find out all that Bala had to say. (Yikes)

Oh and the comedy scenes involving Shivaji-MGR immitating side-actors was really one of the few 'enjoyable' portions of the film.

I don't however think I would want to see it again and again. The pathetic scenes remain fresh in the mind, you see...

Hello, please, thank you and good bye

Why did my parents bother teaching me manners? From good morning, good afternoon, good evening and good night to sorry, please, thank you, I had it up to my ears whilst growing up. Watch how you speak to people. Wish them. Be polite. The same story in school. Good manners apparently, were drilled into our small brains.

When it comes to present day usage of good manners, I have found that politeness comes at a price. When most courteous and pleasant, often, you are considered an ilichavai (grinning mouth -- a push over?). If you are polite, it does not necessarily mean you will get politeness back. In fact, people may even snap or be curt or take you for a ride.

So I have learned to test the waters. I will be polite at first as I have been taught to be and then when I see the waters are rippled or choppy, I do some choppy talk of my own. Speaking then becomes barking with an odd snap here and there. Very dog like behaviour. Can't say it helps matters as such. But it sure does get people's attention and they know that they need to watch their mouths with me.

However, downright losing of temper never never helps. That never accomplishes anything. But if people know that you are on the verge of losing it or are terribly capable of losing it, you can get things done.

Sad but true. Being grouchy helps in many areas. But I am an optimist. I will stay pleasant until pushed. It is after all so easy to be snappy and more tough to be sweet.

Oh, and sarcasm helps. A relief for yourself while the mannerless one is stumped ...at least temporarily!

Thanking you,

Yours truly.

Just a memory

I was around 6 or seven years old (wild guess) then, and was just getting into a car with my mother on ...some road (Har, har, some memory mine is, eh?). There was this beggar woman who was obviously standing on the platform for money. But she was a beggar woman with a small difference -- she seemed quite upbeat. Even as my mother hurriedly pulled some change out of her handbag to give her, the woman looked at me. To me then, she looked to be around 50 or so -- give or take how many ever years (!).

As a child you are naturally curious, inquisitive and don't hesitate to stare even when you know people are watching you stare. So I stared at her first and then at what was in her hand. It was a stainless steel plate and it had some amazingly comforting, home made-looking food on it. It was obvious that that day was the lady's lucky day. The food comprised paruppu saadham and sambar (rice and gravy). I stared at the food and then at her. She smiled at me, happy. She was probably seconds away from beginning her tasty-looking meal. I smiled widely back, happy too.

I don't know how that food got onto her plate, but I was happy for her. Innocently happy, because I was a just a child then, who did not know more, or better.

I am not sure why this memory stuck in my brain (am sure my being a foodie is irrelevant here for once!), but I recall this exchange of smiles clearly and even remember she was wearing a sari with a shawl like thing draped over it, perhaps because of tears here and there?:(

I guess it was a comfort that she got comfort food on her plate at least that day.

Every (slum)dog has its day.

Kuppamnaai Latshaadhipathi

'Slumdog Millionaire' -- that's what I said above in Tamil. Worth a post so here I am.

WARNING! LONG POST AHEAD!

Went for a night show with my usual 'kick' of anticipation, being a movie buff and all that. Did n't even want my usual popcorn right in the beginning. The experience began with angry tears -- mine. It's just that I stood in line to get a bottle of water and when my turn came, the twit behind the counter coolly attended another oaf instead of me, who extended his hand with cash (same as I did)...and the twit did the same with the NEXT guy too. I was outraged and asked the twit whether he knew what a queue was...and should he as the guy behind the counter not be the one to acknowledge a queue...??No answer is what I got. 'GRR' was followed by angry tears which I did NOT shed. Blinked them away.

Enough already with the rant, get on with the movie experience, Teesu. Got it.

The movie is about a boy from the slums of Mumbai -- rather, it is about 2 little boys and a little girl from the slums. The boys are brothers and the older one's name is Salim while the younger one is Jamal and the girl is Lathika (in the film). By a twist of fate (Mumbai riots), the three kids are orphaned and end up together because Jamal takes 'specially' to Lathika. They are conned into ending up in a sort of begging ring by a rogue, and face a dubious future there with a strong likelihood of some terrible atrocities and eventually flee from there just in the nick of time. However, Lathika does not make it with the boys and while Jamal is broken hearted about it, Salim's main interest is always shown as his little bro and not Lathika. Well, the rest of the story is about how Jamal can never forget or give up on Lathika and I suppose she loved him too although in a defeatist kind of way! Jamal gets himself onto a Q&A game show based on the popular 'Who wants to be a millionaire / Kaun banega Crorepati' show, again, all for love. (I used to watch the show here years before, just to soak in Amitabh Bachchan's charm:).

In this film, the show's smug, taunting host is Anil Kapoor while Irfan Khan plays the inspector who questions Jamal on his astonishing knowledge that made him answer all the questions, putting him in a position to become a millionaire overnight.

The film is good, no doubt. The characters seem pretty real as do the situations they find themselves in. I suppose British directors have got a penchant for starkness. Still, this film is not overly stark. The actors are brilliant right from the little children to the young men and women they become. And by actors, I mean to include Anil Kapoor (MAN, that guy is trim and does not seem to know the meaning of the verb 'age'!), Irfan Khan (plays an Indian cop to the hilt), the 3 protagonists, etc. But the thing is, we Indians have seen so much more from Anil Kapoor that this role is like 'jujubee' (trivial) for him/us. Naturally, he played the part well. Irfan Khan on the other hand is damn good usually, and in this, he seems to have underplayed it a bit which is brilliant I suppose, considering that the Indian cop generally speaking, is used to seeing the worst of life, and then some! Therefore, he goes from agitated to angry, to rude, to calm, to shrewd and observing, to being understanding, borders on compassionate and finally, to believing. Very nicely done.

AR Rahman. I may get booed for saying this, but we Indians already knew he is a fabulous composer / music director. The rest of the world is just catching on. To me, that's what this noise about Golden Globes and Oscars means. C'mon... how many marvellous creations of ARR's have we enjoyed? In this film sure, the songs are good, but nothing that steps out to be outstanding in the LONG list of great songs he has composed. Still, if it is the first for an Indian at the Oscars / Golden Globes, it IS great, but it is also true that India has not been appreciated enough for all that she has. Now's her time, eh? I would say that India has merely got a platform at the 'elite-global' level with Slumdog Millionaire, to show off the 'tip of the iceberg'. This of course, I mean in a positive way.

Some have criticised the film for portraying India 'slummily'. I beg to differ. Easy for us commonfolk leading cushy lives to be miffed that the poor side of our country has been 'shown up' on an international scale. But, the film shows how even people from the slums have a code they live life by, which I believe is sometimes far superior to us with the well cushioned butts -- literally and figuratively!;) ... Salim's love for his younger brother, Jamal's love for Lathika, the TV host's contempt and condescending tone (slightly overdone I thought), the police inspector lending Jamal a fairly fair ear, the really good acting by the villains, all these deserve a mention.

I like dogs but not slums, for obvious reasons. I strongly object to demeaning a person by calling him a slumdog. But I suppose, it can happen. The chilling scene where the beggar ring rogues prepare to blind a little boy and proceed with the ghastly act left me feeling deeply disturbed, horrified and terribly depressed, even if it is just a movie. I suppose we all know this happens in real life but we are so far removed from it that we are lulled into a happy and comfortable zone.

This film pokes you in the ribs and makes you feel the pain of a 'slum dog'. And then, it also tends towards fairly happy endings. So, watch it. We are going to win some never-before awards, so you have to watch it!

Cheers! Jai Ho and Jai Hind;).