The "also sang"

Tweet

Indian Classical Music is a chore.
You got it right and it is my opinion. I have not yet understood the nuances of Carnatic or Hindustani music and to say I have been around for quite a bit.
While I can for a small amount of time get involved with Carnatic music mainly because I can sing along a few, Hindustani falls flat on my ears. I dont for the life of me garner more than four words in a rendition. I think a part of my refusal to connect to Hindustani is because of death. Let me explain. Growing up with Doordarshan ensured that I would listen, to four days of uncomprehensive singing and unreasonable amounts of Shehnai, in the unfortunate event of a state head passing away. Pressure like this takes away from pleasure and pushes in dread.
In my own defence I did try with Carnatic music. I wouldnt call it entirely my doing because honestly how many tamil brahmin families does one know where the girls in the house are liberated from the ardous task of being good singers? I was introduced to classical singing only by the age of 9. Late bloomers and such dreams. That turned out to be a classical saga which warrants itself another story. By the following year I as well as my well wishers had realised a deep disconnect between the raagas and what strangled out of my mouth and I was granted absolution.
Many of my friends and relatives are accomplished singers. One of my closest friends is the best singer I have ever heard but she knows my aberration. In college, she was one of the most popular stage singer as well as gap filler. Without fail everytime she was asked to belt out another hit number from Thyagaraja's Kirthanas she would catch me rolling my eyes and would laugh heartily at my plight. I implored her to learn a few hindi movie songs, for variety I said, but my intentions were not all white.
I do like the set of songs that I know by heart including Baghyada Lakshmi Baramma and Lambodara. One of my all-time favourites is Suprabhatam by MS. I also like her rendition of "Endaro Mahanubhavulu". I have written before about a song from Shankarabharanam. I like some of the songs from the telugu movie "Sree Ramadasu". I like the Yesudas rendition of "Tulasi Dala Mulaje" and my grandmom's presentation of "Krishna nee begane baro". Since these songs are not foremost in my mind and are tucked away in some crevice of my brain which is holding on to musical heritage, I do not recall all of them.
I do have an ear for Carnatic music to a certain extent. This extent is for the songs I already am familiar with. I do not have the patience to dissect them for their raagas, taalas and such. I like them for their friendly tune and sing-along nature of lyrics. I do not possess the forbearing for songs new to me. This should explain my first statement.

Yapp-raisal

Tweet

(To be sung to the tune of Jingle bells)
Appraisal time appraisal time appraisal time all this month 
Oh what fun it is to ride
On a wave of no worry...hey!


Ah! It feels stupendous to not go through the rigmarole this year. A luxury which I am being afforded for the first time in my life. No judgement on any front. We are so steeped in the culture of answerability that guilt conscience comes before self awareness for many of us. It is only very late in life that we learn that grammatically good, better and best are all relative terms. By then we are already conditioned like bulls in the San Fermin fiesta. We don't know why we are running but mostly because the others are. Maybe the bulls also like us are scared to be the only one not running and having to face an unknown consequence. Its amazing how we submit to judgement by people who are relative strangers in our lives. Its even more stupefying how we let this judgement influence our existence. Our ears jar when it hears the now famous "but you did not do anything innovative this year". Our minds race to creatively sell our work also known as self appraisal. At the end of the day we need to know our boundaries, limits and operate within our self esteem.
Honestly, I sometimes feel the lack of deadliness and pressures to perform, especially when I don't vacuum the house or when the sink is steeped with vessels for more than ten hours. Its almost a relief to realise I am the boss! I do wait for feedback on whether or not what I cooked is edible. I also feel that I will get a 1 rating every time V is brushed, bathed, schooled, lunched by 2 PM.
Appraisals are like the matrix. You can get in but never get out!

I am feeling cooooold

Tweet

The winter has finally set in, in its full glory here. The temperatures vary between -1 and -13 these days (and nights) and the winds make it even more miserable if thats possible. I am perpetually in the state of chill. As I write this post am wearing a full sleeve shirt with 2 jackets. And 2 pyjamas to top it off! By the time I reach the gym by walk, my face is numb and the only thing I feel is my runny nose. I think butterflies are very smart with the cocoon and all that. I wish I could learn to make my own warm cocoon right now. I dont feel like watching a late night movie anymore. Its an ardous task to sit in the hall and type out this post. (I should start blogging during the day!)

Big bang cookery

Tweet

Today has been one of those days where something as simple as rice refused to cook to completion, inspite of of the pressure cooker letting go atleast 10 whistles, much to my exasperation. 
I dont know if I have blogged about it before (too lazy to check) but am petrified of pressure cookers. Inspite of, now, using it everyday I panic at the first sign of errant steam. This is a phobia and has stemmed from a past misadventure. I retract into history once again with this post. But its modern history. An incident which happened to me 9 years back. My loyal readers would have guessed the importance of that timeline (pat on your backs, muaah). It was my first visit to the US. It was my first visit anywhere. Given the fact thay I was a naive young adult I fared rather well on that trip. One night I came home earlier than my roommates and started the process of makong dinner. At that time I couldnt call this process cooking. I had not much idea about what I had to do. I took realtime online coaching from *drum roll* T! The rasam was always tasty aftet my roomie re-engineered it. So coming back to that fateful night, following T's instructions to a T, I kept rice in the cooker. I was hanging around prepping for rasam. The cooker started to make unusual noises but I failed to recognise it because of my ignorance. I moved closer to the stove and BLAM the cooker lid burst open and sprung into the air. It narrowly missed hitting my face thanks to my reflexes (it only freezes when i drive). Only when my roomies came back did I come to know that I had been using a cooker with a faulty safety valve. I did not even know such a thing existed! Anyway that started me on my phobia of cookers. For the rest of that trip I made rice only by boiling. Back in India I stayed away from the blasted thing till I had to prove my mettle in my in-laws house. For the first few times I secretly called T to check that everything was in order mechanically and mathematically. I have also sms-ed him from kitchen to hall to keep my shortcoming discrete! I finally got used to the blasted thing as long as it was normal use. The first sign of trouble I still run to T. I refuse to understand the science behind pressure cookers but more than that I refuse to stand close to it when the stove is on. I dont think I will ever get over the fear.
Yesterday I asked V what she wants to be when she grows up. Imagine my horror when she said she wants to be a cooker! Thankfully she added that she wants to be a cooker and cook cookies.

First day at school....again

Tweet

Tomorrow is the first day of school for lil V. New city new school. She is so excited its contagious!
Am I the only one when I say I used to not like the first day of school so much? Infact I used to dread summer holidays coming to an end. My school had a pracitce of shuffling us to different sections each year and this only made it more painful for me. Although for all of high school I stuck to "F" section, my classmates kept changing. Once school started however, I would get comfortable under the cloak of routine. I have had some hilarious entrances. Every year of high school I fell ill during the last days of summer holidays extending into school start. (No, I did not invent the excuse) One such year my classmates purportedly expected a Sardarji boy called "C.D. Roop" whose name they heard everyday at attendance and did not hear any "Present Sister" response. Another year I walked in ten days later and I was deported to the last but one bench. As I walked up and sat down the guy behind me asked "Why do you walk like a robot?" (Does this guy know am talking about him? I have him on FB). I was so flabbergasted that I instantly became friends with him. I changed schools only once and on the first day of my new school I made friends with another newcomer. By the time our queue proceeded to the splitter (the teacher who was randomly assigning us to sections) we had become best friends. It was a very painful separation but the amazing aspect of it is that we never talked to each other again! Only cordial smiles everytime we passed each other for the remainder years. Lunch on the first day (sometimes a couple of weeks) of school was a beehive of activity. Finding out which sections your friends went into. The most important question was with whom should lunch be had! Some of us were lucky enough to get into a cozy group shielded by shuffling although I must admit I know a lot more people because of shuffling than otherwise.
V is going to attend her 3rd school in 1.5 years and I am proud of her confidence. She goes into the classroom and is instantly at home. There will be occasional clamour for attention and crying for Amma but that is imperative at this age I guess. One thing she has not reconciled to is to call teachers by their names. While she had many "aunties" in the Bangalore school, here she simply addresses them as "teacher".
All the best my kutty. May you grow like a "Yele mare kayi" and achieve great heights. 

Do(aw)n of online movies

Tweet

"Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahin (pause) namumkin hai...phooo" blowing smoke through mouth (or is it nose?)

Don will be smoking six packs nervously if he finds out amazing prints are available all over the internet for free!

The first time I came to the US was exactly 9 years ago. Though the stint dint last too long (thanks to various people I worked with, who assumed roles of king makers) it left a lasting impression on me. The main one being that unless you have a car and can drive around, weekends are very boring. Internet was the mainstay but there was not much content to watch. Cyber life was more about the written word. Subsequently I made many trips to Europe with no marked difference in the boredom levels (especially since internet was free only in the lobby, and who wants to watch a movie in the lobby of a hotel anyway?). Except that I became savvier with each trip and ensured I would get away over weekends. The first time I travelled was with a huge collection of songs to while away my time. It was then that I realised I am not armchair romantic material and would easily get bored of inactivity. The subsequent trips made me graduate from carrying VCDs to DVDs to downloads to drives. All of them movies ofcourse. Lot of hard work went into preparing for such trips. It was my previous trip to the US, 4 years back, when I truly discovered the potential of content. In my 3-month stay I quickly became an expert at searching for movies online. Like a jeweller I became adept at picking out the gems from the pool of bad prints. This skill has stood me in good stead on this trip. Sometimes I think we enjoy movies more now because of the economics involved. In the world of non-originals deflation is the key. But mostly we dont have a choice, being stuck with the only kid in the world who hates stepping into theaters. (It took us 5 minutes and Rs.800 to discover this 2 years back). We are well endowed with odd genes.



Abhi baat khatam kya. Yeh saala Don ko pakadnaich mangta kya. *Rubs hands in glee on finding DVD quality print for free*

My Pongal pot overfloweth - part deux

Tweet

Legs ache,back breaks but who cares! I had my first successful stint as a hostess in Overland Park! Had guests over for lunch and in the evening. Fun times, great conversation, delicious food if I may say so myself. I am amazed that I could cook up a meal and snacks without ruining even a single dish. Well, almost. While everything that I made has been polished off....my pongal pot still overflows :)
My yawns are making it impossible for me to see the screen for more than half a second at a time. So with a well deserved pat on my back, I can only say "Picture abhi baaki hai mere dost"

My Pongal pot overfloweth

Tweet

Early morning sun glancing through the covers
Waking up to the fragrance of jasmine flowers
A day when there in no warrant for discipline
Free to do as free as will can be
Climbing up the stairs to the terrace
To fly kites, in the sky, through the colourful maze
Wearing western dresses with much admonished glee
As youngsters fashion does not advocate"langa-angi"
Having a ready snack for the next fifteen days
Sneaking Yellu bella out of the kitchen in umpteen ways
Uttering the word "beer" a thousand times as easily as water
To see what novelty pakkad-mane aunty would barter
Any moment I expected a shout-out for lunch from my mother dearie
"Siri Where is my coffeeee" breaks through my reverie

For the child in us, there is an adult in our spouse to wake us up to reality. But nothing diminishes the joy the festival of Sankranthi brings.
Happy Sankranthi / Pongal to you all.

Smells of childhood

Tweet

Today morning started with me trying a new recipe for Kichdi (yeah rt!). I dint know it then but by the time I was done cooking I had inadvertently cooked up the smell from my childhood. My mom makes a dish called "Uppu Pongal" which is the first cousin of the Kichdi. This was a smell that I used to abhor growing up. More so because I did not relish this dish. I never understood the combination and found it distasteful to eat yellow rice laden with pepper and jaggery pieces on the side. Many a fight between my mom and me were over the edge of the plate. There were many more "thindis" that I did not like to eat including, shock de resistance, dosas! Amma couldnt tolerate my whining after some years and she discovered her brahmastra against such unreasonable behaviour. Shavige Payasa. Yes, the humble payasa was and continues to be my favourite dish. On occasions where she had to thwart tantrums, she would make this in the simplest of manner. No glitz of ghee or dried fruits. And that is the version that I still love and only my mom can make it best!
Imagine my joy when I returned from school, got the "yuck" smell of pongal, dosa, uppit etc and my mom would hand me a huge cup of shavige payasa!
Happiness was so simple then....

Exercise or else....

Tweet

She was walking to the Gym as usual when the first gust of wind wound its way through. By the time she reached the next block, the wind was ripping her cap off. There was the sound of howling all around her and she never heard the footsteps behind her. She reached the gym and it was dark inside. The blinds were drawn. As she entered the lights switched on and the camera installed on the wall reassured her that someone would be watching. She had always been anxious of being alone behind closed doors and the feeling had only been accentuated in the past few years. Now she had reached the edge of paranoia. As she hung her coat, instinct told her to keep the keys and phone in the pocket of her track pants. The first thing she needed was some noise, she hated quiet. She hunted down the TV remote , found it in one of the treadmill pockets and switched on the TV, tuned to TBS. She decided to try out the elliptical first and punched the buttons and nothing happened. While she was wondering if the display was a mock-up and it was manual mode, she saw a shadow across the window in front of her. That particular window was on the walk path to the door of the gym and anyone entering would be seen through it first. She was a little relieved at the prospect of having company. In the meantime she had churned the elliptical and now the display had come alive. She hit the glutes max program and started to move. It was a few minutes later that it struck her that nobody had come in through the gym door. She dismissed the shadow as the evening sun playing tricks. After a few minutes she moved on to the exer-cycle and started on the fat burn program. As she was working her way through it she heard a dull thud of something heavy crashing to the ground. She stopped and waited. All was quiet. There were only two doors to the gym and both led to the hall which was visible from inside the gym. She hadn't seen anyone come through them but then the noise. She became a little afraid but mustered up enough courage to go into the hallway and look around. No one. Where had the noise come from she wondered. She went back inside the gym but had second thoughts of continuing. Since she did not want to be a laughing stock for her cowardice again she steeled herself and walked over to the treadmill. Soon the adrenaline rush took over and she went over to do the Lats. She sat down with her back towards the door and started heaving. Suddenly through the laboured breathing she sensed another rhythm. With her spine tingling she turned around. Standing there in a grey long coat was a guy. She could only see his eyes through his scarf and headgear. She was chilled to the bone. He dint look like he belonged there. One of his hands were muddy and the other in his pocket holding something tight. As she started to get up he took a step towards her. She screamed and ran towards the door. He darted behind her. In the nick of time she managed to open the doors and run outside. The wind sent her spiraling backwards. She had had no time to take her jacket. She hit the brakes on her fall and saw from the corner of her eyes that the guy was also outside now. Whatever he was carrying in his hand was out of the pocket. It gleamed in the light of the street light. She could not believe this was happening to her. She sprinted towards the housing office. and climbed up the stairs only to meet a locked door. It was already past the office time she realised. She started running towards her home two blocks away. Atleast she could go to her neighbour’s. She could hear the guy pounding behind her and judging by the sounds she knew he was closing in on her very fast. By the time she ran half a block, her stamina was diminishing rapidly. Her breath had turned into a wheeze and her body was giving up. As she fell forwards she saw the guy's shadow looming above her. She turned her face up and as he brought down the gleaming object she tried to cover her face. What you cant see hurts you lesser. An agonizing second later she realised she was still alive and opened her eyes. Thrust in front of her eyes was a credit card. Upon peering some more she realised it was hers. It must have fallen out of her coat pocket. Tears welled into her eyes as she stood up and took the card. She waited till she caught her breath back. The guy was still waiting by her side. As she looked into his eyes and thanked him, he smiled. It was the scariest smile she had ever seen. Tears rolled down her cheeks, resigned, and the last thing she knew was a dull metallic thud. Surreal.
The next day's paper held reports of yet another murder in the area of a woman. The police was clueless since, even in this case, it looked like the woman knew the murderer. There was a calm smile on her dead face.