My war cry - 'seri seri'!

Timing is the strong suit of the funny-type. Especially when the 'being funny' part hangs on a punchline or a well used verse. It all hangs on hitting it at the right moment. It'd help then if you can float like a butterfly through all the conversation and at the right moment tickle like a feather. If you get the timing wrong, instead of a feathery tickle, the punchline might sting like a bee. And wasn't there this wise guy who wrote 1330 couplets and in his 129th said - A fella'd forgive a timely punch but not an unsolicited punchline? .

And if you're daring enough to start narrating a cliched storyline and a familiar endline to a repeat audience and still expect them not to sigh or yawn (which is like balancing a Yokozuna and Keira Kneightley on a see-saw), then the result hangs, overwhelmingly, on getting the timing absolutely right.

So one of my very standard dialogues is 'seri seri' - meaning 'okay okay'. This is the deadly sword that nips a boring narration at the bud. The most important aspect of using this weapon is to sense and seize that perfect moment when its effect will be most lethal. Let's understand with an example. Suppose a friend Mr.X usually talks much, and the talk is often self-absorbed, it means it's time you start honing your weapon for he's the right kind of prey. When he starts stuff like 'When I went to Bangalore on my', just grab the moment when he pauses to take a breath or recollect things and use your weapon - say 'seri seri, let's go get coffee.' With the right timing, he'd be flustered, angry because he really wants to say it but you have cut him abruptly but not rudely. Job done. He'd just have to catch his tongue, stem the flow of words and swallow the boring story. You have just succeeded in making him swallow his own bitter boring pill. Of course he'd give you a look which would make you feel as if your sorry arse has been incinerated deep down the ground and is writhing in agony. But hey, you'll also feel the brimming satisfaction of stopping a boring story and saving your fellow mates from a tiring half hour. The next time some wearisome storyteller appears on the scene, your companions would look at you, achingly, filled with hope, for you to wear your shining armour, yell seri seri and save them from the depths of an ultimate drag. But remember, it all hangs on getting the timing right. If you're a moment late, your voice gets drowned in his chatter, a moment early and you appear like a rude fool. Timing, guys, is of essence.

One war cry for all blasphemous borers - simple, effective and artful. Seri seri - enough is enough.

On falling sick after getting drenched!

I got drenched in rain a few days ago and quite liked it. The next day, I went around my routine sneezing and the day after, fell sick. I do understand that it would've been tough for the rainman to digest that a few guys were rejoicing when he was working his ass off, co-ordinating the clouds and wind and sending down batch after batch of rainwater. It is like when you have your holidays but your dearest play-mate has his exams going on. You are bored but you flaunt even your boredom to piss him off. And he considers the most rhetoric of flaunts to be the irresistible of tempting devils. This time likewise, the rainman seems to have taken it a bit too personally, my rejoicing seems to have been perceived as a taunt. As if telling me to behave, he seems to have sent a few drops of raindrops on me with some deadly bugs. I know what he was thinking then. 'You cockroach, you enjoy my shower alright and you go and put a post on your silly blog about it to rub salt in my wound? Eat this, then. Go influenza, corynebacterium and staphylococci!!!' Yeah. You've had it. I fell sick. You got me by the balls. You win. Wait till I taunt you next time with a raincoat on.

Chennaiyil joraana mazhaikkaalam

It rained today. Here, in Chennai. The blue abode up above grew all murky and what followed was a generous downpour of H2O. No sweeteners, preservatives, wasn't carbonated or extracted from fruit concentrate. A shower of pure, unadulterated H2O. I got caught up in it while riding back home and it turned out to be such a nice experience. It eased traffic, the dense lot of commuters crowding under covers, awnings and shelters to escape the rain. Only four wheelers rode on and they too, were slow and accommodating.

It all started like this. The clouds thickened and there was a perceptible drop in temperature. When I started riding my bike, there came a forceful cool breeze. A meek kind of gust which made fallen leaves, torn up paper and roadside plastic scatter and swirl without pattern, as if terrorising them by announcing the arrival of a sudden torrent of rain and making them disperse in chaos. Then came the raindrops, stiff and firm, dropping heavily on the helmet. COME HAD THE RAINMAN. He sent shaft after shaft of pure rain drops down, playing and rejoicing with the few who cared to play along and sternly intimidating those who tried to escape him by indicating that he'd continue for some hours to come. Some immediately ran for shelter, some cursed and tried to hurry to their quite near destinations, some vacillated and looked around trying to make a choice while some rode on. Within seconds, the rain drops were coming down with a flourish, the initial stiffness of the clouds easing out as a travel-weary person on reaching his lodging would ease up while slowly un-shouldering his luggage. I just drove, happy to be in that place at that time. I got quite lucky, you see. A moving traffic that wasn't heavy, accompanied by a good steady shower of cool rain, the comforting thought that I'd soon reach home to warmth and dry clothes and perhaps some hot food, all combined well to place me perfectly in the position to get the most out of the rain episode. This was also the first good shower in quite some time, so the roads weren't really bad. Of course, when this gets over, it is all going to get slushy and stinky but as for now, the setting was perfect.

So I reached home and thought if I should write about this. We sometimes write for ourselves and often for others. But in certain cases, we write for the sake of an experience. Some wonderful experience which deserves to be remembered, which deserves its place in writing, just so that they are preserved, in however minuscule a forum. I guess this was one such pleasant experience - a little romantic, poetic and much cliched, yes, - but still so damn pleasant that it does deserve its own little dwelling in this maze of a world.

One of those satisying weekends! - Sunday

Sunday, mate. Fun-day. It was the perfect climax to the week. A sleep that stretched to the wee hours of afternoon. Direct lunch. Then caught up with friends. The best thing in life would be to have a rocking set of accessible friends. You meet a lot of rocking guys, they stay with you a while and get scattered to some other part of the city, if not the world. They are not accessible most of the time. But not your neighbourhood guys. Friends here, though in different universities or jobs always are readily accessible for fun - especially on a weekend. So I caught up with the guys after a lot of days. And was enchanted. They still called each other by nicknames. You know, the sort we give each other when we do our sixth grade. It sticks. And some the sort we give each other in high school - the cheeky ones for cocky guys. And if you're thinking - 'High school is so over', I do beg your pardon. High school, my friends, is never over. Ditto with neigbourhood fun. Never gets over. So we played cards, and football and then some more cards.

A lot of fun, they say, and a bit of a run,
Is top class life, second to none.

One of those satisying weekends! - Saturday

I had a satisfying evening. All those shrill voices that often pronounce that the world is heading to the bin and life is becoming routinely crazy and crazily routine took a break. The more dominant voices this evening were those of the good kind - that there is still plenty of goodness here, men can be trusted and mankind admired.

I went to Kovalam beach, the drive along the East Coast Road was pleasant and the company engaging. I went with two guys, both interested in photography. So when we reached the beach, they started shooting pictures, it was a bit over my head but they explained the basics of that complex camera thing and I could soon get along. They were pretty much involved in taking pictures and it was a nice leisurely activity. I posed for them a bit, then came a beautiful sunset and it relieved me of the posing duty, though I did like the guys taking pictures of me eagerly and didn't want it to end all that soon :) Then we drove back, had dinner on the way before reaching home.

Well, a simple evening, some genuine conversation, friends who were really interested in what they were doing - overall a pretty good time. Evenings like this really give you that much required leisure and a time to be laid back, get into that tranquil mode, feel good about the world and recharge yourself. I was lucky too, a cheerful waiter, playful kids, caring parents and happy couples made the scenery more gratifying while some rude waiter or a rash driver would've spoiled the evening. These are the moments when you realise how little sweet acts can go a long way in smoothening your ruffled mind and guide you into that Vasudhaiva Kutumbakam and Ubuntu mode embracing all humanity with good temper and a glad heart.

These evenings make you wonder if a good life has to necessarily be a rather quiet life, for it is in times of leisure and beauty that you really find the mood to be all that you mean to be - good, kind, tolerant, humorous and in the flow. And these evenings are much more enjoyable after long work hours as it heightens the contrast and so enhances its preciousness, just as an extremely thirsty man would savour a chill drink of Nimbooz more than a normal guy.

End of the day, I felt at ease and was wondering why everything in the world isn't nice and easy? I think this nursery rhyme sums up what I felt quite well.

"A wise old Owl sat on an oak;
The more he saw the less he spoke;
The less he spoke the more he heard;
Why aren't we all like that wise old bird?"

That was it, altogether. Wanted to keep the post simple, just as the evening was, earnest and without decorations.

Getting up on time

'Time' is a cold and unforgiving taskmaster. It gives us that dreary chore of routine and lashes its twin whips of day and night with unfailing exactitude. Everyday the alarm goes off in the morning. The tone of it has become so familiar to me that just the beginning of the beep makes me curse and mutter involuntarily. Snooze. I recede into that dreamy borderline of sleepy bliss when the alarm sounds again. Snooze. Before I can stop my muttering this time and step into the dream world, my mom reminds me of the time and urges me not to be late. At least today, she says. So I get up, get ready and start off.

For the next half an hour the entire world appears to me cruel and heartless. All of it created by the cruelest of the lot - time. Can't it wait for five minutes? That's all I ask. 5 minutes of extra sleep. And then another 10 minutes. That is all. Extra minutes of sleep, with the number of minutes strictly in an arithmetic progression with a common difference of 5. What is it with time? It runs fast when we want it to stay and barely moves when we want it to fly by. It moves at the speed of light years per second when I watch good movies but treads at millimetres per millennium when my grandmother lectures me. I'll have my revenge on you some day or the other, time. I'll make you suffer like you make me. All in short time. Until then, I'm just biding my time for the right time to tackle your tricks, you time!

Reviewing the parcel!

Things have changed since I began blogging. A few things that I blogged about have also changed. Let's see.

I named the blog inspired by Vitae Lampada and The History Boys and they still inspire me very well. So that hasn't changed.

There is a post on - On having an ipod. I still stand by it, only I have replaced that ipod with another one. There was also an interim period where I had no ipod. It was miserable, especialy while driving. So I should probably follow up the post with a sequel - On not having an ipod. May be after a while I'll come up with a final version titled I'm apple Ipod, like Sly came up with Rocky Balboa after just 5 previous parts. Or was it 6?

I then wrote a boy to man series, which hangs mid-way because I've got two versions of part three in the drafts, both of which are not very interesting. I've been telling myself that if Coppola takes 27 years to come up with Godfather 3, I can take a bit more time to do my part three.

Then was a post on a first hand football watching experience. It was awesome, only now it reminds me of how little I play at all, pissing my pleasures away like the good adult! But that has started changing from the previous weekend. Working towards becoming a better time tactician! Strategy, guys. That's all it takes. Strategy! More on this later.

Then there is this post - The dream of building a bathroom. Well, it remains a dream. Only other dreams of building a farmhouse, starting a business, becoming a bureaucrat, directing a film etc, have piled on top of this dream. I guess my dream of the bathroom must be stronger than the concrete bathroom itself, to withstand the weight of other dreams and all that.

Then I see a post on how galeej Chennai was and is. It remains exactly so. People spitting the exact same way and autokars directing their curses to commuters' eardrums with pinpoint precision.

A post on my notorious bike - Boxer Eight-nine-nine-four,
I don't drive it anymore,
I've got a new ABS Apache,
Which has a slick press-start-key!

And then on pani puri - I love it still, so no change there, may be a slightly increased degree of obsession, that's all.

A rant, a review of a book, a good hike remembered and one on kaiyendhi bhavan with an interview. I've skipped a few posts, to cut a long story short and not to fatigue the reader. Not a lot of change in the views of these posts, however.

So some things, even those dear to me - like the ipod and bike (as much as I hate to admit it, it seems I have a soft corner for the old bike!)- have come to pass, while few others remain unaltered.

What did I learn doing this review? - Just that I have got plenty of stuff in the drafts that haven't been posted. I started the blog because I love writing but I haven't posted many of my thoughts because either I didn't think they were good enough or I thought I'd make them better, with one more polish, but was too lazy to get around to it.

One blogging trick I found: If you've got a good idea but can't form an interesting narrative, resort to bullet points. Five reasons for doing this, three ways to fool around and such stuff. Usually works.

One hard fact I've come to terms with: Doggedness is essential in a writer. Lack of it is the main reason I haven't come up with more posts. You can't be spontaneous all the time. And most times, planning and perseverance eat spontaneity for breakfast and dinner.

One universal truth I stumbled upon: A good writer is a good writer, first, foremost. The subject of his work, the use of metaphors, the scene, are all secondary. If you see a bowl of spaghetti - unevenly boiled, salt and pepper sprinkled at will and sauce poured without pattern - and if you've got an eye for it, you'll manage to pick up that one strand of spaghetti that is boiled, saucy and has a fair amount of salt and pepper. And a good writer does exactly that. Though it is never perfect, it is almost always edible and often enjoyable.