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.

Mi'lord, let's fine-dine in our Kaiyendhi bhavan!

Kaiyendhi bhavan (henceorth kd bhavan) is the king of all manners of dining. Here are five reasons why they are the absolute best and the rest are all inferior to it.

1. The menu: The most important aspect of any restaurant. The menu of my favourite kd bhavan is a classic - Idly, molagai bajji, all egg accompaniments (omelet, half-boil and the sort). Bull's eye. You keep ordering and they keep serving, hot, fresh and without delay.

2. The best place for the indecisive: Leave dining alone, a fellow can't even get a cup of coffee easily these days. Picture this in a coffee shop:
'What would you have sir?'
'Coffee, please.'
'Yes but hot, cold, espresso, capuccino, mocha, latte??'
'Cold coffee. Adikra veyilku, cold is better, don't you think? :)'
'Tall, medium venti, small grande?'
'The medium thing, I guess. Am not much of an eater... or a drinker, I suppose.'
'Decaf, normal, blah-bloo-hooo'
'Sorry?'
'Never mind. Would you like some cream or marshmallows on top??'
'Yes, just cream, I think :)'
'Would you like to take this with the offer of the day or our special combo?'
'Well, it's all a bit complex for me!' after going through the available offers. 'I'll just have my coffee, I think. As long as you guys don't dip it in yogurt or flavour it with onions. Haha.
The girl in the counter keeps a straight face.
''Tis a puzzling world, it is.'

And at each step you have to decide, and decide, and decide. And did I mention decide? God, they give us a prompt headache for the coffee to work on.

None of this in our kd bhavan. You don't have to choose your sauces from some numismatic puzzle - chipotle southwest, honey mustard, sweet chilli?? sweet chilli in Chennai??!!! Will you just stop already! In kd bhavan you get unlimited servings of kaara chutney (hot chilli), coconut chutney and sambar.

A real manager in action - Watch and learn: Running a kd bhavan is no easy task. With just one helper, you have to keep making idlies and bajjis, podufy innumerable omelettes (with very finely chopped onion, mind it!), get the plates cleared up and keep track of the cash register. And they remember orders with such elan. Kd bhavans have just two work environments. Pressure and high-pressure. And all you MBAs, come with your notepads ready, for this is your laboratory.

Feel good about the world: The kd bhavans never keep count of what you eat. They don't serve scantily and bill secretly. You eat how much ever you want and when you finish, tell the guy what you ate and he'll tell you how much you'll have to pay. I can guarantee that the most voracious eaters won't exceed Rs. 80. But the trust! The trust! He never doubts your account and I've never seen him cross checking it. Oh he's so busy working, it feels like collecting cash is a pain to him. He does it hurriedly and gets back to attending his stove and customers. When you witness such scenes combined with the enterprise of the guy and the healthy appetite of the customers, I bet it'll act as the perfect antidote to living in this often crazy world. Your tummy full and heart likewise, life will appear so much more pleasant.

Beat falling ill: There is but one remedy to prevent illness. Enjoy, enjoy your food and merrily, merrily live. Eat how many ever idlies, molagai bajjis and half boils in whichever order, and say ciao to illness. (Atleast the psychological effects will fight the lifestyle effects?)

Here is an interview I took of my favourite kd bhavan owner (his name is Thamaraiselvan). It's quite raw but I caught up with him not without difficulty, so you guys better watch it. :)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6k8ZDvc5DuI

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zxkd5Lhb9CA

Some pics of Thamaraiselvan's KD Bhavan

On enjoying Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice'

I have been wanting for sometime to write about the books I read and the films I see. But my own disposition, being that of a very negligent and dilatory blogger, was floating around flirting with various prospective topics. But I just finished reading Jane Austen's 'Pride and Prejudice' and I feel such elation at the unision of Mr. Darcy and Ms. Bennet, that I can hardly contain myself from sharing how I feel. The involvement in the plot and the enjoyment of the content has been so much that appreciation of the writer comes as a much later wave of feeling, like a pleasant after-breeze to the immensely drenching first shower of monsoon.

The plot itself is woven with such skill, the characters etched with pleasing sensibility, the narration filled with an abundant supply of compelling wit, generous spraying of subtle humour, garnished with a lady-like charm in its execution and served in a characteristic platter of British restraint, which makes the reading of the novel exceedingly gratifying. This book is definitely to be tasted and savoured, swallowed and held up, chewed and enjoyed to its very essence, wholly digested and permanently cherished. For you won't be able to enjoy it once and not go back to it again and again for procuring further joy.

The book opens wonderfully, the introduction of characters is smooth and their interactions flow with a fluidity that deserves credit. Mr. Darcy and Ms. Bennet meet, move in and out of the story while it revolves around them, excite our minds and supply us with ample reasons for turning the pages of the book with eager anticipation. The etching of Mr. Collins and Lady Catherine is nothing short of excellent. The resigned ridicules Mr. Bennet bestows on his wife combined with his warm affection for Lizzy are wonderfully portrayed. His incredible sense of humour, evident as the book reaches its last few phases, had me in raptures. It earned me many an awkward glance, with everyone around serious with work or study and me laughing heartily at Mr. Bennet's statements often accompanied by a vigorous shaking of my head.

All the major characters blended into the plot so perfectly that I couldn't help but admire Jane Austen's sense and skill and was often left wondering on what prompted her to make the characters as they were and if there is any shade of her at all in any of her characters. Perhaps she resembled Miss Darcy? It'd indeed be terrific if I can just be invisible and watch Jane Austen going through her drafts, reading it to her friends and family, making modifications here and there and hear her speak in an interview of what she thinks would happen to Miss. Darcy or how good will the Bingleys' children be or how deceiving and wicked Wickham is!

The last 100 pages is just gem. It is stellar Jane Austen in her wonderful fluidity. A witty statement, a wonderfully humorous one, a funny lamentation and a romantic suspense tumbles one after another hardly giving the reader time to take in all the beauty at the first reading.

I just finished the book today and felt wonderfully happy. With a disposition that makes happiness spill forth into mirth and chatter, I couldn't help but talk about it. Even after sharing it with my close mates, I'd nevertheless have talked about the book and its author to every unlucky acquaintance who happens to pass before me for the next one week had it not been for the wonderful invention of a blog. Now that I have poured forth my joy in this cosmic blogger void, any fellow who glances upon it perchance or by intention can make all he can of it. If that fellow happens to have read Jane Austen, well, welcome to the 'honourable brotherhood of guys who've read awesome Austen'. If not, then perhaps this post'll tempt you to read Austen and join the brotherhood.

P.S: Though I'd like to think I was calm and composed while writing this entry, I know I'm very much hung over from reading Jane Austen. This post was written without consideration and published without correction, so make what you want of it and comment what you like! Hail spontaneity!