Two things

One serious. One not so serious.

Serious matter. My flippantly worded profile (on the right) turns up on the front page of results related to google queries on “autistic savants”. My usage of that term was strictly non-medical, but I did not realize my folly till I got an email from the mother of a 5 year old son who has been diagnosed with Autism/Aspergers/PDD. She wanted to meet me and understand how I live my life as an autistic person.

End Result: Deep embarrassment, profuse apologies, and a changed profile to reflect the subjective truth about me.

Notes to self:

1. Medical terms are not funny.

2. Blogs get preferential treatment when it comes to google results. (Because of all the tags and links)

Not so serious matter. Work called over the weekend and said “Hi. Can you sorta come over here and help us with a presentation we are making to a client. I said – sure. Where? They said. New York. Wednesday morning.”

I thought- “WITNOTDTWFSMISWEHGP?” (What in the name of the devil’s third wife’s fourth son’s morning idly served with extra hot gun powder?), but said – “Ok boss”
32 hours of travel. For a day of work.  Sigh.

Yeganeshtu All Oddsu

Saturday morning, Tennish

No visit to Hyderabad is complete without a “Wow yaar. Yeh kaise banaaya yaar” gaping in wonderment at the Veiled Rebecca at the Salar Jung museum. Poets could wax lyrical about it. Lyricists could wax poetic about it. But only our driver, the amiable Feroze, could describe that symphony in marble thus:

Maanlo ek ladki hai. Aur maanlo woh poorey safed kapde pehenke paani ke andhar chale jaathi hai. Phir woh baahar aathi hai, bheegi bheegi. Kaisi dikhegi?  

No. Not like Bipasha Basu in Jism. I could insert an image here, but I won’t. I urge every reader of this blog to go to that museum and feast your eyes on the Veiled Rebecca. Giovanni Maria Benzoni, how on earth did you sculpt that?

Saturday, rest of the afternoonish 

It seemed as if the authorities in charge of the Charminar had decided to paint it red. It did also seem that they didn’t want to spend too much money painting it. I suppose they must have made a blanket request to the citizens living in the old city to direct their generally poorly aimed projectiles of chewed paan at the walls of the 4-minareted landmark of Hyderabad.  Oh man, do they spit in the old city. While the women were busy buying bangles, I was busy trying to evade red coloured spit missiles.

That was when I spotted this amateur travelling musician salesman.

I have this habit, I confess. I collect cheap flutes. I have bought them from Trivandrum, Shimla, Ooty, Munnar, and hell, even Haryana, where I am told, the only form of culture is agriculture. So we started the ritual. I picked it up and played the overture from Mozart’s Eine Kleine Nachtmusik (simply because it has a full range of notes and thus serves well to test 20 rupee flutes). I then asked the flute salesman to play a demo tune. And as is customary, he played the overture to ne pas aller à l’étranger from the suite Le Empereur d’Indie. For some reason, flute sellers all over India find Karishma Kapoor’s imploring plea to Aamir Khan to not go abroad very addictive.

So there. End of day. I had managed to cover every exhibit in the Salar Jung museum with two women, itching to shop, in tow. As they say in these parts, Yeganeshtu All Oddsu.

Parachuting into Paradise

Thursday, close to midnight, 20,000 ft

“Parachute or Marico”, I wondered, as I sat in Go Air’s flight from Chennai to Hyderabad. “Probably Parachute”, I felt. “The bouquet and aroma seem to rule out Marico”. Then the person sitting in front of me, reclined his seat. “Parachute confirmed”, I concluded. No self respecting south Indian can mistake the aroma of that venerable brand of coconut oil. But this self respecting south Indian would also like to avoid airlines such as Go Air in the future, as long as they continue to keep the distance between 2 seats close enough to smell the hair oil on the person seated in front.

Go Air, please let me breathe. Till that, I christen thee thus (click on image to see larger version)

Friday, close to a dazed boredom, near General Bazaar

The plan, was to visit the Jagdish and Kamla Mittal museum of Indian art, but since they were closed, I was subtly cajoled into accompanying two women to General Bazaar for shopping. It was all a haze of Aiye ji madam ji. Kya range mein chhahiye aapko? Aur colours dikhayiye. Aur patterns dikhahiye.

While these mesmerizing, hypnotizing “Show me everything, although I am very unlikely to buy any” rituals were going on, I decided to take a general walk down..um..er, it’s a transferred epithet, bazaar. I found shops with interesting and thought provoking signs, such as

and interesting flavours,

The shopping mercifully came to an end when the thought of the 15 kg weight limit while flying back to Chennai hit home.

Friday Noon, Paradise

Legend has it that a Persian poet once described the Peacock throne thus – “If there be paradise on earth, it is here, it is here, it is here”. But if they serve Biriyani in that paradise (and no paradise is worth living in if they don’t serve biriyani), it is in Secunderabad, it is in Secunderabad, it is in Secunderabad. Trust me. Timur the lame, the man who is said to have introduced this dish to the subcontinent, would have relished the biriyani served at Paradise, Secunderabad. He would have also added – “Oka Khubani ka Meetha kaavaali. Adi tharavaatha, Billu”

Our friendly driver Feroze, also informed me that the word Biriyani is synonymous with the mutton variety. As far as he was concerned, any other variety was bordering on blasphemy.

Glossary

I noticed that I had written a glossary page a while back but forgot to publish it. So here it is.

I am so full of Biriyani, Khubani ka Meetha and exhausted from staring at churidhaars and sarees at General Bazaar that my travelogue will commence only tomorrow.

Hyderabaadu, nenu vasthaanu..rape ooh

For the Telugu challenged, “Rape ooh” means “Tomorrow”, in case you thought otherwise. I find such incidental offensive words very interesting. A Punjabi (who else) friend of mine once asked me why Tamilians were so inappropriate when meeting anybody for the first time. I said “eh?” and he explained – “You guys always say Wanna Come? the first time you meet anybody”. Tangent over. Main matter now.

I will be in Hyderabad for a good 3 days (Friday, Saturday and Sunday) and I leave tomorrow night. I have always wanted to visit the Salar Jung museum again and also cavort around the grassy knolls where the legendary Chiranjeevi danced (and Balakrishna um..generally moved) while a million multi-coloured balloons would be released into the sky in the background.

If there are any other jalsa activities I can do during this mini vacation, please let me know. I have made a short list and I am not entirely satisfied

1. Smoke a Charminar while at the Char Minar (map). Well. I don’t smoke, but I am willing to try this in any case.

2. Drink Golconda white wine while at you-know-where.

3 Walk into a Biriyani shop in the old city and ask – “Do you have anything vegetarian?”

4. Learn a bit of Hyderabadi Urdu, which essentially is 1 part Telugu, 1 part Urdu and 3 parts “Azharuddin style low amplitude high frequency nods of the head”. Example – Entraa Mama, Nenu paidalga pothanu. Samaj Aaindaa?” (Hey dude, I am going to walk. Do you understand?)

5. Locate the line of control between Hyderabad and Secunderabad and put one foot in each city and take a photo.

And oh, damn. Hyderabad + 2 women (my wife and her sister, who lives there) = Pearls and Dress shopping till the sun turns into a white dwarf. I will need to hone my “Yeah. That looks awesome. You should buy it. I don’t think it can get any better” expression to the point where it sounds convincing enough in the first shop we enter.

Agility, thy name is not a fancy synonym for “view”

Sirjee, mera file…….

Eh?

Woh file sirjee, jisko move karni thi. Meri file

Oh. woh file. Ho jayegi.

Thank you sirjee….sirjee hmm..er…kab hogi?

Abe bolraha hoon na. Ho jayegi. Jaldi kya hai

(scratching head) Nahin sir ji, bus kaam jaldi karvaana tha

Humko kya kampyuter samaj rakha hai? Tujhe patha hai kitna bijee hai hum

Patha hai sirjee, hum aapka kuch seva karen (with isly ismile)

Hmm..kya doge?

Ek mitthai ka dabba?

Kya? Abhi mere paas time nahin hai. Baad mein aao

Sir sir sirjee..Naa math kahiyega. Ek do aur dabbe dedethe hain

Hmm..wahan pe ek cabinet hai. usko kholo, aur rakh do.

Sirjee. lekin, hum kaise kholen.

To theek hai, peon ko kehdo karne keliye aur usko ek mitthai ka piece dedena

Theek hai sirjee

(after mitthai dabbas have been depojited in the right place)

Sirjee..mera file…

Hahn hahn..bait zara. Chai peene de. Uske baad zaroor move kardenge.

So, here is the question to my maruti esteemed readers. What am I describing?

A scene at a government office where a bribe needs to be paid to move a file before the next ice age?

Absolutely not. Now let me replay this dialogue with a little more context.

Sirjee, mera file……. ( C:\Users\Ashok\Desktop\Work\ruby186-25.exe )

Eh? ( Right click and keep waiting)

Woh file sirjee, jisko move karni thi. meri file ( Ctrl X. Ctrl V)

Oh. woh file. Ho jayegi. (The great Vista spinning wheel of the kalpa )

Thank you sirjee….sirjee hmm..er…kab hogi?

Abe bolraha hoon na. Ho jayegi. Jaldi kya hai ()

(scratching head) Nahin sir ji, bus kaam jaldi karvaana tha

Humko kya kampyuter samaj rakha hai? ( Um. Yes. But come to think of it. Your father XP was one. Your grandfather 98 was a little cranky. But you, are a comatose tortoise. On sleeping pills.)

Tujhe patha hai kitna bijee hai hum ()

Patha hai sirjee, hum aapka kuch seva karen (with isly ismile)

Hmm..kya doge?

Ek mitthai ka dabba? 512 hai

Kya? Abhi mere paas time nahin hai. Baad mein aao ()

Sir sir sirjee..Naa math kahiyega. Ek do aur dabbe dedethe hain

Hmm..Peeche ek cabinet hai. Usko kholo, aur rakh do.

Sirjee. lekin, hum kaise kholen. (Laptop self openings. Warranty goings. )

To theek hai, peon ko kehdo karne keliye aur usko ek mitthai ka piece dedena ( Ample Computer Technologies private limited. Rs 1000 per RAM fittings. Auto charges extra)

Theek hai sirjee

(after mithai dabbas have been depojited in the right place)

Sirjee..mera file…( C:\Users\Ashok\Desktop\Work\ruby186-25.exe )

Hahn hahn..bait zara. Chai peene de.

Uske baad zaroor move kardenge. ( )

Unprintable Hindi swear words making polite enquiries about Mr Gates’ and Mr Ballmer’s antecedents

The story:

About a month back, I bought my wife a laptop for her birthday. And I made 2 mistakes. Opting for Windows Vista, and saying no to extra RAM.

The Kaka Kronicles – episode #1

A delicious pizza meal, albeit with service at the speed of a three-toed sloth, at Smokin Joes (T Nagar) gave me some ideas for a comic series inspired by Chennai’s most ubiquitous citizens. It also turns out that this is my 100th post. (clap clap clap thang you thang you)

Here is episode #1, in which the main protagonists are introduced. Click on the image for a larger, readable version.

I will try to provide English translations where necessary, but at times, English tends to kill the local language flavour.

For those who didn’t get the poem reference right away, click here

Autology 101

A while back, ATP called for the Auto Payyans School of Fine Etiquette – a world class institution whose global mission is to educate the middle-class on how to behave with Chennai auto drivers. And since any self respecting school needs a syllabus, I designed one here.

Course subject #1 is Autology – an introduction to the basic philosophy and guiding principles of the world of Chennai Autos. As I stated in an earlier post, there are 4 spiritual branches of the Auto world.

Rigged Veda

The most popular of the vedas, the followers of this school of thought are experts in the advanced non-linear physics of Soodu (Hot) Meterology. Savvy customers who prefer fixed prices instead of relying on meters whose velocities come close to violating fundamental laws of physics, are handled by the followers of this Veda using a method best highlighted by an example.

Customer (near Tidel park): Thiruvanmiyur

Rigged Veda disciple: (conducts detailed visual inspection of customer and thinks – “Hmm. ID card. Jaalra cellphone. Must be software”). 120 Rs saar.

Customer: Kya. 120? Rombey Jaasthi. (too much)

Rigged Veda disciple: (Otha Indi-gindi pesaraan) Saar. traffic jyaada. Tumko draap kartha return nahi miltha. Tiruvanmiyur la kahaan?

Customer: Valmiki Nagar

Rigged Veda disciple: Udhar one way honaa saar. 120 Rs minimum.

Customer: Bahut jyaada bol rahe ho…Auto!! Tiruvanmiyur (calling another auto. Cardinal sin)

Rigged Veda disciple: (smoothly shifting to Tamil). Indi payyan. 120 sollikiren. Nalla etthi sollu (He is a north Indian. quote higher than 120)

Another RVD: Saar. Valmiki nagar no return available saar. 150 Rs.

Customer: Kyaa? Damn.

Original RVD: Main tumko bola naa. 120 rs kam hotha. Baito….

The end. Indi payyan is fleeced 150 ultimately because he failed to specify the exact avenue in Valmiki nagar ahead of time.

Ager Veda

Followers of this school tend to be, on an average, at least 50 years old. In addition, they will need to have at least 3 kids (One son and two daughters) to gain membership into this school. The reasons. “Saar . I have 2 sons saar. School fees and college fees saar. Daughter marriage also coming saar. Don’t think of 20-30 rs extra saar. It is nothing for you. For me, it is everything.”

Samma Veda (as in “Samma Haat Machi”)

The youthful brigade that makes up this offshoot of the Rigged school is, on an average, 16 years old. They do, however, tend to possess driving licenses that prove them to be 32 years old (with a beard as well). This ultra-orthodox, rigid school, while following most of the Rigged Veda edicts, have a few more strict rules that the disciples need to adhere to.

• The driver must place his posterior only on the absolute edge of the seat. Rest of the space on the seat can optionally be occupied by friends and colleagues.
• Once a day, the driver will need to stop the auto and whip out his Reliance mobile phone and talk to a 98.1 Radio Mirchi host and request for Thalaivar’s hit song from Baasha.
• The “No space left behind” law which forces every inch of the auto interior to be covered by Ajith, Vijay and Superstar posters.

Other Venaam Veda

The unwanted outcasts of the Chennai Auto world. These are non-Tamil outsiders who have the gall to charge reasonable rates. Followers of this school tend to stay away from Auto stands where followers of the other vedas hang around.

Plis to be notings: Original image credits to Creative Eye and KoshyK.

Day tripper

A famous Jamaican singer once sang,

Down the bay of Bengal, where the nights are gay and all

and the sun shines daily on the LIC building top

I took a spicejet on a flying trip

and when I reached Bangalore, I made a stop.

But I’m happy to say that I am back today,

and will be here for many a day.

The ghee is down, ladles turning around,

hot Pongal’s cooking in Chennai town

Went on a day trip to Bangalore, met some interesting people, ate sandwiches at Brewhaha, which, by the way is a very cool place and had lunch at Bombay Post. Since I wasn’t really feeling hungry, I just had Rajasthani Mirchi Bajjis, a few kebabs and a Kingfisher Large.

Flew back in the evening, and SpiceJet did not serve any food. And I like airplane food. Every cramped economy class meal is an adventure for me, right from peeling the aluminium foil to preventing the creamer packet from exploding in a puff of powdered milk on my face (and most of my shirt) when I try to open it. So when airlines don’t serve food, I sulk.

On top of that, the Air Host ordered me not to take photographs of clouds with my mobile phone’s camera. So,

I took one anyway.

It was on the auto rickshaw ride from the airport to Brewhaha that the angel Gibreel revealed to me the truth about the Bangalore airport. The city was supposed to do 4000 years penance and ask Lord HAL for a boon but due to some technicalities (Bangalore being IT savvy counted 4000 in base 4), the benevolent lord spoke thus – “You lazy city. I shall give you a small road the size of Ranganathan street for a runway and 2 sheds the size of Saravana store shelves for terminals”.

And oh, that reminds me. Saravana Stores, the Walmart of Chennai (truthfully though, Walmart is the Saravana Stores of the US) , has a website. I love their FAQ. It’s enterpreneurship  from the heart of Tirunelveli. Don’t laugh at the English. It doesn’t matter. Saravana Stores rocks.

Bard. Very Bard.

Some general wilfing yesterday led me to this page. While I am not exactly smart enough to appreciate Shakespeare in the fullest possible sense, the sheer cadence and music of the words when spoken out loud amazes me every time.

Subsequently, for some strange reason, I was watching Vikram and Trisha having a philosophically profound dialogue while dancing at the same time.

And that heady concoction started creating all sorts of shady images in my mind, of Stratford based Gaana paatu lyric writers named Vallam Seshappa Iyer, wearing silk lungi and screaming in frustration – “Otha dei. Adhu “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” and not “Sinks and a rose….” at amateur actors playing Omlette, the prince of Patthukkuri.

So what does one do to dispel these disturbing images? One cannot write poetry as beautifully as Chenthil. But one can try eh? So here is a cough-cough poetic translation of that popular dialogue between Vikram and Trisha.

Tie the knot, my fairest, shall we

and flee this city of tyrants so loveless,

Or might we first our bold journey undertake,

while I wait with a ring for thee, breathless.

Our union is but a precursor to child,

our own bundle of sweetness and smile

But my lover so strong, can the knot not wait,

Imagine our little one by my side down that aisle.