We are now officially the Kaattadi Kandasaamy Kriket Champions

We won.

Actually, we were winning till about the 17th over. Then the Pakis were winning till 19.3 overs. Then they lost the match to an ambitious shot by an audacious batsman who I am sure has a very bright future.

My father called T20 Kaattadi Kandasaamy Kriket a few days back. But not in a derisive tone. Clearly, all of us enjoyed watching this high energy sport that very importantly does not consume 8 hours of my life. Instead it’s a sweet 3 hours of mostly insane hitting and surprisingly enough, some incredibly deft bowling. Now that India have won the inaugural tournament, I am sure we will see a frenzy for this new format and given India’s clout in the ICC, I wouldn’t be surprised if this slowly eclipses the 50 over format. Frankly speaking, I have always been a fan of test cricket and the best one dayers can never hold a candle to the best tests. The Madras tie, anybody? The entire 2006 Ashes in England, anybody?

Needless to say, Ravi Shastri was on cliche overdrive. This match was going right down to the wire and it was anybody’s game and every once in a while it was Game on. And at the very end, apparently Cricket won.

Anyway, it was a lot of fun. I am sure everybody noticed those 4 tank-top Jilpaans dancing for every boundary. While I am not entirely sure if the spectators in the bottom row really appreciated having their already limited view further restricted by these wannabe Pintheru Pasanga and Minnunukka Poonakkutti

But back home in Chennai today, our Chief Minister completely lost his head. No. Not that way. He decided to essentially station every policeman and policewoman on the streets, one every few nanometres, just so he could feel safe in the face of all these beheading threats from somebody who looks like a man who has vowed to leave all material pleasures, do meditation in the himalayas, grow a beard, wear saffron robes but for inexplicable reasons, retain his Member of Parliament seat and issue Khomeiniesque Fatwas.

Actually, this whole episode is patently ridiculous. So ridiculous that it deserves to be patented. Indians (especially the subspecies Politicus Scumbagus ) can get offended by anything. Like Douglas Adams once said, technically speaking, every word we utter, however harmless, could possibly some alien species for whom that sound is the worst imaginable insult. So this Rama episode could spawn future incidents such as these:

#1 Tomorrow is an insult

Any Indian girl who understands English : Hey. When shall we meet again?

Andhra guy: Rape

Indian girl : Waaaaah. My honour has been besmirched.

Riotous mob from girl’s state: (burn. pillage. kill. plunder)

#2 You want a piece of me?

Tamil bloke : Hey. what seat would you prefer?

Karnataka guy: Near you beku

Tamil bloke : Dei. Who are you calling Beku.

Riotous mob from TN: (burn. pillage. kill. plunder)

#3 Private American Parts

Hefty Jat : Oi , where you are from in Amreeka?

NRI : Maryland

Hefty Jat: Abe teri %$^#$. Kya bol raha hai tu?

Riotous mob from Haryana: (burn. pillage. kill. plunder)

And so on.

Bourne Ultimatum, a.k.a Nil. Gavani. Sudu

The title is borrowed from Vasoo’s brilliant comment here.

Warning: Movie spoilers ahead

Since I belong to the pirate generation and strongly follow the pirate aesthetic, I had already seen the third Jason Bourne movie thanks to a high resolution xvid torrent leaked straight out of Universal Studios. But since I am also an ethical pirate, I decided to watch the movie on the big screen simply because the movie is mindblowing. In fact, it drops a 5 ton fusion bomb in one’s cerebrum.

So what’s different, one might ask. For one, the Bourne movies are intelligent action movies, unlike the Die Hard series, that was designed for an audience that keeps its mind in standby mode while being bombarded with explosions, appa-ponnu sentiment and bombastic dialogue.  Bourne Ultimatum on the other hand keeps one on the edge and yet makes you think all the time. The plot is not exactly laid out like a plate of masala dosa that just screams “eat me”. It’s more like they give you paruppu podi, boiled rice, ghee and vattha kuzhambu and expect you to figure out the optimum combination, and when one gets it, it sure is tasty. Let me give you an example.

There is a scene where Bourne pottu-thallufies (kills) a CIA assassin sent to kill him and tells the heroine “We need to be dead”. Eh, One wonders. But cut to CIA headquarters where a message flashes on the large display – “Bourne and Nicky – confirmed dead”. So they actually sent a message from the assassin’s phone to the CIA headquarters confirming their “deaths” so that they could buy themselves some more time. They don’t spoon feed the plot. They generally hide the food items around and let the audience go on a treasure hunt.

The dialogues are crisp, smart and to the point. In fact, I am told that the original screenplay and dialgues of the movie were written by a desi. But they were censored at the very last moment.

For instance, there is this scene at the start of the movie where Jason meets the brother of the girl who gets killed in Goa (in part 2) and explains his stand. He very briefly tells him that his sister is dead and that he has killed her killer. But the original, uncensored scene was something like this.

And the grieving brother’s response was

Then there is this scene where Bourne points a gun at a Russian cop who has been thoroughly outsmarted. In the movie, he says “Don’t shoot. Im unarmed”. But the original dialogue was

Further along,  Bourne manages to outwit the arch villian, the CIA director, and we are treated to what must surely rank as one of the all-time great movie dialogues. Bourne asks him where he is. The CIA director rep-lies “In my office”. Bourne then quips “I am not so sure. If you were, we’d we having this conversation face to face” and proceeds to use the director’s voice recording to open the safe that contains the Treadstone file. But the original dialogue went something like this

A little further along, Bourne confronts his old nemesis, the cruel trainer guy.

And of course, the brilliant ending. Where Bourne’s new girlfriend watches news on TV for information about Bourne’s alleged death.The movie ends with her sly smile at learning that “no body was found” and we then see Bourne swimming to safety while Moby’s high voltage “Extreme Ways” starts playing and the credits start rolling. What an end to a awesome movie.

“Ramar”, said who?

Disclaimer: The title is nothing more than an obscure pun on Ramar Sethu. It does not intend to express any opinion on the origins of the legendary god king who dumped his wife in the forest. It also does not express any political opinion on the construction company that built Adam’s Bridge.

So some shifting sand shoals in between the Palk Strait and the Gulf of Mannar have paid heavy bribes to the Saffron brigade to whip up irrational fervour in their favour. Oh wait! That does not make sense.

So some issue has finally united the pro-Hindi BJP/VHP/North and the South by actually getting the northies to use a Tamil word other than “Idli”, “Dosa” or “Samburr”, namely Ramar and not Rama. Oh wait! That’s irrelevant.

The ASI is a rabid organization whose only aim is to destroy ancient religious monuments and hurt people’s sentiments. No wait. That does not make sense too. Because it also seems to describe the BJP and VHP circa 1992.

So let’s first state the bleeding obvious in terms of opposing viewpoints and get that out of the way.

#1 The Ramayana is a glorious and wonderful myth that has inspired billons, but must not get in the way of industrial progress by irrationally insisting that ships must waste fuel going all the way around Lanka. A 650 km reduction in a large ship’s travel distance is absolutely worth hurting 800 million people’s sentiments for.

#2 The Ramayana is, Inshallah, Gospel truth and it makes us Sikh to think that Baha’i destroying Adam’s bridge, we will, in Jew time, all reach Naraka/hell. Let us Buddha matter to rest by leaving it alone, shall we?

#3 Amidst all this din, the real social and environmental concerns about the Sethusamudram project are lost. Since any and all forms of industrialization are attempts to destroy the fisherman’s way of life, we must not ignore this.

But since all the above 3 viewpoints are at the vertices of a really large equilateral triangle of uncompromising dogma, let us simply ditch them altogether and come up with something new. Too many people are talking too much sense, which explains why nobody is listening. But what if we synthesized a new form of fuzzy gilma logic from this morass?

I say, let’s simply admit that the bridge was built by an army of muscular simians a few thousand years ago. But because of the uneven nature of the construction materials (what with squirrels offering to bring miniscule pieces etc), the Ramar Sethu is today nothing more than shifting sand shoals. But today’s Ravana is the ten-headed monster of oil-dependence who is holding the Sita of our foreign currency reserves hostage. So metaphorically, the Ram of today must build a water bridge over the shoals of sand and neutralize Ravana by reducing ship fuel consumption. And to completely kill Ravana, we must start to use non-hydrocarbon powered sailing boats and this way, even the environmentalists are kept happy.

No wait. Lets take this to this logical conclusion. This is also the same bridge that Adam crossed with stolen apple in hand (which explains its alternative name). Sita then happened to pluck this very apple from its hiding place and munch while contemplating about her hubby beloved. And this explains why Rama put her through the Agni test. It was, afterall, the fruit of temptation.

So there. When all of you are done shouting at each other about this issue, ponder a little bit about my recommendation. It does not make any sense, and therefore it should be perfectly palatable to all parties involved.

Cross-posted from Mutiny.in

Games Chennaiites play

Chennai is a very sport-loving city. It is a city that has given Wasim Akram and his band of talented criketers in the 90s a standing ovation when the rest of India was busy choosing which brand of mineral water bottle to hurl at fieldsmen stationed in the deep and inventing new, choicy synonyms for Solanum Tuberosum

It’s produced its fair (and brown) share of talented cricketers, some of whom were lucky enough to have donned national colours. Others like Sridharan Sharath, were victims of BCCI’s “Show-middle-finger-at-Domestic-Cricket” policy. And let’s not forget Viswanathan Anand and Narain Karthikeyan.

But this post is not about that kind of sport. This is about the “games” Chennaiites play everyday. All the time. With each other. We take great pride in our ability to concoct games out of day to day mundane activities. Such as,

Game #1 : Autopingpong

The formula is

Passenger: (destination)

Auto: (ridiculously high fare)

Passenger: (walks off)

Auto: Hello. How much will you give?

Passenger: (Ridiculously low fare)

Auto: (Argument #1 – Spiralling price of Petrol)

Passenger: So why has the government installed a meter?

Auto: (Argument #1.1 – Why meters are cruel symbols of the capitalistic bourgeosie out to squeeze every drop of blood from poor Auto drivers)

Passenger: (Ridiculously low fare + 10 Rs)

Auto: (Argument #2 – The “You are rich and you can afford Rs 20 more” plea)

Passenger: (walks off)

Auto: (Argument #3 – The horrible traffic situation) minus Rs 10 from his price

Passenger: (quotes final tolerable price, very close to x+y/2)

Auto: (One final attempt to squeeze Rs 5 more)

Passenger: (walks off)

Auto: Hello. Get in.

If we didn’t play this game, this would have been,

Passenger: Look, I am going to quote a ridiculously low price for the fare (x), and you are going to quote a fare that’s as high as Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds(y). So let’s just cut the lengthy discussion out and let’s agree to (x + y)/2

Auto Driver: Ok.

Game #2 : Ponpaarkatennis

This game is played in an arena involving sofas, paais (traditional mats), bajjis and other snacks, and a large number of relatives

The formula is,

Prospective Groom’s relative #1: Can the girl sing?

Girl’s parents: Oh. Yes. She is a double MA in advanced musicology. Sing Alaipayudhe no. She sings it exactly like Shalini in the Mani Ratnam movie.

Prospective Groom’s relative #2: Can the girl dance?

Girl’s parents: Oh. Yes. She is a student of Hema Malini herself. Ennamma, oru bit podu

Girl: (Dances and sings Krishna Nee Begane Baro)

Prospective Groom’s relative #3: Ponnu Enna Padicchirkaa? (Educational qualifications)

Girl’s parents: (rattle off long sequence of alphabets)

Prospective Groom’s relative #4: After marriage, will she leave her job and stay at home? We prefer housewives

Girl’s parents: She is a good, obedient, docile, house-trained girl. She will listen to whatever you say. If you wish her to work, she will do that. If you wish her to stay at home, she will do that. She can cook every cuisine from Mughlai to Thai. She can also solve complex problems in Integral Calculus.

Prospective Groom’s relative #5: We will look at her horoscope and get back to you.

(proceed to finish off all bajjis, pakodas)

If we didn’t play this game, this would have been,

Prospective Groom: Look, let me be very frank. I have an irrational craving for fair-skinned girls, and you are a tad too brown for my taste. I get a huge kick out of everybody I know commenting on how fair and lovely my wife is.

Prospective Bride: Ok. If you think skin colour matters, you dont deserve me in any case. And oh, the bill for the bajjis, pakodas and coffee will be Rs 570 + VAT

Game #3 : Constaball

This game is usually played out on the sides of important roads, preferably under shade, in Chennai.

The formula is

Cop: Hey. stop. Licence show

Person: (shows licence)

Cop: Insurance and papers show

Person: (shows)

Cop: Hmm. Headlight no black paint mark. Fine compulsory

Person: But my headlight is off. It’s daylight

Cop: But tonight coming no? Then you light oning no? Then paint mark needed. 100 rs fine

Person: Saar. just for paintmark?

Cop: No. Where is your helmet?

Person: But helmet not mandatory no?

Cop: Who said? It is, as of today

Person: What? I didnt even know

Cop: Helmet rule changes everytime goverment changes, everytime it rains, everytime the sun rises…

Person: Ok. so how much fine?

Cop: Where do you work?

Person: IT. Software

Cop: So you are well educated no? So how come you not following rules?

Person: Sorry saar.

Cop: See ahead. The sub inspector is there. If he sees you means, Rs 1000 fine.

Person: Oh. Saar. Help me sir

Cop: Sub-inspector very strict. Full Rs 1000 he will extract

Person: Ok. Ok. I got the hint. How much?

Cop: 200 Rs. Careful. Don’t reveal the cash.

If we didn’t play this game, this would have been,

Cop: Saar. I have not met my monthly target saar. If I don’t collect something from you, my boss will anyway take his cut out of my salary. I have 3 daughters saar. All to be married saar. Give whatever you can saar

Violator: (biker forks out Rs 50. Car forks out Rs 200.)

So fellow Chennaiites, Non-Chennaiites and Ex-Chennaiites, you aware of any other interesting games people play?

Kreishh Ashoahk

If Mr Jumaani had his way, the title could have been my name. As Navin puts it brilliantly, the man has won the Bharatt Rratnaa.

Since anybody who has won any award whose name contains double Rs is sure to be the profoundest of souls, I owe the citizens of Chennai, especially the ones who eat Samosas at Abbirramie Sweets and shop at Singapore Shopee and are named Ramh or Kaarthickh, an interview with the man who gave vowels and consonants a new lease of life, by boldly sending them to places they have never been before, to explore strange new spellings…..( I am sorry Mr Shatner..or should that be Sshaattnair?)

Since I don’t really have the journalistic credibility to do a real interview, I will, instead, do the next best thing- a fake interview.

The man who should be named Kreishh Ashoahk: So Mr Jumaani, how much are these vowels and consonants paying you to do what you do?

Mr Jumaani: (no comment)

KA: So what’s with this whole number game?

J: The number game now has a new meaning, to be Number 1 you have to now get the numbers in your Name right. (quote from his website)

KA: Really? How does bad spelling affect my fate?

J: The sum total of the name of a person should be in tandem with the date of birth he or she carries. The sum total denotes whether that number is favourable or not for the person. Since date of birth cannot be changed, adding or deleting of alphabets is the only way to achieve harmony among these 2 sets of numbers. Once changed, new spelling could invoke better vibrations.

KA: Vibrations? You mean like what happens if I try to pronounce Rratnaa

J: No. Most profound things in this world vibrate. Like Luciano Pavarotti’s voice. Like Kumar Sanu’s ethereal tremolo. If only Sanu Saheb had listened to me and added an extra “u” to the end of this surname, he might still be in business today.

KA: I see. Mr Jumaani…can I call you Jumaaniji? I have always wanted to ask this to a big shot numerologist. How come numerology does not work for native language scripts? I have never seen you suggest spellings in Hindi or Tamil. Why? Does this mean that numerology started working only after the British came to India? Would it have worked if Aurangzeb had denied permission to the East India Company to trade out of Surat and history had taken a different course?

J: English is the language all of us use professionally. That’s why.

KA: You didn’t answer my question, but we move on. How do you figure out letter values for those funny French accents and German umlauts

J: You see. Numerology comes from ancient Vedic texts and therefore does not apply to foreign names.

KA: Ok. But Indian names written in a foreign (read English) script are fine?

J: Yes.

KA: How long does it take you to make recommendations?

J: Not more than a few minutes.

KA: Even for Y.S.S.L.V.M.V.K. Rao?

J: We usually don’t work with them. Their names’ numerological sum tends to infinity and we have computing problems with large numbers.

KA: I notice that your 2007 predictions link on the home page says “Coming soon”. Aren’t we like in the middle of 2007?

J: That is a mistake. Click on the link

KA: Ah. I see that you predicted a block buster year for Yash Chopra. Didn’t Jhoom Barabar Jhoom bomb at the box office?

J: (mobile phone rings) Just a sec, I have got to take that. Boliye Ekta ji….haan…haan…Kyuun Ki Huum Sabb Ullooo haein theek rahega. Mr Kreishh, I am afraid we will have to continue this later.

KA: Ok thank you. Jumaaniji.

Aap Ka Surroor – a.k.a “Oh My Gawd. I am so Hawt”

Himes Bhaiyya, Since Chennai main moviee ka ticket hi nahin avlabel hai, so main na, watched it on pirated DVD. So plis excuse. Many peepuls are telling ki you are arrogant and don’t know how to act or sing. So Himes bhaiyya, I want to prove your critics wrong. I want my blog readers to look at this collage and think from their heart. You criticizing peepuls, look at Himes’ us-kokya-kehte-hain?haan “gamut” of emosuns.

And Himes, your songs totallyt rawk. Peepuls say you sing thru your nose, but they nose nothing. Heh Heh. See Himes, pun. I normally don’t believe in rituals but when you held the gitaar and sang Gayathri Mantra na, I was like, totally feeling spiritual, patha hai? I will take my gitaar and say the Gayathri Mantra averyday from now. See peepul, Himes is having such a pojitive affect on me.So for all these dumb criticizing peepuls like Greatbong, I made this one page cartoon comic of the Moviee. Criticizing peepuls need such simplicity to understand the real luv of Himes.

For those short-sighted criticising peepuls, here is the full size verzun that will bring the full affect of Himes hawtness to your puny brains.

Offerings

Imagine this scene. A group of walking trees, each one looking somewhat like this

They lumber (he he) towards a shrine of sorts. A gigantic ancient fossilized banyan tree actually. The home of their god, Kloro Philo, the giver of shade and knowledge alike. Since it is customary to make offerings to the deity when one visits a temple, the trees first seek out their God’s favourite offering. Flowers. They go over to the nearest human settlement and carefully and deliberately remove reproductive organs from men and women alike, place them in a large bowl made of dragon bone and chant deep, bassy, tree-like verses as they place their offerings at the roots of the the great Kloro Philo. Today also happens to be the wedding of Elm Ezhumalai and Teak Thangadurai and their wedding podium is flanked by 4 dead men, placed standing on the 4 corners of the podium, hands raised up.

“Now, that is an unfair, sensationalist and illogical comparison. And 4 dead men standing with arms raised up is not quite the same thing as 4 young banana plants. And reproductive organs? Sheesh! ” shrieks the left side of my brain

“Why so? Flowers are the reproductive organs of a plant, aren’t they?”, wonders the right side of the brain.

“Let’s ask the blogosphere”, offers the Corpus Callosum.

Battlestar Gastrica

The Battle

The alien spaceships landed in the fortress city of Gastrica, unleashing violence on a scale unknown to the peaceful kingdom of Duodenalia, the earth is rocked by the wicked use of bile launchers, poison gases and the insidious rockets flatulentia. The battle has continued unabated for the last 12 hours. While the resistance from the fortress city has been uncoordinated in the beginning, they seem to have got their act together as the battle reaches its zenith in terms of the destructive use of chemical weapons.

Location

My stomach

The future

The peacekeeping force, lead by Gen Digene and Corp Black-T, has been late in arriving and one wonders if they too will join the fighting instead of stopping it.

ps: invading armies possibly from the 400,000 dishes in 0.000002 kg quantities at yesterday’s wedding.

To the M.O.R.O.N.I.C, an open letter

An open letter to the Moral Officers Rigorously Overseeing & Nurturing Indian Culture.

Dear brothers of the Holy Monkey Brigade  and soldiers of the Army of the Marijuana God,

Your crusade (no wait..jihad..no wait..um..er..fight) against the corruption of shudh ghee indian culture by the animal fat of the west gives me a lot of inspiration. I sit at home, peacefully consuming Ekta Kapoor serials while you fight in the trenches to keep FTV and other immoral influences at bay of bengal. I have also cancelled my membership to the “I Love Bal Thackeray” community on Orkut because Orkut is Ravana’s garden and our metaphorical Indian cultural Sita is being held hostage there.

But I do realize that the battle is gruelling. Like Leonidas Dubya Bush fighting the Persian Ahmadinejad’s wicked army in the movie 300, I realize that it takes every citizen’s support in this ethnic (no wait…culture) cleansing process. So I have decided to do my part in seeking out insidious western immoral influences and bring them to your notice.

I heard a 3 year old kid (God save us all) singing this nursery rhyme. Oh fie upon the disrobed Nalli saree of Draupadi, the West is trying to secretly teach our 3 year olds sex education through nursery rhymes. I can’t even bear to type some of the words. They shame me to the bottom of the ghee tava, where it’s all brown and crispy.

Ding Dong Bell

(expletive deleted)’s in the well

Who put it in

Little Tommy thin

Who pulled it out

Little Tommy stout.

Oh defenders of our culture, the West is trying to teach our kids that Dong (American slang for male reproductive organ), in a state of vibration (bell), when the female reproductive organ is ready (“well”), needs to be put in. It even teaches them that it is “thin” in the beginning, and “stout” towards the end. My outrage knows no bounds .

You have done our country proud in past here and here. I urge you to take strong action in this serious matter. Our children cannot and must not learn about sex till their Suhaag raat (First night).

Thank you

A Concerned Citizen

Mr Michael Moore is ignoring my country

I recently saw Sicko, by Michael Moore and I was completely appalled by his assertion that France and Britain have really good universal health care.

Mr Moore, my indian blood is boiling to 488.3 degrees celsius at your complete and utter ignorance of the universalness of Indian healthcare. While France seems to make do with just Allopathy, India offers Homoeopathy, Siddha, Ayurveda, Neemveda (shaking neem leaves to scare bacteria away) and Chantveda (the scientific use of proper sanksrit pronunciation to make viruses obey).

Do the french have a clue about the vicious tricks played by gas? Do the french understand the rare disease contracted by the soliders who ate eggs at Iwo Jima? And can the French ger childrens for people who become marriage? We even cut costs by dispensing with the whole pathology thingie. Our doctors simply check pulse (and occasionally even pulese) and dole out da drugs.

Mr Moore, India dekho aur Sicko.

ps: Thanks to Sangeetha, my sis-in-law, for the image.

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