An expensive trash called home!

We recently moved (10th time in 5 years?) to a gated community. And how?

We renovated the house completely, ripping off all but the walls and doing it up pretty nicely. So, like any proud house owner, I am very interested in comparing notes, walls, door handles and knobs with the neighbors.

First stop is our next door neighbor which is a family of 4. A bald man whom I cant guess the age of. He could be 35 to 45. His wife who is certainly older than me. Two kids one of which is adorable and the other is perhaps a serial serial-watching overgrown kid that could have been adorable.

The sampling of an open shelf outside the door that keeps tasteless chappals tells me that they couldnt be our competitor for tasteful interiors. Perhaps I shouldnt call them tasteless chappals. May be they are. But the chappals themselves have to have tasted a concoction of paan spit, worker saliva and all urban waste that did not find a dustbin. Ah! Tasteless chappals that have their own taste!

Next stop is a muslim house that smells mutton, ather and dampness depending on the day of the time. They re-use pepsi pet bottles for water and dry clothes on cane chairs. Nah! Not competitors by a long mile.

There are 8 houses in each of those 8 floors totalling to 64 and I've haven't done them all yet. But, the house of ***** (or as we fondly call as Saettu veedu) was much cause of concern. The beautiful climbers and herb garden outside the house was threatening to puncture my pride and I had to sneak a peek. The Rajasthani glasswork style exteriors for the windows should have been a warning. I ventured to test further and with some help from the wind, I caught a glimpse of what was inside.  OMG! A crimson red monstrous couch that could blind the eyes, had it not been for the flooring which would already render the guest blind before they could look up. A mosaic of all variants of rad and beige on the flooring, only resembling paan again! No wonder their kid is so tired. Its just the exasperation of having to take in those colors every living minute, inside that house! Thank god my obsession with red stops only with dresses!

Failed attempts at potted plants, old furniture that are not old enough to leave once and for all, strewn chappals, misguided color sense that equates florescent to aesthetics, wall testimonials of soiled hands of workers and other people with running noses that also had an addiction for snuff are all I see when I go around looking for a house that would give us a healthy fight to the throne of tasteful decor.

A side note: Men in our apartment society have an average of 36 waist size and dont replenish their undies all that often! I have no access to their wardrobe and dint find the need either. The nylon cloth liners are apparently a standard part of exterior props for most houses!

Cute Baby!

I'm in that phase of my life that my friends, peers, cousins and colleagues have started investing on insurance of biological kind - babies. Even I did that, a couple of years back.

But to think of it over a cup of (unmade and unserved, by wife) lassi, the engaging(!) process and 10 months of earnest effort later, what we have on hands is, yes definitely, a bundle of joy. But then, that bundle is also quite not the beautiful type, with all birth wrinkles and stains.

My kid, your kid and all our kids are born closely resembling our ecological ancestors of arboreal kind! (For the wooden heads: Monkeys, I meant!)

So there is no fascination for viewing, liking and commenting "Oh chweet kid" on Facebook or email. I cannot bring myself to say such things, when we indeed know it takes a few months before a kid gets out of the orangutan mode! Till then its a bundle of joy (just for the parents and grandparents). So i restrain myself with just a "Monkey maari iruku" comment to my spouse (which I did when my kid was born too! No bias here!)

So the next time you send me a pic of a new born and I dont says "So cute", dont think I dont care. In fact, I care. And so I dont say a thing!

Predictions for 2012 - Personal

1. We may move out of Atrociously Yucky-Yucky Apartments (Ayya apartment is where we stay (or) as HDFC call center girl prefers to call it - Avya)

2. I will lose weight, for sure, without exercise. Predicting worry with startup life!

3. My wife may gain what I stand to lose - Weight! She pigs out phunction food every afternoon @ work

4. My car will be dirty and I won't clean it. Actually this isn't a prediction. It's more like a planned event!

5. We will continue to recycle grocery shopping bags for daughter's nappy pad poop parcel and one fine day she will be toilet trained!

6. The cool IKEA buckets will cease to be dustbins

7. We will continue to be the keepers of old chappals, antique business cards, torn table mats, tooth brush that has taken post-retirement hobby jobs like cleaning wash basins, aluminum tablet covers that have no particular utility except to reinforce our lack of cleanliness

8. Old serials will be replaced by new ones. They would be cry-worthy as usual

9. White hair in my beard will increase in its (pseud)-value and of course, density per sq.mm

10. The number of empty deo bottles in my wife's closet will follow geometric progression pattern, till I cross the line of fire. We would have some friendly fires thereafter!

kamalagoss interview generator

I have been seeing a pattern in Kamalahassan's public speeches. They tend to be contrived and pseduo-intellectual, focusing more on the fabric of words than meaning. To beat the humdrum, if I am able to generate the code for his speech, I'd at least have the thrill of verifying it against his next speech, instead of succumbing to asphyxia.

Today we have on sets one of the most versatile actors Mr.Kamalagoss, who is celebrating his 55th birthday.

Camera pans to the dough on the table, kept for the next "Samayal Samayal" program.

Kamalagoss: Well..naa inga iruken..idhu verum maavu..aaaaw..aaa..aaaaww

Damil anchor: Oh..hoho..sorry sorry sir..Nan neenga inum Dasavatharam make-up le irukeengalo nu nenchen

Kamalagoss: Avadharam nu solalaam. Elarume avadharam thane?

(Decode: Inviting the unsuspecting listener into a cosmic argument which is a trap for the rest of the onslaught)

Damil anchor: Adhu epdi solreenga? (Ayayyao..paithiyam kelambiruchche...ini pongal veykaama vidaadhe)

Kamalagoss: Naanum carbonlerndhu vandhen..neengalum carbonlerndhu than vareenga. apo naa avadharamna....neengalum saga avadhaaramdhane...

(Decode: Some notion to say that he is above you by actually saying he treats you on par with him. Attempt to prove humility)

Damil Anchor: Okay sir..Neengale solitenga...ipo pudhusa ena muyarchi panreenga?

Kamalagoss: Muyarchi epovume pazhasu than. Nethiku pota viththu than iniku maram. Anniku MMKR le panina muyarchi than inniku panchathanthirathla vara iyar bashay. adhanala muyarchi enikum onnu than.. aniku KB sir neer kumizhi-le pannadha muyarchiya iniku naama panitom?

(Decode: Connect random concepts loosely around a word and show that there is an embedded meaning that only meta-thinker like him can bring out. Add a slice of self deprecating humility to negate the superior air around meta-thinking)

Damil Anchor: mm..correct sir. Ipo namma cinema next level ku ponum na ena pananum nu nenaikireenga

(Decode: Consistent reality distortion hallucinates the anchor and they play into asking open ended life altering questions)

Kamalagoss: Tamil cinema next level ku poganumgradhu enaku ulla veri nu laam sola maten. Venunna oru-thalai kaadhal, mogham nu solalam. Ingha mogham nu sonna enna sex veriyan nu soliruvangha. Oru thalai kadhal nu yen solrenna, naa matum virumbina poradhu..adhu rasiganukku pidikkanum...rasiganum next level ku poganum.

(Decode: Insert a plug on how progressive he is by making a shallow sexual reference and distancing from it graciously belong to the rest of the crowd. Throw in a huge responsibility to unsuspecting audience before they question his fixation to dough based makeups)

Damil Anchor: Neenga cinema-va thaandi pala talangal-le iyangureenga...adha pathi..

Kamalagoss: Naa thuttukku nadikra oru kooththaadi. Anaa koothaye 24 mani neram senja enakku adhu bore adikum ilaya..pondaati kooda car-le pompodhu apdiye oru azhagaana ponnu vandha orakannale pakradhu ilaya..adhu mari oru sabalam than indha kavidhai, scriptwriting ellam. Ana pondati koopta elaathayum potutu yes madam sollitu anga aajar ayruven..bhakthi nu vechukalam...bayam kalandha kaadhal nu vechukalam.

(Decode: Avoid answering a question directly. Use analogies that carry pattimanram-type shallow humor. The only aim of such answers are to showcase talent in colloquial regional slice of life humor, whose need I am still trying to decode)

Damil Anchor: Neenga oscar virudhu vanguveenga nu naangalam aavalodu irukom. adhu indha varsham nadakuma (indha varsham padame edukkale..oruvelai adhukkaaagave kuduththa thaan undu)

Kamalagoss: Oscar enbadhu ennaip poruththa varayil oru iyakku visai. Oru undhudhal..inum vegam..inum veechchu..inum visaalamana nokku..adharkana oru mudhugil thatum nigazhvu thaan oscar. andha visai andha mudhugu thattalgal thamizhanidam irundhu vandhu konda irukiradhu. avvidhaththil naan bhaagyavaan. avargal satru ongi thattinaal oru velai oscar pazham vizhumo ennavo.

(Decode: Jump to sen-thamizh sentences to make the audience feel that he is making an important postulate which is like the universal equation that einstein attempted.Make a remark that such things dont bother him and yet keep it open, to prove that he is not a jerk that despises that what he doesn't deserve)

My Grandma eavesdrops on Facebook now!

To Facebook or not, has never been a matter of resisting any urges for me. I have always been sure that I don't want to lay the nooks of my life in psychedelically inviting colors to "friends" that I have not socialized beyond the urinal sharing moments of college days. But then my profession demanded that I know facebook much like how a budding architect has to have an opinion or two about the neo-gothic architecture, even though he has no plans to create one tribute to that school. It's the same way why I needed to have an iThing and the reason I still don't, has been delved shallowly in the previous post.

So, I did tip my toe with a Facebook profile, still dense with the sparseness of content and density of blank pixels. I maintained and still largely adhere to two rules that keeps a safe wall between me and Facebook

1. I will not add people to my friends list (No I am not exactly a hermit, but I did not know what to make of this massively noisy place and I did not want active engagement before I knew if adding friends was an equivalent of meeting them for coffee or turning on a permanent tea shop bench inside my living room (Doesn't sound fitting right?)

2. I won't post media (of family, kids, my foreign conquests). While I am pretty sure I won't be ashamed of the photos (None of my family & friends at the events that I go to, has tendencies to commit sexual offenses or wear gossip-worthy haute fashion showing tan lines), I do prefer optimal exposure

Much to my dismay and proving that I am right with being reticent, I have started getting stalked no less by my grandmother. Well, my grandma knows facebook though she doesnt use it. Grandma is a euphemistic allude to those aunties twice removed, the same friend who shared mind-space exactly when we had to share adjacent urinals and who not.

Back in the days (not sure if it was of yore), walls had ears indeed. I have caught a ear or two eavesdropping into the semi-private conversation of other few and slyly using the content to weave a strategy to mute future maneuvers within the family. But it did have its risk. The steel bureau, the staircase underbelly and similarly egregious hideouts were always a compromise between signal reception and safety hazards. There were times when one gave a limb or two to know inconsequential secret between those listened into.

Facebook, it turns out has a wall that's no less a party to the crime than the real world hideouts, that its not longer a mere witness. When a twice removed aunt adds me and has added every cousin of mine (who are all perfectly fine to be willful sources of gossip), my antenna alerts me. Unwillingly, I am already a party to the society of keepers of evidences of oversized friends with undersized dresses partying hard, consumers of pseudo-intellectual rants of teenagers and likers of conversations between friends that we have never known, but for the urinal guy somehow liking it and needed us to know.

Then there are suggestions, that I should be someone's friend and boy did I add a few thinking they themselves asked me to be friended. Its quite embarrassing when you add someone thinking they added you, while we would have initiated such a request only in an inebriated moment. Now at least one them surely would have squinted the eye and done me a favor by accepting my invite.

Now my mom wants to be on facebook so that she can keep up with her sisters and would do that only on a tablet she is planning to buy!

For me, I am hoping for a phasing-out of the book, but for business that needs me in.

Empowered

There are few pleasures like going back in time and reliving lives that are now visible only through jaded frames of emptied homes in lost villages. But then, we are in Chennai and the government did what it could do, to get us huddle around candle lights as a family (along with some insect family, if you will). Ah! Those power cuts. Everyday. One hour as told and one more hour untold!

The dazzle of shadows around the candle, the black that it left on the walls, the kid that wanted to catch the flame by hand. Ah! those power cuts!

The pleasure of venting raw anger on hapless EB staff well past midnight; the indulgent yet vain act of dropping names to get them to respond with grace and respect, which is not doled out to other mortals.

I had grown so fond of the power cuts that in one of my visits to the east asia, I bought two fancy handmade traditional japanese fans, that we hardly use and that hardly fans enough wind our way. I even bought a chinese made battery fan that kicked quite a response among similarly stingy family men, who all endorsed my purchase with their cheques. Now such fans adorn their houses too.

Today I am leaving that all, to get back to living life the modern way. Our house just got inverted.

iPad

So everyone and his armpit has an ipad now. Seriously. Where else can you snug it in, so conveniently? I don't own an iPod or iPhone yet and I married my wife because she had an iPod classic 5 years back. So the closest thing I have that in the "i" series, is the 2011 edition of "I"yyappan kovil mega-sweetened panchamirtham, quietly decaying in our saami alamar.

Couple of months ago, I had my 'i' moment, when I decided that I need to own an "i" thing, since I plan to become a web entrepreneur and all that. (ssapppa..evlo "i" in one sentence). This was in Singapore and I was in SimLim, PingPong, MengMong sounding markets, scouting for something that is "i". In such searches, if you are an accomplished snob, you would take a friend who has not exactly been keeping track of you for a while. Those who do, how much of a cheap fellow you are. So I found such a friend just for that day, who I haven't met for 10 years now.

With the stage set, I leaned against the whitish minimal display rack that had air (not the O2 type, the mac one, you bugger) and other such candyfloss stuff. The only thing I know about mac is its all white in color and the mouse doesn't have a right click. When the continuous 40 degree leaning pose created stress on the spine, I would turn to the next gadget and ask the sales girl to go through its arumai, perumais.

During the course, I did not mind throwing a couple of teasers like "I can pay by cash", "What if I buy both macbook air and an iPad", much to tempt the sales girl and irritate my friend. All one stone-two mangoes funda.

Finally the moment did arrive and I flipped open my previous company donated blackberry and made a call to my cousin, going over the specs for the iPad. The deal was sealed thusly:

Me: Ashok, they have 32 GB iPad 2 3G

Ashok: What color?

Me: Black

Ashok: Will they give free cover?

I tried a free cover petition to the chinese manager and he said "nooooooo..in nanching accent". If you want you take la. No problem la if you dont want.

Me: Ashok, andha scheme pona vaaram..naama vandhadhu indha vaaram.

Ashok: I see. USB stick tharuvana kettu paaru (Ask if he will give USB stick free)

Me: No da. I am with my friend. Besides we are buying 'Ipad'. So we cannot negotiate only da.

At the end of it, I paid through my platinum credit card and bought the iPad. My friend asked "Dei apo onakku?" (What for you?)

No dude. I have no space in my luggage (traveling by Tiger airways). So when i come the next month, I am planning to by Macbook Air.

--

Back in India, I drove to my cousin's house, had some filter coffee, delivered the iPad which for the life of it, he could not figure how to boot!

2 weeks later, my cousin said "Vangiyaachu. Adhnala youtube pakren..Mupthathanjaayiram kuduthu DVD player vangirka vendam"

So now, you know why I dont own iThings.

Change the name, I Say

There are some names that have to be changed, like Rakhi Sawant, Kapil Sibal, A.Raja to something less contrived than what the people behind have lent to the names. But Poschim Bongo? It somehow makes me feel that it means "Pichkaav my bum". With all literariness and poetic juice, all they could do is come up with Pos-rofl-chim bon-haha-go?

Let me suggest a few (only slightly better) names for states/people that want to change the name for the heck of it:

Tamilnadu - Kalthonri-manthonra-munthonriya-mooththakudi-pore (we can't convert Chennai to Singapore. lets at least have a "pore" sounding state)

Andhra Pradesh - Chiranjeevilu-airveenai-dance-bradesulu

Kerala - kovil-barebody-police-ooopisar-thirunal-varma-il

North India - Amit-upon-paan-spitland (like London upon thames. Asingathlayum weightu)

Since there is a newness about 'South Sudan', the 'North Sudan' has to become 'North Noodaan'?. A taliban mulla says they would rename "Pa-kis-tan" to "Pa-No Kiss -tan". After the credit rating fiasco the US of A should consider naming itself "USAAA+". Then on S&P would have no way to take AAA+ rating from the US.

Of course its not all jokes. If there can be something good from a name change, we are all for it (like karai nalladhu). Columbia can do with thelivuya as a new name. New thelivu in that country means no gang wars. But we wont say the same about Syria. They are already crying of civil war that if someone can make them "Siri"ya, it could go a long way in healing. But Sirilanka has to be Verilanka, right?

நண்பிகள்

நானும் நீயும் டீவி பார்க்கிறோம்
நான் சோபாவிலும்
நீ வீடு பெருக்கிக் கொண்டும்!

உறவுகள் தொடர்கதை

ஒரு பொத்தான்
சிறு மூடி
பிசுபிசுக்கும் ரப்பர் பேன்ட்
விட்டு விலகாத என் அலமாரி உறவுகள்!

சிங்கையில் சிங்கிச்சா

உலக வர்த்தகத்தில் ஜப்பாலக்கடி கிரிகிரி வேலைகள் செய்ய வேண்டியுள்ளது , உங்களால் வந்து ஒரு கை தர முடியுமா என்று ஒரு ஓலை வந்தது அடியேனுக்கு ஒரு மாதம் முன்பு. கை என்ன காலே வெச்சாப் போச்சு என்று தற்சமயத்திற்கு ஜாகையை மாற்றிவிட்டேன்.

ஐம்பது வெள்ளிக்கு வாடகைக்கு ஹோட்டல் அறை கிடைக்குமா என்று விசாரித்ததில், "நூறுக்கு கொறவா கெட்டாது சார்" என்ற பொருளில் சீன மங்கை முறுக்கிக் கொண்டதால், வேறு வழியின்றி பேக்பெகர்ஸ் எனப் படும் வெளிநாட்டு குறவர்கள் தங்கும் ஹாஸ்டல் விடுதியில் தங்க முடிவு செய்தேன்.

ஆன்லைனில் அலசியதில் மிக்சட் டார்ம் ரூமில் தங்கினால் பல நாட்டு பெண்கள் வர போக இருப்பார்கள். சற்றே தொப்பையுடன், வாயில் சாம்பார் வாடையுடன் இருக்கும் இந்திய ஆம்பிளைகள் என்றால் அள்ளி முகருவார்கள் என்று அறிவுத்தியிருந்தார்கள். எதற்கும் பழம் நழுவி விழட்டுமே என்று நானும் பால் வடிய டார்ம் ரூமில் ஏணிப்படி ஏறி இலவு காத்துக் கொண்டிருந்தேன்.

அநியாயத்திற்கு ழ, ஆழ் போட்டு ஆங்கிலேயன் போல் பேசியதில், ஒரு டச்சுக் கிளி (சற்றே பூசியது போல் இருந்ததால் பருந்து எனவும் கொள்ளலாம்) நாஷ்டா ஆச்சா என்ற ரீதியில் நட்பு பாராட்டியது. "ஆங்.. எங்க ஊரு உட்லண்ட்ஸ் ஹோட்டல் இங்கன இருக்கு. செத்த வாறியா? அண்டிப் பருப்பு போட்டு பொங்கலும் வடையும் தருவாக. மொருமொறுன்னு இருக்கும் " என்று அடி போட்டதில் பருந்து பம்மி விட்டது.

ஒருவாறாக மூன்று நாட்கள் கழித்து, இப்படியே லேப்டாப்பை தட்டிக் கொண்டிருந்தால் நா உன்னோட டூவாக்கும் என்று டச்சுக் காரி சினுங்கியதில், சீறு கொண்டு எழுந்த சிங்கமென சிங்கையில் ஒரு சீரிளங் காளை சிலுப்பிக்கொண்டு டின்னர் சாப்பிடக் கிளம்பியது. நா மொதல்ல கீழ போவேனாம் நீங்க பின்னாக்குல கீழ வருவீயளாம் என்று டச்சு கூற எனக்கோ மனசே டச்ச் ஆகிவிட்டது.

மாமனார் மூன்று வருடத்திற்கு முன்பு அவரது மகளை எனக்கு கட்டிக் கொடுத்த போது தந்த பவுல்கரி வாசனைத் திரவத்தைப் பீச்சிக் கொண்டு கீழே சென்ற எனக்கு ஒரு அதிர்ச்சி காத்துக் கொண்டிருந்தது (தான்). அவன் ஒரு மெக்சிக்கன். இதோ இதுவும் நம்ம கூட தான் வரும் என்பது போல அவனிடம் அது சொல்ல, அவனும் வேறு வழியின்றி ஆமோதிக்க, நான் பெட்ரோமாக்ஸ் லைட் தூக்க ஆயுத்தமானேன்.

கிளார்க் கீ என்ற இடத்திற்கு போவோம் என்றான் மெக்சிக்கன். செல்லும் வழியில், நானும் ரௌடிதான் என்ற வகையில் எனக்குத் தெரிந்த பாரிஸ், நியுயார்க் நகர இரவு வாழ்க்கை பற்றி அளந்து விட்டுக் கொண்டு வந்தேன். என்னுடைய இரவு வாழ்க்கை என்பது கெட்டித் தயிர் சாதமும், காலையில் சமைத்த வெத்தக் கொழம்பும் .

கிளார்க் கீ கிட்டத் தட்ட இருபத்தி மூன்றாம் புலிகேசியில் வரும் அந்தப்புரம் ரேஞ்சுக்கு, இரவு பன்னிரண்டு மணிக்கும் சப்பை மூக்கு மங்கையர் சூழ ஜம்மலக்கடியாக இருந்தது. பருந்தும் அதன் பிரண்டும் பிரான் (கண்ணன் அல்ல) உணவுக்கு ஆடர் செய்ய, நான் மாட்டுக்கு சீஸ் ஸ்டிக்கும் லைம் சோடாவும் உள்ளேற்றி விட்டு ஆற்றாமையை மட்டும் வெளியேற்றிக் கொண்டிருந்தேன். மணி அப்போவே ஒண்ணு. கண் ஒரு புறம் கட்ட, பசி ஒரு புறம் முட்ட, விளக்கை மட்டும் விடாமல் பிடித்துக் கொண்டிருந்தேன்.

அதற்குள் டெக்ஸ்-மெக்ஸ் உணவு முறை, பைக் ஓட்டும் கலாச்சாரம், விஸ்கியில் இருக்கும் ஆண்மைத் தனம் என்று மெக்சிக்கன் சூடேற்றிக் கொண்டிருந்தான். நடுவில் அவன் செய்த ஒரே நல்ல காரியம் "லெட்ஸ் செக் அவுட் எ டான்ஸ் பார்" என்றது. இந்தப் பட்சி போனால் என்ன, ஒரு அன்னப் பட்சி மாட்டாமலா போய்விடும் என்று மனதுக்குள் ஒரு மணி அடித்தது (அதும் ஒரு மணிக்கு).

பல டான்ஸ் பார்களையும் அதன் ஸ்தல புராணங்களையும் விவரித்தவாறே மெக்சிக்கன் வழிநடத்த பருந்து , பகவானைப் பார்த்தது போல பரவசத்தில் இருந்தது. அப்படியே "கெட்ட பெண்" என்று பொருள் படும் ஒரு டான்ஸ் பாரில் நுழைய எண்ணினோம். இருபத்தி ஐந்து வெள்ளி, அதற்கு ஒரு கிளாஸ் பீர் என்பது நுழைவுக் கட்டணம். ஆறு நாள் பொங்கலும் வடையும் போச்சே என்று மானதுக்குள் மறுகிக் கொண்டாலும், உள்ளே செல்லும் பெண்கள் "சும்மா வாங்க சார், பாத்து போட்டு தருவோம்லே" என்று ஐ சி ஐ சி ஐ கடன் ஆபீசர் போல புன்னகையோடு உள்ளே செல்ல, மனசு லேசாகி பேஸ் ப்ரெஷ் ஆனது.

உள்ளே சென்றதும், சார் இந்த டோக்கனை எங்க குடுத்தா ஆப்பிள் ஜூஸ் தருவா? என்று கேட்டதில், போய்யா என்று தள்ளாத குறையாக பௌன்சர் என்னும் கோவணம் கட்டாத பயில்வான் நகற்றினான். அதற்குள் தூண் மேல் மெக்சிகோ சாய அவன் மேல் டச்சு சாய்ந்தது. எதுவாக இருந்தாலும் பேசித் தீர்த்துக் கொள்வது என்று காதல் பறவைகள் நடுவே புகுந்தேன்.

ஹே கைஸ். வாட்ஸ் அப் ?

... (பதில் இல்லை)

யு கைஸ் வான டான்ஸ்?

-- ம்ம்ம் .. நோ ...வி ஆர் டாக்கின் அவுட் ஹியர்

மதியாதார் பார்வாச்சல் மிதிக்கவேண்டாம் என்றபடி நகரலானேன். அங்கு ஒரு மரத் தமிழச்சி வேப்பிலை இல்லாமல் பேய் ஒட்டிக் கொண்டிருந்தாள். ஏதோ ஒரு அனுமானத்தில் அவள் பூர்வீகம் சங்கரன்கோவில் பக்கம் இருக்கும் என்று எண்ணிக் கொண்டு, நமக்கு திருநவேலி பக்கம் என்றபடி பனிக் கட்டி உடைக்க முயன்றேன். அவள் முப்பாட்டன் மூன்று தலைமுறைக்கு முன்னரே கப்பல் ஏறி விட்டான் என்பதும் அவள் தற்போது ஒரு சீன வாலிபனின் நண்பி என்பதும் அறியலான பின் (அதாவது அந்த சீனாக் காரன் முட்டியை மடக்கிய பிறகு), உங்க பீருக்கும் வேணா நாமளே காசு கெட்டீரலமே என்று சமாதனம் செய்துவிட்டு நகர்ந்தேன்.

அங்க கும்பலாக உரசிக்க் கொண்டு ஆடும் மேடைதான் நமக்கு லாயக்கு என்று லேட்டாக எனக்கு உதித்தது. அவ்வாறே, அகஸ்மாத்தாக கும்பலுக்குள் நுழைந்து, ஹெட் பாங்கிங் எனப்படும் மண்டைக் குத்தில் ஈடுபட்டேன். ம்ஹும்ம். அப்படியும் பெரிதாக பாதிப்பு எதுவும் ஏற்ப்படிருக்க வில்லை. அவனவன் தள்ளி வந்திருந்த பெண்டிர் அவனவனுடயேவே ஆடிக் கொண்டிருந்தனர். பேயாட்டம் போட்ட சங்கரன்கோவில் பெண்ணின் சீன நண்பன் இப்போது வேறு ஒரு பெண்ணுடன் ஆடிக் கொண்டிருந்தான். அடப் பாவிகளா இதும் செட்டப்பா? அப்றோம் ஏண்டா என்ன சேத்துக்கலை?

இது இனிமேல் தோதுபட்டு வராது என்று " ஐ வில் கேச் யு கைஸ் இன் தி மார்னிங்" என்று டச்-மெக்சிக்க திசையில் சொல்லிவிட்டு நகர்ந்தேன்.

மூணு மணிக்கு எது பஸ்சு? குடித்து குடி கெடுக்கும் மற்றவர் எல்லாம் டாக்ஸிக்காக காத்திருக்க, மூன்று கிலோமீட்டர் நடந்து வந்து, மீண்டும் டார்மில் படுத்துக் கொண்டேன். நடுவே தொலைந்து போய், நடக்க முடியாமல், மண்டி போட்டு இளைப்பாறி, மரத்தின் மறைவில் ஒன்றுக்கு அடிக்கலாமா என்று யோசித்து...ஸ்ஸ்ஸ் ..அப்பா...ஒரு வழியாக டார்ம் வந்து சேர்ந்தேன்.

நைட்டு மூணு மணிக்கு ரயிலும் பஸ்சும் கெடயாதுன்னு உனக்கேண்டா அப்போவே தோணல? என்று கால்கள் கதற, உத்திர் பலம் ஏசோ தைர்யம் சொல்லிப் படுத்துக் கொண்டேன்.

Chennai - An attempt @ mocking the psyche of a paid humor column writer of Chennai english dailies!

The modern day life in Chennai, is fascinating in various levels.

If you read this post from Chennai, there is a chance that you would have to wait for a couple of hours, in-spite of being generally savvy with RSS Readers. There is hardly anything that you could do about scheduled power cuts. You could beat the heat with inverters, but only if you own the house. Sweat-equity is an intangible part of the rental contracts in the city. You may choose to use the Chinese Kosu/Mosquito bats that serve the triple purposes of improving your strokes, killing the vector and making the air flow.

While at it, prepare to wear silk saree for the evening reception, which for some mysterious reason, happens a day before the wedding. In relationships, we trust. After all its just one day and nothing can go wrong. If it has to there is rest of the life to work towards it. It seems like a trend (ing topic?) to find who sticks along for how long.

Ridiculously priced brahmin vegetarian mass-cooked unbalanced diet, with hodgepodge of unrelated north, west and western accouterments make your evening social outing, worth the sweat & swelter , only if the world of warcraft inspired over-mature 7 year old kid whose name could mostly start with an "A", as it was the fashion in early 2000's had not elbowed you to the running payasam on the leaf.

That the dry cleaners in the city have no pricing that's in local currency and no service that makes sense for the dollar pricing, could only have made your life in the city miserable. But then, you could always walk to the next door arun ice-cream which still prices ice-cream by weight. After all not all is lost, till you see the the weight loss banners that have added to the gross-weight of the city, that the axis may tilt.

The corporation or its contractors may not clean the dump or the banners, but that certainly keeps the dogs centered around the dump, so that you could walk safe into your house. The increasing case of rabies related death in the city, has only to do with the animal welfare board which is keen on family planning (which is quite preventive, I must agree) , misses the point by a gaping gap of a generation. Should we have to wait for a generation of dogs, well fed on community waste, to die their natural deaths, to stem the rabies? Or perhaps, should we welcome an equally unruly auto-stand to the street, to keep the food chain take care of itself?

But what promise they hold, to run over the dogs, if every auto has sworn to keep a real-looking puppy sticker on their back, to show their affinity to not just dogs but to the soaring urge to display cheap wizardry with cliched social memes. Lesser said the better, about these puppies popping out of call-taxi and auto backsides.

Only an evil can kill another evil, proves the new solar powered two-leaved plant that sways inside the car, in all its florescent green, much to the contentment of the car owner who beams in his casual brilliance of spotting a trend and promoting a cool-meme that merges with uber-cool alternate energy trend.

Loathing of expensive & uncouth mass transport options, we must admit that we in chennai are only so inclined to things literary, for we are reminded to advance our poetic skills, by those one liners in these autos. They write because they could. Aren't they just a lowly public manifestation of the uninspiring tweets and retweets Chennai has taken upon themselves with vigor? The odd #kogul & #shitkirubasays apart, what have we contributed even there?

But then, the power cut is fascinating in its ability to nip the tweets when they chirp!

Real estate - Dear Blank Please Blank Inspired

Dear Giver of the house on rent,

Its not pash location or porsh location. Its 'Posh Location'.

Ashwin "disgusted with owners ripping off for creepy calm locations as posh areas" Ramasamy

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Dear "Small family" liking house owner,

My family planning cannot be your focus. Instead build a house with wardrobes that can hold more than lingerie.

Ashwin " keeping clothes in suitcase" Ramasamy

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Dear "Copius water" giving house owner,

Mention that lorry water charges are apart from the maintenance charges

Ashwin "buying water to prove the copious water statement of the house owner" ramasamy

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Dear "Veg Preferred" animal rights activist of an owner,

How about not extending that activism to microbes on the closets?

Ashwin " confused about the color palettes of closets in rented houses" Ramasamy

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Dear "Bore well water" promoter,

Why not sell salt?

Ashwin "stung by the brine solution" Ramasamy

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Dear "modern flat" owner,

When did vinyl doors for toilets become modern?

Ashwin " un-modernized yet" Ramasamy

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Dear "Brahmins only, 45ooo p.m." flat owner,

Do I get 5K discount of every thread you can count on me?

Ashwin " stumped at the caste capitalist house owners" Ramasamy

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Dear "vacating tenant" of a decent house,

Come clean!

Ashwin "frustrated at the lack of patronage for flush knobs in most rented houses" Ramasamy

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Dear "mis represented as a different locality based house" owner,

Dont lie!

Ashwin "knows his geo location well enough to spot you" Ramasamy

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Dear "Sunday morning 10 AM I can come sir" house owner

There is enough time to take bath and brush.

Ashwin " irritated by questions related to our cleanliness, asked by unkempt house owner" Ramasamy

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Dear "Premium Lifestyle Apartment" builder

Don't lie. Don't delay. Don't hide. Don't rip off. Don't call late. Don't swap one more cool drink for trust.

Ashwin "wasted time with premium builders" Ramasamy

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Dear "world class living space" seller

Metro bath fittings and wet toilets are not!

Ashwin "knows what's world class better than real estate sales man" Ramasamy

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Dear "Gated community" general manager,

Dont wear a tie anymore.

Ashwin " salesmen with inappropriately worn ties on sundays in unconvincingly casual site offices sum it all up" Ramasamy

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Dear "10 month advance, 18000 pm" house owner,

F... You!

Ashwin "caught off-guard by the greed of owners of unlivable houses" Ramsamy

Visit http://dearblankpleaseblank . Its an awesome stress buster.

Up the Ante!

Its quite the norm that wives don't like what the husbands like. Its also norm-ish that wives hate those who like what the husbands also like. It's hence only possible that my wife doesnt like ants, one bit. I love sweets. Ants love sweets and she hates both of us and that fact that I sometimes benevolently share some of my sweet crumbs in the little town square (or in our world - small vitrified tile) of the ant colony that has been quietly building up in our current home.

These ants, however are quite unwieldy in the manner they are going about building their lives around us (or rather about adjusting their urges while we are living amidst them). There is this washing machine drain outlet which seems to froth a load of fly ants every week and they all come out spreading through the rooms like "the irritating dog lifting the trunk" stickers that you see in the city's small cars.

For temporary reprieve, we buy mortein ant sprays with the pointy spray hose which leaks in a way that soils your fingers. Some finer aspects like me rubbing those fingers against my wife's soap to kill the smell, dont deserve a mention here. This blog doesnt carry that class. But it does make sense not to reveal much in a way to damage our congenial-ish relationship at home ( of which I am the only contributor).

In the first few days of our (now almost 3000 years old, it feels like) marriage, she fought with me (with tears, hands thumping carefully against soft bed) for the fact that the ants are raiding our kitchen. Given such troubled adolescence in the life of our marriage, nowadays I dont get into controversial positions like "Veeduna Erumbu Laam Iruka thaan seyyum" ("If there is house, there would be ants"). Its a mystery however why ants are so prevalent in Indian homes and we dont find them anywhere else in the (developed) world.

Nowadays I just play along cursing the ants, architecture, hygiene conditions and all in between in a carefully coordinated chorus, when my wife does the prima donna singing a string of abuses against the ants. I however havent still come to terms with her merciless punching of ants with thumb. Apart from being cruel, I know that the same thumb goes into her mouth while she tries to pull the imaginary peeled skin (a habit that's as disgusting as sweaty cricketers hugging each other after a match win).

Now that our daugther has become more active with her crawling behind anything moving (including ants), I wont be surprised if my wife ups the ante by inventing a birth control sweet crumb for ants.

The ascent of (the legend) - Part 1

The Legend - The last 2 words in the title gets replaced with "Ashwin". Silly, you thought I am so preposterous to call myself a legend? Anyway, this post is about the first day of my mini europe tour after the disappointing business class travel (read the previous post & comment, if you havent already).

When I touched down @ Deutschland (that's how complicated they make 'Germany' sound, back there), I did not have much to figure out. My cognitive sense had reset its expectation to encounter only german in all signboards and instead started looking for desi/paki cab drivers. Without much ado, I pulled into a car driven by a Schwabian (significance of this word, in the following paragraphs) driver and reached the hotel.

The lady at the reception (also the owner of this family owned hotel) was not of Paris Hilton lineage but good nevertheless. I did not have to use one of my lines to charm her. Her husband, a 7 ft old Schwabian and his dog appeared in quick succession without much smile on their face. I decided to wind up my attractiveness and behave like normal uncool Indian (read, amit sharma/venkat kommireddy/sukumar vallarasu/dilip jha).

While they did say that its a cozy family hotel, the details didn't elaborate much about the lack of shower gel tubes (which I generally take back home) or shampoos or hair dryer (apparently very important said a blonde colleague later). The awkwardly polygonal room looked more like a cellar than a room (with its post war airconditioning conveyors and all that). I could not really shower my angst with choicest of words like "mediocre", "claustrophobic" or "pathetic accouterments" as the only language they know is German and their English fluency stops where "Hi..How are you" stops. I had to still vent my disappointment with a curt "Room.Bad". It delivered a lot less punch than "High performance. Delivered" of Accenture. I later realized that the bewildered smile of the hotel owner had to do with the fact that 'Room.Bad' meant 'Room.Bath' in German and he had thought that I was asking for the bathroom which was indeed attached to the room. Oh, the un-intended third-worldly image I wore that moment!

Apparently in Schwbia (which is as German as it gets), they spend the saturdays buying grocery and the sundays at the church. Thats how cool the place is and anything that dint fit into this definition was given a miss (including serving food for the guests at the restaurant). Instead they served a rather big map in easily understandable german, printed in 8 font about how to navigate the city in the metro lines. After parasiting with a bad smelling german couple through the ticket booking & train ride episodes, I found salvation a.k.a country burger @ BurgerKing. Thus was made that day.

Business class is like novice's first experience with ***

I was as excited as I was when I had *** first, when I knew I was going to fly business class. (Censor Notes: Being a father of a girl child brings with it, such responsibilities..uff!). As with ***, it surely was not bad but not as hyped and envied by many. There were a few surprises, few things to figure out, a couple of things to get used to, at least one thing to learn by watching others do (in this case, realtime) and then there were interruptions. There were occasional curious first-timers reluctantly asking for some advice, without realizing that I am a novice myself.

Since the last time my ticket read 'First class' and made a complete fool of myself by walking into the lounge (and later realizing that I am booked for economy), I treaded carefully without showing any airs of business class traveler. I respected the sweaty smelling co-passenger like my own brethren, walked with no abnormal upward elevation of chest and din't quite stare in random directions with 37 degree tilt, unique to snobbish & "I-dint-know-cattle-class-still-exists" travelers.

Only when the male (how boring) executive in the counter offered me a business class lounge coupon, did I even realize how upmarket my fake-Christian Audiger t-shirt and tester sample boss perfume are. I couldnt really elevate my chest upwards or stare in an alternate space fashion, as the immigration queue was quite like how it would be if they had announced free H1B visa for anyone named as Venkatesa Prasad. I dint hence risk any unusual postures, fearing the mob running me down before I realize the luxury I just am being bequeathed with.

There was then an embarrassing moment with a customer company employee, flying economy class joined me in the waiting area, devising a solution for the queue problem, when boarding is announced. I had to politely participate in the operations research problem, while not thumping my chest about my belonging to elite class. The feeling did not last quite long, when I realized that the priority boarding itself has a queue of fellow-elites (which included Kamal hassan, I am told). I did not see him because of the 37 degree tilt I could practice for the first time in a fairly less populated area.

I did not take the newspapers from the entrance (as I assumed that I would get a copy of Conde Nast Traveler). I had the choice of reading the air sickness instruction or the fake deals on fake brands that they sold online. I instead decided to focus on the inflight media entertainment which had some german music, german films and german shows (all of which are as enjoyable as watching ETV Bangla). So then I decided to focus on other forms of entertainment like starring uncomfortably and yet within the harassment limits tolerated by air hostesses (only till I spotted the missing tooth in the otherwise good looking air hostess). With all usual comforts not living up to standards (of mine), my attention went to the seat. The seats were pretty big but not as plush as thought them to be. There were about 43 ways to move the 10 buttons that controlled the seat position. By the time I figured out the most comfortable position the flight was on the landing path. There was a memory button that knew exactly where my ponch protrudes and hence the next time I fly, all I need to do it click that memory button and I would have a custom seat (if no one takes that seat till then).

There were also a few unnecessary rabbit holes located deep inside the armrest which I found a use for. I threw the pickle packet into it. There wont be any need for another enterprising traveler to worry about what to use it for. That pickle will become fossil there. My contribution to preserving lime pickle eating south indian heritage.

The food was pretty average, considering I expected it to be as authentic as it can get, mid-air. There was macro-waved oothapam and idly with some poorly made upma (which all hardly qualify to be gourmet food). Emirates have a better meal plan even in economy class, hands down! Before I could gulp down the disappointment about food, I realized from my neighbor's angst that they dont come and cover you with blankets & kiss a good night, as they show in promo clips. You are on your own, with that.

Come on! What was the whole thing about flying business class? Oh then, I wrote this post & I learnt how to set the seat position preference for the next flight. Lets see if it breaks even on my return flight.

Impressions from a muddled class neighborhood

Its been exactly..hmm..well, its been approximately a month and a half since I posted anything here. The exactification urge got consumed by the laziness of a(nother of those 300 consecutive) work-less afternoons.

It seems like my leave of absence from the blog hasn’t been that attention grabbing. Kalmadi jokes are still dropping onto my inbox; Obama shows no hint of expectation that he surely has for my posts and hasn’t yet planned to drop by to ask “enapa aachu?”, when he visits India in November; Chennai seems to be obsessed with PrabhuDeva-Nayanthara couplings. So I guess, it doesn’t matter if I don’t write here. “Fowks are gaetting raedy” for Endhiran busily.

But there are certainly things that happen around me which are worth tweeting about (even if you wont retweet). Here are some of those “world this week” beats:

• The old government office uncle with GRT bag, that walks his way to office, who I have labeled as “Khaadhim” has either retired or died of mosquito bite. He gets his label from the convex-ly shaped ear lobes that look like two dish antennae placed upside down.

• The 3 seater couch that I bought 3 months back, broke when a 97 kg aunt of mine sat on it. Since then the supply chain of the nearby furniture shop has been inundated with death threats from yours faithfully. The threats have followed the below mentioned path, to give you some idea of my villan-thanam:

Ondiyamman street fake furniture shop --> Slightly larger, suburb based regional party councilor’s furniture distribution shop --> Delhi based importer of cheap Indonesian furniture a.k.a aggarwal furniture peoples --> Aungwar Yongsin Chi snake oil company, china --> Some random firewood seller in rural china

A yellow category terror alert has been sounded in 2^nd cross street, devi karumari amman nagar, where I can be seen raising hell, every evening.

• Our maid Mrs.Gaja has become richer by a 3-year old open-to-air, perforated and water resistant, slightly stained and smelly dust bin, after she enterprisingly advised us to get rid of unwanted things. She also met with partial success. One dustbin still went hiding into our crowded bedroom closet (based on my stern warning against charitable acts, to my mother and wife)

• I successfully thwarted a covert attempt by a gang of apartment owners & secretary, to fix us as the reason for drying river beds in the state in general and our apartment complex sump, in particular. When pure logic doesn’t win, you could use complex sentences like “ I am totally & completely in consonance if you opine that we shall all co-work on a federated approach towards sharing utilities. Until such logic prevails, I shall not take the onus and responsibility for scarcity of water”. As I can observe from my windows (of non-technical lineage), my tank gets water from neighbors, as they find it to be a better approach to retain their dignity than to lose it in front of me, trying to answer back in Toefl-ian English.

• Successfully migrated to a pay-per-wash payment mechanism with my watchman-cum-car cleaner, who kept coming with innovative excuses for not cleaning the car. The last straw was when he said “It’s a hot day and if he splashes cold water on the car, the metal would shrink and cause less legroom issues in a hatchback car”.

• There is of course one thing, that has continued to be an unresolved simmering conflict, much like stone pelting in Kashmir. My housekari is not quiet happy with the game mechanics I use to encourage my mom on her awesome ability to make south Indian breakfasts and encourage her (housekari) for similar endowments with north Indian cooking abilities, which all result in three different fresh meals through the day. She says “You cant have it so well worked out, everyday”.

The world’s not going to be different, the coming week. Oh well..it could be. As I dot across a few European nations, I shall remember to bring perspectives from the other side where napkin-based methods are considered cleaner.

Pleasure car

In the 80's, in my village when a car drives in, it still had only 4 wheels, but at least 20 tiny legs running behind to catch up the spectacle of a marvel. A person getting off of an ambassador car was nothing less than an astronaut (well, even if he just paid for the ride instead of being the owner). Do we ever say Buzz Aldrin, "Hey you orange suited, high jumper! Its after all your company's space craft that you are travelling in & heck it doesnt even give 10Kms/liter of rocket fuel!" A car even if it was a non-a/c ambassador of 1950 make, was still a car!

In fact, the men and women who got out of those cars faked an immense level of butt- tiredness, of having to sit in the plush back seats. They got out of the cars through the crevice between the door and the seat, in luxurious laid-backness, that invited instant deep breaths of the have-not hosts. Ladies let their slipping sarees slip for a little more and gents let the crumpled hair be that for a little more, all in the way of subtle communication that it was "a helluva ride".

It din't matter that the window panes were not tinted, nor did it matter that A/c was not an afforable indulgence. They came in a car and that established their pedigree for another two generations. I have heard sons of 70's say even today ''Engappa andha gaalathlaye car otinaar..morris minor" (Our dad drove a car in those old days. Morris Minor).

The rider always loved every minute of the experience. He put his arm around the half drawn window pane, signalling the precarious cycle rider that "its his car and hence he can hug it that way".

Some thought themselves to be kings and demanded a place in the co-rider's headrest to extend the arm around the other one's neck. It was their way to feel being seated in a throne. Some gently car'essing the curves of the door from within the car, throwing all security norms to the air. I'm sure some them got horny by the ride. That was the love for the car.

Faulty vibrations in an idling car were symbols of power. Sandal paste smeared all over, was just necessary to keep the gods by their side. Dried lemons hanging in the front had to be there to keep the evil away. My neighbors even squeezed the lime under the tires everyday for the first three years. They gave up after their first car and after I once told them in front of a used car sales guy "Mama, you're car and lemon, synonymous!".

It's a lot of fun these days to see my dad in his fully air-conditioned car. With no hald-drawn windows, no vel (spear) in the front, no lemon danglings and no children to follow the ride, his car rides hardly are as eventful as in those 'pleasure cars'

Tagged for Gender Bender

Joshi Mukard tagged me. Purba started it all through this!

So here is my gender-bender list:

1. I love wearing pink. In fact I have a pink t-shirt, light pink shirt, pink and golden flowery patterned shirt (which I wore for my engagement). I even sponsored a pink jatti for the pink chaddi campaign against Mutalik.(see the spelling difference. I am a proud south indian who maintains that its jatti)

2. I have a high SPF sunscreen (Tropica), Body Lotion (Bvlgari), Body spray (Bath n Body works), Skin cream (Nivea), Perfume (cK and Boss), Deo (Adidas and Brut), Hair gel (L'Oreal), Hand wash (Bath n Body Works), Aroma therapy hand cream (Bath n Body Works). I use each for a different occassion. My wife uses Pears soap (and none of the above or its female equivalents). No. No one asks me the age of each of these. Sigh! Some of these were gifts for my marriage!

3. I have scented pot pourri for the car and the closet

4. I could make all south indian and most north indian side dishes and can effortlessly slip into a cookery conversation with women double my age. I sulk about washing vessels (like them).

5. I cannot stand the smell of booze and cigarette

6. I have 8 pairs of shoes

7. There are times I've gone to a dress showroom only to return back buying nothing. I am that picky

Tagging sriram, revs (she better start writing soon!)!

A sunday

I am not chronicling a dramatic outburst of an ordinary citizen like they did in the movie - A wednesday. But my story of this sunday is by no means less consequential and in fact, is one that any bored and forced bachelor would go through.

It was about 5 pm and the crowd-delivered loads of semi drying faecal matter would decide to emit organic fragrance across our apartment complex and by the time I tuned my nose to sense the early wave it was already late. I quickly shut down the windows (IT Folks: Windows also means a non-software contraption that you find in your homes, if you relate to surroundings anymore) and was debating (alone) if I need to cook or eat out. It was easy to leave the house to suffer alone in the stench, while I could taste food in a better environ.

Driving several kilometers to find a nice restaturant is environmentally insensitive decision and also considering the racial slurs that waiters throw on single visitors that try to occupy four-chaired dining tables, I decided that a snack in a kay-yendhi bahvan (street food) would be better.

After a few not-so parlimentary opinions openly voiced about dys-functional apartment secaratary and his approach of idiocity as apartment governance policy, I drove to the nearby market, half-salivating for the corn-filled soup. Alas, it was not be. The guy wasn't there.So I had to settle for Anandha bhavan.

After elbowing my way to the counter which is manned by a stare emitting male species, I quickly muttered "Our bonda, Oru sev puri" before that species turned its head down without acknowledging my plea. Before I could fathom the insult, it handed over 3 pieces of papers which had started to float in the air before I could collect them.

Elbowing my way again to another counter where they mix 4 drops of sweat every 2 minutes with pre-made chaat and other snacks, I again pleaded for attention. It was quiet a satisfaction having completed my endeavor to not just handover the sev puri bill but also to stake my preference to not have sweet in it (sweat is not optional). One sweaty bihari male ordered me to get out (apparently it meant that bonda shall be collected outside).

Negotiating my way across rice eating over-sized middle aged tamil men and their equally blessed accompaniments, I presented myself to the bonda counter. They were frying both bonda and flies (the latter using Pest-o-Flash and they generally try not to serve it). I did prevail when the bonda fri..err reluctantly agreed to give me one more serving of chutney.

After a balancing act of two plates in two hands, I roamed around the tables several times (after facing hostile single women who felt that my presence across the table will mysteriously make them pregnant) and finally found a table with just one fellow battered male bachelor.

At this point, the taste of the snacks dint matter. I just had to finish them before another high-carb laden machine could crush me under her weight.

Organic faecal stink is no better alternative but isnt emotionally abusive after all!

A 25g ecstasy called Maladu

Mom was here for an entire week this time around, which meant that any food without the high

carb is unhealthy. On top of those liberal servings of intoxicating sambar, rasam and more sadhams, I did give in to her bait on "Maladu" without much ado.

Visits to two provision shops, aavin booth later, the preparation started. For those that dont know what 'Maladu' means, its what sages seek in abodes of himalay. You know it is nirvana when your tongue refuses to gulp in the residual taste of maladu for the want of eternal pleasure. To shower lesser justice to the phenomenon, Maladu is just a mighty version of Laddu made with roasted bengal gram, liberal amount of ghee and fried cashew nuts, all rolled into a ball shown next.

Eating method: Well, like all good things in life this needs to be relished like a note from a smooth playing violin. Toss it onto your mouth, roll it with the tongue, sip the melt and bite in for a gush of passionate sweetness to engulf your mouth. For the connoisseurs out there, microwave it for 20 seconds and realize the first brush of hot massage of a sweet ball on your tongue.

Question to wife and other marwadi types:

At about 125 Rs. raw material cost and 10 Rs of fuel, would it not mean a nearly 100% margin at the retail level (Lets say 30% after labor, infra and social media PR).

I think this is a better way to change the world than my uber-cool enterprise social network & group buying ideas.

No VCs, No term sheets, No option pools, No vesting,No Series A, B , C funding..

Aah! Nirvana or just "maladu"..

Perhaps I should latinize a bit and make it Ma' Laude (which literally means Mom Honorable). Topical!