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!

Raavan or Ravanan Movie - Review

Buk Buk Buk Buk..dandanaka dandanka dandanaka!

Oops..sorry! I'm so captivated by the dialogs like the one above that I forgot to start the review. Lets start with the cast.

Vikram (Veera) - Made immortal by the above dialog. Wears designer vests made by Adidas or Choromozone. Knows tamil poetry. Scheduled tribe in the remote hamlet in tirunelveli. Mother tongue - A tribal language that they dont use often. Bad guy who is actualy good. But mostly does bad things till the end.

Prithvi (Dev) - Aishwarya Rai's husbandu. He is a SP and so by that definition wears jeans, full-hand indigo nation casual shirt and white round neck t shirt. Wears Rayban. Good guy who is actually bad. Does good things mostly but for the end.

Kuruvamma (Aishwarya Rai) - She has a more modern name (Ragini). Vikram calls her kuruvamma. She is the good looking wife of Prithvi. Struggles to establish the goodness due to ageing face. Shows ample cleavage to distract that fact. Maniratnam heroine and by that definition wears red/crimson/yello/green colored designer churidhars or sarees. In her spare time she teaches bharatanatyam to kids from the "Indra" movie. Anu hassan would have fit this role well, but for her ginormous size these days. Aish has trimmed her nose hair perfectly. Need to check which remover she uses. Vikram needs it. Ah! I found some perfection in this movie!

Forest Ranger (Navarasa Nayagan Karthik) - Plays the hanuman character. Established by wearing monkey kullah all through the movie. Re-establishes by jumping all around in the intro scene. Speaks incoherently as always. Behaves crankily. Sad comeback film to have opted for!

Elder Brother to Vikram (Prabhu) - Same scheduled tribe gang leader. But wears denim shirts (XXXL) and timberland outdoor work shoes. Does not know poetry like Vikram. Speaks the better version of fake tirunelveli accent.

Vennila (Priyamani) - Sister of Prabhu and Vikram. Comes, speaks urban tamil one-liners like a maniratnam heroine though a part of the tribe. Dies in a few minutes after some adiga prasangi dialogs. I suspect she was killed for it as against the make-believe suicide the screenplay shows.

Prabhu's wife (Ranjitha - Nithyananda Fame) - No special need that she fulfills, except for the front benchers who were very amuzed by her comic presence in a commercial movie. She is an "art movie" specialist "apparently"!

Then there is a eunuch comedienne character played by that silly comedy fellow - Vyapuri.

The story:

Vikram's a bad guy and his people are bad (we dont know why. Maniratnam says so and we believe). In one of the songs, Vikram bats for the rights of the tribals on the lands they live in. May be on the day of that shoot, there was some naxal headlines in the newspaper and Mani did not want to miss a topical idea. The next day there could have been a kidnap news. So he makes Vikram finish the song and kidnap Prithvi's wife to take revenge for the death of his sister who was raped by police men. Not sure if Prithvi was also a gang raper. But since he is Rama's reincarnation we dont believe so.

Prithvi searches for Aish in the rain forest, water, village etc. They search for 14 days and not a day more or day less, as ramayan has 14 years of vanvaas. No other reason! Vikram in the meantime likes Aish very much (because?). But in climax he lets her go. Prithvi doubts if Aish slept with Vikram. At this point I wished Aish jumps down the train that they were in and lands in an underground sewerage drain (like Sita did in her day and age). Nothing like that happens, disappointing the viewer in what is otherwise a meticulous and utterly intelligent script that does complete justice to the Ramayana epic.

By this time, you have realized that the story dint matter even to maniratnam or the actors.

Lets come to the dialogs which are done by Suhasini. She runs a movie review show in some tam channel. I hope she takes moral responsibility and shuts that show down.

Some dialogs that are novel or shocking:

- Bak bak bak bak..danda nakka..brrrriiii(Vikram makes this sound after every third dialog)

- Vikram first conversation with Aish is a pleasant exchange of sanga tamizh poems whose meaning not one soul in the theatre understood (Congrats Suhasini for the dialog coup)

- In the climax when Prithvi escapes death and nervously kissed aish (after all kissing aish is a big deal and his nervousness shows in the movie). Enter the dialog from aish "Padhinaalu naal acha..neenga padhinaalu nimishathla vanduruveenga nu nenechen..vanga veetuku polam" (Did you need 14 days...I thought you would come in 14 minutes..okay lets go home)..Gosh, was she kidnapped? Did he defy death? Or did she just go for a visit to the gynec and he came in late to pick her back to home, on his way back from office?

- Aish to Vikram :En uyire edukka onaku yaar urimai kudithirkaa? (Subramaniam swamy can write better tamil dialogs than this)

So whats good about the movie?

Music is decent, though at some point you feel that a very alien islamic tinge seeps in. We dont care as this is the least glaring of the gaffes in the movie.

Cinematography is spectacular and truely world class. I never knew there was so much woods to explore in my backyard (tirunelveli). Lets forget the shoddy graphics gig in the climax.

Props - OMG..amazing..heck who cares if brown and green colored translucent stones neednt be there in the middle of the forest where Aish is held captive? As long as its good, it has to be in the screen. The beautiful lamp in the boat! Wow what screen presence it adds in spite of its utterly useless or unnatural existence! How about those artistically woven cane compound walls in adivasi village. It does look a bit gautier merchandise like.Heck adds to the screen presence.

If you remember the narayana idol that acted in Dasavatharam movie, the same idol has acted in this movie also. Agarwal movers and packers have moved it to the tribal hamlet's water falls so that Aish can take all the effort to go there to pray for her release (instead of spending the same time to find an exit route)

Go for the movie for sure -

Good locales (if you dont get Nat Geo in your TV)

Good Props (if you dont get travel and living channel)

Good music (if you cannot download it online)

Good looking aishwarya rai in some parts (if you dont have jeans movie in your DVD collection)

PS: Technically, I did not pay to watch it! My mom who paid for it, liked the movie for some strange reason. So it looks like if you try hard, you might even like it.

PPS: I am waiting for the hindi movie review from the blogosphere. It must be fun to read how Abhishek played Vikram's role.. There is quite a bit of mandham-ness he needs to overcome!