Last year when T Anna came to India, he downloaded several applications and softwares into our computer. Out of reverence for his IIT education, we began to download updates and newer versions, that promised to enhance our experience in some manner.
So, it isn’t such a new thing that Appa has been asked to release a new version of my horoscope into the market. It means things will get better and move faster, T Anna offers in manner of analogy.
I think, it was sometime in August last year, when a daughter-in-law was acquired, Amma decided that it was time that I should be married off as well. A discussion with Mambalam Maama confirmed that, the stars were shining bright and all set to conspire with other stars. And an alliance shall be sealed before we can even complete saying J A A D A G A M, Mambalam Maama promised.
The experience of having gone through four hundred and twenty seven horoscopes and letters that came for T Anna (over a period of three years), had made Amma and Appa wise on things that they ought to include in my horoscope letter and more importantly, things that they needed to gloss over.
After a lot of debate and inputs from Madras Thatha, Trichy Thatha, Pichhu Maama Thaatha and Mambalam Maama, the same was ready. The final version had: a hand-written covering letter, the actual horoscope that showed the residence of various stars and a two-page description of me and the clan that I came from.
At the neighbourhood Xerox shop, Appa took ten copies and after Amma dotted the corners with turmeric, the same was placed in front of the idols of the god.
For a few days, Appa and Amma waited. They hoped that, between god’s blessings and the word-of-mouth of the T Nagar Maamis, there would be a heavy demand for ATP’s horoscope. But, nobody came. Amma spent an extra fifteen minutes in her morning Poojai after that. The first breakthrough came because of Ruku Maami, when she recommended her brother’s son as - perfect for me. The boy in question was an engineer, which got the parental approval. The boy was also tall, which was necessary. Ruku Maami said a million times, he is fair. As a family that doesn’t approve of male objectification, we were amused and annoyed. The boy’s family was from Mogappair.
Mogappair va, Amma asked a little suspiciously, even while she was searching her memory for some Maami she knew, who would do a character check. Not willing to let go of a tall, fair engineer as his prospective son-in-law, Appa chastised Amma for being a Geographist.
For the next few weeks, it was referred to as the Mogappair Case. Appa would climb up and down the three floors of stairs three times a day to see if anyone had dropped a letter into our mail-box. As he would huff and puff up into our house and walk in empty handed, Amma would tell him that the postal department had only twice a day delivery. This would start an argument and finally Amma would say something like, may be it is a postal holiday today.
At the mention of anything to do with the Indian Postal Service, Madras Thatha would perk up and announce with some pride that there were only fourteen Postal holidays this year. Since, Madras Thatha’s Appa was in the Indian Post and Telegraph Service and Madras Thatha is a philatelist, so anything to do with postal services appeals to him. Madras Thatha would collect stamps, both commemorative and definitive ones and has promised to give them to S – the only one to display sufficient enthusiasm for the hobby. All those horoscopes that came for T Anna, Madras Thatha would slowly and scientifically peel of the stamps and stick them in an old diary (1997) filled with simultaneous equations that I had tried to solve. So, even he was disappointed that, Mogappair Case wasn’t responding to us.
A week later, a thick envelope arrived, through a local courier. Madras Thatha was unimpressed, but Amma and Appa were relieved. Appa read the letter aloud to everyone, as superlatives after superlatives were used to describe the potential groom. I already didn’t like the Mogappair Boy and chose to maintain a stoic silence. A phone call later, a photograph of mine was demanded for. Please courier it, Mogappair Maama said.
Courier va, Madras Thatha said and shook his head in sadness.
Why are they in such a hurry, Paati asked suspiciously?
But the photo was sent and a response was waited for. Appa waited for a courier with a photograph of the “very attractive”, “very fair” and “athletic and fit” boy. None came. Two weeks later when I was coming back home, I saw a fat envelope in the mail-box. When I got it upstairs, Appa and Amma almost pounced on me. My photograph had been returned, with a short and curt note – wishing my parents good luck.
When I came out after having washed my face and feet, Appa told to Amma, I would never send my daughter to Mogappair anyway.
I couldn’t help smiling at that.
That was the start, after that several letters came. Some came through the courier while some others came through snail mail. Some came with adequate postage stamp while some others came with less than the amount of postage stamps that were needed. Some came from T Nagar and some from the world outside of T Nagar. Some very cryptically written and some that was meant to completely sweep you away with all the content. Some proudly proclaimed their pedigree and others sounded apologetic about the lack of one. Some traced the lineage back a few generations while others didn’t even talk about the parents. Some were self absorbed while others were self deprecatory. Appa and Amma would sort and resort them, and then put them into different plastic covers. An old diary was used to note down when letters were sent. Those who wanted us to email them, were viewed with suspicion.
Some came from places that would make Amma pull out the atlas and look for these places. Someone wrote from a place called Akhnoor, in Jammu, no less. Amma was shocked, it will be so cold for my ATP, she said mournfully. Someone wrote from Durgapur. At least it has a National Institute of Technology, Amma said after some help from Google. Some left us feeling conflicted, like a proud father writing about his super achiever son, but in an envelope that said - Bhaba Atomic Research Centre. Between our reverence for old world and cutting edge technology companies was also our dislike for people who stole office stationery.
And through all of this, Thatha collected a large number of stamps. First, cutting them out with a pair of scissors and then soaking them in a mug of water and rubbing away the envelope bits as well as the glue. It is a scientific process, he insisted.
Sometime back, Appa did some calculations. It seems that, the neighbourhood photocopier charges Re 1 for one page of photo-copying. That is four rupees for a set and forty rupees for the ten that Appa gets every month. Amma proclaimed that it equaled the price of one kilo of Vendakkai and one and a half litres of Aavin milk. The dramatic tone that Amma used made me feel guilty about this financial burden. S, offered to photocopy horoscopes at the Students Xerox store, where she gets her Chemistry notes done. At 25 paise a page, it was an offer Appa couldn’t refuse. And fifty copies of my horoscope were taken.
The ink is a little faint, Amma complained. Thatha took out his royal blue ink pen, cleaned it, filled it with black ink and highlighted in each of those copies that I was born at 8:32 am and not 8:32 pm, lest someone with a vision problem were to see my horoscope.
But now, T Anna wants it to be changed.
So, one hundred and fifteen rupees of postage stamps, fifty grams of turmeric powder, twenty three boys, nine cities and one heart-break later, a new horoscope would be released into the marriage "market".
Of course, I am the same, yet different. My skin shall be a few shades lighter, my hair shall be shinier, my height a little lesser, my voice shall be lovelier and my world a little larger and overall just a little less truthful.
Tomorrow we will go to the Vadaplani Kovil, to break coconuts in view of S’s upcoming big exam. We will also break an extra coconut for the Version 2.0 release as well.
Till then, Thatha is happy with the soaking envelopes and collecting stamps. He opens his stamp notebook and shows off with great pride, a 1987 stamp of Madras Christian College and a 2003 one of the lovely Government Museum in Egmore.
When I see my lovely city in all its glory, across sixteen years, I forgive all those twenty-three boys who didn’t fall in love with my brown skin.
I only wish that my Thatha lives long, and collects stamps forever.
Showing posts with label Bharadwaja Gothram. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Bharadwaja Gothram. Show all posts
Friday, April 11, 2008
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Indian Railways versus Elephant Yam
Yesterday, I nearly killed Appa. Or at any rate, I made a serious attempt to.
I won’t claim to be a domestic goddess, but like Appa tells me, you will get pass mark. My inherent mediocrity finds its way into all aspects of my life.
Some years ago, when we moved away from the joint family household, two things changed significantly. For one, we had to depend solely on Appa to provide for all of us, and the perils of being a single income household hit us hard. The other change was that Amma went on a training mode – to turn me into a woman and a human being.
As a teenager, with a mind of my own and erratic hormones, I didn’t take too well to this training. After a lot of resistance and deterioration in my mathematics marks, Amma decided to employ a maid to do the basic tasks.
But when it came to cooking, Amma would not have any of this outsourcing. And given that we could never afford a Samayal Maami, that was anyway not an option.
While I successfully resisted learning most of the domestic chores, but between Amma’s erratic pre-menopausal problems and Appa’s Brahminical sensibilities, I had no choice but to learn cooking.
I hold the large quantities of cooking that I needed to do, as the single biggest reason for the lack of academic brilliance in my life. The most tragic part of it was that, not only did I do badly in mathematics; I didn’t turn out to be such a great cook either.
Actually, I cook alright, but unfortunately, Amma is not a very flamboyant cook and I have learnt five recipes in all. Over the years, Amma churned the same five dishes across 365 days with utmost talent. We never really complained. Because we didn’t want to evoke the wrath of Amma, and mostly because nobody made these five dishes better than Amma did.
Amma wasn’t always like this. Before her wedding to Appa, she was apparently a multi-faceted cook. Trichy Paati had a Thanjavur gene and therefore more flair in her cooking. Trichy Thatha loved good food and was always open to his wife doing culinary experiments. And most importantly, there were no vegetables and fruits that were a taboo at Trichy Thatha’s house.
After marriage, Amma had to unlearn all the good work that Trichy Paati had managed to achieve and master the five essential dishes that appealed to the members of the Bharadwaja Gothram clan. In Trichy Thatha’s house everything was exotic, fried, high on carbs, high on spices, borrowed from other worlds and then fused with the Tamizh world.
In contrast, at Madras Paati’s house, the foods were cooked on a slow flame, high on Vitamins, low on carbs and fat, bland, soft, gooey and mildly flavoured.
Madras Paati tells us about an incident where Amma tried to kill all the men in the family over a Sunday morning brunch. Newly married, and with Periamma being down with a mild fever, Amma was in charge of the kitchen. In her attempt to show off her fine upbringing and Trichy Paati’s brilliant training, Amma decided to make Senai Kizhangu Fry. Fortunately for all the women of the house, the men ate first and it proved useful here. Barely two minutes into the first course of Sambhar Saadam, Madras Thatha threw up and Periappa began to develop an itch.
Amma got flustered and dragged the Periamma from her drug induced state. Periamma asked Amma if she had made something with Sepan Kizahnagu. No, Amma said relieved. On reaching the dining area, Periamma was shocked to see that Amma had made Senai Kizahngu.
She let out the loudest yell and Paati who was in the middle of her Ekadasai fast came running to check if her daughters-in-law were engaged in a cat-fight.
Dr Krishnan arrived and injected all the male folk with some anti-allergy drug.
That evening, Amma learnt her first lesson - if it is Kizhangu, we must avoid. And in all the Kizhangu crimes, Senai and/or Karunai Kizhangu was the biggest one to indulge in.
Every family has some quirks. My family has several urban legends. One of the most widely prevalent one is that – Kizhangus in one’s food intake must be kept to the minimum. There are two key reasons given in favour of this No Kizhangu Policy:
1. Kizhangu consumption dulls the brain. Therefore, if you have growing children, avoid Kizhangu. More so, if you have unrealistic expectations in the context of their academic achievements. Kill them with Vendakkai and Murungakkai Sambhar.
2. Many years back, Periappa Thatha developed a fascination for reading the Bhagavad Geetha. He learnt two important things in the process. One, every morning, before one eats, something needs to be offered to Lord Krishna as Neivedyam. Even if it is a glass of Horlicks, it is okay. Even if it made only with water, it is okay. Even if it is sugar free, it is okay. After all, it was god who created Horlicks and also gave Appa diabetes. The more important learning was that of going the path of Saatvik, the recommended path for god-like beings. While the men folk with their short fuses were not really suitable for the Saatvikness in the more important things, they adopted a Saatvik diet, which seemed easier to achieve. Root vegetables needed to be avoided, the women folk who married and came into the family were told so. No Kizhangu va, they asked bemusedly. But then, small price to pay when you are married to a god.
Of course, among all these Kizhangu, Senai was the vilest and alleged to lead the fine men of the clan to near death like situation. Sometimes when I accompanied Amma during her vegetable shopping trips, in a rare moment of candour, she would admit that, she missed the Senai Fry and Varuvval that her Amma lovingly made. When I would suspiciously look at that brown-black, oddly shaped and coated with mud vegetable and tentatively reach for it, Amma would sternly ask me to put it away and negotiate on the best price for the Vendakkai.
I first ate Senai Kizhangu Kola at Poongothai’s place. I didn’t like it very much, but I didn’t die. That got me suspicious. Were the men folk in my family truly allergic to Senai? Was this one of those myths created, just for fun? Was it created to make Madras Thatha feel less bad about his allergy to the vegetable? Did the lack of Senai in the diet lead to pre-mature balding of all the young men of the clan?
This anti Senai sentiment was widely prevalent across the extended family. So much so that, when weddings were fixed and negotiations were to happen, we didn’t ask for Arusuvai Natarjan or Chellapa to supply the food. No Senia Varuval and no Senai in the Avial please, is all that we humbly demanded.
Inspite of repeatedly impressing upon to the caterer that Senai was to be avoided, the women folk remained suspicious. The Periamma, Maamis, Chittis, Atthais and random Maamis formed a formidable Anti Senai Squad. They would spread themselves all over the mandapam and dining hall. They would jump on hapless boys from the clan, when they were heading towards the saapadu place and would tell them rather enthusiastically, don’t eat the Avial, for it has Senai.
Not having enough trust in the other members of the Maami Squad, every one of them would tell the boys to stay away from certain dishes. If there was no Senai, it was triumphantly announced to the men folk and they needed to feel grateful to the Maami who came bearing the good news.
Inspite of this rather foolproof method, some male member would end up not getting this message and even as one of the Mamais would spot him and dramatically run towards him shrieking to stop eating the Avial right then, it would be too late. Often, the men folk would come in an auto and leave in an ambulance.
The only good thing that came out of all of this was that, the women got to eat first.
I and S had always wondered what would happen if Appa and T Anna actually ate a little bit of Senai. Surely they wouldn’t die, would they?
Trichy Thatha had once told me, all of this was psychological and just like god created Horlicks he had also created Senai. And my Appa’s clan was merely hyperventilating. I must admit, I liked this theory.
And so when I got control of the house and the kitchen, I bought a Senai. While chopping, it did itch and irritate, but then, nothing that seemed life threatening. Indira Maami obliged me with her secret recipe and that and half a litre of oil later, the vegetable was done. I tasted it, was rather nice.
Appa was pre-occupied that morning. Some boy’s family wrote back saying that their son’s wedding got fixed. The boy’s Appa was in the Indian Railways and Appa was hoping that my marriage into that family would ensure that Amma got lower berths for the rest of her life. May be, that is why he didn’t notice the Senai that I liberally put in his plate. Some two minutes into eating, he threw up and his face turned red and began to grow to a monstrous size. I watched him horrified. I was thinking of Section 302 of the IPC. After a lot of drama and huge yelling that I got from Periamma and Periappa, Appa was taken to the hospital. He was sent back home after being given an injection. He was so sedated that, he immediately went to sleep. I decided that I would play nurse for the day and skip work.
Later that night, at the designated hour, Appa, I and S crowded around the computer to Skype with Amma. We had worked out a deal that, we will not report to Amma about the Senai mishap. Amma was informed about the loss of an Indian Railways father-in-law. She didn’t seem as heart-broken because she was brimming with the excitement of her own news. It seemed that some of my cousins had come home over the weekend before and Amma had dazzled them and made them her slaves forever by giving them Manoharam (that was broken and mildly flavoured with the naphthalene balls in her suitcase). And of course, her world renowned rasam.
We all made appreciative noises and logged off after fixing our next designated call’s date and time.
Appa looked tired and said he wanted to sleep. I was a little worried. He had been unusually silent the whole evening. It could be the drugs, but I wasn’t sure. I forced S to sleep and when I was sure she was asleep, I went to check on Appa. I was guilty. I was feeling stupid. And I was mostly scared. Sometimes, when he stopped snoring, I would tip-toe closer, to check if he was still breathing. And I didn’t feel anything like the twenty-four year old grown up woman. I was a child and my Appa was unwell. It was unfamiliar and unsettling. I wanted my Amma back. And I wanted to have Murungakka Sambhar and the other four dishes that she made, for the rest of my life. Really.
By morning, Appa was better and I woke up to the music of BBC World that Appa was watching. It annoyed me, like it always does.
I woke up a bewildered S violently and told her that, I didn’t need to marry a boy whose father was in the Indian Railways. But I needed to marry someone, who was not allergic to any Kizhangus, not even Senai.
S walked up to the Rani Muthu calendar and peeled away the earlier date. And then she said rather heavily, Amma is not back for another eighty-one days.
I won’t claim to be a domestic goddess, but like Appa tells me, you will get pass mark. My inherent mediocrity finds its way into all aspects of my life.
Some years ago, when we moved away from the joint family household, two things changed significantly. For one, we had to depend solely on Appa to provide for all of us, and the perils of being a single income household hit us hard. The other change was that Amma went on a training mode – to turn me into a woman and a human being.
As a teenager, with a mind of my own and erratic hormones, I didn’t take too well to this training. After a lot of resistance and deterioration in my mathematics marks, Amma decided to employ a maid to do the basic tasks.
But when it came to cooking, Amma would not have any of this outsourcing. And given that we could never afford a Samayal Maami, that was anyway not an option.
While I successfully resisted learning most of the domestic chores, but between Amma’s erratic pre-menopausal problems and Appa’s Brahminical sensibilities, I had no choice but to learn cooking.
I hold the large quantities of cooking that I needed to do, as the single biggest reason for the lack of academic brilliance in my life. The most tragic part of it was that, not only did I do badly in mathematics; I didn’t turn out to be such a great cook either.
Actually, I cook alright, but unfortunately, Amma is not a very flamboyant cook and I have learnt five recipes in all. Over the years, Amma churned the same five dishes across 365 days with utmost talent. We never really complained. Because we didn’t want to evoke the wrath of Amma, and mostly because nobody made these five dishes better than Amma did.
Amma wasn’t always like this. Before her wedding to Appa, she was apparently a multi-faceted cook. Trichy Paati had a Thanjavur gene and therefore more flair in her cooking. Trichy Thatha loved good food and was always open to his wife doing culinary experiments. And most importantly, there were no vegetables and fruits that were a taboo at Trichy Thatha’s house.
After marriage, Amma had to unlearn all the good work that Trichy Paati had managed to achieve and master the five essential dishes that appealed to the members of the Bharadwaja Gothram clan. In Trichy Thatha’s house everything was exotic, fried, high on carbs, high on spices, borrowed from other worlds and then fused with the Tamizh world.
In contrast, at Madras Paati’s house, the foods were cooked on a slow flame, high on Vitamins, low on carbs and fat, bland, soft, gooey and mildly flavoured.
Madras Paati tells us about an incident where Amma tried to kill all the men in the family over a Sunday morning brunch. Newly married, and with Periamma being down with a mild fever, Amma was in charge of the kitchen. In her attempt to show off her fine upbringing and Trichy Paati’s brilliant training, Amma decided to make Senai Kizhangu Fry. Fortunately for all the women of the house, the men ate first and it proved useful here. Barely two minutes into the first course of Sambhar Saadam, Madras Thatha threw up and Periappa began to develop an itch.
Amma got flustered and dragged the Periamma from her drug induced state. Periamma asked Amma if she had made something with Sepan Kizahnagu. No, Amma said relieved. On reaching the dining area, Periamma was shocked to see that Amma had made Senai Kizahngu.
She let out the loudest yell and Paati who was in the middle of her Ekadasai fast came running to check if her daughters-in-law were engaged in a cat-fight.
Dr Krishnan arrived and injected all the male folk with some anti-allergy drug.
That evening, Amma learnt her first lesson - if it is Kizhangu, we must avoid. And in all the Kizhangu crimes, Senai and/or Karunai Kizhangu was the biggest one to indulge in.
Every family has some quirks. My family has several urban legends. One of the most widely prevalent one is that – Kizhangus in one’s food intake must be kept to the minimum. There are two key reasons given in favour of this No Kizhangu Policy:
1. Kizhangu consumption dulls the brain. Therefore, if you have growing children, avoid Kizhangu. More so, if you have unrealistic expectations in the context of their academic achievements. Kill them with Vendakkai and Murungakkai Sambhar.
2. Many years back, Periappa Thatha developed a fascination for reading the Bhagavad Geetha. He learnt two important things in the process. One, every morning, before one eats, something needs to be offered to Lord Krishna as Neivedyam. Even if it is a glass of Horlicks, it is okay. Even if it made only with water, it is okay. Even if it is sugar free, it is okay. After all, it was god who created Horlicks and also gave Appa diabetes. The more important learning was that of going the path of Saatvik, the recommended path for god-like beings. While the men folk with their short fuses were not really suitable for the Saatvikness in the more important things, they adopted a Saatvik diet, which seemed easier to achieve. Root vegetables needed to be avoided, the women folk who married and came into the family were told so. No Kizhangu va, they asked bemusedly. But then, small price to pay when you are married to a god.
Of course, among all these Kizhangu, Senai was the vilest and alleged to lead the fine men of the clan to near death like situation. Sometimes when I accompanied Amma during her vegetable shopping trips, in a rare moment of candour, she would admit that, she missed the Senai Fry and Varuvval that her Amma lovingly made. When I would suspiciously look at that brown-black, oddly shaped and coated with mud vegetable and tentatively reach for it, Amma would sternly ask me to put it away and negotiate on the best price for the Vendakkai.
I first ate Senai Kizhangu Kola at Poongothai’s place. I didn’t like it very much, but I didn’t die. That got me suspicious. Were the men folk in my family truly allergic to Senai? Was this one of those myths created, just for fun? Was it created to make Madras Thatha feel less bad about his allergy to the vegetable? Did the lack of Senai in the diet lead to pre-mature balding of all the young men of the clan?
This anti Senai sentiment was widely prevalent across the extended family. So much so that, when weddings were fixed and negotiations were to happen, we didn’t ask for Arusuvai Natarjan or Chellapa to supply the food. No Senia Varuval and no Senai in the Avial please, is all that we humbly demanded.
Inspite of repeatedly impressing upon to the caterer that Senai was to be avoided, the women folk remained suspicious. The Periamma, Maamis, Chittis, Atthais and random Maamis formed a formidable Anti Senai Squad. They would spread themselves all over the mandapam and dining hall. They would jump on hapless boys from the clan, when they were heading towards the saapadu place and would tell them rather enthusiastically, don’t eat the Avial, for it has Senai.
Not having enough trust in the other members of the Maami Squad, every one of them would tell the boys to stay away from certain dishes. If there was no Senai, it was triumphantly announced to the men folk and they needed to feel grateful to the Maami who came bearing the good news.
Inspite of this rather foolproof method, some male member would end up not getting this message and even as one of the Mamais would spot him and dramatically run towards him shrieking to stop eating the Avial right then, it would be too late. Often, the men folk would come in an auto and leave in an ambulance.
The only good thing that came out of all of this was that, the women got to eat first.
I and S had always wondered what would happen if Appa and T Anna actually ate a little bit of Senai. Surely they wouldn’t die, would they?
Trichy Thatha had once told me, all of this was psychological and just like god created Horlicks he had also created Senai. And my Appa’s clan was merely hyperventilating. I must admit, I liked this theory.
And so when I got control of the house and the kitchen, I bought a Senai. While chopping, it did itch and irritate, but then, nothing that seemed life threatening. Indira Maami obliged me with her secret recipe and that and half a litre of oil later, the vegetable was done. I tasted it, was rather nice.
Appa was pre-occupied that morning. Some boy’s family wrote back saying that their son’s wedding got fixed. The boy’s Appa was in the Indian Railways and Appa was hoping that my marriage into that family would ensure that Amma got lower berths for the rest of her life. May be, that is why he didn’t notice the Senai that I liberally put in his plate. Some two minutes into eating, he threw up and his face turned red and began to grow to a monstrous size. I watched him horrified. I was thinking of Section 302 of the IPC. After a lot of drama and huge yelling that I got from Periamma and Periappa, Appa was taken to the hospital. He was sent back home after being given an injection. He was so sedated that, he immediately went to sleep. I decided that I would play nurse for the day and skip work.
Later that night, at the designated hour, Appa, I and S crowded around the computer to Skype with Amma. We had worked out a deal that, we will not report to Amma about the Senai mishap. Amma was informed about the loss of an Indian Railways father-in-law. She didn’t seem as heart-broken because she was brimming with the excitement of her own news. It seemed that some of my cousins had come home over the weekend before and Amma had dazzled them and made them her slaves forever by giving them Manoharam (that was broken and mildly flavoured with the naphthalene balls in her suitcase). And of course, her world renowned rasam.
We all made appreciative noises and logged off after fixing our next designated call’s date and time.
Appa looked tired and said he wanted to sleep. I was a little worried. He had been unusually silent the whole evening. It could be the drugs, but I wasn’t sure. I forced S to sleep and when I was sure she was asleep, I went to check on Appa. I was guilty. I was feeling stupid. And I was mostly scared. Sometimes, when he stopped snoring, I would tip-toe closer, to check if he was still breathing. And I didn’t feel anything like the twenty-four year old grown up woman. I was a child and my Appa was unwell. It was unfamiliar and unsettling. I wanted my Amma back. And I wanted to have Murungakka Sambhar and the other four dishes that she made, for the rest of my life. Really.
By morning, Appa was better and I woke up to the music of BBC World that Appa was watching. It annoyed me, like it always does.
I woke up a bewildered S violently and told her that, I didn’t need to marry a boy whose father was in the Indian Railways. But I needed to marry someone, who was not allergic to any Kizhangus, not even Senai.
S walked up to the Rani Muthu calendar and peeled away the earlier date. And then she said rather heavily, Amma is not back for another eighty-one days.
Wednesday, November 14, 2007
In Celebration of Mediocrity
After several years, we celebrated Deepavali in a big way this year.
Nobody had died over the last one year. No deaths of random relatives, whom one only had a vague recollection of, but whose death needed to be mourned. Sure, people had died. But none of them were folks from Bharadwaja Gothram, so it was time to celebrate.
This year was T Anna’s thalai Deepavali, so there was a need to have an extra celebratory air anyway. The fact that he is away in a far away country, where he needed to drive to some place that was two hours away from his house to see fireworks meant that, we needed to make up for him and infuse more cheer.
Delhi Atthai and the cousin A’s presence meant more quantity of sweets that made one sick needed to be prepared.
Why are we not putting up lights, A wished to know. We do that in Delhi, she insisted. Ram (not Rama) returns to Ayoydhya, she said. The little sister S, a bit tired of A’s general snootiness informed her in no uncertain terms that we celebrate the slaying of the demon Naragasura.
After their discussion got a little heated, I was forced to mediate. After all, S needs a high JEE Rank and A, was not just any cousin, but an atthai’s daughter. I needed both of them to feel happy.
We celebrate mediocrity, I told the two of them.
Not the answer that they wanted to hear and they chose to resolve it their way.
Nobody takes elder sisters seriously, do they?
Ever since the time I turned ten, a ritual got established at home. It was one that was followed religiously for over three years. Every Saturday morning, Appa would write down twenty mathematics problems that he sourced from several books and give it to me. After that, he would take amma and paati out, either to visit some relatives or for some shopping. When he returned, he would correct my filled sheets and give me marks. If I got all of them right, I would get ten rupees. I used to wait with a mix of anticipation and dread for the moment.
I think over a period of about three years, which must have included over 150 Saturdays -- I had a very mediocre record. In all, I made 870 Rupees.
I think it broke amma’s heart each time I didn’t earn the ten rupees.
The eight-hundred odd rupees that I managed to save up, in many ways, only heightened and served as a proof of my mediocrity.
However, all was not lost, for there was one person who benefited because of this – T Anna. I did spend a fair sum of the money in buying him stuff that he would need, and often not need. T Anna never made any money. His mathematics skills were never mediocre enough to be rewarded. At age ten however, I only felt rich and looked forward to those Saturdays.
It was one such Saturday – 4th August 1996. I was thirteen years old. We used to live at Bazlullah Road, in thatha’s somewhat dilapidated but completely lovely house. It shall go down as one of the most important days of my life - the day we got a television into our homes.
It was the year that T Anna had made it into IIT. And to all the elders of the family, the many years of deprivation had got the desired result, so it was time to open up the world of make-believe and let our household also experience the bloodbath of sentimentality and high drama. I was too excited to bother myself with computing the GCD of polynomials. This especially, when I could watch highlights of Leander Paes win a bronze medal at the Atlanta Olympics. While we were (and continue to be) an average Tamizh family, with no great love for sports (unless it involved mathematics), even we were excited and felt most happy that we won something. We attributed the Leander Paes win to two things:
1. We had got a TV on THAT day and were therefore responsible for the medal
2. He was trained in Madras and therefore, we the Tamizh people owned him and it was a Tamizh medal
Seventeen (assorted clan folks, who were secretly feeling superior for having been early adopter of this technology, unlike us) of us sat in the hall and watched the closing ceremony of the games with much awe and excitement. We had different reasons for the same:
… Amma was excited as this was one of her first glimpse into the world that she knew her son will eventually go away to. Nope, not sporting glory but the promised land.
… Thatha because he was the only one in the room who had heard of Rosakutty Chacko and Beenamol Matthew, athletes from the 400 metres relay race who didn’t qualify. Hearing those multiple news bulletins on radio had helped. We were all mildly envious of thatha.
… Me and S were most excited when we saw Leander Paes lead the Indian contingent, Tamizh pride filling our hearts.
… When Stevie Wonder came and sang John Lenon’s – Imagine, Posh Chitappa not only claimed to have recognized the song but insisted on singing along. Posh Chitappa was a perfectly normal person who had a brief stint in Tanzania and acquired a special fondness for English music. Since, none of us understood non Tamizh music (unless it was Carnatic Classical), we took his word for it. When I was thirteen though, I just found him to be very annoying. Wait, he is still rather annoying.
Once we got the TV, mathematics was dumped. And my Saturday tryst also tapered.
The TV gave us a start. After that, we began to accumulate several other laziness inducing and mediocrity encouraging products. But, we were middle class folks. We thrived in wearing our middle class badges.
How can we afford that, amma would announce to anyone who would care to listen?
Deepavali came every year. The time to buy new clothes and eat murukku and marundu. But people kept dying, so we didn’t eat any of that or buy new clothes. But Vasanth & Co as well as Viveks insisted that we buy some hugely discounted durable item during Deepavali. Amma reasoned that, dead people will forgive any prudently made purchase, especially if it was some utility product. And so, each Deepavali we acquired several things:
1. Three-burner gas stove
2. Rice cooker
3. Wet grinder
4. Music system
5. So on
We had survived for thirteen years without them, but the TV gave us the start. And that is why we celebrate Deepavali – to tell ourselves, this was the day when mediocrity triumphed over ambition.
Nobody had died over the last one year. No deaths of random relatives, whom one only had a vague recollection of, but whose death needed to be mourned. Sure, people had died. But none of them were folks from Bharadwaja Gothram, so it was time to celebrate.
This year was T Anna’s thalai Deepavali, so there was a need to have an extra celebratory air anyway. The fact that he is away in a far away country, where he needed to drive to some place that was two hours away from his house to see fireworks meant that, we needed to make up for him and infuse more cheer.
Delhi Atthai and the cousin A’s presence meant more quantity of sweets that made one sick needed to be prepared.
Why are we not putting up lights, A wished to know. We do that in Delhi, she insisted. Ram (not Rama) returns to Ayoydhya, she said. The little sister S, a bit tired of A’s general snootiness informed her in no uncertain terms that we celebrate the slaying of the demon Naragasura.
After their discussion got a little heated, I was forced to mediate. After all, S needs a high JEE Rank and A, was not just any cousin, but an atthai’s daughter. I needed both of them to feel happy.
We celebrate mediocrity, I told the two of them.
Not the answer that they wanted to hear and they chose to resolve it their way.
Nobody takes elder sisters seriously, do they?
Ever since the time I turned ten, a ritual got established at home. It was one that was followed religiously for over three years. Every Saturday morning, Appa would write down twenty mathematics problems that he sourced from several books and give it to me. After that, he would take amma and paati out, either to visit some relatives or for some shopping. When he returned, he would correct my filled sheets and give me marks. If I got all of them right, I would get ten rupees. I used to wait with a mix of anticipation and dread for the moment.
I think over a period of about three years, which must have included over 150 Saturdays -- I had a very mediocre record. In all, I made 870 Rupees.
I think it broke amma’s heart each time I didn’t earn the ten rupees.
The eight-hundred odd rupees that I managed to save up, in many ways, only heightened and served as a proof of my mediocrity.
However, all was not lost, for there was one person who benefited because of this – T Anna. I did spend a fair sum of the money in buying him stuff that he would need, and often not need. T Anna never made any money. His mathematics skills were never mediocre enough to be rewarded. At age ten however, I only felt rich and looked forward to those Saturdays.
It was one such Saturday – 4th August 1996. I was thirteen years old. We used to live at Bazlullah Road, in thatha’s somewhat dilapidated but completely lovely house. It shall go down as one of the most important days of my life - the day we got a television into our homes.
It was the year that T Anna had made it into IIT. And to all the elders of the family, the many years of deprivation had got the desired result, so it was time to open up the world of make-believe and let our household also experience the bloodbath of sentimentality and high drama. I was too excited to bother myself with computing the GCD of polynomials. This especially, when I could watch highlights of Leander Paes win a bronze medal at the Atlanta Olympics. While we were (and continue to be) an average Tamizh family, with no great love for sports (unless it involved mathematics), even we were excited and felt most happy that we won something. We attributed the Leander Paes win to two things:
1. We had got a TV on THAT day and were therefore responsible for the medal
2. He was trained in Madras and therefore, we the Tamizh people owned him and it was a Tamizh medal
Seventeen (assorted clan folks, who were secretly feeling superior for having been early adopter of this technology, unlike us) of us sat in the hall and watched the closing ceremony of the games with much awe and excitement. We had different reasons for the same:
… Amma was excited as this was one of her first glimpse into the world that she knew her son will eventually go away to. Nope, not sporting glory but the promised land.
… Thatha because he was the only one in the room who had heard of Rosakutty Chacko and Beenamol Matthew, athletes from the 400 metres relay race who didn’t qualify. Hearing those multiple news bulletins on radio had helped. We were all mildly envious of thatha.
… Me and S were most excited when we saw Leander Paes lead the Indian contingent, Tamizh pride filling our hearts.
… When Stevie Wonder came and sang John Lenon’s – Imagine, Posh Chitappa not only claimed to have recognized the song but insisted on singing along. Posh Chitappa was a perfectly normal person who had a brief stint in Tanzania and acquired a special fondness for English music. Since, none of us understood non Tamizh music (unless it was Carnatic Classical), we took his word for it. When I was thirteen though, I just found him to be very annoying. Wait, he is still rather annoying.
Once we got the TV, mathematics was dumped. And my Saturday tryst also tapered.
The TV gave us a start. After that, we began to accumulate several other laziness inducing and mediocrity encouraging products. But, we were middle class folks. We thrived in wearing our middle class badges.
How can we afford that, amma would announce to anyone who would care to listen?
Deepavali came every year. The time to buy new clothes and eat murukku and marundu. But people kept dying, so we didn’t eat any of that or buy new clothes. But Vasanth & Co as well as Viveks insisted that we buy some hugely discounted durable item during Deepavali. Amma reasoned that, dead people will forgive any prudently made purchase, especially if it was some utility product. And so, each Deepavali we acquired several things:
1. Three-burner gas stove
2. Rice cooker
3. Wet grinder
4. Music system
5. So on
We had survived for thirteen years without them, but the TV gave us the start. And that is why we celebrate Deepavali – to tell ourselves, this was the day when mediocrity triumphed over ambition.
Friday, September 21, 2007
How the bald men from Tirunelveli conquered Thanjavur
Now that the wedding is over and the new Manni is not so new any longer, two things occupy our minds.
1. Preparations and hyper activities are underway to send T Anna and M Mani to USA
2. Going through the photo albums and wedding videos over and over again
The latter is most fun. Everyone has an opinion and loves to make snide comments involving: body mass and the lack of hair. After a point, you can almost predict what the joke is going to be. Going through the albums, one notices that there are several bald men.
For a long while I thought that only the men in my family had this, baldness quality. Everyone was bald or getting there. May be it was to do with the Bharadwaja lineage. Madras Thatha, Periappas, Chitappas, Chitappa Thathas -- every one of them bald. Even the young men of the family are mostly bald. When me and S met (more like, saw) any bald man, we wondered if he was related to us.
As one goes through the wedding albums one realizes that most of the men in general are bald. Not just our side, but also the men from M Mani’s side seem to share this quality. Most photographs therefore, show a glinting bald head. Sometimes, when the orange light of the videographer focuses on bald patch, one can see a halo.
The baldness aside, the wedding was as chaotic as one can imagine it to be. Inspite of being from the payyan veetu, we had our own share of drama. Sulking relatives, some chaos, lost keys, upset (allegedly) older unmarried cousins, nosey old maamis, only one ac room for the boys side, the works.
Thankfully for us, the wedding happened at one of the T Nagar mandapams. This was useful as we could run across to the house each time we needed something or just wanted to get away. It also proved useful for the guests who were aged over seventy (who formed a significant proportion of our guest list one noted). This helped as they were brought in to pelt flowers and blessings and sent back after a cup of paayasam. Inspite of this proximity, four cars were needed – three of which were arranged for by the ponnu side. However, four ambassadors proved to be insufficient to carry the load of the extended family and their often frail egos.
The key consideration was to ensure that balance was maintained and feathers remain unruffled. I realised that - amma is actually a goddess. The detailed itinerary that she planned, the complex road map that she drew and the permutations that she worked out made me think that, she and not S should take a shot at the JEE exam.
For example, let’s take thatha’s elder brother – Kitchu Periappa Thatha who stays in Tiruvanmiyur and thatha’s younger brother – Vichu Chitappa Thatha who stay in Mylapore. Given that these were thatha’s brothers, their presence for this Gothram migration was important. Since both of them, had their own minor clan who needed to come for the wedding, each needed one ambassador car to be sent to them. One then needed to factor in that Tiruvamiyur was further away from Myalpore. However, given that the periappa thatha was the oldest member of the clan he needed to reach before anybody else did. And therefore, the cars needed to be managed and sent out at the right times. So, amma and T Anna worked out a complex algorithm and shared the same with S. Inspite of S’s brilliant execution, at least three people were offended, of which only one of them expressed their crib directly to us. Amma and Appa profusely apologized and made sure that T Anna and M Mani did one special round of namaskaram for all these offended relatives. Though, it is somewhat ironical that one must seek blessings of someone who is unhappy with you. It really doesn’t bode too well for T Anna and M Mani.
Next was the distribution of bakshanam and dividing the paruppu thengai. It seemed that M Mani’s family had cheated us by not giving us the number of murukkus, ladoo and mysore paaku that we had asked for. So me and Dubai Atthai who were in charge of the distribution, did some cheating of our own and gave some of the people only ladoo and deliberately didn’t give anything to some people. However Gomathi Periamma who takes a special dislike for Dubai Atthai yelled at her and took over. What had happened earlier was, since Dubai Atthai needed air-conditioning (given that is what she was used to) she was specifically given this soft task. However, as far as Gomathi Periamma was concerned, Dubai Atthai had failed. To add insult to injury, she took one look around the room and triumphantly pulled out one more cardboard carton of bakshanam that mine and Atthai’s partial blindness had missed. After which D Atthai sat in the corner of the room and wept. She refused to leave the room till the wedding got over. In a bid to cover up we started giving bakshanam to people who were not part of the original list. This, as the ones who had to be given the same, had left by then. Amma will never be able to live this down. However, everyone knows that the happiness of a marriage is ensured only if there is at least one unpleasant moment at the wedding.
I saw the wedding only in small doses. T Anna made for an enthusiastic and charming groom. He remembered inane details of random relatives and made polite conversation with several people. However, during the Kasi Yatrai he almost disappeared with the umbrella as he very briskly and purposefully walked towards the nearby Kasi Arcade. M Mani’s appa must have had an anxious moment for a brief period.
I also realise that my extended family has very limited faith in my ability to tie a knot. The number of people who asked me if I was ready to solemnize the wedding actually began to make me anxious. The pin-thali photograph has my face focused with utmost concentration and all the chittis, periammas, atthais, other women I don’t recognize watching closely and looking impatient. After getting my sari for having done the deed, I managed to escape.
Of course how can a wedding really be complete without some other-gothram-people-spotting. Amma had planted her reliable (!) sources – Indira Maami (neighbour and soul sister) and Alamelu Periamma (the real sister) to do the job for her. When the elder sibling gets married, the younger unmarried siblings are potentially at risk. It didn’t help very much that I was going to turn twenty-four soon.
Amma is very hopeful and ambitious for me. However in a huge departure from family tradition, she has decided that I must find a not-bald person to get married to. Don’t mistake us now. We are a bald-men-friendly family, but two reasons prompt amma in her quest for a not-bald groom:
1. She needs to do better than G Periamma’s quest for a son-in-law
2. Nagam Akka, the neighbourhood busybody often spouts this piece of wisdom – the problem with bald men is that they always look the same. One can never make out what their true age is.
We like to age gracefully and well, so we shall look for boy with hair now, so that he can go bald later.
I am feeling somewhat wistful now when I look at T Anna’s wedding pictures. There is this particularly brilliant photograph which has – Appa, T Anna, Periappa, Chitappa 1, Chitappa 2, Chitappa 3, Madras Thatha, Periappa Thatha, Chitappa Thatha and Shastrigal. It captures an intense moment, with all of them staring intently at the homam. Their brown and shiny heads gleam like some rare gems. Such beauty and symmetry is to be found only in rare architecture. Pity then that - my kalyanam shall not have such photographs.
1. Preparations and hyper activities are underway to send T Anna and M Mani to USA
2. Going through the photo albums and wedding videos over and over again
The latter is most fun. Everyone has an opinion and loves to make snide comments involving: body mass and the lack of hair. After a point, you can almost predict what the joke is going to be. Going through the albums, one notices that there are several bald men.
For a long while I thought that only the men in my family had this, baldness quality. Everyone was bald or getting there. May be it was to do with the Bharadwaja lineage. Madras Thatha, Periappas, Chitappas, Chitappa Thathas -- every one of them bald. Even the young men of the family are mostly bald. When me and S met (more like, saw) any bald man, we wondered if he was related to us.
As one goes through the wedding albums one realizes that most of the men in general are bald. Not just our side, but also the men from M Mani’s side seem to share this quality. Most photographs therefore, show a glinting bald head. Sometimes, when the orange light of the videographer focuses on bald patch, one can see a halo.
The baldness aside, the wedding was as chaotic as one can imagine it to be. Inspite of being from the payyan veetu, we had our own share of drama. Sulking relatives, some chaos, lost keys, upset (allegedly) older unmarried cousins, nosey old maamis, only one ac room for the boys side, the works.
Thankfully for us, the wedding happened at one of the T Nagar mandapams. This was useful as we could run across to the house each time we needed something or just wanted to get away. It also proved useful for the guests who were aged over seventy (who formed a significant proportion of our guest list one noted). This helped as they were brought in to pelt flowers and blessings and sent back after a cup of paayasam. Inspite of this proximity, four cars were needed – three of which were arranged for by the ponnu side. However, four ambassadors proved to be insufficient to carry the load of the extended family and their often frail egos.
The key consideration was to ensure that balance was maintained and feathers remain unruffled. I realised that - amma is actually a goddess. The detailed itinerary that she planned, the complex road map that she drew and the permutations that she worked out made me think that, she and not S should take a shot at the JEE exam.
For example, let’s take thatha’s elder brother – Kitchu Periappa Thatha who stays in Tiruvanmiyur and thatha’s younger brother – Vichu Chitappa Thatha who stay in Mylapore. Given that these were thatha’s brothers, their presence for this Gothram migration was important. Since both of them, had their own minor clan who needed to come for the wedding, each needed one ambassador car to be sent to them. One then needed to factor in that Tiruvamiyur was further away from Myalpore. However, given that the periappa thatha was the oldest member of the clan he needed to reach before anybody else did. And therefore, the cars needed to be managed and sent out at the right times. So, amma and T Anna worked out a complex algorithm and shared the same with S. Inspite of S’s brilliant execution, at least three people were offended, of which only one of them expressed their crib directly to us. Amma and Appa profusely apologized and made sure that T Anna and M Mani did one special round of namaskaram for all these offended relatives. Though, it is somewhat ironical that one must seek blessings of someone who is unhappy with you. It really doesn’t bode too well for T Anna and M Mani.
Next was the distribution of bakshanam and dividing the paruppu thengai. It seemed that M Mani’s family had cheated us by not giving us the number of murukkus, ladoo and mysore paaku that we had asked for. So me and Dubai Atthai who were in charge of the distribution, did some cheating of our own and gave some of the people only ladoo and deliberately didn’t give anything to some people. However Gomathi Periamma who takes a special dislike for Dubai Atthai yelled at her and took over. What had happened earlier was, since Dubai Atthai needed air-conditioning (given that is what she was used to) she was specifically given this soft task. However, as far as Gomathi Periamma was concerned, Dubai Atthai had failed. To add insult to injury, she took one look around the room and triumphantly pulled out one more cardboard carton of bakshanam that mine and Atthai’s partial blindness had missed. After which D Atthai sat in the corner of the room and wept. She refused to leave the room till the wedding got over. In a bid to cover up we started giving bakshanam to people who were not part of the original list. This, as the ones who had to be given the same, had left by then. Amma will never be able to live this down. However, everyone knows that the happiness of a marriage is ensured only if there is at least one unpleasant moment at the wedding.
I saw the wedding only in small doses. T Anna made for an enthusiastic and charming groom. He remembered inane details of random relatives and made polite conversation with several people. However, during the Kasi Yatrai he almost disappeared with the umbrella as he very briskly and purposefully walked towards the nearby Kasi Arcade. M Mani’s appa must have had an anxious moment for a brief period.
I also realise that my extended family has very limited faith in my ability to tie a knot. The number of people who asked me if I was ready to solemnize the wedding actually began to make me anxious. The pin-thali photograph has my face focused with utmost concentration and all the chittis, periammas, atthais, other women I don’t recognize watching closely and looking impatient. After getting my sari for having done the deed, I managed to escape.
Of course how can a wedding really be complete without some other-gothram-people-spotting. Amma had planted her reliable (!) sources – Indira Maami (neighbour and soul sister) and Alamelu Periamma (the real sister) to do the job for her. When the elder sibling gets married, the younger unmarried siblings are potentially at risk. It didn’t help very much that I was going to turn twenty-four soon.
Amma is very hopeful and ambitious for me. However in a huge departure from family tradition, she has decided that I must find a not-bald person to get married to. Don’t mistake us now. We are a bald-men-friendly family, but two reasons prompt amma in her quest for a not-bald groom:
1. She needs to do better than G Periamma’s quest for a son-in-law
2. Nagam Akka, the neighbourhood busybody often spouts this piece of wisdom – the problem with bald men is that they always look the same. One can never make out what their true age is.
We like to age gracefully and well, so we shall look for boy with hair now, so that he can go bald later.
I am feeling somewhat wistful now when I look at T Anna’s wedding pictures. There is this particularly brilliant photograph which has – Appa, T Anna, Periappa, Chitappa 1, Chitappa 2, Chitappa 3, Madras Thatha, Periappa Thatha, Chitappa Thatha and Shastrigal. It captures an intense moment, with all of them staring intently at the homam. Their brown and shiny heads gleam like some rare gems. Such beauty and symmetry is to be found only in rare architecture. Pity then that - my kalyanam shall not have such photographs.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Why Nilambari is prettier than Ahiri
Yes, T Anna is married. It all happened too soon. Amma is mother-in-law. Appa is hoping that someone will have his name soon. Thatha is happy that his favourite grandson is settled. Paati is happy because thatha was alive to see his grandson embark in this journey to get settled.
It was chaotic. M Mani is nice. I like her. She is very soft spoken. In fact, her voice is so feeble, that one can’t even hear it. That played a big part in why the marriage happened. My family is so loud, it gets embarrassing. Actually, most of them are deaf. So they are left with no choice but to raise their voices. A soft spoken M Mani is exactly what the family needs.
T Anna and M Mani were in touch through emails for a few months. Even though, M Mani was from the hated Koushika Gothram, we decided to go on with the case. After all, T Anna was getting older and bald.
When he landed in Madras a month and a half ago, we were shocked to see him. The erstwhile broad forehead (that we attributed his high JEE rank to) had now become a completely bald patch of head. The good thing was that, T Anna had lost some weight along with hair.
Paati wanted to know, why T Anna had become so dark? NRI’s are supposed to be fair, she said.
Pitchu Maama, who is Amma’s Maama-cum neighbour cum senile relative (that each family must have) recommended that we take T Anna to – Fair and Hair Clinic on Lattice Bridge Road. After some debate and a smallish tantrum from T Anna, we decided against it. What I and S would like to know is ,why is Pichu Maama Thatha visiting such places?
There were actually two girls that T Anna saw. It would be insulting Bharadwaja Gothram and Brilliant Tutorials if he had to decide whom to marry after seeing only one girl.
So there was M Mani and another girl - G.
G was the preferred choice of the clan. However, T Anna was always more pro M Mani. But being the good boy that he is, he agreed to meet G first. There were many things that worked for G:
We came home somewhat dejected. Meeting with M Mani and Co. was scheduled for next day.
While we liked M Mani, we were not sure if she would fit in our family. Their house had a sofa set. They had curtains. And they had lots of polished brass lamps around. The biggest reason why we didn’t like M Mani was because her family had sent her photograph in an envelope that said – BHEL.
Why get your daughter-in-law from a family that steals office stationery?
However, T Anna liked M Mani. He was sure that she would get a job in US. He thought that they shared the same wave-length (whatever that meant).
When we came back home, periappa and family, both thathas and paati and Vaithi Maami were there. Vaithi Maama is thatha’s friend, philosopher and guide. When Vaithi Maama says something, it rules.
A detailed analysis involving the pros and cons for both G and M Mani was undertaken. Differential weights were attached to each variable. The fact that T Anna liked M Mani more was given a higher weightage. After much analysis, M Mani was chosen as the-likely-to-be-better-member of the Asal Tamil household.
This was because:
Vaithi Maama also said that, Ahiri raagam if sang at the wrong time of the day could result in major trauma. Nilambari on the other hand, is the raagam that is sung to put the gods to sleep.
T Anna is god. And so, M Mani won. I think.
It was chaotic. M Mani is nice. I like her. She is very soft spoken. In fact, her voice is so feeble, that one can’t even hear it. That played a big part in why the marriage happened. My family is so loud, it gets embarrassing. Actually, most of them are deaf. So they are left with no choice but to raise their voices. A soft spoken M Mani is exactly what the family needs.
T Anna and M Mani were in touch through emails for a few months. Even though, M Mani was from the hated Koushika Gothram, we decided to go on with the case. After all, T Anna was getting older and bald.
When he landed in Madras a month and a half ago, we were shocked to see him. The erstwhile broad forehead (that we attributed his high JEE rank to) had now become a completely bald patch of head. The good thing was that, T Anna had lost some weight along with hair.
Paati wanted to know, why T Anna had become so dark? NRI’s are supposed to be fair, she said.
Pitchu Maama, who is Amma’s Maama-cum neighbour cum senile relative (that each family must have) recommended that we take T Anna to – Fair and Hair Clinic on Lattice Bridge Road. After some debate and a smallish tantrum from T Anna, we decided against it. What I and S would like to know is ,why is Pichu Maama Thatha visiting such places?
There were actually two girls that T Anna saw. It would be insulting Bharadwaja Gothram and Brilliant Tutorials if he had to decide whom to marry after seeing only one girl.
So there was M Mani and another girl - G.
G was the preferred choice of the clan. However, T Anna was always more pro M Mani. But being the good boy that he is, he agreed to meet G first. There were many things that worked for G:
1. Her family lived in T NagarHowever, two things worked against G.
2. She was very tall
3. She was very thin
4. She was the only daughter
5. She was learning paatu from Suguna Purushottam, an artist that amma had heard at Vani Mahal some years ago. G was most proficient (allegedly) in Ahiri Raagam. (Nope, we didn’t make her sing. Amma felt that - given that we were a modern family with NRI boy, this would be unacceptable)
6. Her family had sent us a studio photograph (as opposed to M Mani who had a photograph taken at her home. That too with her head tilted too much, smiling too much and sitting on a posh sofa)
1. Her mother spoke too much. She was presumptuous and she seemed to assume that T Anna was on her side. Amma’s maternal instincts hollered and she got territorial.We told G & Co that we would get back to them, but I think they had guessed by then.
2. G was too much like us. Amma and T Anna figured that she will get us very quickly and easily. That is never a good quality for a new daughter-in-law to have. In fact, she must not get us at all. And when she does, it must be too late.
We came home somewhat dejected. Meeting with M Mani and Co. was scheduled for next day.
While we liked M Mani, we were not sure if she would fit in our family. Their house had a sofa set. They had curtains. And they had lots of polished brass lamps around. The biggest reason why we didn’t like M Mani was because her family had sent her photograph in an envelope that said – BHEL.
Why get your daughter-in-law from a family that steals office stationery?
However, T Anna liked M Mani. He was sure that she would get a job in US. He thought that they shared the same wave-length (whatever that meant).
When we came back home, periappa and family, both thathas and paati and Vaithi Maami were there. Vaithi Maama is thatha’s friend, philosopher and guide. When Vaithi Maama says something, it rules.
A detailed analysis involving the pros and cons for both G and M Mani was undertaken. Differential weights were attached to each variable. The fact that T Anna liked M Mani more was given a higher weightage. After much analysis, M Mani was chosen as the-likely-to-be-better-member of the Asal Tamil household.
This was because:
1. M Mani was a software engineer – will get job in USA. Will be intellectually compatible (read: geeky) with T Anna.It was concluded that, ability to identify raagams correctly was a more appropriate quality for a daughter-in-law to have, than her ability to sing the same.
2. M Mani did not make it through JEE. She had studied in obscure engineering college in Kancheepuram. She will be grateful for having landed herself an IIT boy.
3. While we were doing some small talk initially, amma mentioned that she had spotted M Mani and family at the Tarangam Music Festival held at the Narada Gana Sabha. Everyone got excited and started talking about concerts that they had attended at the last year's music season. Amma is a Nityashree fan. Amma likes pedigree. So when M Mani said that the she thought Nitaysahree’s Nilambari rendition at one of the concerts was brilliant, amma was converted.
Vaithi Maama also said that, Ahiri raagam if sang at the wrong time of the day could result in major trauma. Nilambari on the other hand, is the raagam that is sung to put the gods to sleep.
T Anna is god. And so, M Mani won. I think.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
Murungakka Sambhar
The comments on the last few posts cannot be ignored. Especially the ones by a number of vegetables. I didn’t comprehend a number of them, but the vegetables itself reminded me of my pet grouse.
Amma makes sambhar very often, once in a day usually. I am not much of a sambhar fan. I like rasam much more - it is lighter and is unlikely to contain any vegetable that one dislikes.
Appa says it is illegal to make sambhar without the vendakkai. While it tastes rather nice, I don’t like it. Vendakkai is the vegetable that allegedly improves one’s performance in any mathematics exam. It helps to process complex problems and get you the elusive, Centum in Maths. However, no amount of Vendakai consumption helped me or my friend Poongothai. So I concluded that, it didn’t work. And just so that, amma didn’t put too much pressure on me by saying, why after so much of vendakkais also your maths scores don’t improve, I chose to boycott the vegetable completely.
However, slightly more difficult to ignore was – murungakka. We had a tree and T Anna got glasses when he was six. So murungakka found its way into every meal of ours. It is the most annoying vegetable. The flavour, while being nice, completely overwhelms every other taste. A small bit can sometimes get stuck in your throat and make you feel that you might choke to death. It is a bit annoying to watch people eat a murungakka, there is something brutal about it. It is a bit of a social embarrassment.
However a big part of my dislike for murungakka was to do with the fact that the men always ate/ still eat before the women in my house. I am okay with that also. It is too small a thing to rebel and get self righteous about, I think. The not so pleasant part was to clear the plates after the men were done with the eating. I had to usually do it and I used to hate the days when it was murungakka on the menu. The violently chewed on remnants of the erstwhile good looking vegetable, which I needed to throw before washing the plates would gross me out. I must have cursed T Anna a million times at least; appa was a little more delicate.
Since then, I made a promise to myself that when I get married, I shall never cook the murungakka. At least T Anna and Appa are my blood and gothram, imagine doing this for some strange man?
Amma makes sambhar very often, once in a day usually. I am not much of a sambhar fan. I like rasam much more - it is lighter and is unlikely to contain any vegetable that one dislikes.
Appa says it is illegal to make sambhar without the vendakkai. While it tastes rather nice, I don’t like it. Vendakkai is the vegetable that allegedly improves one’s performance in any mathematics exam. It helps to process complex problems and get you the elusive, Centum in Maths. However, no amount of Vendakai consumption helped me or my friend Poongothai. So I concluded that, it didn’t work. And just so that, amma didn’t put too much pressure on me by saying, why after so much of vendakkais also your maths scores don’t improve, I chose to boycott the vegetable completely.
However, slightly more difficult to ignore was – murungakka. We had a tree and T Anna got glasses when he was six. So murungakka found its way into every meal of ours. It is the most annoying vegetable. The flavour, while being nice, completely overwhelms every other taste. A small bit can sometimes get stuck in your throat and make you feel that you might choke to death. It is a bit annoying to watch people eat a murungakka, there is something brutal about it. It is a bit of a social embarrassment.
However a big part of my dislike for murungakka was to do with the fact that the men always ate/ still eat before the women in my house. I am okay with that also. It is too small a thing to rebel and get self righteous about, I think. The not so pleasant part was to clear the plates after the men were done with the eating. I had to usually do it and I used to hate the days when it was murungakka on the menu. The violently chewed on remnants of the erstwhile good looking vegetable, which I needed to throw before washing the plates would gross me out. I must have cursed T Anna a million times at least; appa was a little more delicate.
Since then, I made a promise to myself that when I get married, I shall never cook the murungakka. At least T Anna and Appa are my blood and gothram, imagine doing this for some strange man?
Dealmaker
It’s been a busy last few days. One in which I have had to let go of a number of strong and well entrenched beliefs of mine.
After years of resisting, I finally got a cell-phone. I don’t need one and I don’t want one. But people around me, have felt the need that I have one. I already find it stifling. I am not sure, why I need one? I neither have boys to talk to or an important job and amma is anyway the most efficient alarm clock one can have. My fear is, I will get too attached to it.
Anyway, I chose the Tata Indicom service – as it is cheap, it works even inside the elevator and has Trisha as their brand ambassador. I don’t like Trisha, but at least, she is Tamizh and a Penn.
We harnessed the mobility aspect of the phone splendidly this weekend when T Anna as always made his once a week call on Sunday.
Usually the conversation goes on for a little over half an hour, with all of us trying to out-shout the other into the speaker phone. S and I are completely forbidden to go anywhere when T Anna calls. Amma holds fort and does most of the talking. Appa grunts in the background. S and I usually oscillate between a desire to violently shake up T Anna to a surge of sisterly affection.
Our conversations are very boring. And they always leave a lot of ends hanging that the family must discuss once the call is over. Amma and appa survive the week on the bits and pieces that they catch over that thirty minutes.
The conversations are very VERY predictable. For the first ten minutes, T Anna will tell us, how sad his life is. How he is struggling. How it is so tough to cope. How he needs to cook, clean, work, be stuck with his married friends and so forth.
When amma gets a little anxious, and is ready to volunteer to come and cook for him (it is her fear that I and S will turn completely wild in her absence that stops her. Sometimes amma gives us way too much credit), he will quickly change tracks. Suddenly he is talking about the good life that the land of opportunity gives him. Where people do fun activities like go of on road trips, attend a Ganesh and Kumaresh concert, travel to another state to meet the visiting parents of a batch-mate with whom one had barely interacted with, just to eat some real sambhar for a change and so forth. I am very happy here, he will gush. You must all come here, especially you and S, he adds cheerily.
I am not sure, what is more tedious? His whiney, I am suffering bachelorhood in alien country or the look at my shiny-sparkly life?
I feel a little sad for amma and appa, he does not seem very enthused to invite them over to the US. While appa is very loyal to T Nagar, he would like to go there just like his brothers and friends have done. He also wants to go there and spend time in a nice library. Amma would love to go too. So that she can network with other maamis around and find T Anna a bride there itself.
Of course, he loves us. How can he not? He even sends gifts for amma and appa very often. Things like a plastic box that has many compartments. The many compartments are coded as Monday through Sunday and also have the different day parts written on the cover. This so that one can keep all the medicines inside them. He also sent a Blood Pressure monitoring machine. One that amma conveniently chooses to take at face value or ignore depending on the reading. He also sends the strips to monitor blood glucose levels.
So of course, he loves amma and appa. He is concerned about the fact that they are ageing and their health is becoming frail. It is slightly macabre, but we don’t know how to show our love any other way.
Anyway this weekend, T Anna called me on my new phone. We had gone to see a sample flat of the property that he wishes to invest in. He wanted me to describe everything about the house. With amma, appa and S prompting me in the background it was tiresome. T Anna had a number of requirements that the house managed to fulfill:
- At least one squat style Indian toilet
- A separate pujai area
- The study needed to be West facing, just like in our T Nagar house, as it would help the children to concentrate better (huh!)
- A separate service area so that the plates can be put there
Many more such obviously ridiculous requirements followed and after the house was declared ‘perfect’ by me on all accounts. We have booked it.
Amma thinks it is the cell-phone and my ability to talk into one which is the sole reason why T Anna will have a house in Madras now. And his promise to amma, that he shall return back to India in 2009 seems very real. It makes her very happy. I am happy too. As always, basking in the warmth of parental approval.
I just wish that T Anna will come back sooner than 2009. Because I don’t want him to tell amma and appa to move to his house as it is modern, so vaastu friendly and also because he can’t trust tenants who might indulge in non Tamizh activities.
The only choice is to find T Anna a bride. Who is in Madras. Preferably works with Hyundai. Is insanely happy with her job. Is pretty. Is bright in a non threatening way. Is non Bharadwaja Gothram.
What are the chances?
After years of resisting, I finally got a cell-phone. I don’t need one and I don’t want one. But people around me, have felt the need that I have one. I already find it stifling. I am not sure, why I need one? I neither have boys to talk to or an important job and amma is anyway the most efficient alarm clock one can have. My fear is, I will get too attached to it.
Anyway, I chose the Tata Indicom service – as it is cheap, it works even inside the elevator and has Trisha as their brand ambassador. I don’t like Trisha, but at least, she is Tamizh and a Penn.
We harnessed the mobility aspect of the phone splendidly this weekend when T Anna as always made his once a week call on Sunday.
Usually the conversation goes on for a little over half an hour, with all of us trying to out-shout the other into the speaker phone. S and I are completely forbidden to go anywhere when T Anna calls. Amma holds fort and does most of the talking. Appa grunts in the background. S and I usually oscillate between a desire to violently shake up T Anna to a surge of sisterly affection.
Our conversations are very boring. And they always leave a lot of ends hanging that the family must discuss once the call is over. Amma and appa survive the week on the bits and pieces that they catch over that thirty minutes.
The conversations are very VERY predictable. For the first ten minutes, T Anna will tell us, how sad his life is. How he is struggling. How it is so tough to cope. How he needs to cook, clean, work, be stuck with his married friends and so forth.
When amma gets a little anxious, and is ready to volunteer to come and cook for him (it is her fear that I and S will turn completely wild in her absence that stops her. Sometimes amma gives us way too much credit), he will quickly change tracks. Suddenly he is talking about the good life that the land of opportunity gives him. Where people do fun activities like go of on road trips, attend a Ganesh and Kumaresh concert, travel to another state to meet the visiting parents of a batch-mate with whom one had barely interacted with, just to eat some real sambhar for a change and so forth. I am very happy here, he will gush. You must all come here, especially you and S, he adds cheerily.
I am not sure, what is more tedious? His whiney, I am suffering bachelorhood in alien country or the look at my shiny-sparkly life?
I feel a little sad for amma and appa, he does not seem very enthused to invite them over to the US. While appa is very loyal to T Nagar, he would like to go there just like his brothers and friends have done. He also wants to go there and spend time in a nice library. Amma would love to go too. So that she can network with other maamis around and find T Anna a bride there itself.
Of course, he loves us. How can he not? He even sends gifts for amma and appa very often. Things like a plastic box that has many compartments. The many compartments are coded as Monday through Sunday and also have the different day parts written on the cover. This so that one can keep all the medicines inside them. He also sent a Blood Pressure monitoring machine. One that amma conveniently chooses to take at face value or ignore depending on the reading. He also sends the strips to monitor blood glucose levels.
So of course, he loves amma and appa. He is concerned about the fact that they are ageing and their health is becoming frail. It is slightly macabre, but we don’t know how to show our love any other way.
Anyway this weekend, T Anna called me on my new phone. We had gone to see a sample flat of the property that he wishes to invest in. He wanted me to describe everything about the house. With amma, appa and S prompting me in the background it was tiresome. T Anna had a number of requirements that the house managed to fulfill:
- At least one squat style Indian toilet
- A separate pujai area
- The study needed to be West facing, just like in our T Nagar house, as it would help the children to concentrate better (huh!)
- A separate service area so that the plates can be put there
Many more such obviously ridiculous requirements followed and after the house was declared ‘perfect’ by me on all accounts. We have booked it.
Amma thinks it is the cell-phone and my ability to talk into one which is the sole reason why T Anna will have a house in Madras now. And his promise to amma, that he shall return back to India in 2009 seems very real. It makes her very happy. I am happy too. As always, basking in the warmth of parental approval.
I just wish that T Anna will come back sooner than 2009. Because I don’t want him to tell amma and appa to move to his house as it is modern, so vaastu friendly and also because he can’t trust tenants who might indulge in non Tamizh activities.
The only choice is to find T Anna a bride. Who is in Madras. Preferably works with Hyundai. Is insanely happy with her job. Is pretty. Is bright in a non threatening way. Is non Bharadwaja Gothram.
What are the chances?
Thursday, May 31, 2007
Dear Nilakantan Rajaraman,
Neengal enna solla varel? Innam konjam teluva sonna nalla irukkum.
And since I don’t have a problem with your Blog, there is no reason that you ought to have a problem with mine either.
Neengalum Bharadwaja Gothram aa? Appo neengal ennodu Anna maari. Ivlo kovvam tevai illai.
Kind Regards,
Tamizh Penn
And since I don’t have a problem with your Blog, there is no reason that you ought to have a problem with mine either.
Neengalum Bharadwaja Gothram aa? Appo neengal ennodu Anna maari. Ivlo kovvam tevai illai.
Kind Regards,
Tamizh Penn
Wednesday, May 30, 2007
Marketing of Bharadwaja Gothram
After reading this wonderful post by Neha, I am reminded about Amma’s eternal quest for a suitable bride for T Anna.
T Anna turns twenty-eight this year. He is, by most accounts, a good catch. - IIT + Ivy League. He can also play the flute. Though to be honest, the only song that I have ever heard him play is – Kurai Ondrum Illai. That too only the Pallavi and never the Charanam. And Shivaranjani as a raagam is good only in small doses. What girl will want to marry a boy who is so melancholic? Anyway, he is still a good catch. Being in the land of opportunity has made him learn cooking (or so he claims). Also he is very boringly good. And most significantly, he is 6’2” that means every girl is shorter than him and potentially marriageable.
However, things are not that perfect either.
Two years back when T Anna got a job, Visalam Atthai came up with a proposal. That of Athimber’s elder brother’s daughter - N.
Visalam Athai thought that N would be the perfect bride for T Anna. This essentially because N was 5’8” (how many Asal Tamizh Penn will have such Miss Universe proportions?) and also because she was in Austin, Texas too. Appa turned down the proposal for two reasons:
1) T Anna was twenty six then and it looked like he could do better than that. After all, N was only an engineer from Erode but T Anna from IIT KGP
2) More significantly, Appa has always been Anti Kaushika Gothram. He felt that the hedonism of Vishwamitra was not compatible with the austereness of Bharadwaja Gothram
Amma herself a Srivatsa Gothram had cautioned Appa on his foolishness. Yet, a letter was sent off to Visalam Athai saying, the horoscopes didn’t match and therefore cannot be proceeded with further.
N got married two months after that.
Since then, T Anna has seriously considered five girls.
Initially, we were choosy. We removed all of the following:
1. Palghat Brahmins
2. Tanjore Brahmins
3. Ahilyam Nakshatram
4. Kausika Gothram
But when we wrote to the others, they all responded in the negative. Then we compromised and included Palghat and Tanjore Brahmins. Still the same. Then Ahilyam also, still the same. Finally, the Kausika Gothram also. Still the same.
Is there any way to change my Gothram without marrying?
T Anna turns twenty-eight this year. He is, by most accounts, a good catch. - IIT + Ivy League. He can also play the flute. Though to be honest, the only song that I have ever heard him play is – Kurai Ondrum Illai. That too only the Pallavi and never the Charanam. And Shivaranjani as a raagam is good only in small doses. What girl will want to marry a boy who is so melancholic? Anyway, he is still a good catch. Being in the land of opportunity has made him learn cooking (or so he claims). Also he is very boringly good. And most significantly, he is 6’2” that means every girl is shorter than him and potentially marriageable.
However, things are not that perfect either.
Two years back when T Anna got a job, Visalam Atthai came up with a proposal. That of Athimber’s elder brother’s daughter - N.
Visalam Athai thought that N would be the perfect bride for T Anna. This essentially because N was 5’8” (how many Asal Tamizh Penn will have such Miss Universe proportions?) and also because she was in Austin, Texas too. Appa turned down the proposal for two reasons:
1) T Anna was twenty six then and it looked like he could do better than that. After all, N was only an engineer from Erode but T Anna from IIT KGP
2) More significantly, Appa has always been Anti Kaushika Gothram. He felt that the hedonism of Vishwamitra was not compatible with the austereness of Bharadwaja Gothram
Amma herself a Srivatsa Gothram had cautioned Appa on his foolishness. Yet, a letter was sent off to Visalam Athai saying, the horoscopes didn’t match and therefore cannot be proceeded with further.
N got married two months after that.
Since then, T Anna has seriously considered five girls.
Girl 1: L who was working in an IT firm in Hyderabad. She was 5’3”. Wheatish complexioned. Srivatsa Gothram. And accomplished enough. T Anna liked her. Because she was pretty without being fat. After meeting T Anna, she rejected him. Because T Anna refused to get rid of his glasses with a laser surgery at Shankar Netralaya.
Girl 2: N who was a journalist working with a newspaper in Delhi. She was 5’2” and Kashyapa Gothram. Amma and Appa were initially hesitant about a non Science stream girl and that too from Delhi. But after L, they were a little desperate. T Anna liked her as well, even though she was a little well endowed. But she was a closet smoker and had an Ex Boyfriend from IIT Delhi, which appealed to T Anna. N went to Texas to meet him and rejected him as well. Because she couldn’t imagine spending the rest of her life with someone who had not smoked Marijuana.
Girl 3, Girl 4 and Girl 5: were all Kaushika Gothram. By now, amma and appa were very worried. T Anna, rejected all three of them. When he rejected Girls 3 and 4, the parents thought that it was only fair. After all, two girls had dumped him.The last six months have been a lull period. No jadagams come. T Anna’s vision is worsening. And every time he sends his photographs, he looks more world weary. We even put up an ad in – The Hindu and while we got close to 300 responses, most didn’t work out.
Rejecting Girl 5 was a mistake. She was nice. She was pretty. Except that, she was far prettier in her photograph. Somehow, this was considered tantamount to cheating. I felt sorry for Girl 5. Just because she photographed well, she will never get married. I thanked god that I look the same no matter what/how/where?
Initially, we were choosy. We removed all of the following:
1. Palghat Brahmins
2. Tanjore Brahmins
3. Ahilyam Nakshatram
4. Kausika Gothram
But when we wrote to the others, they all responded in the negative. Then we compromised and included Palghat and Tanjore Brahmins. Still the same. Then Ahilyam also, still the same. Finally, the Kausika Gothram also. Still the same.
Amma says, the problem is – Bharadwaja Gothram.I am very worried. Especially for me.
Appa says, the problem is – Texas. It seems like a place that only losers will live in. Girls only want to go to California.
Mani Periappa says, the problem is - the Soda Bottle Kannadi.
T Anna says, the problem is – the boom in the Indian job market and India’s shiningness. India is the new Glam place.
Is there any way to change my Gothram without marrying?
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
