Appa was doing his annual spring cleaning routine, which involves going through his termites infested cupboard and pull out papers and old correspondence. The sorting process is elaborate and too many of these papers cannot be got rid of - just yet. May be next year, he would tell much to Amma's chagrin. Amma is due to return in another two weeks time and Appa decided to do the sorting out before she returned.
Several worn out pieces of paper jostle for space in the cupboard. These include some old Term Deposits, bank deposit slips, old telephone bills, house related bills, letters that were exchanged with some NBFI's that went bust in the late 90s, etc.
Why do you need these, I asked him? Shall I throw them away, I volunteered.
Appa very quickly pulled the papers from me and looked mortified at the thought of all these papers being thrown away. We CANNOT throw them away, he insisted.
What if we need them tomorrow, he persisted.
Yeah, sure.
What happens after I die, he demanded to know?
You mean to say that these companies will revive and pay us the money, I asked?
Appa looked a little defensive and then pulled out one letter and showed it to me. Look at this letter, Mr AK Katiar himself has promised that he will pay us back the money once RBI does something. Or else, he says pulling out another letter, this company has a office in Barakhamba Road and you could get my five thousand rupees from them.
Are you suggesting that I go to Delhi for this?
Looking up from the paper Thatha informs us rather excitedly that bombs went off in Barakhmaba Road. Paati joins in and asks me, what is the use of being a journalist if you can't help your own father?
I give up and instead start wildly swinging the broom to gt rid of the dust like powder accumulated and driving Paati and Thatha out of the room temporarily. Besides these yellowed papers of hope, there are also a few plastic covers and files that are marked as: T Anna, S and ATP.
What are those, I ask Appa?
Those are all the papers from the time you were born until now, he said.
Do you know we can register births and deaths online these days, Thatha butted in. After I die, you must register my death online. Thatha loves to talk and speculate about death and post death scenarios. I had visions of me logging into the Chennai Corporation website and have my entire extended clan crowding around me as I tried to find the register buttons to do the needful.
I told Appa that I will sort the file that said ATP and see what all I needed and what I didn't. Appa wouldn't hear any of that. You are not yet settled, we can't sort your file, he insisted.
I sighed. How about T Anna's then, I asked. Surely, he is settled, I said and ripped open the file. There were a million copies of T Anna's Class XII mark-sheet. So, he got fabulous marks, still what was the need for so many copies.
Well, one needs the Class XII mark-sheet for everything, Appa said. It was also because, at that time we lived at Thatha's house and Attestation Maama lived next door. He was the gazetted officer for all the inhabitants of our street and every week, someone or the other would ask Attestation Maami to ask her husband to bring the seal from office. Unfortunately, Attestation Maama died suddenly and S and I don't have the luxury of having a life-time supply of attested mark-sheets. Appa not so willingly agreed to get rid of the the mark-sheets. I think a little dead cockroach that dropped down from between the sheets is what did the trick.
The next was a bunch of certificates that T Anna had got from a non profit firm for allegedly contributing towards the welfare of the elderly. I really couldn't recall T Anna doing anything meaningful towards this cause. It then stuck that the school had given us a book of raffle tickets to sell, the proceeds of which were to go to some cause. While Poongothai and I divided the various houses of Boag Road between us, T Anna delegated the task to Paati. Paati got all the Maamis from the Paatu Group to buy a ticket each and T Anna was given an award.
Paati looked at the certificate and beamed with pride. T Anna was always such a conscious and caring boy, she said. I giggled and decided to not burst her bubble.
Then there were several copies of T Anna's horoscope. Now, that can be thrown. By all accounts, M Manni didn't look like she was going to divorce T Anna anytime soon, so why keep it. Before throwing them away, I decided to take a look at it, to see what fabulous qualities my brother possessed. Among references to his wheatish complexion, athletic built and gleaming gold medals, was a reference to his multiple hobbies and interests.
T Anna had interests, I thought with a feeling of wonder.
Apparently he does. Or did, at any rate. Among the many that were mentioned, included – Quizzing and Chess.
Quizzing? Quizzing? T Anna wasn't into any quizzing, I said indignantly.
Appa waved his hands dismissively and said that this particular hobby was a later addition. Apparently, there was too much pressure to add some extra curricular activities as part of the horoscope. A little bit of embellishment you see, Appa said.
But T Anna wasn't into quizzing. I said sounding like a spoilt record by now.
He wasn't, but could have been, Paati said with an air of finality.
You must admit, he could have been a quizzer if he wanted to, Appa continued. After all, he went to an IIT, followed obscure European league matches and spent more time reading the newspaper than any sub-editor did.
Correct, he was perfect for quizzing, Thatha said in a tone that said that we ought to close the discussion.
I was horrified at this make believe world that my family had created, attributing a wish-list of personality traits to their children. And if they were doing this to their perfect son, imagine what all embellishments went into mine.
I pulled out Version 2.0 of my horoscope and looked in. I knew most of the contents, but I still checked, and there it was. My hobbies included – Quizzing and Chess.
Chess brought back some humiliating memories. I must have been seven years old or so and on a lazy Sunday afternoon T Anna was teaching me how to play chess. When he was explaining the intricacies involved in moving the horse (knight, if you prefer), he said with exasperation, how difficult is it ATP? It is just 1-2-1. You have to move it in a yeLL shape. I didn't see the multiple yeLLs that T Anna was seeing. I didn't understand, why he said, 1-2-1 and not 1-2-3. But, I wanted to impress my brother. So, I tried. And tried some more. Eventually, T Anna walked away in disgust and left me there with tear filled eyes. I never tried playing chess after that. Unless you take into account the occasional game with Thatha, where he suggests moves for me too.
So, I suppose, I might get away with that.
Now on Quizzing, I don't even have the required Quizzing Personality. Surely this was a bit much. I confronted the family about it. Appa shrugged and said that, all bright Tamizh boys want girls who are into Quizzing.
Really? How do you know that, I asked.
Thatha offered an explanation, nowadays all the girls can tell the difference between Madhuvanti and Dharmavati, but if you also know about things like how candle light was used to ascertain the value of postage before the invention of stamps, that gives you an edge.
I am scared. I mean, saying my hobby is Kolam putting or kozhaktai making is not something that can be really tested in a first meeting with a boy. What if I am quizzed about something? I recall not so fondly the Bournvita Quiz contest book that N Chitappa gave me as a child. I was excited enough to write my name possessively on it. Of the thousand questions that the book had answers to, I had memorized just one. The first question that asked, what was the capital of Ghana. Accra, I would say over and over again. I had an Accra rule of making friends even. When I met new people, I asked them, what was the capital of Ghana. If they could answer that, they could be my friends. I even supported them during a World Cup. Not that I watched anything, but it was a conversation point.
Back to the cleaning, I take away all the papers that Appa has decided to discard this year. I put them into the dustbin before he changes his mind. I still can't get over the – ATP is an avid quizzer tag. After a while Appa tells me, it needn't be that complex you know. Most likely, the boy who claims he is into quizzing, could be a quizzer because his parents were trying to add some drama to his marriage resume.
It could be a case like T Anna, I concede.
Yes. And if he is in Madras, he probably went to the Landmark Quiz. As an audience, he adds.
I laugh at how wicked Appa is. And if some boy marries me for my alleged quizzing skills, serves him right even.
I tell Appa that now that we have got rid of so many papers, he can share T Anna's shelf and this cupboard be given to keep some other stuff.
Appa shakes his head and mutters something about how I am turning out to be more and more like Amma with every passing day.
I am horrified.
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marriage. Show all posts
Sunday, September 14, 2008
Thursday, August 7, 2008
En iniya thamizh makkaLe
Lend me your ears, my Thatha loves to say. Quoting literature and witticisms that are attributed to dead people is his favourite past-time.
When I would dawdle and not spend my time studying, he would tell to nobody in particular, in youth I wasted time and now time wastes me, as he would walk past.
If character is lost, everything is lost, he said with a flourish when yet another boy with suspect credentials had to be dropped from my matrimonial race.
A cliché to dismiss my ticking biological clock doesn’t seem to reassure Appa.
Our ATP turns twenty five in another fifteen days, Appa announces mournfully.
The last month has been a bit of a respite, the Aadi month is not just the best time to pick up saris, veshtis and towels for the whole year, but it also helps to stop the assault on my self worth. Albeit temporarily.
Did Nano Boy write to you, Appa asks me suddenly?
I cringe and do my bumbling routine. Nano Boy is the newest boy to be included in the race. No, he doesn’t work for an evil car enterprise; his work is in the area of the more noble Carbon Nanotubes.
When Nano Boy’s reference was provided by Warren Road Pattu Maami, Thatha beamed. He even made some DuPont reference and said, better living through chemistry for our ATP.
I wasn’t sure. Carbon Nanotubes? Hello, I am ATP from Madras and my husband is a Carbon Nanotubist?
When his parents came to check me out, to do a preliminary screening, they gushed on and on about their son. He is very bright, Nano Appa said. HE IS VERY BRIGHT, Nano Amma added.
Appa and Thatha nodded appreciatively.
In the absence of Amma, Periamma took on the role of belling the cat and asking the uncomfortable questions.
Nano Boy will be thirty two this year, she started.
Nano Amma and Nano Appa squirmed. Only after the Aadi Maasam (last year) did we take his jadagam out, Nano Amma said snootily. He was only interested in doing his PhD in *insert something that none of us understood*, Nano Appa offered in manner of explanation.
Age is just a number, Thatha reassured them sounding a bit like a breezy socialite. Periamma rolled her eyes and I began to wonder what Thatha had been smoking lately.
After some incomprehensible conversation and that the adults had on nanotechnology, they turned their attention to me. Nano Amma stared at me moodily and was looking at my head. She was probably counting the number of slides (clips?) that Periamma had brutally inserted into my hair to keep it in place.
My son is also very interested in music, Nano Amma began. I had to remind myself that the letter attached to my horoscope spoke in great detail about my love for and prowess in Carnatic music.
Only science and music interests him. You will need to woo him, she added conspirationally.
An email id was given and they left
A wedding before the age of twenty five, Appa beamed.
Thatha offered some advice from Shakespeare, you should be wooed and not made to woo.
I wrote my first email in October. Not flamboyantly. Not timidly. But honestly. Or at any rate, as honest as I could be. He wrote back soon enough, a wordy email. Sounding high-brow and nerdy, clearly designed to knock me out.
I was totally knocked out. I ought to have put an end to it after the very first email, but a vulgar curiosity and large quantities of boredom kept me going.
My favourite raagam is Vivahapriya, he said once.
What kind of person would like Vivahapriya? How many songs exist in this raagam? Isaiyil Thodanguthamma, from the highly pretentious Hey Ram? Why can’t I meet an ordinary sort of boy, you know someone who likes the more mundane (and very lovely) Reethi Gowla?
After every email that he sent me, I had to Google for stuff. His choice of literature, his desire to link mundane events and occurrences to science in general and Carbon Nanotubes in particular. His initial horoscope had failed to mention his middle name – Pedantic.
The only good thing that came out of all of this was, Amma and Appa put their hunt on a hold for a bit. Then one day, Nano Boy emailed me saying that he had met his to-be-wife and she worked in the area of Nanotoxicology. We must keep in touch and you ought to come for my wedding, he insisted.
Sure, I said and blocked him on my chat list. I decided that Amma and Appa didn’t need to know.
That the world’s dullest boy didn’t want to marry me, was a cross that I didn’t wish to bear.
But, since I began to sleep and live India time and not that of some strange country, Appa had probably caught on and the hunt resumed.
As I helped Thatha with tallying his expenses of July ’08 he said, ATP! You must accept finite disappointment but not lose infinite hope.
Clearly I needed to have whatever Thatha was having. Thatha then asked me to call up all our relatives and remind them about this.
Really! Who cares Thatha? And our family is large, but I am sure this will be a highly insignificant contribution, I tell him.
Be the change that you want to see, he begins. I hastily reach for the phone. I cannot handle any more pop philosophy. And besides, a black-out is comforting at some level.
I hop over to Periamma’s house and tell her about our family’s contribution to society. She has been a little sad lately, her elder daughter A Akka, who turned twenty eight sometime back, has decided to marry a Bengali boy.
They are Brahmins, but they eat fish, she told Paati.
Periamma is upset. I will not go for the wedding, she told me. Okay, but don’t forget the black-out, I remind her.
As I am leaving, she expresses her commiserations about the loss of Nano Boy. Our Tamizh Boys are no good, why don’t you marry some North Indian fellow from your Journalism School, she asks?
Be the change you want to see, I think
Sure. I will think about it, I say instead.
Back home, Appa wants me to book our tickets to go to Calcutta. We are representing the family at A Akka’s wedding.
Appa tells Chitappa, what is there? We need to be modern and change with the times.
The time is always right to do what is right, Thatha added.
And sometimes, that could be all of eight minutes.
When I would dawdle and not spend my time studying, he would tell to nobody in particular, in youth I wasted time and now time wastes me, as he would walk past.
If character is lost, everything is lost, he said with a flourish when yet another boy with suspect credentials had to be dropped from my matrimonial race.
A cliché to dismiss my ticking biological clock doesn’t seem to reassure Appa.
Our ATP turns twenty five in another fifteen days, Appa announces mournfully.
The last month has been a bit of a respite, the Aadi month is not just the best time to pick up saris, veshtis and towels for the whole year, but it also helps to stop the assault on my self worth. Albeit temporarily.
Did Nano Boy write to you, Appa asks me suddenly?
I cringe and do my bumbling routine. Nano Boy is the newest boy to be included in the race. No, he doesn’t work for an evil car enterprise; his work is in the area of the more noble Carbon Nanotubes.
When Nano Boy’s reference was provided by Warren Road Pattu Maami, Thatha beamed. He even made some DuPont reference and said, better living through chemistry for our ATP.
I wasn’t sure. Carbon Nanotubes? Hello, I am ATP from Madras and my husband is a Carbon Nanotubist?
When his parents came to check me out, to do a preliminary screening, they gushed on and on about their son. He is very bright, Nano Appa said. HE IS VERY BRIGHT, Nano Amma added.
Appa and Thatha nodded appreciatively.
In the absence of Amma, Periamma took on the role of belling the cat and asking the uncomfortable questions.
Nano Boy will be thirty two this year, she started.
Nano Amma and Nano Appa squirmed. Only after the Aadi Maasam (last year) did we take his jadagam out, Nano Amma said snootily. He was only interested in doing his PhD in *insert something that none of us understood*, Nano Appa offered in manner of explanation.
Age is just a number, Thatha reassured them sounding a bit like a breezy socialite. Periamma rolled her eyes and I began to wonder what Thatha had been smoking lately.
After some incomprehensible conversation and that the adults had on nanotechnology, they turned their attention to me. Nano Amma stared at me moodily and was looking at my head. She was probably counting the number of slides (clips?) that Periamma had brutally inserted into my hair to keep it in place.
My son is also very interested in music, Nano Amma began. I had to remind myself that the letter attached to my horoscope spoke in great detail about my love for and prowess in Carnatic music.
Only science and music interests him. You will need to woo him, she added conspirationally.
An email id was given and they left
A wedding before the age of twenty five, Appa beamed.
Thatha offered some advice from Shakespeare, you should be wooed and not made to woo.
I wrote my first email in October. Not flamboyantly. Not timidly. But honestly. Or at any rate, as honest as I could be. He wrote back soon enough, a wordy email. Sounding high-brow and nerdy, clearly designed to knock me out.
I was totally knocked out. I ought to have put an end to it after the very first email, but a vulgar curiosity and large quantities of boredom kept me going.
My favourite raagam is Vivahapriya, he said once.
What kind of person would like Vivahapriya? How many songs exist in this raagam? Isaiyil Thodanguthamma, from the highly pretentious Hey Ram? Why can’t I meet an ordinary sort of boy, you know someone who likes the more mundane (and very lovely) Reethi Gowla?
After every email that he sent me, I had to Google for stuff. His choice of literature, his desire to link mundane events and occurrences to science in general and Carbon Nanotubes in particular. His initial horoscope had failed to mention his middle name – Pedantic.
The only good thing that came out of all of this was, Amma and Appa put their hunt on a hold for a bit. Then one day, Nano Boy emailed me saying that he had met his to-be-wife and she worked in the area of Nanotoxicology. We must keep in touch and you ought to come for my wedding, he insisted.
Sure, I said and blocked him on my chat list. I decided that Amma and Appa didn’t need to know.
That the world’s dullest boy didn’t want to marry me, was a cross that I didn’t wish to bear.
But, since I began to sleep and live India time and not that of some strange country, Appa had probably caught on and the hunt resumed.
As I helped Thatha with tallying his expenses of July ’08 he said, ATP! You must accept finite disappointment but not lose infinite hope.
Clearly I needed to have whatever Thatha was having. Thatha then asked me to call up all our relatives and remind them about this.
Really! Who cares Thatha? And our family is large, but I am sure this will be a highly insignificant contribution, I tell him.
Be the change that you want to see, he begins. I hastily reach for the phone. I cannot handle any more pop philosophy. And besides, a black-out is comforting at some level.
I hop over to Periamma’s house and tell her about our family’s contribution to society. She has been a little sad lately, her elder daughter A Akka, who turned twenty eight sometime back, has decided to marry a Bengali boy.
They are Brahmins, but they eat fish, she told Paati.
Periamma is upset. I will not go for the wedding, she told me. Okay, but don’t forget the black-out, I remind her.
As I am leaving, she expresses her commiserations about the loss of Nano Boy. Our Tamizh Boys are no good, why don’t you marry some North Indian fellow from your Journalism School, she asks?
Be the change you want to see, I think
Sure. I will think about it, I say instead.
Back home, Appa wants me to book our tickets to go to Calcutta. We are representing the family at A Akka’s wedding.
Appa tells Chitappa, what is there? We need to be modern and change with the times.
The time is always right to do what is right, Thatha added.
And sometimes, that could be all of eight minutes.
Friday, April 11, 2008
Fourteen Postal Holidays
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.
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.
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.
Monday, October 1, 2007
Telugu Families need not apply
I have nothing against the Honorable Telugu people. Except that they are not worth marrying. Or even knowing in some cases. Unless they own a car. That comes with a driver. Telugu drivers tend to drive well. Mostly because they know how to overtake.
Over the weekend, there was a surprise visit by a Telugu Family with Eligible Bachelor. We've heard that there is a severe drop in the number of Telugu Women, hence, I was especially careful that they not cast their Gult net on our Asal Tamil Family.
To begin with, an average Telugu person eats too much rice. I cannot imagine a wedding where there might be 200 Telugu guests. It will result in the prices of rice shooting up. We are a very socially responsible family. Besides, in a proper Tamil Wedding, one is allowed only two rounds. Any more, and we think that you don't come from a family of decent means.
Telugu men are a bit different in their weight putting on patterns from the Tamil ones. The Tamil ones tend to develop a big belly, but the Telugu ones also develop a large bum. This would mean that the local plastic chair isn't enough for them. They also have strange names.
But the final blow was when the Telugu Lady loudly said "Kundi le poo pettu". My family and I were reasonably shocked. Why these Telugu people would want flowers in one's posterior is beyond our imagination. You pettufy poo in your kundi in the privacy of your own home please. We are very decent people. Besides apart from the Lotus, all our Tamil flowers are rather small.
Over the weekend, there was a surprise visit by a Telugu Family with Eligible Bachelor. We've heard that there is a severe drop in the number of Telugu Women, hence, I was especially careful that they not cast their Gult net on our Asal Tamil Family.
To begin with, an average Telugu person eats too much rice. I cannot imagine a wedding where there might be 200 Telugu guests. It will result in the prices of rice shooting up. We are a very socially responsible family. Besides, in a proper Tamil Wedding, one is allowed only two rounds. Any more, and we think that you don't come from a family of decent means.
Telugu men are a bit different in their weight putting on patterns from the Tamil ones. The Tamil ones tend to develop a big belly, but the Telugu ones also develop a large bum. This would mean that the local plastic chair isn't enough for them. They also have strange names.
But the final blow was when the Telugu Lady loudly said "Kundi le poo pettu". My family and I were reasonably shocked. Why these Telugu people would want flowers in one's posterior is beyond our imagination. You pettufy poo in your kundi in the privacy of your own home please. We are very decent people. Besides apart from the Lotus, all our Tamil flowers are rather small.
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
Notes for Prospective Mappillais (MPs)
The man who comes to collect our rubbish is very happy. We now have a huge pile of photographs, letters and photocopied horoscopes to dispose. However, we have decided to donate them to the Almost-Wrinked Tamil Maami Club. You become wrinkled only if you are a mamiyaar.
I am on the lookout for a good boy for my ATP. For the purpose of fruitful proposals, I now give you some basic rules that apply. Since good men in the Tamizh community are in short supply, the rules are relaxed for grooms. All you mappillai hopefuls please apply only if you can provide the following:
1. Your gothram/ nakshatram/ vadama status/ veda category.
2. Photocopies of land deeds stating that your family at one point owned atleast forty five acres of cultivable land in the Cauvery delta. If you lost all the land, kindly state reason. If your great grandfather got drunk at the Lawyers' Club and lost the land, kindly excuse.
3. Evidence that nobody in your family has ever done business. Or gone to the Gulf.
4. A photograph of your head, from a 30 degrees elevated angle, from a distance of about 2.5 feet. This is very important. You see, all my friends want to see the wedding photographs. And if a man is even slightly bald, the aseervadam seeking photographs (where bride and groom dive at various elderly feet) turn out very bad.
5. JEE Rank certificate.
6. Photograph of you in a Brilliant Tutorials advertisement. (Other Tutorial Boys need not apply.)
7. Evidence that your family has at least one Pichu Mama, Ambi Athimber, Vaithi Mama, Vichu Chittappa. One of each is enough. In extreme circumstances, we allow for Ambi Athai.
8. Additionally, also provide affidavits so we know there is at least one Delhi Athai in the family, with the Athimber having held some random position in the IAS. You may do your railway reservations online, but that is below our dignity. We don't go online to buy tickets, or even stand in queues. In our family, we call Delhi Athai and ensure that a Minister's quota is released.
9. If anybody in your family is named Ramanujan or has a dog named Tommy/ Timmy, kindly excuse.
Yours most Tamil-fully
Already Once-Mamiyaar
Pee.Ess: If anyone in your family refers to the other as "Akka", don't dare contact.
I am on the lookout for a good boy for my ATP. For the purpose of fruitful proposals, I now give you some basic rules that apply. Since good men in the Tamizh community are in short supply, the rules are relaxed for grooms. All you mappillai hopefuls please apply only if you can provide the following:
1. Your gothram/ nakshatram/ vadama status/ veda category.
2. Photocopies of land deeds stating that your family at one point owned atleast forty five acres of cultivable land in the Cauvery delta. If you lost all the land, kindly state reason. If your great grandfather got drunk at the Lawyers' Club and lost the land, kindly excuse.
3. Evidence that nobody in your family has ever done business. Or gone to the Gulf.
4. A photograph of your head, from a 30 degrees elevated angle, from a distance of about 2.5 feet. This is very important. You see, all my friends want to see the wedding photographs. And if a man is even slightly bald, the aseervadam seeking photographs (where bride and groom dive at various elderly feet) turn out very bad.
5. JEE Rank certificate.
6. Photograph of you in a Brilliant Tutorials advertisement. (Other Tutorial Boys need not apply.)
7. Evidence that your family has at least one Pichu Mama, Ambi Athimber, Vaithi Mama, Vichu Chittappa. One of each is enough. In extreme circumstances, we allow for Ambi Athai.
8. Additionally, also provide affidavits so we know there is at least one Delhi Athai in the family, with the Athimber having held some random position in the IAS. You may do your railway reservations online, but that is below our dignity. We don't go online to buy tickets, or even stand in queues. In our family, we call Delhi Athai and ensure that a Minister's quota is released.
9. If anybody in your family is named Ramanujan or has a dog named Tommy/ Timmy, kindly excuse.
Yours most Tamil-fully
Already Once-Mamiyaar
Pee.Ess: If anyone in your family refers to the other as "Akka", don't dare contact.
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.
Sunday, July 1, 2007
Dum Dum Dum
I am not an effervescent social butterfly. Since I am not made to be one, I more often than not try and avoid being one. But the last week has seen way too many opportunities to meet people spring up. It seems everyone is getting married. The single population among the Tamizh people must have seen a sharp decline in the last one week.
Everyone is getting married in AC Kalaynam Mandapams. It’s been raining in Madras for the last few days. The A/C had to be switched off on a number of occasions, because we don’t handle cold so well. I wonder if there is a clause that ensures some money back under such circumstances.
The rain notwithstanding, AC Kalyanam Mandapams are very annoying. With the some ten thousands of Kancheepuram Pattu generating immense quantities of heat, the whole exercise is futile. And then the homam anyway needs cross ventilation, so the AC is just to make the payyan veedu people happy, I suppose.
Weddings do serve two purposes though:
1. The Kalayanam Saapaadu
2. The Kutcheri
The first is the key purpose of a wedding, from the point of view of people besides the bride and the groom. It is also the best way to evaluate if a wedding went well and the likely happiness in married life of the couple. The paayasam, rasam and thayir are the most important things that one must evaluate. The paayasam needs to be thickened adequately. The subtle flavour of perungayam and kothamalli in the rasam must give you a high. And the thayir should neither be too sour or too bland. And it should not be that gooey annoying texture or have lumps. Oh and the temperature is critical, even if it can’t be served cold, it should most certainly not be warm.
However, one notices a trend that is slightly alarming. The paal paayasam is getting endangered. All kinds of things besides rice are getting used – like aval, semiya, javvuarassi. If one were to evaluate this from an economic point of view, it makes no sense. A kilo of ponni rice is priced at rupees 22 at the Murugan Stores in T Nagar and is probably even cheaper at Subhiksha. In contrast, javvuarassi costs rupees 35. From a calorific point of view also one makes no savings. And the taste drops down by a few notches. It is just the laziness of the caterer that has resulted in such a thing. The gooeyness of the texture of the javvuarassi creates the illusion that the milk has been thickened.
Of course, one of the weddings that we went to had splendid food. As we walked out eating the beeda, amma made a quick dash to the kitchen and got the card of the contract person.
Thankfully all the kalyanams we went to had the reception after the Muhurtham. I am just too conservative and pessimistic, I suppose. What if the thaali does not get tied and you click many pictures with strange man? So much can happen over one night.
The kutcheris were mostly bearable, barring one that featured something called “Light” music. Light music = Much noise and heavily breathing into a mike. Besides it is hardly exciting to hear a song that has anyway been ruined by Udit Whatizname anyway.
The others did not feature any of the biggies though. No TM Krishna or Sudha Ragunathan sorts, but many young artists performed. Every kalyanam apparently featured an alleged ‘prodigy’. Too many prodigical Tamizh artistes one might derive.
The saddest part is, nobody ever listens to these kutcheris. Ever. People sit in the front row and talk very very loudly. Me and appa always make it a point to at least listen to two songs, no matter how obscure and bad the artist be. Even if it meant that I had to go through the ordeal of listening to one, not a prodigy anymore lady kill one of our family favorite songs, immortalized by the late DK Pattammal, Eppadi Padinaro. The Karnataka Devagandhari went so awry, it probably reached Karnataka or even more North than that.
Of course, the only purpose of a wedding is to show off potential brides and grooms to potential “other” gothram people. During the Oonjal, amma made sure that I was among the crowd that sang, Gauri / Sita Kalyanam. Amma can be such an embarrassment at times.
However, I had my moment of revenge. Many maamis came up to me and asked me, Enna height? It is a little embarrassing to be this Tamizh girl who is taller than most Tamizh boys. I mumbled some outrageously incorrect number. Like the elders always say, a hundred lies are legitimate when it comes to gothram migration. People lie about skin tone, weight, IQ and non existent skills. One might argue that you cannot lie about your height, but if amma says I can, then I can. And I will. And I must. By the time, I got to the fourth wedding, I was bored of lying. And besides I am twenty three, I can’t marry now. All single Tamizh boys are 28 and above. I would rather wait till I am 25, when I will meet the now 26 but then 28 year old boys. So I tell maami at the fourth wedding that I am 5’8”. Of course, I am not. But she believes me. And seemed sufficiently disgusted even. Amma was livid. In her anger, we almost forgot to take the Taambolam Pai and the oddly shaped stainless steel dabba. But some helpful person spotted us walking away empty handed and gave us the same.
Kalyanams are great place to spot trends and understand the mood of the people. After the dull and subtle colours that one saw during the last year wedding season, thanks to slightly posh stores such as Sundari Silks and RMKV, it seems Pothy’s and Nalli’s have stuck back this year. The gaudy and bright colours are back. Tradition is back. Mambazham Yellow, Parrot Green and MS Blue were omnipresent. Weddings are lovely, mostly because T Nagar sparkles, shimmers and dazzles you from every corner.
The loot at the end of the week has been – 14 coconuts, 4 stainless steel dabbas, two blouse pieces, one silver lamp and a number of plastic and paper bags with Vinayagar of all shapes embedded into them.
Amma is still mad at me.
I have learnt to SMS and when I write to T Anna saying that, Amma is fuming, the intelligent dictionary in my mobile phone helpfully suggests that instead of Amma, I should type, Bomb.
Everyone is getting married in AC Kalaynam Mandapams. It’s been raining in Madras for the last few days. The A/C had to be switched off on a number of occasions, because we don’t handle cold so well. I wonder if there is a clause that ensures some money back under such circumstances.
The rain notwithstanding, AC Kalyanam Mandapams are very annoying. With the some ten thousands of Kancheepuram Pattu generating immense quantities of heat, the whole exercise is futile. And then the homam anyway needs cross ventilation, so the AC is just to make the payyan veedu people happy, I suppose.
Weddings do serve two purposes though:
1. The Kalayanam Saapaadu
2. The Kutcheri
The first is the key purpose of a wedding, from the point of view of people besides the bride and the groom. It is also the best way to evaluate if a wedding went well and the likely happiness in married life of the couple. The paayasam, rasam and thayir are the most important things that one must evaluate. The paayasam needs to be thickened adequately. The subtle flavour of perungayam and kothamalli in the rasam must give you a high. And the thayir should neither be too sour or too bland. And it should not be that gooey annoying texture or have lumps. Oh and the temperature is critical, even if it can’t be served cold, it should most certainly not be warm.
However, one notices a trend that is slightly alarming. The paal paayasam is getting endangered. All kinds of things besides rice are getting used – like aval, semiya, javvuarassi. If one were to evaluate this from an economic point of view, it makes no sense. A kilo of ponni rice is priced at rupees 22 at the Murugan Stores in T Nagar and is probably even cheaper at Subhiksha. In contrast, javvuarassi costs rupees 35. From a calorific point of view also one makes no savings. And the taste drops down by a few notches. It is just the laziness of the caterer that has resulted in such a thing. The gooeyness of the texture of the javvuarassi creates the illusion that the milk has been thickened.
Of course, one of the weddings that we went to had splendid food. As we walked out eating the beeda, amma made a quick dash to the kitchen and got the card of the contract person.
Thankfully all the kalyanams we went to had the reception after the Muhurtham. I am just too conservative and pessimistic, I suppose. What if the thaali does not get tied and you click many pictures with strange man? So much can happen over one night.
The kutcheris were mostly bearable, barring one that featured something called “Light” music. Light music = Much noise and heavily breathing into a mike. Besides it is hardly exciting to hear a song that has anyway been ruined by Udit Whatizname anyway.
The others did not feature any of the biggies though. No TM Krishna or Sudha Ragunathan sorts, but many young artists performed. Every kalyanam apparently featured an alleged ‘prodigy’. Too many prodigical Tamizh artistes one might derive.
The saddest part is, nobody ever listens to these kutcheris. Ever. People sit in the front row and talk very very loudly. Me and appa always make it a point to at least listen to two songs, no matter how obscure and bad the artist be. Even if it meant that I had to go through the ordeal of listening to one, not a prodigy anymore lady kill one of our family favorite songs, immortalized by the late DK Pattammal, Eppadi Padinaro. The Karnataka Devagandhari went so awry, it probably reached Karnataka or even more North than that.
Of course, the only purpose of a wedding is to show off potential brides and grooms to potential “other” gothram people. During the Oonjal, amma made sure that I was among the crowd that sang, Gauri / Sita Kalyanam. Amma can be such an embarrassment at times.
However, I had my moment of revenge. Many maamis came up to me and asked me, Enna height? It is a little embarrassing to be this Tamizh girl who is taller than most Tamizh boys. I mumbled some outrageously incorrect number. Like the elders always say, a hundred lies are legitimate when it comes to gothram migration. People lie about skin tone, weight, IQ and non existent skills. One might argue that you cannot lie about your height, but if amma says I can, then I can. And I will. And I must. By the time, I got to the fourth wedding, I was bored of lying. And besides I am twenty three, I can’t marry now. All single Tamizh boys are 28 and above. I would rather wait till I am 25, when I will meet the now 26 but then 28 year old boys. So I tell maami at the fourth wedding that I am 5’8”. Of course, I am not. But she believes me. And seemed sufficiently disgusted even. Amma was livid. In her anger, we almost forgot to take the Taambolam Pai and the oddly shaped stainless steel dabba. But some helpful person spotted us walking away empty handed and gave us the same.
Kalyanams are great place to spot trends and understand the mood of the people. After the dull and subtle colours that one saw during the last year wedding season, thanks to slightly posh stores such as Sundari Silks and RMKV, it seems Pothy’s and Nalli’s have stuck back this year. The gaudy and bright colours are back. Tradition is back. Mambazham Yellow, Parrot Green and MS Blue were omnipresent. Weddings are lovely, mostly because T Nagar sparkles, shimmers and dazzles you from every corner.
The loot at the end of the week has been – 14 coconuts, 4 stainless steel dabbas, two blouse pieces, one silver lamp and a number of plastic and paper bags with Vinayagar of all shapes embedded into them.
Amma is still mad at me.
I have learnt to SMS and when I write to T Anna saying that, Amma is fuming, the intelligent dictionary in my mobile phone helpfully suggests that instead of Amma, I should type, Bomb.
Tuesday, June 19, 2007
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?
Saturday, June 9, 2007
Karthik, Sriram and Murali
I met him first, when I was in UKG. I didn’t like him at all. He used to drool. Euck.
I met him again, when I was in Class IV. I didn’t like him at all. He used to untie my shoe-laces. Gah.
I met him again, when I was in Class IX, I didn’t like him at all. He had a funny laugh and was most shifty eyed. Grrr.
I met him again in college during an inter-college festival. He was trying orrey the hard. I was rather put off.
Then again I met him at work last week. I have not found a reason to hate him. Yet.
Some names are never meant to be disliked and some always. During my years of schooling, tuitions and assorted classes, I have met at least 20 Karthiks, 16 Srirams, 14 Muralis.
They have all been very annoying. Without exception.
Over years, to minimize my effort, I decided that anybody who is named any of that must be disliked. Why waste time giving people a chance right?
S, the astute mathematician that she is, tells me, I have eliminated 70% of the single Tamizh Boys population in the process. I am not sure how to explain this to S, but all selection is normally based on elimination and not a preference. Mathematics assumes a certain amount of parity to begin with, which is not how it is.
And besides, irrational dislike for people is a good thing. It is better than, what I heard from the family grapevine just now. Amma and Maami are discussing about the attempts of one of the girls in the neighborhood - A akka to get married (what else).
Seems that A akka who is a rather nice sort usually, has turned down a boy recently. Her rationale was that, the boy’s house had no furniture and too many ugly plastic flowers. She thinks that it suggests that the boy’s family is not very progressive enough.
Amma is of course thankful that A Akka was Bharadwaja Gothram and was never in contention, but she is a little worried for T Anna. He is destined to die single, she is convinced.
I just hope we never have to get rid of the immensely ugly plastic beads gopuram (that I had created many years back during a summer vacation) and solar wood malai kotai just to get T Anna married. It is not worth it.
I also take this opportunity to tell amma, at least I don’t have such problems.
Being irrational is way cooler than being a snob.
I met him again, when I was in Class IV. I didn’t like him at all. He used to untie my shoe-laces. Gah.
I met him again, when I was in Class IX, I didn’t like him at all. He had a funny laugh and was most shifty eyed. Grrr.
I met him again in college during an inter-college festival. He was trying orrey the hard. I was rather put off.
Then again I met him at work last week. I have not found a reason to hate him. Yet.
Some names are never meant to be disliked and some always. During my years of schooling, tuitions and assorted classes, I have met at least 20 Karthiks, 16 Srirams, 14 Muralis.
They have all been very annoying. Without exception.
Over years, to minimize my effort, I decided that anybody who is named any of that must be disliked. Why waste time giving people a chance right?
S, the astute mathematician that she is, tells me, I have eliminated 70% of the single Tamizh Boys population in the process. I am not sure how to explain this to S, but all selection is normally based on elimination and not a preference. Mathematics assumes a certain amount of parity to begin with, which is not how it is.
And besides, irrational dislike for people is a good thing. It is better than, what I heard from the family grapevine just now. Amma and Maami are discussing about the attempts of one of the girls in the neighborhood - A akka to get married (what else).
Seems that A akka who is a rather nice sort usually, has turned down a boy recently. Her rationale was that, the boy’s house had no furniture and too many ugly plastic flowers. She thinks that it suggests that the boy’s family is not very progressive enough.
Amma is of course thankful that A Akka was Bharadwaja Gothram and was never in contention, but she is a little worried for T Anna. He is destined to die single, she is convinced.
I just hope we never have to get rid of the immensely ugly plastic beads gopuram (that I had created many years back during a summer vacation) and solar wood malai kotai just to get T Anna married. It is not worth it.
I also take this opportunity to tell amma, at least I don’t have such problems.
Being irrational is way cooler than being a snob.
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?
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