Is it cold there, S Maami asks?
The winters must have set in there, Iyengaar Maami adds knowingly.
I heard that there was a frost warning two weeks back, Alacrity Maami announced.
Amma has returned and the T Nagar Maamis seem to be under the belief that Amma is some kind of a weather satellite that they had sent out to monitor the global climate. The burning question in their minds is, did the investment on the thermal-wear from Naidu Hall pay off?
Amma looked overwhelmed and tired as a result of all the attention. Six months have aged her considerably. She is surprisingly quiet. She chooses her words carefully and all her movements seem to be deliberate and in slow-motion. The suitcase is yet to be unpacked and the boxes of Ziploc bags and assorted stuff manufactured in Asia and retailed in discount stores in America are yet to make an appearance. So, I remain unsure how successful the trip has been for Amma. Yet, I would like to hazard a guess, and say that, the American Dream doesn't seem to have worked for her.
Six months is a long time. Appa, who had been at the receiving end of my domestic experiments will vouch for that. But, it must have been longer for Amma. Six months of vacuuming a large and empty house must be tiring. Six months of doing cleaning and assorted household work must be boring. If the only outlet to unwind is a visit to the local library, six months must indeed be a long time. Six months of religiously playing the sport of fattening your children must be tiresome. Six months of waiting for weekends to meet them, must be pathos inducing. And most importantly, six months away from T Nagar must be heart-breaking.
How is M Manni, G Periamma asks Amma, in a gleeful tone. Everyone looks at Amma with some interest. Now, that should get her talking. There must be a dozen reasons at least, why M Manni is not good enough for the precious T Anna. Amma surprised G Periamma and me when she said, M Manni is an affectionate girl. Amma stresses on affectionate, the way she does when English words slip into whatever she says.
Did you know M Manni wears contact lenses, Amma asked me suddenly? Deceit, I think, I wonder how Amma would have reacted when she saw M Manni with glasses for the first time. I would have liked to have been there. But it seems, that is not enough reason to launch an attack against the daughter-in-law and Amma said, nowadays you get disposable lenses, they are very comfortable, you know. She adds further, it stablises the power. She is trying to convince T Anna to get one too. Amma sounds satisfied, like her son is now in good hands. I am just a little shocked. I am also happy and a little jealous. I don't get that kind of approval after twenty-five years.
Where all did you go, S Maami asks. Did you go to the Coca Cola factory in Atlanta, 106 Maami asks? What about Lake Tahoe, another Maami almost breathlessly asks, lest some other Maami beat her to it. What about the Grand Canyon and Niagara Falls, G Periamma asks, as she tries to remember some photographs that her brother had shown her some years ago. I hope you went to Boston and saw Harvard, Alacrity Maami said in an almost indignant tone. What about Las Vegas, S Maami suggested playfully.
I rolled my eyes as the Maami's questions traveled effortlessly across coasts and with scanty regard for distances and T Anna's financial ability to fund this wanderlust. All of this, just so that, they could show off their own knowledge. I decide that I couldn't take this anymore and got ready to leave the room. It was Amma's response that made me pause, as she said, we didn't go out very much. T Anna is having some tension at work.
N Chitappa who was watching the TV on mute (he believes that TV is merely a visual medium. Though the theory floating around in the family is, he is partially deaf and cannot listen in to the conversation among the women-folk, usually gossiping in the next room if the TV is also on.). Anyway, he perked up at Amma's statement and asked her, Recession aa, clucking his tongue like he was biting into a juicy and sweet jangri from Suriya Sweets.
Apdi ellam onnum illai, Amma said,just a tad too quickly. Some general tension only, she offered in manner of explanation of her earlier statement.
At least, he didn't shoot you and M Manni, G Periamma added, rather unkindly, as the colour drained out of Amma's face. The Maamis got into a discussion on how shocking it was that a Tamil Brahmin boy that too from IIT would be involved in something as macabre. Personally, I am glad. Not glad that people got killed or that people are moved to such desperation. But, at least, T Anna and his friends will not get into a match-the dormitory/hostel-game, Over the years, I have noticed, every occasion when some IIT alumni has achieved any success, there is an almost pathological need to match dormitories or hostels that they might have shared, even if it was twenty-five years apart. Notorious alumni, don't make you do that. Yes, I am somewhat pleased.
Too much pressure in IIT these days, 106 Maami says, as she thinks about her own son from the hallowed walls.
Yes yes, N Chitappa offers. You can't be that smart and not be a little insane, hanh. All boys and girls who go to IIT must be at least 10% insane.
I can't suppress the giggle and wonder about several things, like – how did N Chitappa arrive at this figure, what is the upper limit of this insanity percentage and what level does he peg T Anna and S at. N Chitappa suddenly notices me and asks me to come and talk to him. I know it is not going to be very pleasant, but with little choice, I go and sit next to him. So, what does the Indian media think about this global financial crisis, hanh, he wants me to tell him.
Ummm, I say. I hate it when my views are supposed to represent a group of individuals, more so when they don't know that they are being represented. And especially my views on a subject that I have very limited knowledge about.
All the Maamis now turn their attention to me and for the first time in the day seem to notice my presence in the room. I strain to think back about all the news reports that I might have read or the snatches of conversation thread that I might have heard but not really listened. But, I draw a blank and all I can recall is how M and I discussed about the Mangayar Malar's hundred Deepavali sweets. Hundred sweets made up with the ration shop sugar, Aaavin cooking butter and cheap cashews bought from Burma Bazaar in Trichy don't suggest a recession, do they?
It is terrible, I say finally. Rather stupidly. The Maamis look a little disappointed and mostly satisfied that they need not re-evalaute their opinion about me. Oblivious to my misery and not wanting to lose his captive audience, N Chitappa continues, it is worse than terrible, do you know Iceland has become bankrupt. The knowledge of an an entire country going bankrupt makes them feel horrified and strangely excited at the same time. So, what is this recession about, S Maami asked?
And so, N Chitappa launched into his idiot's guide to the sub-prime crisis. I am not sure if N Chitappa had ever had such large bunch of captive women audience. Madras Thatha, had come into the room by then and we couldn't help but exchange a smile as N Chitappa spoke about Ninja borrowers, Federal Reserve, Washington Mutual, confidence crisis, bankrupt investment banks, government bail-out and the works. The Maamis are agog with curiosity and questions tumble out. Some are logical. Aren't the banks legally bound to pay the investment banks even if their customers defaulted, Alacrity Maami demands to know. Some are merely trying to get their voice heard and will ask any kind of question. Who is a Ninja Warrior, S Maami wishes to know. The Japanese Kamal in Dasavatharam of course, 106 Maami says. After a minor digression that involved discussing each of the avataarams, it was concluded that Japanese Ninja Avataaram was clearly the worst. G Periamma had only one thing to ask, so why did Karthik kill himself and his family? That too a Fulbright scholar son, Amma said in an offended tone. All the Maamis agreed that it would be quite alright if stupid children were killed. Not liking the way the conversation was going, I decided to leave the room.
In my room, I Googled for stuff and found this, it was less dramatic and more informative than whatever N Chitappa was getting at. And most importantly it didn't establish a relationship between loan defaulters and inevitable death.
I wonder, why would any of this impact T Anna. He was not an investment banker or any other kind of banker. The only explanation I can think of is that, he is probably one of those debtors who didn't pay back the money and was in some way responsible for this crisis. He had bought a house recently, hadn't he?
Amma comes to my room and her blank expression is now replaced with the I-don't-like-what-I-see expression as she looks at my hair. I think, for six months you must not have applied any oil, she pronounces disgustedly. I want to protest and tell her that, I have been religiously following the oil and Meera herbal powder routine with poor results to show for. But, I hold back. After all, she has just traveled time-zones, have a dream shattered and a global worry in the back of her mind that refuses to go away.
We should go to the Vadaplani Kovil tomorrow. It is only Asthami but that is okay, she says peeping into the day ahead on the Rani Muthu calendar. Yes, I agree meekly. Also go and get that bottle of oil, let me see what you have done without me, she says in her assured tone. I can see that it is already working. And probably a god seated on a blue peacock, 10 ml of oil and few days of the T Nagar air is all that she needs to convince herself about her infallibility.
After which, she will forget about a global crisis and tell us the real story behind the horrific discovery of her daughter-in-law's glasses and the likely impact of this on the eye-sight of the grandchild who might someday be named after her.
Showing posts with label T Nagar. Show all posts
Showing posts with label T Nagar. Show all posts
Monday, October 20, 2008
Thursday, July 5, 2007
Madras Thatha
Talk of the moon and first salary reminds me of something that is taking up inordinate amounts of mind-space.
Now that I am working and also making some money, I not only need to give the money for the petrol, I also need to show my love and affection to members of the clan by getting them first salary presents.
Why exactly does one need to give them presents, is a grey area. Is it because I share my gothram with a large number of them? Or would it be because they have in their little way determined and helped me in arriving at my life choices?
When amma proposes. One meekly agrees. Especially when you are trying to get back into her good graces.
Amma has a simple formula, one small “token” for each family. Given the complexities involved in buying a cheap yet useful and likely to get appreciation gift, I have decided that in every family, if there is a female relative in the age-group of 18 to 30, they must get a gift. It is much simpler to buy gifts for women. Especially if you are a woman yourself.
However, of the seventeen presents I need to buy; only three of them fit this criteria. So, I am struggling. What to buy for the chitappa who has everything and the periappa who appreciates nothing?
It is tough. It is boring. Therefore, I have given the task to S.
S will find stuff. That much I am sure about. She is resourceful. She has a keen eye for detail. And most importantly she loves the whole world, including the clan. So things that can be put into plastic bags and be truly what the recipient desires, will find her. Even inanimate objects seek a loving eye.
Two particular gifts however, I must buy myself. That for the thathas.
In the hierarchy that exists in the clan. The thatha is supreme. The paati is almost up there. Then come the gothram periappa and gothram chitappa. The maama. The non gothram periamma and chitti. And finally the atthai.
But Thathas are awe-inspiring and the best buddy, altogether at the same time. My maternal thatha is wonderful. Full of enthusiasm and a roguish streak, he is who I hope to become someday.
The paternal thatha, that is Madras thatha, is perhaps, who I already am. Sometimes stubborn, sometimes whiney, sometimes idealist, sometimes funny, sometimes moody, sometimes finishes crossword, sometimes not.
He is the adult I have been most closely associated with through my growing up years. For seventeen years we lived in the same house. His house. With one bedroom. One hall. One kitchen and a separate bathroom and a toilet. When I think of Madras Thatha, I think of Bazlullah Road. And the lovely house I grew up in. But the house was difficult to maintain. All the neighbors had sold their homes. So Thatha had no choice, but to let go.
Since then, we moved to Boag Road and thatha and paati stay at TP Road, in the same apartment as periappa and his family.
Madras Thatha is an independent sort of man. He likes to do his own thing. He is fairly anti-social and has caused paati immense amount of grief.
Three years ago, we got a frantic call from Paati, Thatha who was then 77 had left home for his morning walk at 6:00 am sharp and not returned until 9:30. Amma got frantic and immediately called Warren Road Pattu Maami, the one with important connections. We all then set out to look for him, partly annoyed with him and partly dying of guilt. Finally, he returned home. At 11 o’clock. Safe and without damage. Seems that, he decided to skip paati’s idli for the masala dosai and sambhar vadai at Sangeeta’s.
After that it was decided, I would go on a morning walk with thatha, to keep an eye on him. We used to walk up to the T Nagar Club each morning and attempt to solve the Crossword together. It was fun. But after three weeks, I dropped out. For one, Thatha walked too fast. In fact, T Anna calls him, Gandhi Thatha because of the way that he marches forth. The other thing was, he refused to take any other route. I got a bit tired of Venkata Narayana Road each day. And of course, he knew far more number of words that I ever did.
Thatha also had a bicycle for very long. Having worked for the Murugappa Group for a short while, he had got a little attached to one. We never saw him riding it. But he wiped it each day. Took care of it. And refused to let go of it. Till he got tired of paati using it as a clothes-line and gave it away.
So, what does one get the Thatha?
Amma says, a mobile phone would be useful. So that paati can keep tabs on him. Am not too sure if thatha will appreciate that. Besides, he turns 80 this year, not like he goes out alone that often.
Torch to find lost things? Watch to keep looking at? Figs to eat for better bowel movement? Jarigai Veshti that he can wear for the kalyanam next week? A book of crosswords that he will try and solve in one day? A coupon from Apollo Hospital so that he can do a Master Health Check-Up?
What? What?
Thatha has not been too well the last few months. A slight variation in the ECG, but nothing to worry about. A slight pain in the back, but nothing to worry about. Occasional dizzy spells, but nothing to worry about.
Thatha turns 80 in September. The 80th Birthday has immense significance. They say, a person has seen a thousand moons by then. We plan to celebrate his Sathabhishekam in a grand way. Appa is getting all emotional and wants to go back to the home of the Tamaraparani to celebrate. Periappa thinks otherwise. Everyday they debate.
Thatha’s health has been a bit of a worry. They say, before a significant landmark in your life, such things happen.
Last week, at one of the weddings, Thatha lost his slippers. Somebody had stolen them. T Anna had bought these for thatha three years ago, from the Woodlands store at Panagal Park. It was very expensive, but thatha basked in the love of his favorite grandson. Never mind that he scolded him in a good natured manner. Amma was upset that her son bought his grandfather a pair of slippers.
I expected thatha would get upset. He normally gets upset when the clock stops running. But he did not. On the contrary, he was happy. He said, the peedai has been gotten rid off. Losing a pair of slippers can end a bad patch.
I am happy for him. I even volunteer to buy him a new pair. He declines and says, ask T Anna to come and buy me one.
The prodigal son shall return this September, to celebrate the Thatha’s birthday.
Suddenly, I feel very insignificant.
Now that I am working and also making some money, I not only need to give the money for the petrol, I also need to show my love and affection to members of the clan by getting them first salary presents.
Why exactly does one need to give them presents, is a grey area. Is it because I share my gothram with a large number of them? Or would it be because they have in their little way determined and helped me in arriving at my life choices?
When amma proposes. One meekly agrees. Especially when you are trying to get back into her good graces.
Amma has a simple formula, one small “token” for each family. Given the complexities involved in buying a cheap yet useful and likely to get appreciation gift, I have decided that in every family, if there is a female relative in the age-group of 18 to 30, they must get a gift. It is much simpler to buy gifts for women. Especially if you are a woman yourself.
However, of the seventeen presents I need to buy; only three of them fit this criteria. So, I am struggling. What to buy for the chitappa who has everything and the periappa who appreciates nothing?
It is tough. It is boring. Therefore, I have given the task to S.
S will find stuff. That much I am sure about. She is resourceful. She has a keen eye for detail. And most importantly she loves the whole world, including the clan. So things that can be put into plastic bags and be truly what the recipient desires, will find her. Even inanimate objects seek a loving eye.
Two particular gifts however, I must buy myself. That for the thathas.
In the hierarchy that exists in the clan. The thatha is supreme. The paati is almost up there. Then come the gothram periappa and gothram chitappa. The maama. The non gothram periamma and chitti. And finally the atthai.
But Thathas are awe-inspiring and the best buddy, altogether at the same time. My maternal thatha is wonderful. Full of enthusiasm and a roguish streak, he is who I hope to become someday.
The paternal thatha, that is Madras thatha, is perhaps, who I already am. Sometimes stubborn, sometimes whiney, sometimes idealist, sometimes funny, sometimes moody, sometimes finishes crossword, sometimes not.
He is the adult I have been most closely associated with through my growing up years. For seventeen years we lived in the same house. His house. With one bedroom. One hall. One kitchen and a separate bathroom and a toilet. When I think of Madras Thatha, I think of Bazlullah Road. And the lovely house I grew up in. But the house was difficult to maintain. All the neighbors had sold their homes. So Thatha had no choice, but to let go.
Since then, we moved to Boag Road and thatha and paati stay at TP Road, in the same apartment as periappa and his family.
Madras Thatha is an independent sort of man. He likes to do his own thing. He is fairly anti-social and has caused paati immense amount of grief.
Three years ago, we got a frantic call from Paati, Thatha who was then 77 had left home for his morning walk at 6:00 am sharp and not returned until 9:30. Amma got frantic and immediately called Warren Road Pattu Maami, the one with important connections. We all then set out to look for him, partly annoyed with him and partly dying of guilt. Finally, he returned home. At 11 o’clock. Safe and without damage. Seems that, he decided to skip paati’s idli for the masala dosai and sambhar vadai at Sangeeta’s.
After that it was decided, I would go on a morning walk with thatha, to keep an eye on him. We used to walk up to the T Nagar Club each morning and attempt to solve the Crossword together. It was fun. But after three weeks, I dropped out. For one, Thatha walked too fast. In fact, T Anna calls him, Gandhi Thatha because of the way that he marches forth. The other thing was, he refused to take any other route. I got a bit tired of Venkata Narayana Road each day. And of course, he knew far more number of words that I ever did.
Thatha also had a bicycle for very long. Having worked for the Murugappa Group for a short while, he had got a little attached to one. We never saw him riding it. But he wiped it each day. Took care of it. And refused to let go of it. Till he got tired of paati using it as a clothes-line and gave it away.
So, what does one get the Thatha?
Amma says, a mobile phone would be useful. So that paati can keep tabs on him. Am not too sure if thatha will appreciate that. Besides, he turns 80 this year, not like he goes out alone that often.
Torch to find lost things? Watch to keep looking at? Figs to eat for better bowel movement? Jarigai Veshti that he can wear for the kalyanam next week? A book of crosswords that he will try and solve in one day? A coupon from Apollo Hospital so that he can do a Master Health Check-Up?
What? What?
Thatha has not been too well the last few months. A slight variation in the ECG, but nothing to worry about. A slight pain in the back, but nothing to worry about. Occasional dizzy spells, but nothing to worry about.
Thatha turns 80 in September. The 80th Birthday has immense significance. They say, a person has seen a thousand moons by then. We plan to celebrate his Sathabhishekam in a grand way. Appa is getting all emotional and wants to go back to the home of the Tamaraparani to celebrate. Periappa thinks otherwise. Everyday they debate.
Thatha’s health has been a bit of a worry. They say, before a significant landmark in your life, such things happen.
Last week, at one of the weddings, Thatha lost his slippers. Somebody had stolen them. T Anna had bought these for thatha three years ago, from the Woodlands store at Panagal Park. It was very expensive, but thatha basked in the love of his favorite grandson. Never mind that he scolded him in a good natured manner. Amma was upset that her son bought his grandfather a pair of slippers.
I expected thatha would get upset. He normally gets upset when the clock stops running. But he did not. On the contrary, he was happy. He said, the peedai has been gotten rid off. Losing a pair of slippers can end a bad patch.
I am happy for him. I even volunteer to buy him a new pair. He declines and says, ask T Anna to come and buy me one.
The prodigal son shall return this September, to celebrate the Thatha’s birthday.
Suddenly, I feel very insignificant.
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?
Wednesday, June 6, 2007
Naidu Hall
Important Boss Person: Naidu Hall is now split and one of it is called Nai Ha.
Me: Oh dear. Why?
Important Boss Person: They just removed ‘dull’ from it.
Me: Uh huh.
(Note to Self: When boss cracks lame jokes, learn to laugh violently)
Amma is orrey upset. Naidu Hall family has fought with each other, she says. Just like Whatizname Ambani versus Whatizname Ambani. The Pondy Bazaar store has been divided right in the middle.
Which Hall to go to, amma wails.
Naidu Hall, the store that traditionally sold under-garments and blouses at some point got hip and began to retail all items hi-fashion. It was essential to every woman’s fashion needs. Dubai Atthai used to say that its reison d’etre was that it stocked bras and blouses in all sizes, thus empowering well-endowed Tamizh women.
Sad only this is. Madras, T Nagar and Pondy Bazar shall never be the same again.
Me: Oh dear. Why?
Important Boss Person: They just removed ‘dull’ from it.
Me: Uh huh.
(Note to Self: When boss cracks lame jokes, learn to laugh violently)
Amma is orrey upset. Naidu Hall family has fought with each other, she says. Just like Whatizname Ambani versus Whatizname Ambani. The Pondy Bazaar store has been divided right in the middle.
Which Hall to go to, amma wails.
Naidu Hall, the store that traditionally sold under-garments and blouses at some point got hip and began to retail all items hi-fashion. It was essential to every woman’s fashion needs. Dubai Atthai used to say that its reison d’etre was that it stocked bras and blouses in all sizes, thus empowering well-endowed Tamizh women.
Sad only this is. Madras, T Nagar and Pondy Bazar shall never be the same again.
Tuesday, June 5, 2007
Azhaga Pottu Vechuko
Is amma’s constant advice to both me and my Little Sister (Not so little is what she would like me to believe, I am not really convinced naturally.)
I am the middle of three siblings. I never could be the first-born that all parents are proud of or the youngest child whom everyone feels indulgent and infinitely forgiving towards. Families with three children are not so common-place these days. I always felt peculiar all through my school and college when I met boys and girls who mostly came from two siblings (celebrated happy family stereotype) or only child homes.
Three of you aa, many people would ask me with a certain incredulity. I mean three children was so 1960’s.
However, barring the occasional resentment, I was happy with the status. After all two siblings versus one make for far more engaging battles than just one against the other.
Of course, three people from the same family in a house can lead to large-scale divide and rule policy that amma and appa would do to manage all of us better. From marks, to height, to body fat, to how soon one eats the meals, to who first bows down to parental pressure, to who will follow tradition the most, to who will not sulk when amma wants to make a kovil visit, to who will wake up the earliest, to who will sleep the earliest, to who will be more Tamizh - everything was a contest.
Amma, appa, the clan members, the neighborhood, everyone and their uncles were evaluating you on all or some of those.
I realized as a young child, the perils of being in the middle, because “you in the middle”, are the most easy to ignore. The focus was always on the extremities.
Very early on, it was established that T Anna would certainly have superior mathematics skill. I used to love the subject. Even today I am usually in awe of anybody who even as much mentions the M word. All through my growing years, the magical three words were never. I Love You. Oh no, not that. How post-modernist, as thata would say (not that I had any clue what he meant, but one never questioned him). It was always, Centum in Maths. And even though T Anna took it upon his shoulder to tutor me on Boolean Algebra, I just refused to understand the connection between truth and binary numbers. And while between T Anna’s obsession and my school-teachers desire that their flawless reputation not be tarnished, I did okay. But it was a struggle. In all, mathematics made me feel - inadequate and less Tamizh.
The Little Sister S, is the artistic sorts. Amma thinks that her Thanjavur gene has paid off through S. She sings, dances, paints, and can create all kind of things with lots of flair and artistry. She also has a natural effervescence, lovely hair and shiny brown skin that draw everybody to her. I sense that she will be a heart-breaker someday. Except that, she won’t actually break any hearts.
I am proud of my siblings. And I love them. Though, we never say such things. You know, things like, I love my family. Love is implied in all the things that we do and don’t, it is never professed loudly.
Of course, I can’t and didn’t wish to compete with the siblings. And also I knew that, should I choose to compete, I will fail. Miserably too.
So I decided that I will be the pleaser child, the one who will quickly agree with everything that the parental desire seeks. I also tried to be more Tamizh than my siblings.
So I learnt the script, read Sujatha, watched Gemini and Sivaji paddams, learnt to sing a number of Subramanya Bharathi songs and stuck pottu on my forehead like my life depended on it.
Pottu, the small dot/line/star/anything else that catches your fancy or imagination, helped to establish my Tamizhness.
Nalla ponnu, neighborhood maamis would tell amma approvingly whenever they saw me.
When I was younger, a small round one did the trick. All trips to Pondy Bazaar involved picking up a few packets. Some black, some red and some in multiple bright and harsh colours. But I loved them. Of course, I had no clue about it representing the mystical third eye or Shakti. All I knew was that, it was a Hindu woman/ married woman thing.
But to me, it represented asserting my Tamizhness.
As the years go by, the pottu has been shrinking in size. But at least, I have not yet lost it.
I am the middle of three siblings. I never could be the first-born that all parents are proud of or the youngest child whom everyone feels indulgent and infinitely forgiving towards. Families with three children are not so common-place these days. I always felt peculiar all through my school and college when I met boys and girls who mostly came from two siblings (celebrated happy family stereotype) or only child homes.
Three of you aa, many people would ask me with a certain incredulity. I mean three children was so 1960’s.
However, barring the occasional resentment, I was happy with the status. After all two siblings versus one make for far more engaging battles than just one against the other.
Of course, three people from the same family in a house can lead to large-scale divide and rule policy that amma and appa would do to manage all of us better. From marks, to height, to body fat, to how soon one eats the meals, to who first bows down to parental pressure, to who will follow tradition the most, to who will not sulk when amma wants to make a kovil visit, to who will wake up the earliest, to who will sleep the earliest, to who will be more Tamizh - everything was a contest.
Amma, appa, the clan members, the neighborhood, everyone and their uncles were evaluating you on all or some of those.
I realized as a young child, the perils of being in the middle, because “you in the middle”, are the most easy to ignore. The focus was always on the extremities.
Very early on, it was established that T Anna would certainly have superior mathematics skill. I used to love the subject. Even today I am usually in awe of anybody who even as much mentions the M word. All through my growing years, the magical three words were never. I Love You. Oh no, not that. How post-modernist, as thata would say (not that I had any clue what he meant, but one never questioned him). It was always, Centum in Maths. And even though T Anna took it upon his shoulder to tutor me on Boolean Algebra, I just refused to understand the connection between truth and binary numbers. And while between T Anna’s obsession and my school-teachers desire that their flawless reputation not be tarnished, I did okay. But it was a struggle. In all, mathematics made me feel - inadequate and less Tamizh.
The Little Sister S, is the artistic sorts. Amma thinks that her Thanjavur gene has paid off through S. She sings, dances, paints, and can create all kind of things with lots of flair and artistry. She also has a natural effervescence, lovely hair and shiny brown skin that draw everybody to her. I sense that she will be a heart-breaker someday. Except that, she won’t actually break any hearts.
I am proud of my siblings. And I love them. Though, we never say such things. You know, things like, I love my family. Love is implied in all the things that we do and don’t, it is never professed loudly.
Of course, I can’t and didn’t wish to compete with the siblings. And also I knew that, should I choose to compete, I will fail. Miserably too.
So I decided that I will be the pleaser child, the one who will quickly agree with everything that the parental desire seeks. I also tried to be more Tamizh than my siblings.
So I learnt the script, read Sujatha, watched Gemini and Sivaji paddams, learnt to sing a number of Subramanya Bharathi songs and stuck pottu on my forehead like my life depended on it.
Pottu, the small dot/line/star/anything else that catches your fancy or imagination, helped to establish my Tamizhness.
Nalla ponnu, neighborhood maamis would tell amma approvingly whenever they saw me.
When I was younger, a small round one did the trick. All trips to Pondy Bazaar involved picking up a few packets. Some black, some red and some in multiple bright and harsh colours. But I loved them. Of course, I had no clue about it representing the mystical third eye or Shakti. All I knew was that, it was a Hindu woman/ married woman thing.
But to me, it represented asserting my Tamizhness.
As the years go by, the pottu has been shrinking in size. But at least, I have not yet lost it.
Sunday, June 3, 2007
Poongothai
I have a friend called Poongothai.
She is a year older than me and I have known her for the last sixteen years. We met in Class III. I had been in the school since my nursery, she on the other hand, had just moved in to Madras from Tirunelveli. Mine was a typical Brahminical school with a strong Iyengaar skew. P was the first non Brahmin I met. I remember a number of people at school asking her, What is your caste? Where are you put up? What is Nadar? Basically, they asked her the kind of stuff that only children can ask, without ruffling feathers and getting people self righteous.
Me and P, hit off instantly. She was a lot like me. And most critically, she was my height. Given how much of a complex I felt about being much taller than everybody else in class that was important. She made me feel - less awkward, less ugly and more Tamizh.
P also stayed in T Nagar and that helped I suppose. Most of my free time, I spent at P’s house. This because P’s house was much nicer than mine. They had antique furniture, a large swing and everything in the house sparkled and shone with the glitter of old money. My house, in contrast had god pictures wrapped in transparent plastic bags and stuck on to the walls and the cane chairs that left a criss-cross of marks on your butt and arms if you sat on it for more than ten minutes.
Also her thata told us many stories and was indulgent towards the two of us. In contrast, my thata would be too busy solving The Hindu crossword and drinking the omam tanni to help him in his digestion.
P’s amma was a lovely person too and she would give me something or the other to eat everyday. It seemed everyday something ‘special’ got cooked in their home. Sometimes though, she would go a little overboard and pack some of the food for me to take home. A dish that she often made was Karupatti Paniyaram, one that I never liked. As I would get them home, I knew what would happen. Amma would put them onto a plate and nobody knew what happened after that. I never asked her either, because I was afraid that she would make me eat them.
That apart, Amma was very fond of P and our friendship grew from strength to strength. P’s family was progressive about some of the things that my family had very regressive views on and in some things the reverse happened. We always wondered why we couldn’t have a combination of mine and her family.
One of the things of annoyance from my family was that Amma was very particular about when the wrong days of the month happened. For the three days of her periods, she would not cook. Paati and chittis would do all the work then. And amma would insist that I help them. This made P very angry. She thought that it made no sense and would tell me, how her amma cooked and did work all through the year. She would feel more angry on my behalf than I felt angry for myself. To me, it was okay. Made me look forward to puberty as well. And when it happened I realized, it sucked and had no benefits at all. Of course, post puberty amma went obsessive on her, don’t touch that caveat, this till we moved to our own house some years back. And also her belated realization that the DONT’s needed to be reserved for other far more important things.
On the other hand, P’s family had their own reservations about their daughter learning music and dance. They didn’t think it was fitting for a girl from their family to indulge in such things. And P had to discontinue with Paatu classes, which was such a pity. P had a lovely voice and it was her lovely rendition of Madhuvanti Raagam that made my mom christen her Poongothai, the girl with a lilt of flowers in her voice.
P’s family had a heightened sense of concern about her. P was an awkward looking child, but grew up to be a lovely looking teenager. In class XI, P shifted schools. She moved to as State Government school. We met less often after school but we hoped to be re-united in college.
After school, P joined a co-ed college in the city and I an all girl’s college. It was by chance, not design. Our differences began to crop up sharply then. She felt that I had turned into a snob and I felt that she had turned into one of the boys.
After college, her wedding was fixed. And we went back to being best friends again. After all, every girl needs a best friend at her wedding. I went for her wedding and that was the last time we met. We live in the same city, but there is too much of time that we have already lost. And there is nothing common left anymore. Or so I think. But just sometimes, I get a little nostalgic and wonder if I didn’t give the Karupatti Paniyaram adequate chance. The moment quickly passes over.
I had a friend called Poongothai.
She is a year older than me and I have known her for the last sixteen years. We met in Class III. I had been in the school since my nursery, she on the other hand, had just moved in to Madras from Tirunelveli. Mine was a typical Brahminical school with a strong Iyengaar skew. P was the first non Brahmin I met. I remember a number of people at school asking her, What is your caste? Where are you put up? What is Nadar? Basically, they asked her the kind of stuff that only children can ask, without ruffling feathers and getting people self righteous.
Me and P, hit off instantly. She was a lot like me. And most critically, she was my height. Given how much of a complex I felt about being much taller than everybody else in class that was important. She made me feel - less awkward, less ugly and more Tamizh.
P also stayed in T Nagar and that helped I suppose. Most of my free time, I spent at P’s house. This because P’s house was much nicer than mine. They had antique furniture, a large swing and everything in the house sparkled and shone with the glitter of old money. My house, in contrast had god pictures wrapped in transparent plastic bags and stuck on to the walls and the cane chairs that left a criss-cross of marks on your butt and arms if you sat on it for more than ten minutes.
Also her thata told us many stories and was indulgent towards the two of us. In contrast, my thata would be too busy solving The Hindu crossword and drinking the omam tanni to help him in his digestion.
P’s amma was a lovely person too and she would give me something or the other to eat everyday. It seemed everyday something ‘special’ got cooked in their home. Sometimes though, she would go a little overboard and pack some of the food for me to take home. A dish that she often made was Karupatti Paniyaram, one that I never liked. As I would get them home, I knew what would happen. Amma would put them onto a plate and nobody knew what happened after that. I never asked her either, because I was afraid that she would make me eat them.
That apart, Amma was very fond of P and our friendship grew from strength to strength. P’s family was progressive about some of the things that my family had very regressive views on and in some things the reverse happened. We always wondered why we couldn’t have a combination of mine and her family.
One of the things of annoyance from my family was that Amma was very particular about when the wrong days of the month happened. For the three days of her periods, she would not cook. Paati and chittis would do all the work then. And amma would insist that I help them. This made P very angry. She thought that it made no sense and would tell me, how her amma cooked and did work all through the year. She would feel more angry on my behalf than I felt angry for myself. To me, it was okay. Made me look forward to puberty as well. And when it happened I realized, it sucked and had no benefits at all. Of course, post puberty amma went obsessive on her, don’t touch that caveat, this till we moved to our own house some years back. And also her belated realization that the DONT’s needed to be reserved for other far more important things.
On the other hand, P’s family had their own reservations about their daughter learning music and dance. They didn’t think it was fitting for a girl from their family to indulge in such things. And P had to discontinue with Paatu classes, which was such a pity. P had a lovely voice and it was her lovely rendition of Madhuvanti Raagam that made my mom christen her Poongothai, the girl with a lilt of flowers in her voice.
P’s family had a heightened sense of concern about her. P was an awkward looking child, but grew up to be a lovely looking teenager. In class XI, P shifted schools. She moved to as State Government school. We met less often after school but we hoped to be re-united in college.
After school, P joined a co-ed college in the city and I an all girl’s college. It was by chance, not design. Our differences began to crop up sharply then. She felt that I had turned into a snob and I felt that she had turned into one of the boys.
After college, her wedding was fixed. And we went back to being best friends again. After all, every girl needs a best friend at her wedding. I went for her wedding and that was the last time we met. We live in the same city, but there is too much of time that we have already lost. And there is nothing common left anymore. Or so I think. But just sometimes, I get a little nostalgic and wonder if I didn’t give the Karupatti Paniyaram adequate chance. The moment quickly passes over.
I had a friend called Poongothai.
Thursday, May 31, 2007
T Nagar
I have lived in T Nagar all my life. I have lived in two homes. One was thata’s independent house on Bazlullah Road and for the last six years in appa’s third floor flat on Boag Road.
I think that the world is divided into two parts – T Nagar and Rest of T Nagar. I cannot imagine living anywhere else in the world.
It is the only place which can be called the heart of the city. The best part about T Nagar is not Panagal Park, Nalli 100 or Kasi Arcade. It is in the people who make up the place. T Nagar is for the hard-working class of the city. It is the place where traders of all shapes and sizes thrive. It is about old money people. It is also not overwhelming Brahminical, after all, being named after a person who was instrumental in starting the Dravidian Movement counts, doesn’t it?
The best part about T Nagar is that it does not come with all the problems that many other areas come with. An Asal Tamizh Penn won’t fit in most of the other areas.
Take the celebrated and over-hyped Mylapore for example. I COMPLETELY dislike all things Mylapore. I even hate the 5B bus. I find Mylapore to be insular and the people pompous. The Madisar Maamis walking along Kolatangarai are begging for attention. As a child at least, when amma insisted on dragging me to Kapaleeswarar Kovil my favorite task was to determine which of these women were Iyers and which Iyengaars. As I grew older, the game ceased to be fun and therefore the temple visits became fewer. But Mylaporeans think that they are the upholders of all that is traditional and Tamizh. What else can explain something as idiotic as heritage walks in the area? The congested and narrow roads are not overflowing with tradition as much as garbage, just pay a visit to Palathope (across the Mylai Station) and you will see what I mean. And what does one say about a place that names its most prominent landmark (Nageswar Rao Park) after someone whose claim to fame was pain balms that he manufactured. The biggest problem with Mylapore is the time wrap that it is caught in. Everything is deliberately exotic, including the Adai-Avial at Karpagambal Mess.
Other areas in the city, are not even in the contention. Adyar’s only claim to fame was the Grand Sweets, but now even that with multiple branches is losing its sheen. Besant Nagar is good if one is going off on a vacation and Valmiki Nagar has too many Bengalis and those North Indian chaps who have made Madras their homes. Anna Nagar is too modern and both the physical and the emotional distance from the spirit of Tamizhness exists. Velachery is infested with people who work for TCS and CTS, which is not terribly fun, unless one is holding shares of these companies. Vadaplani is allright, mostly because it has 12B, the main Saravana Bhavan and most critically is its proximity to T Nagar.
So, anyway that one looks at it, T Nagar is THE place to be in Madras. And nope I am not nitpicking or being unfairly critical of other places in the city. If a place is superior, it is. Non T Nagarvaasis however, do come up with some excpetions about the place.
1. It is not a musical and cultural enough place.
Well, we have Vani Mahal and Bharath Kalachar. We are also home to Ilayaraja and A R Rahman. What more to say?
2. We don’t have enough of a temple culture like in some other areas?
We have another city itself in the area, with the Tirumalai Tirupati Devasthana. Who can beat that?
3. We don’t have any modern format stores and malls?
Not that one needs them. But just in case, you need the free AC, we have the 6000 sq feet Crossword Bookstore at Venkatnarayana Road. Even the boring (but often visited) Gangotree at Boag Road.
4. It is easy to get lost in T Nagar.
That is entirely your problem. And if you ever get lost, just ask anybody on the road, Sivaji Veedu Enga? Who does not know our Nadippu Chakravarthy?
5. It is not as cosmopolitan as other areas?
Firstly, Madras itself is not cosmopolitan. Secondly, who wants to be cosmopolitan. Thirdly, what is cosmopolitan? Having North Indians? Having people who speak Hindi? In that case, T Nagar must be the most cosmopolitan part of the city, why else would the Hindi Prachar Sabha be located here huh?
However, the most important reason why T Nagar rocks, are the Kalyana Mandapams – they are all seeped in history and has been witness to large number of Gothram Migration. All Asal Tamizh people have, will and must only get married in T Nagar.
Which is why, it is very upsetting, when T Anna, wants to invest in a property that is located on GST Road. While I am happy that my country is earning some valuable foreign exchange, I am unhappy that T Anna is eroding his intrinsic Tamizhness.
Though in all fairness, I love Madras. I love all of Tamizhland. And one needs Mylapore to appreciate T Nagar. Just like one needs non Tamizh things to appreciate everything Tamizh.
I think that the world is divided into two parts – T Nagar and Rest of T Nagar. I cannot imagine living anywhere else in the world.
It is the only place which can be called the heart of the city. The best part about T Nagar is not Panagal Park, Nalli 100 or Kasi Arcade. It is in the people who make up the place. T Nagar is for the hard-working class of the city. It is the place where traders of all shapes and sizes thrive. It is about old money people. It is also not overwhelming Brahminical, after all, being named after a person who was instrumental in starting the Dravidian Movement counts, doesn’t it?
The best part about T Nagar is that it does not come with all the problems that many other areas come with. An Asal Tamizh Penn won’t fit in most of the other areas.
Take the celebrated and over-hyped Mylapore for example. I COMPLETELY dislike all things Mylapore. I even hate the 5B bus. I find Mylapore to be insular and the people pompous. The Madisar Maamis walking along Kolatangarai are begging for attention. As a child at least, when amma insisted on dragging me to Kapaleeswarar Kovil my favorite task was to determine which of these women were Iyers and which Iyengaars. As I grew older, the game ceased to be fun and therefore the temple visits became fewer. But Mylaporeans think that they are the upholders of all that is traditional and Tamizh. What else can explain something as idiotic as heritage walks in the area? The congested and narrow roads are not overflowing with tradition as much as garbage, just pay a visit to Palathope (across the Mylai Station) and you will see what I mean. And what does one say about a place that names its most prominent landmark (Nageswar Rao Park) after someone whose claim to fame was pain balms that he manufactured. The biggest problem with Mylapore is the time wrap that it is caught in. Everything is deliberately exotic, including the Adai-Avial at Karpagambal Mess.
Other areas in the city, are not even in the contention. Adyar’s only claim to fame was the Grand Sweets, but now even that with multiple branches is losing its sheen. Besant Nagar is good if one is going off on a vacation and Valmiki Nagar has too many Bengalis and those North Indian chaps who have made Madras their homes. Anna Nagar is too modern and both the physical and the emotional distance from the spirit of Tamizhness exists. Velachery is infested with people who work for TCS and CTS, which is not terribly fun, unless one is holding shares of these companies. Vadaplani is allright, mostly because it has 12B, the main Saravana Bhavan and most critically is its proximity to T Nagar.
So, anyway that one looks at it, T Nagar is THE place to be in Madras. And nope I am not nitpicking or being unfairly critical of other places in the city. If a place is superior, it is. Non T Nagarvaasis however, do come up with some excpetions about the place.
1. It is not a musical and cultural enough place.
Well, we have Vani Mahal and Bharath Kalachar. We are also home to Ilayaraja and A R Rahman. What more to say?
2. We don’t have enough of a temple culture like in some other areas?
We have another city itself in the area, with the Tirumalai Tirupati Devasthana. Who can beat that?
3. We don’t have any modern format stores and malls?
Not that one needs them. But just in case, you need the free AC, we have the 6000 sq feet Crossword Bookstore at Venkatnarayana Road. Even the boring (but often visited) Gangotree at Boag Road.
4. It is easy to get lost in T Nagar.
That is entirely your problem. And if you ever get lost, just ask anybody on the road, Sivaji Veedu Enga? Who does not know our Nadippu Chakravarthy?
5. It is not as cosmopolitan as other areas?
Firstly, Madras itself is not cosmopolitan. Secondly, who wants to be cosmopolitan. Thirdly, what is cosmopolitan? Having North Indians? Having people who speak Hindi? In that case, T Nagar must be the most cosmopolitan part of the city, why else would the Hindi Prachar Sabha be located here huh?
However, the most important reason why T Nagar rocks, are the Kalyana Mandapams – they are all seeped in history and has been witness to large number of Gothram Migration. All Asal Tamizh people have, will and must only get married in T Nagar.
Which is why, it is very upsetting, when T Anna, wants to invest in a property that is located on GST Road. While I am happy that my country is earning some valuable foreign exchange, I am unhappy that T Anna is eroding his intrinsic Tamizhness.
Though in all fairness, I love Madras. I love all of Tamizhland. And one needs Mylapore to appreciate T Nagar. Just like one needs non Tamizh things to appreciate everything Tamizh.
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