What happened to Llyods Finance?

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.

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:

1. Her family lived in T Nagar
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)

However, two things worked against G.

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.
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 told G & Co that we would get back to them, but I think they had guessed by then.

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.
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.

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.

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.

Chennai Man and Pineapple Rasam

Enigmatic, bold, brilliant, handsome... Well, these are how men are portrayed. Men who haven’t set foot in the arena of fashion, will find this opportunity exciting, for they get this never before chance to express their mystifying personality. The search for the 'Chennai Man' – an ideal combination of brain and brawn begins here...

I want to quit my job.

And I wish to become the judge of this contest.

Imagine how much fun it shall be?

May be, they will have a Veshti Round. Hot Tamizh boys, wearing white jarigai veshti will be too much. A master-stroke. The most brilliant marketing strategy.

Pity that T Anna is not in Madras. Else, he could have tried. I am certain that he would have had a good chance. After all, he is tall, is Bharadwaja Gothram and believes in world peace. Really. He does. What else can explain that he drove for four hours, while being swamped under work, to go and meet a visiting chitti. Not because he was dying to meet the chitti, but because she was making Pineapple Rasam. Yes, that is why. And he would also win the coveted, Loving Nephew/Niece in USA contest.

This act certainly proves that he is an advocate of world peace. I mean:
• We never eat Pineapple rasam in “our” house. You are being unfair to both the rasam and to yourself
• T Anna is actually allergic to pineapples
• T Anna is somewhat allergic to the chitti. I think, the feeling is mutual
• And chitti is not a great cook or anything. What I am saying is, she is a terrible cook

But he still went. Because amma asked him to. And that is what good Tamizh Brahmin boys do.

T Anna is forever raising the bar. I wish amma will understand that, I cannot have this unquestioning love for Pineapple rasam or for the chittis who rustle them up for you.

I suppose, which is why, I will never be Miss Chennai.

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.

Evil Eye

Amma and friendly neighborhood maamis think that I have become a victim of the insidious evil-eye syndrome. Why else would I fall prey to an illness one week after I started working?

Of course, it is not scientific at all. But I know better than to argue with amma about such things. The more I will protest, the more will I anger her. And at any rate, it is nicer that she attributes my problems to an ambiguous and undefined third-party as opposed to me.

This is a first for me. I mean, all through my growing up years, I had done nothing special that would evoke the wrath of the evil-eyed-souls. I have witnessed, Nagam Akka (the oldest woman in our neighborhood) pay a visit to our house on a number of occasions to help T Anna (most frequently), S (somewhat frequently), Appa (rarely) and Amma (even more rarely) overcome this problem by drawing circles in the air around your head.

I have felt inadequate and under-accomplished.

But it has happened finally. A viral fever attack and I seem to have done the family proud. Nagam Akka came and did her usual whoosh-whoosh and gave me a two-rupee coin at the end of it.

Once the problem was identified and the solution administered, the next tasks involved the following:
a) Determining who the perpetrators are and their motives to subject me to the evil eye
b) To minimize recurrence of the problem

Now, why would anyone be jealous of me is a question that nobody has an answer to. Let us take the most notable event in my life in the recent past, my job. All my journalism school batch-mates have taken up more glam jobs and some of them are already on TV, reading the weather bulletin. And here I am, not even having the first byline to my credit. And given the large scale mirth that my work-place evokes among everybody, I don’t get the reason for envy. Something that is deep and hidden must be working for me.

To minimize recurrence, we do what good Tamizh people do. Break coconuts. Go to important and large temples, preferably in the neighboring city or state and pledge to break coconuts. When done with much feeling and immense display of strength, god will stop bothering you. Wait, god will bother you anyway, she will just make sure that the people bothering you will desist in the future.

Amma says, this Saturday we shall visit the temple at Vadapalani and break a hundred coconuts. We don’t want god to think that we will only visit temples in T Nagar, so we picked the closest neighborhood. Besides, it is a Lord Muruga temple, the true Tamizh god.

Of course, one will break only two or three coconuts, to merely establish to god that the intent exists. For the remaining ninety odd coconuts, a suitable valuation is done, which has no correlation with the market price for coconuts and is paid in cash.

I am already feeling better, thanks to the medicines of Dr Prabhakar, the wicked doctor and Gomathi Maami’s Kashayam, so I am not sure, why god needs to be subjected to this tengai display of love.

People normally fling the tengais when something truly path breaking happens in their lives. You know things like, dream job, gothram migration, pro-creation, world peace and so forth. And here I am, doing all that for a five-day viral fever.

Doesn’t god deserve more complex problems?

Nandi Kovil Street

I am in Trichy (or Tiruchi as we call it) for the weekend. Came in for work and stayed back the weekend to spend time with thatha (maternal grandfather). Amma also came in this morning because thatha is not feeling very well. Nothing seriously wrong with thatha of course, just that amma needs to get away from appa every now and then. In much the same way that appa needs to go of to Tirunelveli every now and then. This appreciation for each other’s space is fantastic and has helped them stay married for almost thirty years.

Thatha moved to Trichy from Thanjavur when he was eighteen, because he didn’t want to study further and had the same peculiar problem that I had with Mathematics. Sometimes one can end up inheriting the strangest things from family. So he decided to move to Trichy, which offered great options for people to earn a living other than becoming clerks in banks. Thatha had the blessings of his Periappa (who was in Trichy) and therefore it seemed natural to go there.

Thatha then dabbled in a number of businesses, all of which were complete and unmitigated failures. This because thatha while being a fantastic ideas person was too naïve and lacking in worldliness. He lost money, but never hope. And along the way he acquired a wife, four children and a really tiny house in the bustling Nandi Kovil Street. Near the Tepakullam, the lanes and bylanes are forever bustling with assorted fruits, vegetables and flower sellers. The fragrances mingle making one feel nostalgic and sick with so much exotica all at once.

Every September break during school vacations amma would drag me, T Anna and S to Trichy. The train journey was a huge pain because, thatha would insist that we get off at Srirangam as that would save us time. From 3 am, amma will make sure that all of us were awake, lest Srirangam was missed. Though it was rather simple, once you crossed the Kollidam bridge (when the train will make horrendous noises) you knew Srirangam was coming.

And thatha would be waiting there, in his blued-veshti folded up and a shirt that was at least two sizes too large for him. Nandi Kovil Thatha (as opposed to Bazlullah Road Thatha) is very mad and very fun. I would like to think that I was his favourite grand-child. This because unlike T Anna, who would for some unfathomable reason spend all free time reading India Today, Wodehouse or Frederick Forsyth, I was the keen one, ever willing, to listen to his stories. To me spending time with thatha was like watching a Rajni paddam, there was willing suspension of disbelief and one did not question any of it and give the left brain any work.

The best part about NK Thatha was that he never ever insisted that we visit the famous Ucchi Pillayar, Thiruvanaikaval, Samayapuram or the Srirnagam temples. Kadavul Manasulai Matram Irunda Poddum, he would say. This much to the chargin of both maami as well as amma.

Among the many things he also introduced me to, were stories - tales of Tamizh Prince, mystical dancers, forbidden love, intrigue, wine, women, sensuality and mystery. He would read out aloud from old Kumudum issues – the Kadal Pura series. I was shocked, horrified and fascinated by most of his stories.

Of course, amma and appa were both not happy with this influence. They were worried that, it might make me rebellious and like thatha I might run away from home when I was eighteen.

I didn’t of course. Not because I didn’t want to. I often did. I still do. But I am too chicken. And there is nothing that seems so attractive for me to run towards.

Work-Place Notes: 1

9:30 am
Enthusiastic Twenty Year Old Payyan: My akka is just back from USA. She was in Florida, she has got chocolates. I will open it later.
Me: Huh
10:30 am
Me: (To nobody in particular) I am hungry
Enthusiastic Twenty Year Old Payyan: My akka is back from Florida, I will be opening chocolates later.
Me: Grrr
So on..
At 1:30 pm, Chocolates are revealed – Ta-Da - BOUNTY
Enthusiastic Twenty Year Old Payyan: Don’t you love Bounty?
Me: (Idukku poyi ivlo scene aa?! The lovely Murugan Stores stocks ample numbers of it) I don’t like Bounty. It is too coconut(y).
Enthusiastic Twenty Year Old Payyan: Bounty is the best, it is just like kozhakatai. My akka always buys it for me.
Me: Aiyyoo.

**

Overzealous Colleague: Your brother is in Texas? Even my brother is there, studying at A&M University. He is into Advanced Mathematics.
Me: Ummm, how nice.
Overzealous Colleague: So where all in USA have you visited?
Me: Umm, I have never gone to any place North of Bangalore.
Overzealous Colleague: Bangalore is not in the North.
Me: See, I am from Tirunelveli. Even Madras is North for me. So...
Overzealous Colleague: You need to see the world, you know. Paavam nee.

**

Overzealous Colleague 2: You don’t look like a Tamilian.
Me: In what way, please explain.
Overzealous Colleague 2: I don’t mean to offend you. Just that you don’t look like an Iyer.
Me: You know Tamizh > Iyer (applause)
Overzealous Colleague 2: That is not what I meant. You look like an Iyengaar.
Me: Ah, right!
Overzealous Colleague 2: I mean, I am an Iyengaar too.
Me: Of course. Amma tells me, it is Tamaraparani River that makes people from Tirunelveli look non Iyer.
Overzealous Colleague 2: Okay. I hope you are not offended. I only meant. Just. Nothing.
Me: Free aa vidu. (Tirunelveli ke Alwaa aa, Dhatt!)

I so fit in here, I mean you can run, deny and what not - but never hide. I am lovin’ it.

I shall wait for twenty-year old to grow up.

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.

In an Auto in Madras

Why do Tamizh boys fight so much? With each other? With Non Tamizh boys? With Tamizh girls?

Can somebody shed more light on this subject?

Anyway, in a few hours, I shall embark on my transition from student to worldly working woman. I am excited, nervous and without a helmet. So I will need to take an auto today.

But unlike most people, I love the autos in Madras. No problems there. I always have always had visions of a Rajni like auto-driver, who will not just take me from point A to point B, but will do so:
… in a super-fast manner
… hit some of those moronic Ford Ikon drivers on the road
… ensure that 29C doesn’t run over me
… and most importantly protect me from the wicked world that is floating around and just waiting to get me

The safest place to be in Madras, is inside an auto.

Back to work, if I survive, and don’t become one of them, I will be back with more accounts.

Yes, including my meetings with Iyengaar boys. One hopes they are more peace loving though.

I recommend that all Tamizh boys be given one week of free admission into the – Auto Payyans School of Fine Etiquette.

Tamizh Penn - Quiz No. 1

Since the people who read this Blog seem to be nice enough to let me know what they feel about my posts and are far more articulate than I can ever hope to be, I thought that I should check with them on some questions that have troubled me the last few days.

Almost a week of Blogging and I have concluded that the world is truly a global village, and the men, no matter where from, seem to be the same.

So, I wish to ask the women readers of this Blog, who seem to be so much nicer and far more intelligent, the following:

Who is likely to feel the most brave when he is anonymous?

a) Iyengaar Boys
b) Nadar Boys
c) Non Bharadwaja Iyer Boys
d) Other Non Brahmin Tamizh Boys
e) North Indian Boys

Who is likely to be the most moronic of all these boys when they leave a comment?

a) Iyengaar Boys
b) Nadar Boys
c) Non Bharadwaja Iyer Boys
d) Other Non Brahmin Tamizh Boys
e) North Indian BoysBrahmin Tamizh Boys

And my third question is open to all Tamizh people. Which of these are the most likely reasons for the non Tamizh people to have as a complaint against Tamizhland:
1) Disproportionate amount of Foreign Direct Investment into the state
2) The very very unattractive Tamizh women
3) The auto drivers of Chennai
4) Our fantastic sense of self perception

And while we are it, can somebody tell me, why does nobody complain about unattractive Tamizh men as a reason to dislike the place?

Can one therefore derive that Tamizh Payyans are very studmuffin like? Should we not use that to our advantage then? We must export our men, out of Tamizhland. It has three advantages the way I see it:
a) Tamizhland will be a better place by getting rid of` them. The women will either be much happier or begin to appreciate the men more (parting ~ heart fonder; also ditto for men). Win:Win either way.

b) The rest of non Tamizhland will also convert to Tamizh by virtue of being patriarchal societies

c) The lack of Tamizh boys will lead to large scale Tamizh women-Non Tamizh men pro-creation. The strength of the Tamizh woman gene will ensure that we produce children who are as ugly as we are. The world will be uniformly unattractive in a Tamizh way. World peace huh?

What fun no?

By the way, a quick clarification seems to be in order. I will be damned if I need to feel apologetic about my being an Iyer, a Brahmin, of Bharadwaja Gothram, being from Thirunelveli and of course being a T Nagarwaasi. You can choose to agree, disagree, agree to disagree, disagree to agree or whatever else works for you. But please do not – WHINE.

And all of those things are my currency for Tamizhness, and I shall feel superior about it also. If you don’t feel superior about your Tamizhness, nobody else can do it for you on your behalf.

Also, my request to some of the people who commented, please don’t refer to me as “dee/di”. Even amma never says that to me. Thank You.

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.

Sooda Enna Irukku?

Madras is hot. No metaphorical reference here. In fact, it has only been hot for the twenty three years that I have lived in the city. If amma, appa and thata are to be believed it was hot before that as well.

We could never use an air cooler here, because that thing doesn’t work in the humid climate and we never bought an AC either.

The reason for not buying an AC was not to do with affordability. We could have managed to rustle up funds for an one tonne AC for sure. A non Korean brand even, I should think. But we consciously chose not to. Mainly for two reasons:

1) We were sleeping for seven hours every night without air-conditioning in our homes. Any more sleep could lead to, too much of fat accumulation. T Anna is anyway two tiered.

2)We didn’t want to get used to an AC. Once used to it, all our life choices would be determined by it. On how we travel (only AC train for Madras to Nellai), only AC restaurants (where the same dosai is charged at a few rupees more and tastes only half as good), visit only AC stores (groceries from the ultra stale Spencer's Daily and veggies from Whatizname Ambani’s Reliance Fresh) and also marry only those people who can afford an AC Kalyana Mandapam. Or when you house hunt, look for rectangle holes in every room to stuff your AC into.

Essentially it is a very non Tamizh thing to do.

The heat is manageable as long as everyone around you does not keep reminding you about it and saying the most idiotic things:
a) Isn’t it REALLLLLLY hot today?
b) It is definitely hotter today
c) Today must be the hottest day of the season
d) The monsoons have hit Kerala and poor us still suffering
e) If only it were not so hot

I am very tired of these people. Worst is that, the only place North of Madras they may have traveled to is, Tondiarpet. I demand that they impose additional tax on people such as this. With the money raised they ought to procure large number of solar cookers and distribute them to all households. The gas saved can be used in lieu of fuel for cars and autos. A serious global problem can be solved. The environment will also breathe easily.

All because of Tamizhland.

Look Amma, I am joining the Hindu

Amma has seldom felt proud of me and my little achievements. Though I did do well for myself in school and college, it was always overshadowed by the bigger achievements in the family.

I have been happy with this arrangement. Unlike T Anna, I am not burdened with unrealistic expectations at least.

Appa was faintly indulgent towards my desire to be a journalist. Amma was a bit worried. Is this what Asal Tamizh Penn’s do, she wondered. But she had taken a special fondness for the super fake and immensely irritating Barkha Dutt and so she did have visions that I might also hug children who have been victims of an earthquake and look tragically into the camera.

But I have done better for myself. I am going to be working for – The Hindu. I start work from next week. I will meet insanely boring Iyengar men. But for once, Amma is happy. And inspite of myself, I can’t help the warm fuzzy feeling that parental appreciation leaves you with.

Idli

There are many reasons why it is good to be Tamizh.

I shall do a series of posts on the same. My thatha had shared the most valuable piece of wisdom many years ago that, most things don’t make sense on an empty stomach. So always, start with the food.

Tamizh culture is not about obsessive hedonism or voyeurism. We are allegedly simple people. Naturally it would follow that our food will be simple too. Easy to prepare. Easy to digest. Minimum use of adjuncts. And pristine white. Take the thayir saadam, idli, dosai, pongal, mor kozhambu, paal payaasam, etc. They are mildly flavored. Requires minimum effort to eat them. And the texture is amenable for anyone between the ages of 2 to 85 to eat. Pretty much like the people here. Minimum fuss and maximum gratification.

Idli is my favorite. It is healthy. It is filling. It is versatile. And it can be had even if it is stale. And it is whiter than what Tide detergent can give me. What Fair and Lovely cream promises. It is even whiter than Asin’s skin. That is why, we love the Idli. It is best with Mulaga Podi, the brownish-red and white combination is a killer. Just like the Surya and Asin jodi.

They should declare idli the national food. They should serve people idli on all national holidays. They should make it mandatory for everyone to eat one Idli a day. They should use that as a positioning platform for the – Incredible Tamilnadu campaign.

Sunday,Monday ennikuvum
Idli tevai elorkkum