Behold the power of the Sindoor!!!

A nuclear family of four, at 8 o'clock every night, welcomes a new member that graces us with its divine presence for 3 long hours. The Idiot Box. It reveals the infinite potential possessed by the SINDOOR; potential to tame the faculties of every second housewife in the nation; potential to defile all that was achieved by the women's liberation movement and potential to expose the divinity of the letter 'K'.

It doesn't take a genius to master the Art Of Cooking a soap opera.So here it is - an instant recipe for a K-Soap Opera.

Ingredients:

1/2 a dozen Sindoor laden, overdresed and over-bejewelled Bahus who can weep on cue
1 heavyweight Saas with a streak of white hair, like the smoke trail of a jet in the dark sky
1 fortress of a house in the guise of "A bahu's temple of love"
1/2 a dozen male business tycoons that make the Ambanis look like paupers
Podgy Kids according to taste
1 Karva Chauth after every 15 episodes
1 family doctor; Specialization - Amnesia, Most Prescribed Drug - Generous doses of "Bhagwaan pe Bharosa Rakho"
1 Dr.Jekyll; Specialization - Plastic Surgery/Murder, Most Prescribed Drug - Generous Doses of "Aapka Kaam Ho gaya"
10 litres of glycerine
10 kgs of Sindoor
1 Time Machine

Procedure:

Middle class girl - read Cotton Salwar Kameez clad - is married into the Birla household - read Colosseum. Spends her day being devoured by the ennui of kitchen work and frivlous conspiracy. She is pitted against her Saas in a gladiatorial battle whose outcome determines the Daal that would be prepared in the kitchen(or something even more frivlous). For allies the Saas has a whole batallion of other like-daal eating, superficial,
scheming, and petty walking Make-up Boxes for Bahus. Battle uniform - Sarees that would put Madhuri's "Didi Tera Dewar Deewana" and Sharmila's "Almost Backless" to shame. Being the Saint that she is, the Middle Class Bahu gives into the excesses dished out to her. End of story? On earth, perhaps. But not in K-World.

As soon as the Saintly Bahu shows signs of recovery from her lost battle she is dealt the coup de grace - a dead/unfaithful/oblivious husband. Broken and in despair she leaves the arena, only to make an appearance after 3 episodes in the highly publicized Revenge Of The Bahu (in Dolby Surround, whether you like it or not).Apparently she rediscovers the business acumen that she never possessed, turns "Business-India Cover"quality overnight and returns to lend a helping hand to her ever-instantly bankrupt in-laws.And they live happily ever after? On earth, perhaps. But not in K-World.

Fast Forward!!
20 yrs and 1 episode later, the bahu hasn't aged a day and she has an over-bubbly, mini-skirt clad daughter who looks like her older sister. The Saas is live and kicking. The Husband is reborn/is forgiven/has obtained a new fuse. One big, happy family - read gigantic, plastic menagerie. Does the torture end here? On earth, perhaps. But not in K-World.

Enter Junta Ka Poll :
"Kya aap Tulsi/KKKKKusum/Heena ki zindagi main apne aap ko dekhti hain?"
"Kya aap Sindoor ki taaqat se waaqif hain?"
Agar humein aapki daal pasand aayi, main Tulsi/KKKKKusum/Heena aapse waada karti hun, aapki rasoi main aapka daal/dard baatne aaungi.

A day in the life of a Five Point No-one

Statutory Warning: All names, places, and events depicted in the article are not fictitious and bear resemblance to, connection with, or relation to particular real entities. Any such similarity is purely non-coincidental, intentional, and intended. The article is deliberately verbose and pretentious just to annoy random readers and GRE-Muggers.

Part 1: I saw the best mornings of my generation destroyed by madness

Our eyes were glued together and our lips were parched from an eternal yearning for the moment that lay before us. It had been laced in one complete euphonic accord where the cosmos was the architect and time had become imperceptible. The deep waters that lay concealed in our eyes were roaring to fuse in uncharted territory. At that enchanting moment, the clamorous cacophony, of a polyphonic punk-rock anthem, a battery drained delirious alarm clock and thunderous thumping (Ok! Ok! I promise. This is the last time I’ll torture you with alliterations and mediocre smut) on my room door, drags me out of dreamland.

Its 8:15 A.M. There are 8 missed calls on my mobile (Wake-up –useless-son-of-mine- Calls). My door is on the brink of a literal downfall from the incessant battering doled out by the obnoxious lecture enamoured wingmate.

{Wingmate = A conceited and academically oriented nitwit, bestowed with an absolute birthright to attend all the lectures (even the ones without mandatory attendance) and compel fantasy-dreamers to follow suit, in the illusion that his divine obsession with a schedule is a ticket to a 7 lakh per-annum job. And ya… he also lives on the same floor as I do in the dorm.}

Like a foetus savouring sunlight in its maiden voyage into the world, I close my eyes to observe nothing but the bare minimum, in my mammoth task to locate the bathroom. Like an infant embarking on his primal walk, I totter to the washbasin – toothbrush, toothpaste and a day exhaustive with routine, in hand.

After five minutes I realize that succumbing to the rapture of lethargy, I’ve returned to relish the essence of dreamland. Only this time, it’s gory as hell. My parents are murmuring gatekeepers of Hell – “I told you he wasn’t mature enough to live by himself. I told you so. Didn’t I?”- and my Engineering Mechanics professor is The Satan Reloaded – “You will pass this course over my dead body, you slothful bas****”. The very prospect of murder being the only solution to the passing of a course is an ample source of alarm and morning sickness.

It is 11:35 A.M. I’ve slept through lecture one, two and three. I’ve missed breakfast and am late for my tutorial-session. Good ol’ routine.

{Tutorial-Session = An assembly of 25-odd almost empty stomachs, to solve problems only on the lines recommended by Mr. Vacuntum Cranium a.k.a. The Big Giant Empty Head, failing which we are subjected to the torment of his Hinglish rebukes. But, ‘A silver lining, my warrior, there is.’ 100% Tutorial attendance = 10 marks.}

End of Part 1. Phew!!

Part 2: I could never survive my prequel to write this.

If only someone had knocked on the door

As a child I had a morbid fear of sci-fi and would desist from reading anything that required imagining objects and beings that I hadn’t come across in my life as a human. After all nightmares replete with my school principal and the creatures that infested his interminable moustache were predicament enough for an 11 year old. But then, reeling under the might of peer-pressure – I succumbed.

The world that I dreaded to death had gone nuclear with The Matrix and the subsequent cerebral coup had brought about the capitulation of the rest of my brain. Could I be just a battery? All I needed was a sign or perhaps a red/blue pill and I would renounce everything materialistic in the world and embark upon an epic odyssey in pursuit of the Truth/Golden Fleece (Yeah, Right!!). Am still waiting for that flash….

Last week I watched a movie called The Butterfly Effect and was flabbergasted by the basic plot, which can be gathered from the statement below:

“A butterfly flapped its wings 60 years ago in Brazil, and today an earthquake hit China.” –Chaos Theory

Basically a small variation in the initial conditions of a dynamical system can produce large variations in the long-term behavior of the system.

Those of you, who are contemplating about leaving this blog right away to safeguard yourself from the tortures of another ludicrous hypothesis, bear with me for a while. The fact that you are reading my blog right now instead of doing anything else is affecting the future in profound ways (Yeah, Right!!). Because of your decision - everyone in the future will be different people than they would have been had you made a different choice (ROTFLOL).

“and it is this simple act, now, which unleashes the fires of life
from rock on a far away world six hundred million years from now”

At least, so the theory says.

Illustrating the principle is a sci-fi tale A Sound of Thunder by Ray Bradbury, in which a future time traveler goes back to the dinosaur age, breaches protocol by stepping out of a restricted area and accidentally tramples a butterfly. Upon returning to the present, he finds the world to be a somewhat different from than the one he left. All of history has been changed slightly by the death of a single butterfly in the distant past.

A parallel can be drawn between the effect and Karma (the totality of a one’s actions in any one of the successive states of one’s existence, thought of as determining the fate of the next stage) - the law of cause and effect. Your actions create ripples that spread out, echo and interfere with the ripples from the actions of others. Quoting Kofi Annan, “The world of human activity also has its own "Butterfly Effect" - human actions can either save the world or destroy it.” The Butterfly Effect reminds us to be conscious of our actions, the brittleness of life and our inherent liability in the disposition of all things.

Imagine the world today if someone knocked on the door of Hitler's parents’ house the moment he was being conceived.

(For those of you who judge a book by its movie, here is the audio file of A Sound Of Thunder)

An Ode to Chennai

(Glossary at the bottom for all non-Madrasis)

Living in Mumbai has opened my eyes to a fallacy that has long plagued the Indian Coolsville. Here "East beds west, so Mumbai is the best". I wore my rose-tinted glasses all along, but then the Koli boy crossed the line. Of all the audacious insults that come as baggage with being a resident of Lungitown invading Bhaizila, "Papadom Thambi" blew my fuse away. So I'm giving vent to my anger by compiling a list of reasons why Idly-Sambaar Suburb makes IndianizedBurgerVille "MIRROR" a cosmopoliton circus flashy in its urbanity.( That's right!! You heard me...the much hyped "vada pav" is but not a burger)

1.) The most striking feature is her fidelity to traditional and cultural moorings in the wake of the “Yo-Man!!” and MTV onslaught. Rather than compromising her integrity, she chose to effect the most harmonious confluence of Thairesaadam and Hot-Dogs, silk and denim, M.S.Subbalakshmi and Britney Spears, The Music Academy Kutchery and EC-41, retaining the charm of a neighbourhood Paati.

2.) Standing on my balcony every morning, admiring the beauty of the Kolam adorning my neighbour’s porch, what comes to light is the sheer effort and patience behind the creation of a being so ephemeral, only as a measure of upholding a religious rite. Nevertheless, battered by the fury of wind, water, tyre and the not so friendly neighbourhood dog, it is rejuvenated well before the dawn of sunset to regain its lost glory and the gaze of every passerby.

3.) Picture the stout, red faced, bald (but for the lone warrior battling the sands of time, on a desert in its own right ) asthmatic Thatha draped in his Ujalaed lungi, leaning on a cane and sticking his stomach out. Making his daily trip to the Amman Koil round the corner, he reminisces of the times She was a virgin to Victorian advances. Close on his heels, is the aforementioned Paati cocooned in her seven and a half yard pure Kanjeevaram Silk Saree (“Just recently wonly I purchased in Pothys Silk House” she would brag to the San–Franchesco, Yamerica Returned Paati living next door), sporting trendy “Pyuure” G.R. Thanga Maligai Gold plated spectacles, shooing away bees feasting on the Mallipu embellishing her snow white locks, worried if her grandson would love the poriyal she prepared for dinner with tremendous Lou and Yaffection.

4.) Unwinding to the Grand Old Lady of Mount Road (affectionately called the Hindu), one is comforted by both the hymns emanating from Subramanium Swamy’s 1985 Akai 2-in-1 stereo (gifted by Srinivasa Vardarajan on his trip over from the Gulf) and the Maula summoning his flock in his almost symphonic baritone(enabled with DTS surround sound). A Suud Narasu’s Filter Kaapi with butter biscuit makes my day.

5.) She refrained to succumb to marauding Skyscraping bandits who resolved to reduce her skyline to a mere piece in a sinister concrete puzzle.

6.) Indulge!!
a.) Ghee Dosai with Mulga Pudi – be it from Sid’s Tiffin Box, Sapthagiri or Saravanaas.
b.) Parotta Kurma in any roadside Vandikaar’s Shack.
c.) Parotta and Chilly Chicken at Apollo.
d.) Rasmalai and Kesar Peda at Gangotree.
e.) Dark Chocolate Brownie(Hot) and Pretty Girls(Very Hot) at Amethyst.

7.) She is neither home to hypocrites masquerading as Moral Policeman out to impede blossoming love between all those Cinderellas and Cinderfellas nor does she habour Page 3 parasites.

“Things never turn out exactly the way you planned. Growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers; next day you're gone. But the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul. I remember a place...a town...a house like a lot of other houses... A yard like a lot of other yards...on a street like a lot of other streets. And the thing is...after all these years, I still look back...with wonder.”
--- Kevin Arnold(Fred Savage), The Wonder Years

Glossary : (for all u Mumbaikars and pseudo-Mumbaikars)
Thairesaadam = Curd-Rice, Kutchery = Carnatic Music Concert,
Paati = Granny, Kolam = Rangoli, Thatha = Grandpa,
Koil = Temple, Mallipu = Jasmine, poriyal = Sabji