Gizmo Queens, Tax Evaders, Aliens and Spanish Inquisitions

O all ye exorcizers come and exorcize now, and ye clergymen draw nigh and clerge,

For I wish to be purged of an urge.

It is an irksome urge, compounded of nettles and glue,

And it is turning all my friends back into acquaintances, and all my acquaintances into people who look the other way when I heave into view.

It is an indication that my mental buttery is butterless and my mental larder lardless,

And it consists not of "Stop me if you've heard this one," but of "I know you've heard this one because I told it to you myself, but I'm going to tell it to you again regardless,"

Yes I fear I am living beyond my mental means.

When I realize that it is not only anecdotes that I reiterate but what is far worse, summaries of radio programs and descriptions of caroons in newspapers and magazines.

I want to resist but I cannot resist recounting the bright sayins of celebrities that everybody already is familiar with every word of; I want to refrain but cannot refrain from telling the same audience on two successive evenings the same little snatches of domestic gossip about people I used to know that they have never heard of.

When I remember some titlating episode of my childhood I figure that if it's worth narrating once it's worth narrating twice, in spite of lackluster eyes and dropping jaws,

And indeed I have now worked my way backward from titllating episodes in my own childhood to titillating episodes in the childhood of my parents or even my parents-in-laws,

And what really turns my corpuscles to ice,

I carry around clippings and read them to people twice.

And I know what I am doing while I am doing it and I don't want to do it but I can't help doing it and I am just another Ancient Mariner,

And the prospects for my future social life couldn't possibly be barrener.

Did I tell you that the prospects for my future social life couldn't be barrener?

"So Does Everybody Else, Only Not So Much" - Ogden Nash

Couldn't have put it more succintly myself. Forget about my 'future' social life getting barren, even my current one seems to be getting less fertile. Why else would I blog? Ha Ha. That said, let us begin.

Actually I must be losing my social charm. Yes, This is me and I am saying what you read in the last sentence. Go back and read it if you don't believe me. It'll still say the same thing. What made me come to this earth shattering conclusion? Well, a lot of things the last of which was my weekly train pilgrimage to Chennai. Started on a Friday, and the omens were definitely not good. I had resolved to try and reduce my smoking, which in itself is a very bad omen for me, because it makes me very crabby and restless. Well, you say, you're a crabby and restless old geezer anyway! Ah, yes gentle reader, be that as it may, this particular fact has a bearing on the tale I'm about to relate. So please keep bearing with me.

I got on to the auto to get to the station and got stuck in the traffic. Aren't you tired of hearing that about Bangalore? Yes, you say? Good. Then you can hear it again. I got stuck in traffic. And again. I got stuck in traffic. Hopefully I have milked that point for all its worth, and will proceed.If you think I haven't please do let me know and I will correspond with you personally and repeat that line a hundred times. It helps getting things out of your system, y'know? This time my getting stuck in traffic was made even more enjoyable by the fact that, I got stuck behind a truck. Well, we all do that, so whats so special about you, you may ask? In fact if you haven't gotten bored already and showing great perseverance have reached this point of the narrative, you'd have to be an extremely considerate person not to ask that question. Or pretty dumb, come to think of it. This was one of those tanker type trucks and had a sign which said 'Danger - Inflammable material'.

What it should have said was 'Stop breathing or You'll regret it'. Ever been in a class room where your benchmate had beans for lunch? A lot of beans? And the fan was not working? Let me tell you, that class room was heaven compared to what it smelt like in the auto. I mean, I have a serious doubt whether it was inflammable material or hazardous chemical waste of some sort, that the truck was carrying. The kind of chemical waste that makes teenage mutant Ninja's out of turtles. You know the sort I'm talking about. That was one concept I never could figure out anyway. I mean teenage turtles are bad enough. The one's on Discovery are only interested in eating seaweed and having sex (ostensibly with other teenage turtles). They very rarely seem to call in for pizza's. But mutant teenagers who're turtles and also Ninja's? Whoa... I can tell how much LSD the creator of those characters must have been on...

Anyways, arrived at the station with my sinuses clogged up. Nothing that an industrial strength drain cleaner couldn't have rectified, after repeated applications (say twenty three or so times). And a whacking great head ache. As luck would have it, bumped into one of my B-School classmates and her friend. We got talking about jobs, and when the friend heard I was with an IT company, she asked me a lot of questions on a career in IT. The regular reader's of this blog will know how comfortable I am with technology, and as for the newbie's suffice to say that I am as technology savvy as you'd like to have a root canal done. Without anesthetics. But alas, my ego got the better of me and I answered the questions posed, with great wit and wisdom, for half an hour. I just hope she didn't take them at face value. I did tell her at the end of the conversation that my wide and varied experience in the IT field was all of two months, though. I somehow don't think it increased my equity with her tremendously. In fact, post the information on my short IT career, it must have fallen like Enron stock after the bankruptcy announcement.

Luckily the train arrived and saved me the necessity of being stared at like the insect found mixed up in the tambram mama's curd rice (Only by the friend, and not by everyone else at the station. That bit comes later). Its called the Shataabdi (the train, not the insect), which translates into 'anniversary' (I think), and also 'the train that is as comfortable as having someone stick a pin into your backside' (I'm sure). Boo had traveled by this epitome of comfort and gave me rave reviews on the culinary accomplishments of the catering coach. I was really looking forward to the journey (Little did I know). I've got to get even with her one of these days. Probably convince her about a skiing holiday in the Sahara or a clubbing and pubbing holiday in Afghanistan or some such, and send her off. Before getting in, as usual, I checked the passenger list to a.) ensure that I had been recorded in the manifesto as a 'male' and also of the correct age. Proving these two, if they've been put down wrongly is rather embarrassing in public and the former more so than the latter. Especially if you have a loud Railway official, demanding proof. And b.) hopefully check if the person next to me was female and went by the name of Isabelle Adjani or Salma Hayek. Situation a.) has happened more often than situation b.)

I got onto the train, in the AC compartment after being poked and prodded in various places by the luggage of various people, who seemed doubtful about their seats vanishing into thin air if they didn't get on in thirty seconds. By virtue of being thin, I managed to get in, in one piece. 'You can never be too thin or too rich' as the Duchess of windsor once said to me in a personal communique.

The lady next to me was of obvious tambram vintage ( I should know, I'm one of them myself. Besides I got to know her name while exploring the possibility of situation b.) described above). The man on the other side of my seat was around fiftyish. So in all innocent anticipation of an exciting journey, I smiled at both of them and clambered into my seat. I should have known it wouldn't go well from their stares in return. Made me seriously think about getting plastic surgery done. I mean if my being pleasant can evoke that kind of a response..... The lady was loaded with gizmo's and I immediately started getting rashes (refer para 5 above for my reaction to technology). She pulled out a laptop, which could have qualified for a home theatre system, or even just a theatre (it was that big) and started watching a movie.

Then I realised that the fan was on and combined with the AC this was creating to a column of cold air that seemed very pleased to crawl down my spine though my collar. I considered wearing my wind cheater and pulling on the hood, but realized that a 50 Cent lookalike would probably not be very welcome in the compartment, and besides would I'd look like an idiot (more so than I normally do. Why exacerbate things?). So gathered up courage and asked the gizmo queen to switch off the fan (she was hovering over the switch like protective mother). She stared at me like I'd made an indecent proposal and muttered 'Its hot'. Yeah right! It would've been hot if you were an Eskimo probably, but to normal Indian like me.... See what I meant about my social life earlier? Sat through the whole goddam journey hoping and praying for the fan to conk out.

She turned the laptop away so that I couldn't see the movie. At least she tried to, and considering the size of the bloody thing, this was an impossibility. I've seen people who had tickets to first day first shows of 'Sivaji', who were less conceited, and students watching their first porn flick who were less secretive, than her. It was bloody difficult not to watch the movie too, considering the fact that the bloody screen was almost covering half the compartment. I turned to the gentleman seated on the other side,, and a very shifty sort he was too. He was reading a book on taxation, obviously for the express purpose of avoiding them (Lets face it, do you know anyone who would read a book on taxes, just for entertainment on the train?). He was obviously someone to avoid.

By now the much vaunted food started arriving. The first course was a Sandwich. It just a little old and a little tough and crusty. I mean it must have been prepared somewhere in 2 B.C. As for the toughness, the Navy SEALS could have used it in their bullet proof vests instead of Kevlar. Managed to eat it though (one of the great achievements of my life, eating that sandwich). The next thing to come was Tomato soup. It had the delightful taste and consistency of th hot salt water I used to gargle with, during periods of throat infection. the high point was when the shifty man sitting next to me dropped the whole gunk of Amul butter provided for the sandwich into the soup and drank this stirring mixture. Very stirring it was. In fact, my whole stomach was stirring with horror at this combo. It was all I could do not to throw up into his lap.

Lay back and tried to meditate the way I had learnt in the deepest reaches of Tibet (see earlier post on kung fu for further info on this). And dinner arrived. There was a sabji, which seemed to contain some animal matter of an alien nature (it was a vegetarian dinner mind you) and a dal which seemed to contain some plant matter of alien nature. There was also another side dish, which contained indeterminate matter of alien nature (some where in in the evolution chain between animals and plants bought from a galaxy far, far, away probably?) Ate this also. You may marvel at my perseverance, but I had paid for the ticket after all, and all this came with the fare.

After all this persecution reached Chennai, feeling that the Spanish Inquisition should have been a picnic compared to the Shataabdi. Too bad they didn't have this train back in Spain. People would have confessed more easily, after a jaunt on it. Went home to hot Rasam, amazing Potato curry and Curd Rice. A proper dinner.

My life isn't all hardships, come to think of it...

Baths, Advertisements, Broomsticks and Roadtrips

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.

Hamlet in 'Hamlet'- Shakespeare

Well he was one confused dude, he was. Hamlet, I mean, not the good ol' Speare Shaker. It gives me a lot of solace reading Hamlet. And that said , let us begin.

I have been rather lax in updating my blog and the masses were clamoring for more outside my door and refusing to accept my excuse that I was suffering from a serious case of 'writers block'. No, that has nothing to do with irregular bowel movements, or anything that can be cured with a good laxative. More of a 'mental' thing. Having thus established my credentials as a 'writer' in a fatuous manner, I shall proceed.

There's only one person I know who's more confused than Hamlet. Thats moi, yes, me. I wait for you to recover from the shock of being told that someone of my bearing can actually get confused. That is but natural. Let me explain. Whether it is because of my 'brought up' (thats Tamil for 'bringing up' in English, usually pronounced 'braat uppei'), being a standard 1974 model of Tambram stock, or some congenital reason, I get confused rather easily. Take baths for example. I don't mean your taking a bath will make this easier to understand, let me hasten to add. What I'm saying is that even taking a bath can get confusing. Ever been to a hotel that has a bath tub? They usually have around thirty different knobs and levers, combinations of which make the water flow from various places. To my luck I've never been able to figure them out. I always end up standing in the tub and twisting knobs to get the batch tub filled up with hot water, and the next thing I know I have an icy cold shower of water running down from the shower. It always happens. Always. Its a very enriching experience, let me tell you, when you have ice cold water pouring on your head, when you least expect it. Makes you recall all those swear words you thought you forgot, in languages you never knew you could speak. They even have phone extensions in the bathrooms in some of these places. I can't for the life of me, understand why. To answer nature's call presumably?

To compound things, my flat here in Bangalore also has bathrooms of the same type. The knobs for the hot and cold showers turn in different directions. I always get confused about which one turns which way, resulting in either a scalding hot or ice cold shower. Suffice to say that the neighbour's kids are learning a lot of new words every time I go take a bath. I just hope their parents don't realize where they're picking it up from. I can't run tuition classes for adults who want to learn more expletives. I'd rather reserve the curses for the bathing expedition.

To Mrudula's everlasting irritation, I can't make up my mind on which channel to watch on the telly. A typical evening of confused TV watching usually goes like this:

'flip'

Motorcycle Ad: Dude dressed in black leather and helmet drives out of a thirteenth floor window. Why? Was he in an IT company, on the bench for too long? Did he listen to too much of Himesh Reshammiya? I can't figure it out. More importantly how did he manage to take the bike up to the thirteenth floor, into some office? I could use that kind of knowledge. Every time I want to go up, all the six lifts in my office are already on their way up, on a floor above mine. Anyways, dude survives miraculously. Goes to the edge of the cliff, pivots on a wheel over the edge and drives off. Presumably, his daily routine before going home and eating curd rice. Who knows? Next scene: A doctor types is asking him "Do you think you are ready for your next mission?" Motorcycle moron replies "Thinking, is such a waste of time". Yeah right, genius. And this is supposed to tempt me into buying this brand of motorcycles? I'm confused.

'flip'

Another motorcycle Ad: Dude is riding one of the 'new generation' bikes. He suddenly becomes the 'superhuman amoeba biker man'. He splits himself effortlessly into five of himself and they all race each other. 'These stunts are performed by experts' the subtitle very kindly says.'Viewers are advised not to imitate'. Yes, that should be easy. When you're stuck in the Bangalore Traffic, all viewers will be really tempted to try and split into two. A very calming mental excercise, obviously. And who are these experts who can split themselves into replicas, so easily? Anyways all five Amoeba men merge back into one, and then a copy of the bike suddenly emerges from a lake nearby and takes off into the sky. Is it just me or was the director of this ad on hallucinogenics, wasted beyond all scope? I'm confused.

'flip'

Holiday package Ad: A couple and their two children arrive at the holiday spot. The irritatingly cheerful backgound song goes 'You arrive, you happy, You messy, you happy'. Is that bad grammar or are they using Jamaican Patois? Search me. The family keeps smiling. Obviously these guys have never been on a real holiday. The people who made the ad, I mean. Fifteen minutes into the holiday, the brats should have started screaming and whining, and the couple should have started fighting. Welcome to the real world dude. The family is finally closeted in a small tent, I wouldn't put my dog in. Its raining like mad, and their lunch is delivered there by another cheerful guy with an umbrella. The amount of cheerfulness makes me puke. You no play ad please, We very very happy? I'm confused.

'flip'

Another Harry Potter News Flash: Aaaaaaarghhhhhh!!! A lady reporter in one of those wizard hats and robes is reporting on the forthcoming book. Well, either the poor deluded woman thinks its the high point of fashion, or she's being paid extremely well, or she just plain belongs to the loony bin. I wouldn't be caught dead in a ditch, wearing that outfit. Actually there's a lot about Harry Potter that also confuses me. What kind of a person would whiz around at speeds of mach one with a stick between his legs?? If you ask me, thats a definite no no. I mean, I get uncomfortable on a flight in fifteen minutes. The only kind of person who would try to fly that way would have to be really into pain or just absolutely dumb (the type who wouldn't recognize smart if it came up behind him and bit him in the butt). Or maybe he just couldn't pay for his family planning operation, and took this way out? I'm confused.

Actually there are two guys I know, who can rival me when it comes to getting confused, especially in terms of directions - Adi and Sandy. I remember when we took our road trip in Sandy's car driving all around South India. Half the time we didn't know whether we were coming or going. Bangalore was the crowning glory in this trip. What with directions all being 'Straaightu to dead endu and leftu' and us being sozzled half the time, we ended up seeing the city in greater detail than any human being would want to. We tried all remedies. We figured out that all the people were wantonly misguiding us and took the exact opposite directions. We thought about which was our left and which the 'dead endu and leftu' dude's left (We were high and this line of thought led to considerable disagreement betwixt us). We assumed very correctly that all roads in Bangalore should lead to M.G Road and ten minutes of driving any which way should bring us there anyway. But none of it worked. We finally resorted to asking for directions every hundred yards or so, which didn't make us very popular with the other commuters. Then we ended up asking the same auto driver thrice for directions at various points, in a span of half a kilometre (by mistake, we caught up with him and it being dark we didn't realize it was the same person). He expressed very concisely, his doubts about the legitimacy of our conceptions, and those of three generations before us, not mention his opinion of our IQ levels. We stopped asking for directions after that.

This however had its own downsides. We arrived in front of Forum (a huge mall, the landmark we remembered) to visit Sandy's property where there was building going on. To our shock and dismay, it was no longer there(the property, not the mall). We first argued amongst ourselves on the landmarks which had been there earlier, which now seemed to have disappeared. But then we realized that not only the landmarks but the streets and the street names had also changed. We were stunned by the pace of development in Bangalore. To take down a building is one thing, but to transplant a whole area! We considered suing the government for loss of property. The least they could have done was to inform poor Sandy. We commiserated with him. Some more beer was called for and consumed. Then we undertook our own jihad, we would find Sandy's property no matter what, whether it existed or not. After another twenty minutes of inspired searching and badgering poor pedestrians into admitting that this was a different area, we gave up. Thats when it dawned on us that we should be looking at the rear entrance side of the mall, on the parallel road. We were on the wrong side. What can I say? We were confused.

Responses, Poems, Veecharuvals and F(l)ights

When Icarus fell
he had just finished updating his blog,
a farmer was sharpening a
'veecharuval' in his field,

The rowdies were awake
folding their veshti's above their undrawers
near the edge of the sea

Using a blow torch
they melted
the wings' wax

Insignificantly off the coast there was a splash quite unnoticed,
this was Icarus being fed to the crocodiles by the undrawerers.

- Suseen's response to my last post (A brilliant take off on 'Musee des Beaux Arts' by W.H.Auden - Which was in turn inspired by the Dutch master Pieter Breughel's painting 'The Fall of Icarus' - Both of which in turn inspired the title for this blog). The painting featured in my blog, is incidentally (or coincidentally, if you're naive enough to believe it) the one by Breughel.

One can't let such challenges pass by, can one?

Mahesh's response to Suseen's post:

Though the insignificant splash was unnoticed,
At least the crocodiles were very well fed.
And the blow torches might have seemed dull,
In the bright sunlight of the boring afternoon.

The undrawerers might have had a lot of fun,
Completing their trivial task on the seashore.
Folding the veshti is but incidental to the fact,
That in the end, nothing is as easy as it seems.

As for the farmer and his sharp veecharuval,
They were both but tools in this poetic scene.
They played no part in the happenings as such,
But were still witnesses to the underlying fact.

What mattered here was not who was being fed,
To the ravening crocodiles, or what the farmer,
Or the undrawerers did. What mattered was that,
Before Icarus fell, Icarus flew.

Your turn, Bro.

P.S: A 'Veecharuval' is a Sickle, usually used to detach parts of the body from the original owner. Most prevalently used in Madurai, where Suseen comes from. You just might not find this on Google or Wikipedia.