Holi ke rang......

This year was sadly one of the most lackluster Holis for us, reminding me of years and years past when Holi would invariably fall somewhere in the close vicinity or the middle of all important EXAMS! Those were the days of pretending to study while the ears were glued to the colored and coloring revelers having a great time outside.

Holi days in PATNA were to be strictly restricted to your own immediate locality unless you wished to be bombarded with cow dung. In Rajasthan, Holi is so amazing that it’s a peak tourist season, though why firangs would want to get pelted with painfully stiff wax pellets full of color eludes me.

But memories of B school come back the most; I suppose that must be the case with most people. It was the time of imminent end of the world if this or that assignment wasn’t completed on time, all nighters and partying for no reason atall. Obviously Holi presented immense possibilities of fun (some naughty) and reasons to just crash for the whole day.

At my B school we used to have all organic Holis, very healthy and environment friendly. Bhaang for the initiated and then a plunge in a pit full of rotten eggs and tomatoes mixed with gooey-sticky mud. Many would agree that it’s very therapeutic to just whale about in the smelly slime like buffaloes.

Ofcourse we would respectfully invite all the professors and then dump them into the pit. Some would also use this opportunity to get back at the Profs. for the occasional poor grade or exceptionally boring session.

Well those are days past, current economic conditions seem to have hit the spirit of Holi. Plenty of the working amongst us were in office slogging away rather than sleeping off the exertions of getting painted green and blue and the scrubbing later.

Yet I look outside my home at the tennis court (the designated Holi arena) still full of red and green puddles and take heart. Next year we might be the one painting the place red and quietly stow away the colours to the back of the cabinet.

Minddddd it..

I am a huge Rajni fan. Can't understand a word of most of his regional movies but then you don't watch them for the dialogue!So in reverance, here are some of my favourite Rajni FACTS. Mind it, don't take it too lightly or else.....

Rajanikanth's acting is so good that he even makes onions cry.

Rajanikanths’ calendar goes straight from March 31st to April 2nd, no one fools Rajanikanth.

When Rajnikant does a push up, he isn't lifting himself up. He's pushing the earth down.

The Bermuda Triangle used to be the Bermuda square, until Rajnikant kicked one of the corners off.

Outer space exists because it’s afraid to be on the same planet as Rajnikant.

There are no weapons of mass destruction in Iraq; Rajnikant lives in Chennai.

Where there is a will there is a way. Where there is Rajnikant there's no other way.

Rajnikant can divide by zero.

Where would we be without Rajni Saar.....

Paraskavedekatriaphobia????

Today is Friday the 13th, yet again. It’s the second one this year and with another to come, there is plenty of room to maneuver for doomsday prophesiers and sundry other God Men and their theories.

The fear for the day is real enough to warrant a phobia named after it, paraskavedekatriaphobia.There is atleast one movie made in Hollywood on the topic each year with the famous FRIDAY THE 13th topping the list. Not to be left behind we have 13B from Bollywood this year. Don’t know about the movie itself but the number 13 cant have been too bad for it as a few MSians found it funny enough to write home about.

There are facts and there is fiction about this day and some of them are here….

The actual origin of the superstition appears to be a tale in Norse mythology. Friday is named for Frigga, the free-spirited goddess of love and fertility. When Norse and Germanic tribes converted to Christianity, Frigga was banished in shame to a mountaintop and labeled a witch. It was believed that every Friday, the spiteful goddess convened a meeting with eleven other witches, plus the devil - a gathering of thirteen - and plotted ill turns of fate for the coming week. For many centuries in Scandinavia, Friday was known as "Witches' Sabbath. (wow that seems to have come from our neck of woods rather than in distant Scandinavia)

Some historians peg the superstition to the thirteen people who attended the Last Supper (neither Jesus nor Judas came out of that one OK)…Dan Brown made a ton of money there, guess 13 isn’t his unlucky number.

The Knights Templar were a monastic military order founded in Jerusalem in 1118 C.E., whose mission was to protect Christian pilgrims during the Crusades. Over the next two centuries, the Knights Templar became extraordinarily powerful and wealthy. Threatened by that power and eager to acquire their wealth, King Philip secretly ordered the mass arrest of all the Knights Templar in France on Friday, October 13, 1307 - Friday the 13th. And there began history’s biggest hunt for mythical GOLD and POWER, guess some of us just don’t learn.

According to folklorists, there is no written evidence for a "Friday the 13th" superstition before the 19th century. The earliest known documented reference in English occurs in an 1869 biography of Gioachino Rossini. He regarded Friday as an unlucky day, and thirteen as an unlucky number, it is remarkable that on Friday, the 13th of November, he died.

In 1907, eccentric Boston stockbroker Thomas Lawson published a book called Friday the Thirteenth, which told of an evil businessman's attempt to crash the stock market on the unluckiest day of the month. Thanks to an extensive ad campaign, the book sold well: nearly 28,000 copies within the first week.

There is also a 1993 study published in the British Medical Journal provocatively titled, "Is Friday the 13th Bad for Your Health?" They made the following conclusion… "Friday 13th is unlucky for some. The risk of hospital admission as a result of a transport accident may be increased by as much as 52 percent. Staying at home is recommended.

"Do we in India really care for the whole effect or is it just another import? So what are our own local or regional superstitions? My mother would have a fit if we wanted to get our hair cut on Tuesdays!

A standing ovation..........

To the theatre scene at Bangalore, it’s alive and kicking. Not having experienced it in Delhi or Bombay comparisons are not possible, nonetheless Bengaluru rocks. The sheer variety of languages boggles the mind….Kannada, Telgu, Tamil, Bengali, Hindi, English etc.

Last month alone, we’ve had the good fortune of seeing some of the well known plays of our times.Naseeruddin Shah’s Motley Crew dazzled with solo renditions of Ismat Chugtai’s three plays in ‘Ismat apaa ke naam’. Heeba Shah’s ‘Chui Mui’ was adequate and Neseeruddin Shah had the audience eating out of his hands within minutes of his raunchy, over the top, garishly colourful (verbally) ‘Gharwali’. But without doubt Ratna Pathak Shah endured with her gossipy old aunt turn in ‘Mughal Bachche’. She was luminous and made you long to see more of her on celluloid screen.

Chowdiah Memorial Hall was understandably full of the city’s literati and glitterati, hobnobbing with each other over society gossip, coffee and plenty of page 3 photo ops. This when the event was publicized no more than a couple of days before and tickets were at Rs 1000-2000 for corporate types and Rs. 500 for us ordinary mortals.

Also last week NSD inaugurated its first campus outside of Delhi (at Guru Nanak auditorium on Wheelers Road) with 4 of its best known plays. We missed out on the first, ‘Acharya Tartuffe’ but fortunately for us ‘Ghasiram Kotwal’ was well publicized and conveniently timed (at 7 p.m. as opposed to 2:30 p.m. initially).Oh what a performance it was!

Coming from the bare bones presentation of ‘Ismat apaa ke naam’, we were overwhelmed and left gaping at the colours, costumes and the naach-gaana. The live orchestra harked back to the era of silent movies with traveling music troupes.Written by Vijay Tendulkar and probably one of his best known plays performed here by the Reportary Company, ‘Ghasiram’ is an apt commentary on our life and times.

It uses lavni among other traditional art forms. The actor playing Nana Phadnawis deserves special mention. His dancing eyes leering at the honest housewives of ‘Poona Shaher’, grubby hands and overall evilness disgusted and revolted! Bravo!!!!

My husband tells me that the next play ‘Ram Naam Satya Hai’, a view of the last days of HIV ward in a hospital was dirty, colorful and entertaining. I should know as he launches into large tracts the rather RICH dialogue in the middle of the most inopportune moments.

The last of the series was a dense adaptation of or in my view a literal translation of Kafka, named ‘Kafka-ek Adhyay’. Either the actors were too young or Kafka unsuitable to adaptation because I caught myself translating the dialoques in English before absorbing them on more than one occasion. And I disagree with my husband that it eventually grows on you.

The lead actor had a serious case of ‘Shahrukhitis’ and since the play was on neither end of the language or adaptation spectrum (omkara v/s evita) it hangs hopelessly in the middle.

Nevertheless quite an experience and at no cost though we wouldn’t mind paying considering the literary horse manure we’ve seen on many an occasion at a steep price.Keep bringing them on people!

The lords and masters of Bangalore.....

Every Bangalorean can recount countless tales of excesses of the lords and masters of the city….the autowallas! They ignore you in the hour of frantic need, overcharge you, double charge you at 7 p.m. and in general reduce you to fuming tears if not outright mad rages!

I have borne with many a high and mighty auto walla, who does not so much as deign to look in your direction while contemplating whether or not to do the high honor of transporting you in the vicinity of your destination. Then they absolutely ignore your instructions to follow a certain route or at the very least give you a look of total disgust when you might suggest a better and shorter alternative. Ofcourse the lesser we talk of their galloping meters the better.

I live in one of the Nagars of Bangalore; in an apartment complex which to my utter surprise is quite a landmark…it would put any US President to shame! It gives me heart palpitations just to contemplate flagging down an auto to my place during rush hour from anywhere further north from Cunningham, even with the mandatory 20 bucks extra.

My sister loves to regale acquaintances with stories of how she and her friends were chucked out of an auto in the middle of Brigade Street for discussing the issue of the famous thespian Raj Kumar and his much YOUNGER heroines in less than reverential terms. The case of money grabbing Ramalinga Raju has been regurgitated by so many overcharging auto drivers as justification that it isn’t even worth mentioning.

And to top it all, every once in a while we all have to sit back and cool our heels during the strikes and bandhs by the autodrivers association in demand for higher rates. So once again we bow to the pressure, pay higher and forget about the extra 10 or so bucks because CHANGE is always ILLA.

Once in a while though, an angel of mercy totally makes you gush with complete admiration at their professionalism and honesty. They give their community a much needed good name!

Bangalore has one of the better networks of city transport yet we are totally and utterly dependent on autos. With the ever delayed Namma Metro starting only on a limited route in 2010 (if atall), the current status is sadly here to stay!

As they say This IsNamma Bangalore…. Jai ho!!

And we all cook together....

While the saas bahu saga was keeping the country in salivating hypnosis over petty family squabbles, early morning makeup and garish sarees a quite revolution was taking place in Indian television…..food shows are the new rage of the idiot box.

It started with a few shows on Discovery Travel and Living and now you can pick any lifestyle, news or family channel, at any time of the day or night and are bound to come across atleast one food oriented show…..in the kitchen or out.

There are new stars around the block and you me and any Tom Dick and Harry could be the next in line. There is Anthony Bourdain, Kylie Kwong, Vir Sanghvi, Anjum Anand, a couple of unknowns (to me) on NDTV Good Times, a few hosts on various news channels (whose only qualification as traveling food critics is their VERY ample girth), sure proof that the job needs no skill other than the ability to ooh and aah over all types of delectable but more often than not disgustingly ugly food.

I am a self confessed loyalist of Nigella Feasts. My husband complains of multiple reruns that I insist on watching even though I could regurgitate the days’ recipes within seconds of the beginning of the show. There is something thoroughly reassuring about:
1) watching someone else slog away in the kitchen (with no sweat, dirty utensils, cuts and burns to mar the beauty of it all)
2)AND look like she eats atleast large portions of whatever she cooks if not the whole thing (are we in danger of passive calorie intake here???)

Ofcourse I could never imagine actually cooking any of the potentially heart attack inducing chocolate laden cakes, pastries, cookies etal that Ms. Lawson bakes in each episode….but who cares. The producers never imagined these as educational or cookery-tips show anyway!

Lately, I see that there is a subtle shift in Indian television programming towards more ‘meaningful’ issues (taking a very flexible view of meaningful) but cookery shows have me currently hooked, line and sinker.With a surfeit of self professed food critics vying to be on TV, I am totally spoilt for choice and consistently snub my nose at all manner of mindless programmes.

Long live 24 hour TV!!

Has Bihar done a vanishing act?

There is simply not enough news to stand up to the Lalu days of yore when any lull in news would be delightfully filled in by the first familys antics, and there are enough of them to fill respectable hours of newsreel.
My family moved to Patna when I was little, apparently after my mother wished a misplaced desire to VISIT a city that has such a beautiful and clean airport (this is the early eighties) on a return journey from Gawhati. Obviously the God above was listening and to my mothers horror, my father had to move to Patna for work.
Lalu Yadav had just won the first of his many Chief Ministerial tenures and a ‘hawa’ of change was flowing in the state. We lived in a neighborhood of bumihars and understandably there was great brouhaha about the rise of the lowly Yadavs.
The one thing that I clearly remember as part of this change was that the local dudhwala stopped bringing his cows right upto the colony for milking sessions and now all had to visit his dairy to pick up the daily litre or two. What scandal! What fun for us kids to watch the elders foam at the mouth over it all!
The eleventh child of Lalu Yadav made good news and there were plenty of jokes to enjoy on the issue of the Bihari cricket team.
We studied in the best missionary school in town and had to frequently trudge in knee deep rain water just to reach the school gates during the monsoon. You could be hours late and simply show your squelching shoes and soggy skirt as an excuse.
If we forgot to do our home work, all we had to do was look innocently at the teacher with watery eyes and recount the harrowing tale of ‘no bijli’ all night. We pulled many an all nighter (many times a week too) when there would be no electricity and there would be no line man to be found in the whole city who would agree to fix the cut/sagging lines to this or that electricity pole. It did not matter who you were or how much you were willing to pay as bribe, if your local line man is not happy, forget the electricity for a few days.
Even when there would be electricity, either the wattage would be so low or there would be only one phase, that tubelights were a joke! High wattage bulbs sold like cakes on Christmas and you had to keep a large supply because the electricity surges would make them pop like crackers.
There were no roads because contractors would simply spread large pieces of bricks (and no mud layer on top) and simply wait for the traffic to pound it down…lo and behold there is the newly made road!
Heaven help if there was durga puja, sarswati puja or any other assorted pujas because the city would simply shut down and you could do nothing but wear your Sunday best and go mingle in the surging crowds at the various pandals.
Summer holidays were always to be spent at our grandparents place on the other end of the country and the long journey to the destination would be tiring but a happy one. The return journey always was full of strange events and you could SMELL the station LONG before it actually came, AC couch notwithstanding.
Noone had heard of reservations and people would DEMAND that they be allowed to share your berth with you. There would be so many passengers sleeping on the floor that you could simply forget the idea of a late night visit to the loo. Once my mother threw out (the train) a box of our own possessions because the person sleeping between our berths was heard rummaging through it deep in the night and when discovered ran away to the horror of all passengers who thought he had planted a bomb (this was during the events terrorising PUNJAB)!
But the Patna of my childhood would always be filled with memories of being the gang leader of the gaggle of neighbourhood kids. Nothing scared us and we would go around the place terrorizing all and sundry on holis and diwalis.
Things may have changed now and then they may never, its hard to take out the spirit of the place no matter how much the white wash.
The last few years of the last century have been more eventful than ever before especially because we would see the news coverage from afar and things always sound worse than they are on the ground. But lately there is not a peep from the state!
No stories of excesses, no examples of the most corrupt and backward state. Unless it is for another railway line in the village of some distant relative of the Railway minister, nothing makes the news channels or even the back pages of the fattest news paper.
Has Bihar gone out of fashion? Or has Bihar bashing lost its pleasure. Surely things cannot have changed so radically that the media cannot find some juicy piece of tidbit.