Will the real SRK please stand up?

He arrived as the lad with an impish grin and a boyish charm. His first release, Deewana turned prophetic – he became the iconic crazy and passionate lover. He defied norms when he chose to be the antihero instead of the archetypal hero. He might have lost the leading lady on screen, but instead won the hearts of millions in the audience. The hysterical mob of women who still swoon and scream at his arrival exemplifies the extent of his influence. He became a self-made superstar; the Badshaah of Bollywood, they call him. And why not? He is just living up to his name – Shahrukh (which literally means ‘face of the king’)!

Finger Lickin' Good

Among the many things stereo-typed as South Indian, the one that’s gaining maximum ground (or already has) is that we eat with our hands. Not to forget how a curly-headed, ‘Aiyyo’-spouting Shahrukh made a complete mockery of it, with his spaghetti-with-curd routine in his (very forgettable) dud Ra.One. Oh yeah SRK, you thought that was being funny. I think when the movie bombed, the joke was on you!

Mystery

Some I come across like the rose petals I once placed in an old book. Once cherished, once dear. As I accidentally chance upon them, they remind me of why I had left them there. They are now withered, dry and only a shadow of what they once were. But there lingers a fragrance; I smile as I take the dry petals – ready to fall apart. The very sight evokes thoughts which I like to revisit. I place them back and close the book. I am sure that I’ll come across them again; accidentally, of course. And I’ll still smile – however tattered the book; however dry the petals. The fragrance will live.

Some are like the cookies a Mother places on a shelf, out of reach from her child – well not quite. Tempting thoughts, seething desires. My head puts it on a high shelf; my heart tries to reach. And I’ve to blame my head; why place it out of reach (tempting me to try?) and yet so low (that I will get it, anyway?). At the end of it, you give into your heart – it reaches for the cookie; the very temptation you were trying to avoid. You know you will regret it, but you reach for it anyway. Like the Mother who will feel sad at the disappointment of her child, my head relents to the heart.

Some are like the files you save into the remotest and most random folder in your computer. You furiously click, navigate the various paths and keep it away, hoping that you will forget the way back to it. And yet, you will find yourself, somehow searching it up, revisiting them – although it only gives you pain. Again you move it to another folder – somewhere into the maze that is the system. But never do you Shift+Del. It might reach the Recycle Bin – but you will restore it, anyway. A pain you hold onto.

Memories – Exasperating. Exhilarating. Depressing. Defining.

That’s why they confound me. 

How 'Online Smart' are we?

The other day, I was surprised to see a status update on Facebook. So yes, a zillion inconsequential things appear on one’s timeline, but this took me by surprise. Or was it shock? Or disbelief? Or was it a sense of confusion?

Here was a person announcing his father’s death (I am sure, quite promptly) on FB. Now I was very uncomfortable when I saw this. I don’t know about you, but FB is the last thing that would be on my mind if I were in his place; forget announcing this news to all and sundry over there. To give him the benefit of the doubt, let me add that his father was a well-known artist and hence, he probably decided to let a wider audience know of it. But really? An FB status update saying ‘my dad is no more’ is the LAST thing I expected to see (okay, no – there are far weirder stuff going on there). And what’s more, there were 70+ odd comments on it and idiotically enough, one ‘Like’. Thank God there was only one!  But I’d really like to ask that one person who ‘liked’ this post – what’s there to ‘like’ about someone losing his father?

I’ve always believed that we haven’t quite learnt how to use social networking sites. No one’s discreet about what goes up there – some really personal honeymoon snaps and/or crazy party pictures that people have uploaded (among others) drove me to this conclusion. I am not saying that one must fabricate one’s online persona so that it appears ‘cool’ on FB; it’s another thing that people are doing it to perfection with no instructions! But then, you must know what is okay to be seen and what’s not. I’ve also seen many girls (yes, ‘girls’ not ‘women’ – because they’ve not obviously grown up!) post how they miss their ‘better halves’ (probably he’s away on a trip, or she’s away from home). I mean, really? If you miss him, then you need to let him know that, not the rest of the world! And it’s anybody’s guess that phones exist, and they are already talking – but hell no, we need to know that she’s missing him oh-so-much. Give me a break!

I deviate – but not by much. There’s another phenomenon I’m not comfortable with. And that’s posting ‘RIP’ on a person’s FB Wall after he dies. I am sure you are also familiar with this. I had a senior pass away, a month or more back. And then I saw his wall being flooded with the ‘Miss You’, ‘RIP bro’ and the likes. I fail to fathom what this kind of solidarity is supposed to mean. Bereavement, I thought, was an intensely private experience. I am sure that you are sad at his demise, but is it essential to make a display of it by putting up such statements on his Wall? Is he going to read it? What purpose does it serve? If you need to offer any condolence, what you really need to do is go out there and offer some to his parents/relatives; if it means that much to you. Not mark a commiseration of sorts online.

I don’t know where this is headed, but I only wish people were a tad more sensible and sensitive, especially when it comes to personal tragedies. I still believe that some parts of our lives are sacrosanct. It’s for only us to know and for us to decide whom to share it with. Maybe collectively, we haven’t reached that place, where we know how to deal with things online – but I wish it was sooner.

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P.S. I know, lame title. I couldn't get anything sensible to express what this post conveys. Suggestions?

Digging Deep

A casual discussion with a friend today and memories of this revived a latent thread of thought in my head.

We know a host of different things about different people in our lives. They know a host of different things about us. And in all probability, our parents know us the best. But is it true, the other way around? How well do you know your parents?

I mean, really? As far as I know, I know my Mom as ‘my Mom’. What was her past like? If not down to the minute details, do I know how she was – or what shaped her thoughts? What did she aspire to be? (She keeps saying she’d have loved to be a lawyer)

Now that I am over my turbulent teenage (and its share of ‘crushes’) – I wonder, did she also ever like somebody? Have an infatuation? Fall in love, perhaps? Given that she went to an all-girls school, I doubt she had the opportunity; but did she? Was she a romantic? What did her friends think of her? What kind of a person was she at school – nerd, geek, the meek or the bold? I know she was a real sporty person. She was known to have a ‘serious’ façade; and then she made a great friend. And this girl was so happy to know have discovered a sweet friend in Mom, that she wrote her a poem dedicated to her, and gave her a pet name!

One day, during a casual discussion my uncle mentioned how Dad used to go to the paddy fields and enjoy playing flute – and for a minute, I couldn’t believe my ears! He used to play flute? What other talents did they have? Were they into singing or performing arts? (One thing they both agree – they weren’t into writing or anything remotely literary, and are surprised that we do!)

There are some things our parents don’t talk to us about; there are some things we don’t talk to our parents about. It could be the financial situation, familial problems and rifts, matters of the heart, or a discordant marriage. We end up remembering and piecing information from others or from what we see – later when we come of age, they probably discuss or we try to understand; else, it still remains a mystery in patches. And we do the same – after we ‘come of age’ we don’t discuss certain things with parents. It could be our new found habits (say, drinking, smoking or drugs) or our relationships (and allied activities!). I remember, as kids we used to report right to the colour of our teacher’s sari to Mom. In a couple of years, it became ‘It was as usual’, if Mom asked ‘So how was school today?’

Just as we piece our parents’ lives – they do piece ours, in some ways.

It is not intentional – some parts of their life remain hidden because it never came up. Or they never felt the need to discuss it. Time changes things, and so does our changing age (and theirs). There’s a part of them, their lives, we’ll probably never know. And there’s a part of you, or your life that they’ll probably never know.

And even though I may not entirely know who they were, I could still try. That’s why when we cozy up with Mom on lazy afternoons, tightly hugging her – we gently cajole her to talk about herself. She very vividly describes her childhood, how it was to live in a joint family. About her marriage, how lonely she felt in Dubai, how she raised us and how life has been for her. Sometimes I think I should document it somewhere; make a story of her life. For now, I am busy unraveling it. One page at a time.

Ahead

It’s that time of the year when we indulge in retrospection, introspection and prospection (one, either or all). Why now? What’s so great about 31st December? We could do it on any day of the year too; but perhaps the onset of a ‘new’ year gives rise to hope. And as you all know, hope is a good thing. Maybe this newness gives us an impetus to try and set things straight, to mend our ways, or explore unchartered avenues. But of course, for that we need to reflect on the year gone by.

Breakfast

The sunlight reflecting off the steel tumbler, which held the piping hot tea.
The steel plate which held the puttu, freshly delivered from the puttu kutti. Staring on as Amma poured a generous serving of kadala curry. And as the waft of the curry and the steam from the puttu rose from the plate, creating patterns in the air, she curiously blew them and dug into it hungrily.

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She stared at her bowl. Yep, cereals it is. Cornflakes and milk. That's wholesome too. She said to herself.

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Image Courtesy: http://heyithinkthisway.wordpress.com

For the uninitiated, puttu is the national food of Kerala; a regular breakfast item! If I had to explain what it is,  let me quote what I read once in an Emirates menu (as you guessed, it was a flight back from the Gelf) - Steamed rice cake, garnished with coconut gratings and served with chick peas sautéed in onions.

For the Malayalis - nammude puttum kadala curry-um! It's also had with banana, papadam, etc. and variants of puttu include those made with wheat flour, tapioca flour and so on.

No, it's not that this post is entirely about me. I think this is a 'common' memory from childhood, for a lot of us. I used to love puttu a lot. In fact, I used to make it as breakfast on weekends regularly, so much so that now I am quite tired of it. But I am game for puttu any time, if I get it with chicken curry or fish curry! *wide grin*

P.S. Wanted to label this post, and then realised I hadn't labelled any post with 'food'. And that surprises me. I hadn't written anything on food yet?!

Book Browsing

It had been a while since I actually visited a bookstore. Flipkart ensured that the kua came to the pyaasa, instead of vice versa. And as convenient as it maybe to order books online, the charm of actually walking into a store and browsing books is irreplaceable. The joy of randomly picking a book, checking out the summary at the back cover, reading about the author, flipping the pages and judging the book by its cover (quite literally!) is a pleasure of sorts. And so, I went to Reliance TimeOut a couple of days back.

Tangled

A convoluted mass of thoughts. She tried to pick through the noodles that was her mind, with reasoning as her chopsticks.

She tried. Real hard.
They failed. She would manipulate and manoeuvre. There were times when she almost managed. But they would slide off the sticks; the very second she thought that she had got it right. Practice, she thought. She had to get better at it. Some day.

Or maybe she had to change her chopsticks.

New blog!

Hey there. It's been quite some while of inaction here. Blame my laziness. And the fact that I wasn't free for the past four weekends. But now that I am here, I have an announcement to make. I have started a *new* blog.

It's dedicated to music and it's called: what-i-hear.blogspot.com
Yes, simply put it's all about what I hear - the kind of songs I like, why I like it and so on. I am a true-blue Mallu and so you will find me share/discuss old Malayalam songs (the new ones are not much to write about; well there are some noteworthy ones, I don't deny it). As also Hindi songs - old and new. So if any of you feel like checking it out - I've already given you the link. I've started off with a Malayalam song; but don't worry I have a huge list of Hindi favourites as well. So it's all going to come there soon. Do go ahead and let me know your views. So long.

P.S. Hope all of you are doing good. What's been keeping you busy?