Thursday, June 30, 2005

Twenty-four years old and none the wiser.

Birthdays are a good thing. Gifts and wishes apart, they are place markers in our story, with notes scribbled them, some highlighted, others scratched-over and re-written.

The thought of birthdays rekindles a multitude of memories. A day in 365 congratulating you for making it all this way. A day in 365 spurring you on for another round. God, so many memories, I am laughing silently as I think of the absurdity of this endeavor to put some of my gems in words…but I’ll try.

Zero
8:03am 22nd June 1981

I have absolutely no idea how the nurses looked and I have a solid case for not doing so – it was 8:03am for heavens sake. NOT the best time to be woken up, ejected out of the warm womb and spanked! No wonder I cried.

One
Morning 22nd June 1982

The incriminating evidence was captured on camera. I can see thatha (grandpa) holding me in his lap, dad has my head locked in his strong hold, mom is looking on helplessly as the strange man in the photo bores a hole in my earlobe. I still flinch with pain when I look at the little face in the photo and I still can’t understand why. “It’s our tradition”, say parents, but I secretly think they were never happy when the doctor announced they had a son.

There is a second picture - I am all puffy red-eyed, two gold droplets dangling from my ears – that’s cute little girly for you. Of course no one knew this gift would show its magic sixteen years later when the cutest girl in the Commerce section turned, somehow spotted the little dip and assumed I had got just this one pierced over the weekend! I smiled, winked and looked straight ahead.

Four
Evening 22nd June 1985

It was a bright summer evening when I received my first real gift; at least this is the one I remember. The box enshrining it left little to imagination. On it was the life size illustration of the LEGO machine gun. My adorable periamma (aunt) got it for me. Maybe this was her way of telling me the world was a bitch and it was never too early to master these weapons. Nobel thoughts, but back then I was still a non-violent Brahmin boy, strictly vegetarian too. Holding the rugged hard plastic, fingering the lethal trigger filled me with such power and uncontrollable passion that I took a strong stride forward and shoved the nozzle into periamma’s smiling face.

Since then she reminds me of the incident each birthday - of this gift and the near maiming of her pretty face. I adore her all the more now. Just wish she had given me a pen instead and told me about its power. Or just stuck to simple blow-it-yourself rainbow colored balls.

Nine
9th September 1990

A friend’s birthday for a change. The whole class had been invited over that evening. The little prince had a great party thrown: delicious food with exotic flavors, fancy games where everybody won something, jugglers from the Russian circus and even a white elephant for special effects. Almost all of that.

I pestered mom to let me wear my new clothes. A dashing white and red checked shirt with smart grey shorts. Sparkling white socks and gleaming black shoes. There are two things I remember about my new clothes then. First, my younger brother would have the exact matching clothes. Maybe it gave my parents more confidence in our common parentage. Or maybe it was just to save a little more on the cloth. Second, all my new clothes came from the same smiling tailor and they were always a size too big to allow us to grow into them as the year went by. Running around in them, holding on and balancing the shorts on the butt curve was an art I learnt then. Now I do it with my jeans.

And thus in my pretty clothes I went trotting along to the party with a gift tucked safely under my armpit. The moment I entered the party I felt my gift shrink into itself at the sight of the huge glittering gifts that had made it before mine. It didn’t matter I had almost emptied my pocket money of Rs. 25 to buy the gift. It was small and I had an awkward time hiding it inside the heap and praying it would be never found.

As the party cruised along I was totally enjoying myself, gobbling up the samosas[1] and downing thumbs-up with D, my good ol’ chum. It was then that two elder cousins of the prince called me over. They must have been high school kids then. My initial thoughts were whether they had an issue with the second samosa that I had just devoured. But all he had was a harmless question:

“Which school do you go to?”

That was simple enough. I replied “FAPS” and turned to focus on food.

“Are you sure? You look like you just walked out of Lourdes[2] school.”

It didn’t make sense immediately. They were helpful enough to snigger and pull on my shirt and point to my black shoes. And then it dawned. At that moment the sweet candy Life disrobed and showed me her naked dirty side. At that moment, standing in those clothes and those black shoes, amidst the pomp and show of all others around me, I turned communist and cried “Hail Robin Hood!”

Twelve
Late 1993

Twelve years old and strange emotions are knocking at your heart. When I think of 1993 and the seventh grade there is just one glowing memory which blankets all others. The memory of being in Love – your first.

I knew her since kindergarten. Pulling her pony tail in class, walking back hand-in-hand to the play school, watching her running around in her shimeez[3] in the hot sun, fabricating stories of kings and queens – we grew up together - sometimes we were best buddies and sometimes we were totally indifferent to the other’s existence.

And that fateful afternoon I watched her hold on to the just distributed math test paper. She was sobbing softly. She never cried about bad marks. Today her eyes were on the new boy in the class. The blue-eyed boy was sobbing over his score and she was crying for him. For the first time I heard a crumpling, breaking sound somewhere in my chest. I was heart broken even before realizing I was so much in love with her.

Dear Thippi, how different things would have been had your eyes but been on me that day? You could call it puppy love, crush, or anything else but it stayed with me for 12 years. I still have our old dusty picture taken in first grade – we won the running race – I am in my sailor’s suit. I had sprinted to you, kissed you on the cheek and the two of us had dashed to the finish line. After 12 years you are dashing to the finish line without me. You have your blue-eyed boy with you. And when I saw you with him a couple of months ago I felt calm all of a sudden. The look on your face was priceless, the look on his was even more so, and we hugged, the first and the last, and pooff – there – I knew I had moved on.

Eighteen
22nd June 1999

There are those birthdays when you know things won’t be the same ever again. My eighteenth birthday was by far the biggest with a dozen or more friends turning up home. All of them had pooled in money to buy me my first Walkman. Throughout the evening I had been numb and was trying to hide it under the chattering mask. I was to leave for undergrad studies in Singapore ten days from then. For someone who had been in the same school and same home for fourteen years this was a big step. Everyone seemed happy around me. Mom and dad were proud.

I fell asleep listening to John Denver. That romantic melancholic bastard just made it worse to leave all you know and step into the unknown.

“…Cause i'm leaving on a jet-plane, Don't know when i'll be back again…”

It is just amazing how fast we grow up once we are away from our nest.

Twenty Four
22nd June 2005

Twenty-four years old and none the wiser. Birthdays that come bang in the middle of the workweek are just too depressing. But then there is the “surprise” mid-night party, orchestrated by friends who really care, and attended by cake hungry nobodies. Maybe it was the predictability of such events that got to me. For the first time I was scared of growing old. Growing old with questions piling up each day. Without a moment to yourself to think about the answers.

But I am just too good (or naïve) to let the weekend go by in thought. I was out drinking and dancing in the comfort of smoky darkness. Maybe it was the knowledge that many of the faces illuminated by the revolving beam of light were just as clueless as I was. I closed my eyes and imagined myself moving to the music. The questions will have to wait for another day. I am just not ready yet to grow old.

[1] A small fried turnover of Indian origin that is filled with seasoned vegetables or meat.
[2] A school adjacent to FAPS where the poor kids went.
[3] A loose flowing cotton camisole worn by young girls.

Iyer

Tuesday, June 21, 2005

Hap Hap Happy Birthday.........

Its difficult for me get as poetic as lolly but I think I will use the straightforward way to wish Iyer.

Iniya Porandanal Vazthukal

Machee

The Birthday Song

Oh what, Oh what shall I gift you this year
A mug, a jug or a wine glass crystal clear

A sock, a sweater or a condom instead
A box of chocolates,or peanut butter spread

Oh why, Oh why should I gift you this year
for being handy,randy or elegantly dandy

A good blogger, clubber or partner in disorder
A reader, a good deeder or an a$$hole of the first order

Oh how, Oh how should I gift you this year
By taking you to a bar,in a car or somewhere really far

taking you to an island, a hill or a neighbourhood mountain
to a restaurant, a coffee joint or a nearby fountain

All said and done, since your birthday is sometime this year
tag along and just join me to celebrate a friend so dear
A friend who happens to be paying for the fun, frolic and free flow of beer.

Can you hear the loud cheer?

HAPPY BIRTHDAY IYEER !



Lolly

Thursday, June 16, 2005

Anybody there..........

This blog has been in a state of coma for the past few days, due to a lack of any posts from the other two vice men. My rather hapless attempts to resuscitate it doesn't seem to to have had any effect.
This has been one rather boring week with hardly any work... All I have been doing is blog hopping and reading. Did you all know Singapore has the highest per capita number of blogs in the world. Anyways, most of my time was spent on two controversial Singapore based blogs- sarongpartygirl and xiaxue. As pointed out by Iyer yesterday, the girl writing the SPG blog has created quite a stir by posting her nude picture. Oh yeah I can imagine all you guys rushing to view that blog now. Anyways, a few days later xiaxue has written a article bitching about how ugly the boobs of the first girl are. My GOd! What all people can really do to get attention.
Oh yeah why do girls seem to love bitching about each other so much?


Machee

Tuesday, June 14, 2005

India as a Manufacturing Base.....Sign of Better Times To Come?

India has always been the proverbial also ran when it came to manufacturing. But the announcement by Nokia a few weeks back, that it was setting up a handset and base station manufacturing unit was good news. This has now been followed up by Intel announcing that it will choose India over China for its Advanced Manufacturing Unit. These are just a drop in the ocean but it is definitely something to look forward to. Only manufacturing has the capability to generate the number of jobs that are needed to sustain our ever growing numbers of unemployed youth and drive our economic growth forward. None of the factors which hinder the manufacturing sector have gone away, but there is a realisation by firms that it is not wise to hinge all your bets on China. In addition, India has been making the right noises when it comes to unshackling our potential in manufacturing, especially in power reforms and infrastructure(ports, roads and airlinks). Lets us hope that Manmohan Singh and his team have the political will to carry through the 2nd phase of reforms.

Machee

Where is Vice Man 3

Hey Lolly, where are you ? You need to keep this blog going with your controversial posts. Dont tell me you have run out of steam after the last one. We need you 'Mudu Krishna'.

Machee,Iyer

Friday, June 10, 2005

Chootu....Back from the VET

The title if you are wondering is the name of my little pet Hamster. It was my graduation gift from my mother. Although a pet, he is literally the center of attention in my house. My dad especially, is crazy about him and looks after him like a grandson. Yeah thats what my mom keeps telling me "Son, u better get married and give ur dad a grandkid". Then i give back a wry smile and tell her "Mom that can be achieved without marriage". Yeah i guess you know what happens after that....i get back a nice slap on the back.

Yesterday, chootu went to the Vet to get operated on a small non malignant tumour on his belly. Yeah! That sounds pretty serious. It seems mice, hamsters and guinea pigs are highly prone to cancer, which is why they are used extensively in cancer research. Can you imagine a little animal not more than 3-4 inches in length going under the surgeon's knife. Everything from the the anasthetic to the medicine has to be administered in the minutest of quantities.

Both my mom and dad took off from work to look after the li'll fella...I could actually picture a scene from a hindi movie where the parents are pacing back and forth outside the operation theatre :).Well so far everything went off well and much my relief the little guy came back safely. Three cheers to Chootu....hip hip hurray!

Machee

Friday, June 03, 2005

Blog hopping

5 am. The naked glow of the tube light blankets sheets of numbers, the tired pen and the now cold, half empty cup of mocha. Another night sacrificed for the exam looming around the corner.

A short stroll through the streets of this blog world. The stores are ever open. Sporting wares from far corners of world, tempting us to take a peek, beckoning us to stay a while and join the incessant chatter.

Music wafting from open doors. Mingling tunes, discordant beats, and then out of nowhere you hear a snatch of a song, so familiar, only second to your lover’s heart beat. You weave through the crowds, holding on to the heavenly strain…you turn a corner and bump into a stranger, now a friend, sitting with her back to the lamp post, whistling the song.

And I sit with her, hold her hands, humming in tune, floating in an orgasm exclusive to true fans.

This is what i found:
s&g
soul and groove. sugar and ginger. simmer and grieve. simon and garfunkel.
Read more...

Thank you Deepa.

Iyer

Thursday, June 02, 2005

Smoking and Movies

The Indian government has recently decided to ban smoking in films. Our Minister for Health proclaimed proudly that we became the first country to ban smoking in Movies. This decision reeks of stupidity and shortsightedness.
I agree movies and actors should not glorify smoking but how far can we go in curbing the creative license of moviemakers. This decision is ridiculous because it affects the very characterisation of actors in movies. Tomorrow, they might decide to ban the show or use of guns in movies because it encourages violence. Then filmmakers can as well close shop and stop making movies.
If someone wants to smoke they will go ahead and do it. All the big warnings and gory images portraying organs full of tar, which are plastered all over the cigarette packets, is hardly effective in discouraging people from smoking.
The government should instead focus on enforcing no-smoking in public places and educating the people. Movies should not be held as the scapegoat for all the ills of society.

Machee

Give me back my marbles!

…no pun intended.

A long long time ago…when I was in 5th grade, Fortune smiled and made me heir to a fine collection of marbles. My cousin, who had taken years to put together the dazzling and mesmerizing collection of motley hued glass orbs, suddenly found himself too old to be associated with them.

The best way to amplify my joy was to share a part of the collection, albeit a small proportion, with my best buddy – D. I chose 2-dozen of the precious little ones and packed them in a cardboard box, with cotton and all, to ensure their safe journey. When I presented it to D he was overjoyed but did give one of those – “Are u sure?” – looks. I was very sure, after all, in those days, best friends solidified their relationship with the exchange of marbles.

A couple of weekends later the weather got a little rough. D and myself were at the peak of a cold war. I had pretty much exhausted all my weapons when the devil whispered in my ears – “Take them back! If he is not your friend, he doesn’t deserve the gift!” And then I did the unthinkable – walked up to D and asked him to return the gift. He did, unceremoniously, and I sat back confused and horrified at my childishness.

This incident comes back to me today, with Australian donors for the tsunami relief holding Indonesia ransom and demanding a review of the court’s verdict sentencing Schapelle Corby to 20 years in prison.

Strange, but even back then, as a child, I felt there was something really wrong to hold someone ransom to the gifts you give them, and worse, to vilify the relationship by taking them back. If a child can realize this, why can't these adults?

With D and me things were back to normal soon after and today we can think back and laugh at the whole thing. But some mistakes linger to haunt generations. Are the Australians heading that way?

Iyer