FAR FROM PERFECT

Romantic fools can be nothing but poets. But I can’t rhyme to save my life. As is evident, I haven’t grown up since the age when one thinks poems are poems only if they do rhyme. And my articulation leaves a lot to be desired. I guess that says a lot. So that’s a non-option.

 

Being just romantic is fine. You can remain in your little bubble all your life, romanticize the beautiful sights and refuse to scratch the surface even. If you are lucky, no disillusionment will be big enough or bad enough to permanently break your bubble. But being idealistic, emotional AND romantic is a tough life. The tears are always around to spoil any good intention you may have to create that perfect ideal setting you wish for. Seriously, anyone who is moved to tears at the least ranked in the list of kind gestures needs serious help.

 

I don’t even know if this makes sense. But this is exactly how I feel now. I did warn you – my articulation is nothing to write home about. Zzz.

OF FOOD, FOOD IN BENGALURU AND FOOD AT ADIGAS (IN THAT ORDER)

I am a good eater. Not of the monstrous quantities type, but of the loving food type. I moan when I eat good rasagullas, smack my lips after a good pizza, and thank god for every wallop of butter he sends my way. I am the sort who would try every dish in a buffet (only in moderate quantities, if I may add), except those with revolting kathirika in it. Hell, I even try out kozha kozha vendaka, which my settu friends style-ly call bhindi, like it’s the coolest thing around. And now, I have the dubious distinction of having tried out EVERY single item on Adigas’ menu in the four days I spent at Bengaluru, for breakfast, lunch or dinner.

 

Any self respecting, authentic Madrasi would have relatives in Bengaluru. Somehow, being as authentic and self respecting as it gets, I’ve been to Bengaluru probably 7 times in my entire life, staying at Appa’s cousin’s place each time. But now, thank god – no one will cast aspersions on my Madras-ness anymore – Appa started work at Bengaluru a couple of months back. My cousin moved there a few months back too. So this trip was going to be different, you know, not just a polite staying-over at a relative’s, careful not to step on anyone’s toes. Naturally, I was excited, considering that a whole load of close relatives were also going to be there then. So, a few weeks back, when my Bengaluru friends were talking of eatouts there, I asked them to recommend some places for me to drag my folks to. And what I got was: “You are vegetarian no? Just please yourself with Sukh Sagar and Shanti Sagar.” That did not please me. I had vague memories of eating idlis for breakfast at Shanti Sagar years back. And the idlis by themselves were not memorable. Suddenly, I wasn’t excited about going to Bengaluru anymore.

 

 

But Appa took me to Adigas for dinner on my first day there. Appa’s excitement was not merely palpable like it usually is; it was extraordinarily vocal for a quiet man like him. Appa, the simple soul that he is, always regards expensive food with a certain degree of wariness, and always manages to find some fault with the service, the ambience or the napkin colour. But he completely trusted inexpensive food in clean surroundings, and he had pledged his allegiance to Adigas. And I pledged my allegiance to Appa. I was looking forward to it.

 

Oh. My. God. Everything was right about it: the taste, the hot metal of the spoons, the non-fussy presentation, the little chunk of melting butter on my ho dosa, the happy faces, the bustling interiors, Appa’s knowing smile as he watched me gape, everything. But the prices were all wrong. I could have rolled on the floor and bawled. I felt so bad for the guys running the place! Just HOW could they keep it running by charging 12 rupees for a karabath with that offending slice of tomato on top, with as many cups of sambar as you want? How? Now I knew why my classmates thought food in Madras was expensive. Feeling gratitude and sympathy, I nearly went to the counter guy and bowed in deep respect, until Appa pulled me back.

 

Thus, I went to Adigas every day for the next 3 days, to try everything on the menu. And every single day, Appa bundled me off into the car before I did anything to embarrass him and the people who worked there. With occasional change in eating patterns in the form of sandwiches and lassi at Cool Joint, Spanish Rice at Jaya’s place, cke at Café Coffee Day and DBC (although the peanuts on top really truly killed me), my gastronomical experience was complete. Now I officially love Bengaluru.

 

I know that the next time I walk into Saravana Bhavan, I am likely to spew venom and plant a soonyam or something. Because, when I was standing at an Adidas showroom after buying Appa’s third branded T shirt, and my first, staring blankly at an Adidas Club poster, (of which I could become a member if I made a purchase of over Rs. 2000) a familiar voice said over my shoulder, “We can only become Adigas Club members.” He’s right. And oh, I am quite nasty to my rivals.

HOMECOMING

My worst nightmare would be, waking up one day to realize that I am no longer the romantic idealist I was when I was young. Now, I’m not sure I am young anymore, and I’m not sure I’m that much of an idealist anymore either. I know I talk like a 60 year old, but somehow, seeing yourself change in front of your very eyes, certainly not for the better and certainly not how you would like to see yourself change; the inadvertent deal, the sort of thing that abstract, unfathomable things like time or maturity do to you. (Let’s not even begin about maturity – that has to be the most abstract concept ever.)

 

Even 4 years ago – but I was such a child then – I remember making these passionate declarations about never wanting to go abroad except for vacations, about India being the place where I not only wanted to work, but also study, Mera Bharat Mahaan, and all that. Don’t know what it was due to, maybe because of the multitude of friends I have studying abroad, or the more tolerant, all-embracing attitude I have adopted during college, I am not so passionate anymore, about the staying-in-India bit, at least. When the opportunity came, to study abroad, I leapt at it quite greedily. I was even imagining myself there, absorbing everything, losing a bit of my own identity to accommodate someone else’s; quite consciously, knowing very well that, even if only in my imagination, I was fast becoming a ghost of my real self.

 

And then, the alternative came. An alternative with equal scope, if only lesser exposure – but then, the course itself lent itself to a much broader perspective of things, of everything. Now I had to make a choice, carefully warding off biases, free advice, the urge to return to childhood romanticism, et al. It didn’t come to me all of a sudden, you know, no single point of enlightenment, but a gradual acceptance of my calling to stay back. Why I made that decision apart, I don’t know if I am doing the right thing by attributing it to as much a calling to my childhood ideals as my calling to stay back and contribute to my country directly, if only for a short while. Maybe I just always knew that if I could stay back, at this point of time, then I would. And I have.

 

Maybe its regression into immaturity, simply the need to prove to myself, if not others, that I haven’t lost that idealistic attitude that I am so proud of. Or maybe it’s a good thing, weighing all the stakes. Either way, its happening, I think, this riff of my naïve idealist perspective of things.

 

I discovered my long lost Glo Friends in the toy cupboard a couple of weeks back. I even caught the “Million Dollar Cat” episode of Tom and Jerry for the first time since I last saw it, maybe 14 years back, on my amichechan tape. Maybe that’s a sign. Maybe.

RANDOM IPL RANTING

I thought I didn’t have a taste for IPL. I seem to have a big weakness for it. I have been done in, hook, line and sinker, since I got to catch the Chennai Super Kings vs Mumbai Indians thriller live, sitting in Pavilion terrace.

 Didn’t think in my wildest dreams that I would get to see Ponting run up to Ishant Sharma from gully and give him instructions! That’s something we’ll all remember!

 Was disappointed because I could not catch the CSK vs KKR match at Chepauk, but then, I wouldn’t have caught that rare moment of camaraderie when Hayden played daddy, after his classic straight drive 4 whizzed past non striker Parthiv Patel’s ducked head.

 

Things to say to people: Not that they’re gonna listen to me; let’s just do a sound off atleast!

 @ N Srinivasan: What sort of a name is “Super Kings” anyway? Did you give away 25000 rupees to the unimaginative idiot who suggested THIS name?

 @ N Srinivasan: What sort of a jersey is that anyway?? I am sorry, but you have no taste.

 @ Sachin: Deivame! We’re waiting to see you weave your magic in IPL! Don’t keep us waiting for too long. Please salvage the pride of the Indians.

 @ SRK: Your presence seems to be miracle drug for the KKR team. Juhi alone won’t do. You saw that for yourself at Chepauk today.

 @ SRK: We love the music video! And the jersey! And David Hussey!

 @ Vijay Mallya: We’ve had enough of your money flaunting, you pompous pig! We don’t wanna see firangs as cheerleaders; Indian women look just as appealing! Stop damaging our ego!

 @ AIRTEL/SPRITE boy: You look alright, but you can’t anchor to save your life.

 @ Kris Srikkanth: Enough already!

 @ Billy Bowden: You are our favorite umpire! Those flourishes are oh-so-cute!

 @ Harbhajan Singh: Sardars’ spirit is inimitable alright, but you’ve taken it too far. Shame on you, bully!

@ Sreesanth: If you think we’re gonna say “Aww! You poor baby” the way your teammates did, then you couldn’t be more wrong. We’re not asking you to handle the slap with dignity and maturity, because that would be asking for too much from you. Atleast show us some spunk! Some off-the-field action! Give it right back to him! Biff! Pow! Thud! Thwack!

 @ Ishant Sharma: Haven’t you proved that you are all of 19 years old? Who asked you for smart ass comments about Ponting? And what’s with the hairstyle??

 @ Afridi: We understand your predicament about being distracted, but couldn’t you think of a more plausible excuse for performing so abysmally?

 @ Palani Amarnath: You are the envy of all the youth in the country. No one has ever had it any easier, have they? Good luck for ever more!

 @ Vijay: We know that 2 crores is a lot of motivation, but you are being a brilliant sport all the same! Chennai is proud of you.

 @ Nayantara: Ugly fat spoilsport!

 @ Sivamani: Popular demand for a book by you on ‘Being a genius, living it up and spreading cheer’.

@ CSK cheerleaders: 100 marks for decency, and for dowdiness. Please take some hints from your Mumbai counterparts.

 @ CSK cheerleaders: Negative marks for toddler-level-dance-competition choreography. Tch tch tch!

 @ CSK cheerleaders again! : You plainly suck! I should have joined you guys!

 @ The makers of the CSK AV: The mamis and street boys thank you profusely. Oh, and we love the end Dhoni-to-singam morph! Corny, yet insanely cute, just like Thalaivar’s punch dialogues, and his own morph in Padayappa!

 @ Chennai crowd: You are the best ever! We, rather.

 @ All my friends who are not Chennai Super Kings supporters: It may be true that other than a few fledgling members of the team and Muralitharan, the others have absolutely no connection with Chennai whatsoever, save Dhoni’s Mysore Sandal Talc advertisement. It may also be true that M-O-N-E-Y is the magic word. But think about it: Screaming ‘Chennai Chennai’ just feels so right! City loyalty truly pays.

 

That said, one yellow T shirt and 2 yellow kurtas for subsequent matches set aside. Nothing like a CSK T shirt though. Where can I lay my hand on one?? Someone please tell me!