In the eyes of a Stranger....

Came across this article while browsing through Wikitravel. Written in 2005 by a foreigner touring Chennai and India, on his first impressions.

Felt nice reading it.

Some excerpts:

"Chennai has a population of over six million, although when out and about and caught in the crowds I often feel that the total population of India just happens to be on the street I am on. No matter how many times I walk through the city, I am still fascinated by what I see. I recently took a walk through the crowded Triplicane area of the city at dusk and became part of the neon-hazed vibrancy. A cacophony of vehicles horns mingled with voices, overrun by the haunting call to prayers from the city’s largest mosque."

I have my own memories of evening walks in Triplicane, where I spent a significant portion of my summer vacations (My granny's place). Despite the summer heat, evenings in this sea-side locality were of intense activity. Home to a majority of the city's muslims, it also houses an ancient Vaishnavaite temple. My relatives still live on a street which has a temple at one end and a mosque at the other. The temple end has a Hindu name, and the Mosque end a Muslim one. Even during the Ganesh Chathurthi riots in the '90s this street was by and large peaceful, the residents living in blissful harmony for generations.


"I watched boys play cricket in the back streets and children flying kites from rooftops. I looked at the intricately drawn kolams on the floor, drawn by women at the entrances to homes, and watched both young and old stop to offer a prayer at a streetside shrine. Someone asked “Which country?” as he passed by. In response to my answer, he smiled, gave a head wobble and continued on his way, content in the knowledge he had “met” a foreign visitor. "

The Kite flying was something the little kids in the house used to look forward every evening. Trying to cut the thread (termed "deal") of the other kites, deftly manouevering your own for a narrow escape from a sly neighbor; it was a colorful fete, that made me a sky-watcher for life. (Being the youngest cousin, I was usually left to watch the skies, holding the "maanja" thread reel).

Praying at a street side shrine is a very frequent practice amongst chennai-ites. People walking on a crowded street, suddenly stop in front of a Ganesh enshrined on a building wall, stalling the human traffic behind them, jerk their slippers free, and start veneratively slapping their cheeks. Though not a stranger to the scene, I have always found this practice rib-tickling much to the chagrin of the elders in the family.

"I ate like a king in an up-market restaurant and minutes later passed a street dweller eating rice and sambar (spicy gravy) from a banana leaf while squatting on the pavement."

The innumerable "Kai-yenthi" (literally translated means 'hand-held') bhavans, the mobile street side shops that feed the millions under and slightly over the poverty line, (sometimes, others too) are fascinating to watch. The brisk business they do in the limited space and infrastructure that the push-cart shall permit leaves one amused. Though they do mess up the environment around them, they have been a boon for many a famished stomach.

I liked the article not only because, it brought back some memories of my hometown. It gave a valuble insight into something that I have been feeling towards my adopted city as well. (as a quote from Pico Iyer)

"we start out by laughing at what we regard as the follies of another culture. Then we move towards bewilderment as we begin to leave parts of our own culture behind. Eventually, we end up somewhere completely different from where we set out. Hopefully, that new state of mind is better than the place we left behind and is much closer to the culture we find ourselves in. "

When I first came to Bangalore, I was so overwraught with home-sickness and was frequently prone to comparing it with my home-town. Though any outsider would prefer Bangalore's climate to Chennai's, I was busy convincing myself that I would never like this place.
But, when found myself telling people 'how this is like- in- bangalore', and 'how this is not like- in -bangalore', every single day of my recent three week stay in Chennai, I realised how much I had grown to relate myself with my surrogate city, and how much I missed it. Its was not just the roads, the climate and the culture. I had even started to cherish the general hospitality with which Bangaloreans had treated me , a stranger. Although, I have had my share of mishaps, they evened out in the end.

Maybe, as the author of the article says "Incongruity is the essence of modern India....You can’t change India, India changes you.” Perhaps, this is the case with anyone trying to blend in an new society.

Musing Over Music

I have been listening to a playlist comprised entirely of vintage A.R.Rahman and classic Illayaraja songs for the past couple of weeks. I usually get bored with a song, even an all time favourite, if I get to listen to it for more than a few days.

I had chosen some of ARR’s songs that had come as a fresh lease of life to Tamil film music, long before he got entrapped in the labyrinth of genre-music. I am not too fond of his recent offerings, most of them being extremely experimental, some ending up as fusion- confusions. In addition to this, my playlist also included Illayaraja’s score for the 80’s wizards of tinseldom, viz Mani Ratnam, Mahendran and Balu Mahendra and K.B. (The list also included a few songs of Harris Jeyraj.)

I had done this on a whim, and the result, on shuffle, was a multi-hued thoroughfare.
As I was wondering yesterday about why I hadn’t grown tired of this selection until now, I found myself musing about these two maestros that I had grown up listening to.

Illayaraja, in my opinion, scored music in tune with the storyline. His songs were not sung by the SPB and Chitra nor by Kamal Hassan and Rajnikant, but by the characters on the filmmaker’s canvas. His music brought life to a situation on screen, endearing it to the audience. His instruments spoke a language that percolated deeper than the script.
I simply couldn’t listen to a single song without recalling the situation that song fit into.

(Instances: En Vanile from Johnny, Yenna satham intha neram from Punnagai Mannan, Mayilpola from Bharathi, Unnavida from Virumandi (the use of a truck’s sounds, and bullock cart bells are lovely),Ne Partha Parvaiku oru nandri from Hey Ram)

A.R.Rahman, on the other hand came as a fresh whiff of spring air in the midst of winter, with his Roja. His songs grow on you. There is something new in them each time you listen.They don’t jell with the characters on the silver screen as much as Illiyaraja’s do, but as stand-alone renditions, they shine.

But Rahman isn’t an all -sound- and -no-substance kind of composer. I don’t know if that was his intention, but wherever he is provided with sensible lyrics, Rahman has embellished them with his masterful strokes.

His style can be called mood-music, he tries to capture the general mood of the situation, and sometimes comes up with stellar compositions. His music is difficult to picturise, and very few directors have done justice to it. Even the choreography needs a fillip to match the myriad of sounds that come in one go.

(Instances:

Lyrical Embellishments:

“Kaanathane Kangal, Kaneer sintha illai” from Halla Gulla, Bombay – (Eyes are meant to see, not to shed tears)
“Unnodu naan konda bantham…” from Santhosha Kannere, Uyire (Tried a translation in previous post)
“siru paravai nee aanal, un vaanam naane” – Pudhu Vellai Mazhai Roja (If you are a bird, I am your sky)

Mood Music:

Thenkizhaku seemayile from Kizhaku seemayile

Porale Ponnuthayi,Then merku paruva kaatru from Karuthamma

Vidai Kodu engal naade from Kannathil Mutham Ittal

Minnale from May Madham

Thirakaatha , chinna chinna mazhai thuligal from En Swasa Kaatre

Kala kala megam from Rhythm.

)

As for Harris Jeyraj, he is capable of producing lilting music, and conjuring hits. But his songs can never be ever green. I once ended up humming two different songs together, thinking that they were one. There is something trite and repetitive about his music, but nevertheless, it is pleasant to the ear-drums.

Of Late, there has been a dearth of phenomenal music, that is born to be immortal. Time is ripe for a new wave. Wish that happens before I get bored of this playlist.

A letter to the Editor

Wrote the following letter to "The Hindu" regarding an article of the editor's daughter topping an US university. This kind of a propaganda is demeaning to any real achiever, something akin to blowing one's own trumpet. I am not sure how much of my letter would be published, if at all it is published. Here it is below :

Dear Editor,

This is in reference to your “news item” on Ms Ram’s academic achievements. I have been a staunch defender of “The Hindu” whenever someone said that it is not what it used to be. For in today’s world of frenzied media activity, I was of the opinion that “The Hindu” retained a certain appreciable degree of sanity.
But this particular coverage of Ms. Ram’s achievements and profiling of her academic career came as an assault to my beliefs. Publishing something that would be better off as an “advertiser’s feature” in the middle of the news section (thankfully, not as an editorial) seems to put “The Hindu” on the same standing as the TV and newspaper endeavors of Tamil Nadu’s leading political parties.
The common reader of a paper like “The Hindu” doesn’t generally expect to see blatant propaganda of any sort, leave alone the academic glory of the editor’s family member. Of what good, would this bit of news do to me, as a reader hard pressed for time to keep pace with the news, I fail to follow.
And besides, if Ms. Ram is an exceptional budding journalist, then, let her be profiled in the supplements concerning education, and not in the main newspaper. A feature of this nature befits a person who has won a prestigious award for her professional acheivements, which is not the case here.
All around the globe, in the hallowed portals of many a glorious institution, Indian students are topping the ranks every other year. Not all of them get featured even in the corner of your weekly supplements.
A decade back, I would be fully confident that such a letter of criticism would definitely be published, but yesterday’s story hints at an attitude that would rather send this letter to the trash. Please maintain the quality of unbiased and sensible news reporting that “The Hindu” has been known for all these years and kindly refrain from sensationalization of this caliber.

Regards,
SuCh

“Do you have change for 100 Rupees?”

I planned to get ready early today. But by some celestial conspiracy, couldn’t make it on time.The last bus that stopped at my bus-stop had left. I caught an auto to the next stop. There was a bus due there in the next 5 mins. I tried to keep the fare ready, so that I need'nt waste time in paying for the auto.
I could not find my purse . I pulled out all the articles that populated my overloaded bag. All those things I had been searching for since time immemorial materialized out of the frantic exercise.
Rummaging through all the rubble, I fished out a 100 Rupee note and a 5 rupee coin, stuffed in some inner compartment of my bag, lying forgotten for days.

In compliance with Murphy’s laws, it so happened that the auto driver had to say that he did not have a ‘single paisa’ on him, me being his first savari for the day. I asked him to wait, got down and began asking all those fellow employees who were waiting for the bus. Some pretended not to hear, some shook their heads in denial even before I could address them. Some were deeply engaged in a telepathic conversation with the crow on the tree above. Most gave a very toothy grin, that made me feel that they were happy not to have been in my shoes. Perhaps they didn’t realise I was not begging but was just asking for change.

I would have asked atleast a dozen, when one lady finally felt it appropriate to check her purse before she answered. She had a fifty rupee note, which offered me. I took it and asked for name so that I could return it to her. She said “First pay the auto driver, I ll tell you afterwards”.

I went to the auto driver, imploring him to accept the 50 rupee note, and somehow come up with the change (as they do, sometimes). But Murphy struck again, by providing me with a “truthful” auto driver (a rare species), who genuinely did not have a ‘single paisa’ on him. Just then, someone else who was late and was hurrying for the bus came by. I stopped him with the same request. “Do you have change for 100 Rupees?” By now the question had become so trite to me, that I hardly expected an answer. That guy took out his purse and looked into it, despite his haste. All that he had were 100 Rupee notes. “How much do you want?”, he asked. The auto driver offered “hathu rupai saakamma” meaning “10 rupees is enough” (I was supposed to pay Rs 12). The good samaritian then fished out all the coins he had, and managed to bring out 5 rupees, that with my 5 rupee coin would make the needed 10. I thanked him profusely; I thanked the auto driver with equal fervour and gave the fare. I asked for my benefactor’s whereabouts, but he said “Its just 5 rupees, don’t bother returning”. I returned the 50 bucks to the lady, and thanked her for her genorosity. And waited for the bus. (Murphy got bored, I guess, the bus mercifully was late.)

This incident actually took me back to another point of time, where the bus I was travelling in, met with an accident. Many of us got injured. The rest, who were unharmed, simply got on to the next bus and went to office. The less injured had to help carry the severely wounded to a nearby polyclinic.
I was appalled at the lack of concern these people have towards their fellow employees. To think of the apathy, they would show towards rest of humanity, would leave me in shudders.

Although many corporates involve themselves in community service and the like, much of it is voluntary. I really feel that making this mandatory, would help sensitize these people ,with their minds as confined as their cubicles, to the world outside.

People 4 : Unwind

A Rickety Truck. The Cargo – Human. Migratory workers. Crossing borders. Packed like sardines.
A woman past her prime, eyes abalze with the fire within. Standing steady as the vehicle coughs and splutters in the traffic. Inches from her feet, playful youngsters chitter away, perched precariously on a ledge. One lad turns with a sudden jerk.

His gaze falls upon the plush air-bus of an IT company. He scans every single passenger, reclined in varying degrees - dozing, fretting, and relaxing after a ‘tiring’ day. His face contorts. As his eyes meet mine, in the last seat, I search for my feet, fleeing from an inexplicable guilt.

His jolly companion taps him on the shoulder, realising his friend’s silence. The contortion breaks into a loud laugh. He points out to each one of his ‘specimens’. Fun and merry continues. Unwinding, after a ‘tiring’ day.