Sleeping Like a Baby

I am sure you must have heard of this expression, "He is sleeping like a baby!" or "poor thing, she has been working on her project all night and now she is sleeping like a baby" or some such variant of it.

Have you? You sure have.

Now, do me a favour, and find out who coined that expression. I have a few things I would like to say to that person. And may be more than a few things I would like to do to that person (I am not sure yet - I am currently reading a volume on Medieval Book of Torture - once I complete my survey I might pick out a few recipes from the above book and implement it on our new to-be-found friend).

Now back to the subject - poor thing sleeping like a baby. When people say stuff like this, what they generally imply is that the "poor thing" under consideration has had a long day and is wearing an innocent expression and is sleeping so deeply and so serenely no force on earth could possibly awaken it. And it is disarming and charming to look at this "poor thing" sleep away.

Person who made this statement first must have never met a baby. May be they met a baby on the street or on a bus, and when they said "chu-chu-ma" or "coo-chi-koo" or some such thing to the baby, the baby might have cracked open a half-smile, and our person would have fallen flat for the baby. This person must have seen another baby asleep when they walked past a pram and must have come up with the phrase.

Let's get some reality into this picture of utter non-sense.

What must have actually happened is this - when this person saw the baby on the street or the bus, the baby must have looked at an idiot contorting his already ugly face to make a super-ugly monstrosity, and must have given a worldly smile, thinking 'what all jokers a baby has to meet in its daily life…' and our man would have thought that the baby understood him and lovvvved his antics. And when he went past a pram and saw the baby sleeping - that must have been the baby closing its eyes to do pranayama or meditate, to calm itself down, because its mother or whoever was pushing it around did not stop at the street corner for the baby to look at a dog peeing into the lamp post. Soon after this the baby would have opened its eyes and did what it did best.

More importantly, let me tell you how a baby falls asleep. One would have to walk around with the baby, gently rocking it, and singing in a low baritone, some lullaby for about 30-40 minutes. If you are conjuring up some "wah- what a pleasure it must be to be carrying a baby and singing to it" and so on - stop right there! Have you ever walked continuously, singing, and rocking a 7-8 kg baby- you'll be breathless after the 7th minute (may be after the 11th minute if you are one of those gym-bodies). But, the thing is, you can't stop after the 7th or the 11th minute. If there is one cardinal rule when you are putting a baby to sleep, is "Don't ever stop doing whatever it is that you are doing before the baby is deeply-deeply asleep". If you try changing what you do, then the baby will wake up, and you can reset the time, and start all over again.

These are a thousand factors that could wake a baby up. Hunger. Thirst. Dreams -yes, babies do have bad dreams. If the baby is teething - which is all the time. Having peed outside the nappy pad which you very consciously wrap around. If there is no cushion or pillow touching it (in the baby's head, this lack of touch of an external object probably makes it think that people have abandoned it in the middle of the Sahara without a soul in calling distance). If it doesn't have enough room to roll around freely. For no reason that you could think of - also, all the time.

All of the above reasons are absolutely legitimate. And babies are like that. That's why they are called babies. That is perfectly alright.

But don't tell me someone sleeps like a baby. Only people who put babies to sleep and make sure that everything in the house is orchestrated in such a way to let the baby sleep its due time are qualified to make that statement.

So, before you attach that title to someone sleeping, think if that person would scream and wake up the entire neighborhood in the middle of the night, because they woke up don't know how to put themselves back to sleep.

(Just like how you can make fun of a community or a religious group if you are an insider, I can make fun of babies - my daughter empowers me to make politically incorrect statements about all babies of the world.)

Indian Film Classics: Baashha/Baasha (Tamil, 1995)

Once in a lifetime, an actor gets a role that he was born to play. The fact that he has spent decades playing other roles and building a career up to that point becomes an after thought. The role/character must have been thought of by various writers and must have gone through numerous iterations before it would be perfected. Other actors would have played some version of it earlier - but none of that would matter anymore. Once the actor and the perfect role meet, everything else that happened before and would come after recedes into irrelevance. What remains is a perfect marriage - one whose glory will be frozen forever. In a million laser disks, DVDs, film copies and fan's imaginations and memories.

Baasha is one such role. And Rajnikanth is the actor born to play that role. I am sure someone can point out some 1940s black and white hollywood movie from which this concept was copied. Or, folks can point out that this is a direct rip-off of Hum, and Amitabh did a great job in that movie. Sorry people, you are talking about movie facts and factoids. I am talking about a cosmic happening, that occurs once in a century.

Manikkam (Rajnikanth) is an average auto driver in an average neighborhood  in Chennai. He lives with his step-sisters, brother (all younger), his step-mother and works hard to bring up and protect his family. He is a fast-talking, jovial kind, who is surrounded by friends, and leads an innocuous life. He is afraid of any act of violence or aggression, and whenever is provoked looks the other way and avoids any confrontation. There is even a rich girl auto customer of his (Nagma), who falls for his charms.

The local rowdy (a perfectly cast Anandaraj) wreaks havoc in the neighborhood, and when Manikkam's brother, who gets appointed as the local Inspector of Police, tries to intervene and bring the rowdy to justice, things start taking unexpected turns. The rowdy corners the Inspector/brother and when is about to chop off his hand, Manikkam intervenes, and pleads to forgive his brother and offers to undergo any punishment but to let his brother go. Taking up this offer, the rowdy ties Manickkam to a lamp post and beats the crap out of him - all through this, Manikkam just smiles and takes-in the treatment without uttering a word. When he is finally let go, covered in blood and drenched from the rain (even the Gods cry when a good man is beaten up, see), his brother asks him "Ungallukku kovame varatha?" (won't you ever get angry?), he answers with a  laughter that really doesn't answer anything.

Surely this is odd behavior. But we know something else is there under the surface. (Also the fact that there are lot of mysterious footage in negative film with ominous music in the background to indicate that something else is there.) Then we learn that, Manikkam is actually Baashha, a don in his previous life in Bombay, who is forced to take up a career in underworld because of the injustice he sees and to avenge the death of this friend. He takes over Bombay's underworld and becomes a terror and friend to all, depending upon which side you are looking from. This leads to the inevitable clash with the bad-don, Antony. The fact that Baashha's dad is a long-time employee of Antony leads to complications. Unexpected things happen, and Baasha's dad dies, only after extracting a promise from Baasha that he should leave town and live life as an average citizen and bring up and protect his brother and sisters.

To keep his promise, Baashha moves to Madras (after staging his death in a road accident and leaving behind his underworld methods), reverts to his original name Manikkam and becomes an auto driver in an average neighborhood. All his acolytes take up equally innocuous careers like tea shop owners, push cart vendors, fellow auto drivers etc., and lead life as average citizens around Manikkam. And we are back where we left off.

This background sets up a perfect ground work for Rajni to unleash his power. He is the ultimate super star - no, that is not just a fan fawning. He embodies heroism (or at least the kind that works on fantasies and celluloid) like no other. He doesn't try in the least to be liked or be heroic. He doesn't have the self consciousness of many other actors, and is not afraid to just be there on screen. This gives him enormous power - and makes him thousand times more interesting. Trying to be heroic on film is like trying to sleep. The harder you try to be heroic, the less likely you will succeed. The less you do and think, the more effective you'll be. Rajni knows this.

He is an excellent actor and has impeccable timing and sense (he gets very little credit for his acting skills - it is time someone gave him his due). Watch him underplay his role for most parts in the first half. There is not a single emotion or gesture which is over done - he gives a performance that is a study in how to give only the bare minimum of what is required and get away with it. He is not insecure to hold back and no do much when it is not called for. But once the ball starts rolling, and he has to enter his hero phase - like the scenes where he is interrogating as Baasha, he doesn't hold back - he experiments, he pushes it to the limit, and is unafraid to do so (imagine some other actor making sounds like "hey, hey, hey, hey, hey….naan our thadava  sonna…"). One wrong step, his performance risks being a caricature and un-intendedly funny. Not when Rajni is in charge.

This sets up one of the best scenes in any film. When his sister is refused admission into a medical college, and the college principal tries to misbehave with her, she recedes and cries, sitting in the canteen. When Rajni hears about this, he takes her back to the principal's office, and requests to speak with the principal in private for a minute. Then he says, "My name is Manikkam" at which point he shuffles out of his submissive posture, unfolds his hands and puts it on the principal's table, looks up and continues "I also have another name..." (now, the camera shifts to outside the principal's office and we see what happens through the glass walls). With only Rajni's gestures and the background music, we come to know what is happening. No other actor can pull this off - this scene was born to be played by Rajni, Rajni was born to play this scene.

The first half is full of scenes which exploit this premise - like when Manikkam lands his first punch to a rowdy trying to attack his sister, the rowdy flies through the air, hits a lamp post, and electric sparks fly off the post - and time just stops for a moment - when every one in the film is reeling from the surprise of such a sadhu guy like Manikkam turning violent. For Rajni fans, this is a scene, with the electric sparks and all, that will be etched in their memory forever. It is one of the cinematic moments, which leap out of the screen, enters your consciousness and will become part of what you remember in this world.

Does the film have negatives. Yes it does - but that is more intellectual than experiential. For example, the way women are characterized and spoken about by Manikkam etc. - wont sit well with any well reasoning person. But, that is a problem with any Rajni movie, and majority of movies per se. Setting that aside for a moment, this is as good a movie as it gets for Rajni fans, or fans who love to hero worship and want a perfect story for their hero to show his powers.

The movie is directed by Suresh Krishna  with a  light touch. The film has a wafer thin script and plot, and rest of the departments of the movie are adequate - if you take Rajni out of the movie, you can almost see the movie fall apart and crumble. The entire movie is held together and taken to the stratosphere by one man, his persona and his performance. This is the first movie that featured a special title card for Rajni - where the word "SUPER STAR" slowly appears on the screen in blue dotted letters with a cheap version of the James Bond theme music playing in the background. I remember watching this film in Udhayam theater, when it was released, and the SUPER STAR title card appear on screen - I had goose bumps allover. And the film that followed lived up to the title card experience. It was pure bliss for Rajni fans, and probably the best Rajni movie that will be ever made. Once, if you are lucky, in your lifetime you'll have such a transcendent experience, and the memory of it to go back to. I was one of the lucky ones.

On Biscuts

I take my biscuts seriously. I put considerable thought into choosing the right kind. Just like choosing a movie to watch at a particular time, a novel to suit a particular mood, there is a biscut for every occasion. And one can’t take the task of choosing the right biscut too lightly. A good amount of research and field work has to done, time has to spent in the trenches testing it, and one shouldn’t be too timid to give in to popular choices and easy way outs. One needs true grit and singular focus if you must succeed in this task.

Let’s start with first-thing-in-the-morning biscuits. Amateurs and biscut-apprentices might be tempted to shout out some fancy biscut like bourbon or something like that. But, not so soon. Bourbon is a great biscut – but hardly one you can nibble with your coffee in the morning. Bourbon has lot of things going on – the sugar crystals, the chocolate filling, the crumbly biscut layers – a great mid-day or late-night snack. But not an early morning co-companion. First thing in the morning, you need something that is simple, has a direct and single flavor and should definitely be a team-player: must be able to play off the coffee or tea flavour, and must be a good “dip” or “dunk” candidate which means that it shouldn’t become soggy and drop off into the coffee, and should not alter the flavor of the drink too much. I submit Britannia’s plain Milk Bikis (not the cream filled variant) as possibly the best candidate for this. Other equally good ones are “butter-biscuts” (available in Chennai tea-shops), shewsberry (Pune’s claim to fame) and Hyderabad Sughan bakery biscuits. (Avoid anything that has a cream filling or has some extraneous stuff like sugar crystals or coconut shavings sticking on it.)

For mid-morning or evening snacking: now it won’t hurt too much if you give in to popular choices like bourbons, oreos, or other cream filled biscuits. Now, one is just looking for some short-gap hunger quencher or a sugar-fuelled high, and there are n-number of good candidates for this. The recently introduced Sunfeast strawberry cream biscuits are awesome – try it. (No- Sunfeast is not paying me for writing this.) They have just nailed all aspects of it: perfect crunch and texture, amazing aroma (which hits you the moment you tear open the wrapper), and great color-combo or pink and white cream – just as good as food science can be worked to create a near-perfect product. (Sunfeast also introduced a chocolate cream variety of this – but not as good as the strawberry one.)

One thing you should avoid at all times are the “soft” biscuits. (The ones that don’t break, but tear, with some gooey stuff in the core.) I just don’t get it. A biscut should be brittle, and have a crunch when you bite in. These soft biscuits aim to be both biscuits and chocolates at the same time. That just tells me that the biscut has not made up its mind which camp it wants to join. I don’t want to injest anything as confused as this in me. I have my standards.

And regarding these so called healthy biscuits: first of all, there is nothing of that kind (I mean a healthy biscut). All biscuits are made of a dozen ingredients, most of which are either unhealthy if you eat them on their own, or are chemicals that you would have never heard of or food colors and flavourings, with some traces of some vitamin supplement. So, don't let biscut companies fool you into buying a "healthy biscut". All biscut is junk food, invariably. They are quite enjoyable and that is the reason I buy them – and in moderation it is not so bad.

You might ask, is it worth putting so much thought into choosing something as trivial as a biscut. Such questions will arise only to a mind that eats only healthy food, and possibly is reading Dostoevsky's Crime and Punishment or Tolstoy's Anna Karenina and has never enjoyed the sins of food science. (And what a dangerous mind that would be.) Eat some biscuits and let me know if you feel the same way.

Daughter, Delhi and Dark Suits

I had to recently go to Delhi for a day. A day is all I could manage, as we have a new baby at home, and one has to ration time pretty tightly when a newly arrived person is at home, particularly if that person is your daughter.

I had to fly in, attend to some "official" work, and fly back. I sat in the insides of a Ministry for almost an entire day. And got to observe the proceedings.

So I sat there. In the corridor. Mostly helplessly. Waiting for the clarion call of the official I came to meet, the committee meeting I came to attend. Observed people scurry by. Trays and trays of tea-cups go into offices, and empty trays returned. Dozens of people with files (with odd papers and documents sticking out) amble into and out of buildings. In any work place, there will be people who will do the "actual" work, and there will be support staff who are supposed to support them. These offices (and Delhi in general) are places which consist entirely of support staff and no people to do the "actual" work.

(I know for a fact that there are awesome people working for the government. I have interacted with many of them. I have read documents written by some of these guys and was stunned by the amount of thought and reason that went into it - rivaling a top-notch philosopher or social-thinker. Some of these guys are the best at what they do. I know there are spot-less white sheep in the herd. But the herd is not a few sheep.)

And it is sweater-time in Delhi. That means that no matter what the inside or outside temperature is, every Delhi-citizen will wear a sweater. At all times of the day. If the Sun God himself came down to Delhi, you can find him walking around in a sweater, this time of the year. I have no problem with that. Only issue is that when these guys who invariably are very "prosperous" looking and sport a very generous Thoppai (varying in size between that of a 6-9 month pregnant woman) wear a sweater - it is very revealing.

Most sweaters are body-hugging type. There is no where you can hide those extra pounds when in a sweater. (Think of loose t-shirts or shirts, without tucking in, if you are looking to smuggle around some of that "happy muscles" unnoticed.) And when an entire population is hell-bent on sweater-ing itself, then all hell breaks loose. Sweaters are particularly unforgiving on men. So, the day went by…and I saw an army of sweater wearing "prosperous" citizens march by and by.

While we are talking about men’s fashion, let me say a few words about the now epidemic-proportion problem of grown men wearing 3/4th pants. What’s the deal with that, really? Recently, I have been spotting this outrage over and over- countless sightings, where I would see a dad (in his 30s) and a son (5-9 yrs old) going for a walk or out on the streets. The small kid will be decent and will be wearing shorts (1/2 pant) or full-length pants and the dad will be prancing around in a 3/4ths. And that too it will be some cargo style 3/4ths with all sorts of buckles and stray loops and buttons and straps hanging out from all over the monstrosity.

Men should understand that once they have crossed 30, they should stop thinking in fractions and wear “whole number” clothes. If there is an option to choose between half-shirt and full-sleeved shirt, dive headlong towards the full-sleeve. If they involve pants, kindly spare us all, and choose something that preferably extends beyond your feet by a foot or two. If you desperately want to feel young or hip or want to announce to the world that you are ubercool, please don’t resort to 3/4ths or shorts or micromini-running shorts etc. You had 30 solid years to indulge yourself in these fashion outrages. Now that time has passed, please graduate to whole numbers – preferably wear some robe or some overalls or - best, wear a dark suit. There is no invention by man that manages to camouflage years and years of hard living in one genius stroke than a dark suit. Put a monkey in a dark suit, and it can attend a business conference without being called a monkey for an entire day. That is the power of the dark suit – use it. And if you can actually sleep in dark suits and never take them off, the world will be a better place.

After a long time of watching hordes of men in sweaters and being visually and aesthetically assaulted, finally I broke loose, after finishing work. Jumped in an auto, rushed to meet my friends in one of Delhi's ubiquitous malls - spent time ideally - doing nothing, walking around and chatting. Got on the flight (one of those low cost airlines with super-narrow seats with 2-inch leg room). And to add to it, there was a crying baby in the back seat. I like babies - but crying babies are annoying. Unless they are yours, when you can wax eloquent about how spirited the baby is etc. etc. So, I am free to complain about third-party babies. Only saving grace on the flight was that my laptop had enough battery to last for 3-4 episodes of Seinfeld. What bliss! There is nothing that can give you perspective and diversion in life than a couple of Seinfeld episodes.

Jolly Gymkhana

I recently joined a local gym. I like going for walks - and it rains in Pune for three months. And it is a bore to take a rain coat or hold an umbrella while walking. As much as I hate plunking cash for running in the same place, I had no choice - and I decided to join the gym.

It is a whole new world inside this gym. It has a character of its own, an ecosystem of its own, to say the least.

There are few types of people who visit this gym. First, there are the "gym-bodies" (who happen to be mostly men) who wear sleeveless baniyans to show off how much muscle they have built-up, and keep admiring their own muscles almost non-stop, by flexing it, swinging their arms, or generally looking very menacing and glancing at themselves in the mirror every half a second.

These gymbodies are some of the vainest creators you could find on the planet. From the moment they walk into the gym they will put out this vibe of "hey man, look at my muscles, and yes, you may faint in admiration or kiss the floor I walk on, and I won't mind". Their faces filled with pride and anticipating compliments from everyone who lays eyes on them. They are mankind's answer to the shenanigans of a peacock. And they move in flocks - they help out each other with the weights, and motivate each other, and generally stick to themselves, unless some mere mortal non-gymbody talks to them.

The other group is the mid-level or higher mid-level corporate or IT guys (and gals). All of them have "soft forms". Let me explain what I mean by that. This is the form you achieve after several thousand hours of cubicle/office work - staring at the computer, and doing little else. The body sort of flows top-down in such cases - the upper body and the arms seem drained, and all the prosperity has found its way into the mid-part of the body and hid itself conveniently - so much so that some short burst of exercise is not going to help. These guys have nice little paunches peeking through their nike-or-reebok t-shirts, wear glasses, and very expensive gym-gear, and give out a general feeling of being terribly lost or completely out of place. They would probably feel much better if someone reunites them with their laptop (with internet connection). They walk around with their workout cards (which prescribes the workout routine you have to follow to improve your "health score") - which doesn't help their image anyway. They might as well wear a "I have no idea what I am doing here - my wife/colleague/friend talked me into it - please help me" card around their necks.

And then there is this "super-rich-above-65" crowd. These are "thathas" and "paatis" who are ultra rich and want to live forever, by working the crap out in the gym, and by being super fit. They try to be hip, and always have a "personal trainer" who dotes on them every second, and follows them around like the vodafone puppy. Once they finish their sessions, they have this silent triumphant expression on their faces (mentally sending a memo to Lord Yama: Kindly park yourself and your buffalo somewhere and have some tea and wait, delayed arrival expected).

The personal trainers are a story in themselves. First of all, they are indicators of class segregation in the gym. People who hire personal trainers are loaded, others not so much. So, if you book a one-hour session with the personal trainer, he or she continuously attends to you, guides you and motivates you by giving cat-calls like "yesss", "you can do it", "come-on", "very good" and so on. And these personal trainers are by definition fit/young and jovial - and there is some inevitable borderline flirting going on with some of the subjects. (All the gymbodies are in very good terms withe the personal trainers - for obvious reasons - birds of the same kind…)

The gym itself is a odd mixture of exercise spot, night club and a tribal village center. The noise level inside the gym is unbelievable - the DJ blasts some supposedly upbeat songs/soundtracks continuously - I guess to mask and drownout the sounds of the cat-calling personal trainers, the treadmills and other background noises. And there is this "spin" room - where they flash some psychedelic laser lights (in an otherwise dark room), play some "fast" videos, and where I have seen people cycle and work out like maniacs. Happy gymming.

Chennai Diaries: Holiday in Hometown

I am from Chennai. Yes, my city is hot, humid, and beyond the comprehension of anyone who originated outside it. Yes, we have the worst auto drivers in the world, who will fleece you dry (and we are nor proud of it). Almost everyone who is not from Chennai, when they visit it for the first time, seem to hate it. I understand. A friend of mine landed in Chennai to interview for a faculty position in IIT-Madras and instantly decided that he couldn't be in a city that is so hot and humid, and immediately bid good bye to Chennai. But, none of that will influence what I feel about the city. I love Chennai, unequivocally.

I live in Pune now. So, recently when we got a chance to take a break and decided to go to Chennai for a week - I was pretty excited - as you can see by now. And that too, it was a relatively agenda free trip. No pre-trip plans to visit relatives, weddings, first-birthday parties, LKG-graduations etc. etc. Which meant, that one could actually take a break. And not keep wondering if you have committed a major family-political faux pas by visiting relative X and not visit relative Y and started a Devar Magan level family feud.

Or, so I thought.

The day after we landed in Chennai, a group of relatives landed in my place - invitations in hand, inviting my folks and us for an engagement function scheduled smack in the middle of our stay in Chennai. And, things of this sort kept happening at a rapid pace, completely unplanned and by chance, and before the end of day one of the trip, we had our schedules filled with events, lunches, dinners, bidding goodbye to a hoped-for agenda-free week in chennai.

Man proposes - god disposes. In India, man proposes, his relatives dispose of his proposals, his ideas and rearrange everything so comprehensively around him, the man wouldn't know what hit him.

This no-agenda bliss-filled vacations are a mirage anyway. One can keep thinking about them, and hoping to be completely rejuvenated and super-charged and refreshed after such a dream vacation, so that you jump back into your work and be super-productive - sorry, that is not how it goes. And you have find your vacation and everything else you expected out of it in the midst of all this mayhem and turbulence.

So, instead of worrying over the over-booked vacation week, one has got to do, what one has got to do.

I like to take my cycle and roam around the city. If I start early in the morning, it gives me enough time to do my rounds and return before it becomes too hot, and the roads become too busy. So, I did that. I came across a bunch of coffee shops - I noticed that coffee shops in general are pretty ambitious in life. None of them is content of just being a coffee shop - they all want to be more. In some way they hope they can add a tiny-bit of something else to your lives.

For example, these are some of the name boards I came across: "Mocha Joe's: Coffee and Conversation", "Java Green: Coffees and More", Cafe Coffee Day: A lot can happen over coffee" and so on - you see what I mean. None of them is satisfied with being just a coffee shop. None of them just want to provide you a good cup of coffee and stop there. They always want and hope "more" would happened to you while you are there. Some are clear and specific as to what that "more" is - like Mocha Joe's - they just wish that you would converse your head off while you are having coffee. But some are very generic: Cafe Coffee Day for example, hopes "a lot" would happen to you while you are there. Hopefully next time you are there, you will decide to change your career to be a circus manager, and as a part time activity be a spy and conduct high profile espionage missions, and learn to walk on your head while composing poems in chaste Urdu with your left hand - that would make the coffee shop people happy, hopefully.

Contrast these coffee shops with, say, ice cream shops. For example, baskin robins' name board reads: Baskin Robins: Ice Cream". Very clear and very non-ambitious in their outlook towards life. They don't want "a lot" to happen to you while you are having your ice cream, and neither do they want you to converse or do anything of that sort. They just hope that you would walk in, have your ice cream, and get the hell out of there.

If you would excuse me, I need to leave for a dinner now.

Vadivel's Uthappam

I was watching TV the other day, in one of those vacant states: after dinner, without any purpose, half looking at my laptop screen, half looking at the TV.

On came a Vadivelu comedy scene. In this, Vadivel walks into an empty eating-joint, and sits and orders a Uthappam.

Uthappam, as you might know, is a thick dosa with tonnes of veggies thrown onto it. Normally, at home, when the dosa batter has been lying around for a long time, and cannot be salvaged, my mom will make uthappam - as by throwing in a bunch of onions, coriander and chilli, you can mask the old/sour taste of the batter and by making it thick, you can sidestep the problem of making a thin/brown/crisp dosa. Uthappam is a great escape, a great excuse, and a clearance sale all at once. And with not so bad results, I would say.

That was my understanding of the concept of uthappam. At least until I watched Vadivel's comedy bit. As I said, he orders a uthappam in the bit. He doesn't just order - he recites the exact recipe of how he wants it step by step to the waiter. He almost makes the uthappam take form in front of you.

He starts off with the recipe, by not listing the ingredients, but by giving suggestions as to how to wash/prepare the dosa-pan. He advices to put some water on it and use an un-used part of the broom to nicely clean the surface.

(In restaurants they use a thick slab of stone or iron/cast-iron for superior heat management. By splashing water, you not only clean the surface of any tidbits stuck to it, but also bring down the temperature of the pan and reduce the chances of being stuck with an ugly looking torn-up dosa.)

Then he suggests to take some dosa-batter and make a not-so-big, not-so-small size dosa. Followed by evenly sprinkling finely chopped onions, and green chillies over it. Then comes the master-stroke: he suggests to take some idli-podi and sprinkle it (like a gentle drizzle of rain). And take about 16 ladles of ghee, and put 6 of them on the uthappam and 10 of them around the uthappam for maximum effect.

(Of course the ghee part is very important for browning the uthappam and also caramelizing the onions - if you are diet conscious and skimp on the ghee and add some micro-droplets of super-healthy refined vegetable oil instead, you can kiss a nicely browned uthappam goodbye.)

The way he narrates the recipe is pure genius. How he builds up the interest, and communicates the excitement of an impending super-tasty uthappam is so infectious. Obviously, I was moved to action by the call. And dutifully reproduced the recipe the next morning to some stunning results (particularly sprinkling the idli-podi takes it to the next level).

People who come on TV cooking shows and recite mugged-up recipes and appear half-dead should watch this bit and take inspiration.

IIM-A Masala Dosa

I was in Amdavad- that is how Gujjus spell Ahmedabad - last week for a conference. Yeah, what is life without conferences? - it would be one long dry spell in which you just work, work and work. Conferences give you perspective - a perspective that in any profession, about 2% of the people do some good work, and the rest just goof off. They teach you that the world is not a fair place, but at least, you are fed and get to travel for free while learning such harsh truths about life.

Late Sunday afternoon, I landed in my hotel (which according to the Indian hotel naming guide had "regency" in its name. The other terms that are invariably used while naming hotels: "royal", "residency", "park", "paradise"). Immediately, I had a couple of hours on my hands to kill (what did I tell you about conferences?). I took an auto to IIM-A. Unlike in Chennai, this auto driver was pleasant and charged me 1/10th of what a Chennai guy would have bargained for. This immediately put me in a good mood. As I landed in the main gate of IIM-A, I approached the guard with some apprehension on whether he would let me in or not, and was preparing arguments in my head like "I am here to attend the World Conference on the Most Important Forum in the World" , and "The Director, IIM-A, personally came to my house to invite me and the guard better let me in" and so on. But, as I approached, the guard and I exchanged some understanding glances (with equal measures of reasonableness and accommodativeness), and he let me through.

I have been wanting to visit the IIM-A campus for a long time now. First reason, I adore Vikram Sarabhai - I have read all I could read up on him, and think that he is a true visionary. He was a phenomenal institutional builder and a humanist who could see the best in people and bring it out. IIM-A being an institution he founded, built and ran, was there on the top of my list.

Another reason is the architect who designed and built the IIM-A main campus, Louis Kahn. I saw a documentary on him made by his son, The Architect, sometime ago. He was one of the best architects of the 20th century and has designed some phenomenal, unique buildings which use exposed brick and concrete as design tools to maximum effect. He was also a deeply flawed man - he maintained three families with three different women at the same time, and died in a railway station, drowned in debt. Personal flaws aside, his buildings spoke very powerfully to people. He built Bangladesh's parliament building in Dhaka, and you should listen to the people of Dhaka talk about the building and Kahn's contribution in the documentary. The affection, gratitude and reverence they feel towards him leaves the viewer moved.

I wanted to see for myself what was so special about his buildings. I roamed the campus.

I landed in the middle of Kahn designed buildings. They ARE spectacular. I am not an architectural expert (and I need not be one to appreciate them). I can tell you how being in the middle of those buildings, walking through their corridors make one feel. It's great. The exposed brick walls give the buildings a timeless feel - the design or the buildings don't look aged at all. The semicircular and circular gaps expose some details, frame the building, break the monotony and give the necessary punctuation marks. Walking through the brick-walled corridors is a sheer pleasure - by doing less, they have elevated the building far from being ordinary.

In the new campus (which is connected to the main campus by a concrete fortified tunnel under the main road), they have used mainly exposed concrete and lots of bamboo plants to frame the buildings - this looks very elegant and sparse. In the tunnel, they have put up an exhibition on the story of how the campus was built, complete with photographs of Louis Kahn working with colleagues in front of a drafting table. And they have also put up a huge photograph of a beaming Vikram Sarabhai (I haven't seen an image of him in which he is less than beaming). I stood for a couple of minutes in front of the photograph. It was like you visited heaven and saw a huge photograph of God staring at you.

No visit to an institute is complete without a visit to the canteen. I found my way to one of the canteens and ordered a very authentic Gujarati dish which you get only in IIM-A: masala dosa. And did some student watching. Thoughts about pay packages and other cliches associated with such institutes flooded the mind. All of them had a sort of we know are in "IIM-A" kind of vibe. I hope these bozos (I know they are not bozos, they better not be- given how influential some of them are going to be; but it is still fun to call them bozos) realize they are walking the corridors and paths laid by Sarabhai, and better do something to hold up the tradition that they have, willingly or unknowingly, inherited.

The conference itself was held in the NID campus (National Institute of Design). The place was bursting with creativity and energy. Odd and no-so-odd artifacts, paintings, wood works etc. displayed all over the campus. Students working in groups on their projects at all times of the day. And just a general feeling of being in the middle of people who love what they do, and don't mind working hard, and having fun when doing it. If heaven existed, it could possibly look and feel like a combination of IIM-A and NID, filled with the same kind of energy and atmosphere. At least, my version of heaven would be like that. And, my version will also have a dozen theaters that screen movies from around the world all day and of course, 24-hour fresh coffee and ice-cream making/vending machines.

Indian Film Classics: Godavari (2006) Telugu

"Godavari" is one of the best romantic comedies made in the last decade or so. It is joyous, it is entertaining, it is enduring and it is that kind of movie which lends itself to repeat watching. It has a very idealistic hero, Sriram (played by Sumanth), who having recently returned from the US after finishing his higher studies, tries to pursue things close to his heart. He likes serving people, so he approaches two leading political parties in his hometown and asks them to hire him for serving the people - the party guys struggle to comprehend his straight arrow idealism, and gently inform him about the ways of the world, and try to nudge him away. Sriram keeps at them.

Sriram has a soft corner for his cousin and wants to marry her, while her father (his uncle) arranges for her to marry a very socially/status-wise eligible guy (who is an IPS officer). When Sriram confronts his Uncle, his Uncle retorts saying: "What do you have? Do you even have the basic minimum stuff to get married, do you have a bank balance, if someone gives you some money, the first thing you will do is to run around to find a person to give it away - I cannot marry off my girl to a guy like you". For this, Sriram replies that he can earn money whenever needed. His cousin doesn't really reciprocate his feelings either. She is the kind of girl who likes guys to open doors for her, offer to help her with her bags when she shops, and take her to high-end restaurants to have tea.

And there is our heroine, Seeta (played by Kamalinee Mukerjee), who struggles to keep her boutique alive and runs around showing her samples to potential customers. She (along with millions of other Indian girls) is pestered by her parents to get married, as she is in her mid twenties, and there is nothing better to do in your mid-twenties than to get married. Seeta doesn't like guys who do a 9-5 job, think only about a retirement plan, fantasize about buying a plot of land in the suburbs and start procreating immediately. Against her protests, her parents convince her to meet a guy - who she ends up thinking as not so bad.

Then comes the river Godavari. Sriram and Seeta end up meeting each other on a boat trip on Godavari (the boat is an improvised contraption, which is sort of a Indian cruise ship, with many small boats tied together). Sriram is traveling to attend his cousin's wedding to the IPS guy and Seeta on a personal journey, traveling alone, to think and reflect, after the guy whom she okays to marry rejects her, opining that she is a bit "too fast" for him.

Of course, they meet, they fight, they reconcile, they get closer to each other, and the cousin character intervenes. The cousin dilly-dallies about her decision to marry the IPS guy and ruminates on marrying Sriram. This complicates things and leads to misunderstandings. And of course, Sriram and Seeta finally reunite. This story arc has been followed in a thousand movies. But not many of them work the way "Godavari" does.

More than 3/4ths of the movie takes place on the boat on Godavari. There is an assortment of characters on the boat - the feisty dosa-lady, the trip manager, a balloon-seller-kid who has his own problems, and a talking dog. Yes, a talking dog (actually several talking dogs and a talking parrot as well), which provides an additional comedy track by giving a commentary on the proceedings from its perspective. Some might say putting a talking dog in a modern movie is going over the top - but, hey, it works and the dog is funny, and that's what matters.

The characters of the hero, heroine, the cousin, the uncle, the IPS guy are all so well etched out, they almost risk becoming caricatures. It is a good-hearted movie, and has its priorities in the right place. The hero and the heroine have a mind of their own and are progressive. Even when the system pulls them this side and that, they are determined to stay the way they are. They are not gods. They are just decent people who believe that the world could be a better place and work towards it. These characters are reinforcements of goodness in a world where the majority of the people are either lost, corrupt, have given up or just plain don't give a damn.

The movie was directed by Shekar Kamulla (whose "Anand" is another little gem). He thinks and works and directs like he is channeling the great American idealist/director Frank Capra (whose movies are a must watch for people interested in movies, entertainment or idealism). Shekar deals with idealism, but his movies are not drab. They are funny. The dialogues sparkle with humor and intelligence, and the humor is observed and well earned. The music is another major strength of the movie - all the songs have a classical strain to them and along with the background score provide a warm and soothing blanket to the movie.

I had a roommate in grad school, who used to watch this film all the time. When I'd come back for lunch - he'd be holding his plate and eating in a trance, watching this film. When I'd come back in the evening, he'd have started watching the film (from where he left off in the afternoon). And I remember at least a 3-4 month stretch in which this would be a daily occurrence in our apartment. The sun rose and set, the cats mewed and fell quiet and he watched Godavari. In parts, as a whole, day in and day out.

I have a VCD of the film (which I obtained after much searching through Landmark, Hyderabad) - which I watch every 2 months. I would watch it more often, but it takes about that time for my memory to fade and for me to forget the details and revisit the film. There are some occasions when you wish your memory is poorer and you forget things sooner.

Cricket? I don't think so!

I don't think cricket is the best of games to play. I am not talking from the perspective of the IPL players or the Indian team who get paid a gazillion rupees for each game, irrespective of whether they are in the playing eleven or not, or even if they are part of the eleven, whether they get to play or not. If someone gives me that much money, I'll keep my trap shut and not complain about the nature of the "game", and this post wouldn't exist.

I am talking from the perspective of the average kid, who haunts the city gullies and the suburban grounds, for whom cricket is a daily reality, and has to deal with the joys and pains of playing the game. That kid happens to be almost every kid in Indian cities and towns. That kid happens to be me.

I played cricket for a long long time. I remember first playing when I was 10 or so, when I went with a friend to a school cricket ground nearby. The elder kids were playing a match and I tried to appear as cool and as knowledgeable as possible (and from looking back would have appeared utterly silly and inconsequential to the 15 year olds playing that day). Starting that day, my playing days continued for a solid decade, before it trailed off.

I was an average batsman, and a below-average bowler. Though I could muster up some wicked half-spin on the ball (when bowling underarm or playing throw), I was never a great bowler. I was the kid who will get to bat somewhere in the nether lands of the batting order - when all the "top" batsmen (read utter cool kids) are out, and before the super-clumsy kids get to play. I was good sometimes. But average to above-average most of the times. I have had my moments of glory - like when in a colony match, I played for 4/5ths of the innings to get my team very close to victory, only to lose by 2 runs. Don't worry - I got my "man-of-the-match" award and my plastic tiffin-box with a cartoon sticker on it during the colony's annual day.

And, my memory of the game consists of mostly waiting around for an interminable amount of time, either fielding or watching the others in your team play (to the chants of "come-on da, good batting, good batting"), and then 5-10 minutes of pressure filled batting stints, and a couple of overs of bowling in an evening of play. Thinking back, or even then, one couldn't pick a more boring and non-participatory game to play.

Basically, playing cricket involves sitting and standing and mulling around for the majority of the game (unless you are the wicket keeper or the captain or the star batsman or bowler). What a bore (for others). On the other hand think of badminton or kabadi or some game like that. You play a game, and win or lose, it is your effort - and you are there and engaged and playing every single moment the game is underway. Of course, in such games, there is also waiting around till you get your turn - but when you get to play - you play for the duration of the game. You don't get out in the first over and wait around for a thousand years to get your chance again.

Of course, there are joys in playing cricket, but most of it is in the periphery. Like the camaraderie you enjoy in being part of a team. Like the joys of rising early morning to hit the cricket ground. And the joy of staying back somewhere close to your ground in the evening, after it is dark, and yapping away with your friends, and arriving late home for dinner. The joy of holding a cricket bat. Its feel. And practicing your batting stance and strokes by yourself, hitting the imaginary ball endlessly, and admiring the correctness of your strokes and follow-ons. The pleasure of holding a tennis ball or cricket ball in your hand. And, the pleasure of practicing your "Richard-Hadlee-level" bowling action when you are walking alone on a road, for the thousandth time. It does have its pleasure points. And it is pretty nice when you are in a rhythm and bat and everything works out.

But as a game, how interesting or engaging is it for the majority of its players - not much is my answer. Play cricket. But also, pick another game, where you could actually spend more than 6% of the time you spend on the ground/court actually playing, and not just sitting around and watching things unfold.

The Imperfect Man

Human beings are imperfect. So what? That is why they are called humans. I am not talking about character imperfections here - just the physical aspects. Why the rush to appear uniformly good looking? In a few years time, everyone is going to look like they were made in an assembly line - all alike and without any distinguishing characteristics. Talk about the end of evolution!

Everyone wants to be thin - not that it is wrong in the first place. Just that being thin is not a virtue in itself- definitely it shouldn't be an all-consuming thought that should take up all your waking hours and dreams. Moderation is good - I am all for it. There should be an organic way where one is able to balance work, life, food and other things. And I don't desire a "WALL-E- like" world where everyone is super obese and is levitating around in mechanical devices. But neither do I want to live in a world where everyone is super-correct-sized and has a BMI ranging between 22 and 22.5.

I have been in places where the majority of the population is super-slim and super-tan and super good looking - and something was gravely wrong with that situation. It was just that everyone who looked so was also extremely self-conscious of the fact that they looked great. That takes the fun out of everything. People should go about their lives, and do what they want to do, and more importantly enjoy it, and also make sure that they don't overdo things and have a reasonable girth. One's entire lifetime should' t be dedicated to achieving the perfect look - all your waking hours are spent on either achieving that look, and once you achieve it, spent in prancing around in the shortest/tightest clothes that would best highlight your achieved proportions.

That also brings me to aging gracefully - I can count with one hand the number of people I know who I think have aged gracefully. The majority dye their hair in such shades of black that will make a crow blush. And worse - they become lazy and don't re-dye at regular intervals - which results in interesting shades of color cropping up, and the base-camp turning white, while the peaks remain black. If you are going to perpetuate a lie, at least be diligent about it. Lie with some discipline and conviction, I say.

And about pot-bellies. I am not against pot-bellies per se. It all depends on the context, you see. If a pot-belly is accompanied by a vacant, lifeless face, and a distant look - there is nothing worse than that. Instead, that person can hold a banner saying "I have officially given up on life - so, if you have anything to say to me, save it, I am not interested". But a pot belly + a lively face + a spring in the step + fire in the approach towards life is not bad at all. In fact it is a perfect recipe for aging.

Aging can be done well. I have seen it happen. Age brings charm with it- only that you should not be a knuckle head to not notice it and camouflage it with bright colored neckless t-shirts and bad hair dyes.

I am told (by more informed sources in this matter) that all girls want to have straight hair. Why- I ask. And everyone these days want to straighten their teeth as well - okay, there are some dental advantages for some people to fix their teeth - but I won't buy the argument that everyone needs to do it. There are a lot of people whose smiles are way more charming - just because they have slightly crooked teeth.

I don't even want to get into the botox story. (Actually other people have handled this issue better.) All I want to say is that I think the world will be poorer if Robert Deniro or George Clooney go ahead and botox their frown wrinkles out. Particularly Deniro's wrinkles - it's an asset for him, not otherwise.

All this straightening, dyeing, tanning, and tucking and taping is only leading to the death of aesthetics. As a population, there will be a day when your next door neighbor will be an exact replica of you and everyone else you know. Homogenizing may be good to store milk for a longer duration - it is not so great for people.

There will be Food!

I don't know what it is about graduate students and free food. Wherever there are grad students, there will be free food. And, wherever there is free food, rest assured, grad students will be there.

Student-event organizers around the world, when they are sitting in their small committee rooms, planning for events, and asking themselves- how do we make sure people attend the event, come up with the same answer over and over again: advertise free-food!

Even if you plan a free food event in utter secrecy, and only one person is involved in the planning, and print only one flyer advertising it and put it in a box, and bury the box in a secret location in the woods, grad students will come to know about it. And they will be there for the event!

I was a grad student not too long ago. And, I should know. Various student organizations around the university, flush with cash (this was pre-recession US, you see), and not having any great ideas about how to spend the money, will announce a couple of "free-food" events per semester, in the pretense of the "meet your fellow graduate students and network" cloak.

Actually, no grad student is interested in meeting other grad students. That is why they are grad students in the first place. So that they can get cooped up in a small lab or office somewhere and put up with their advisor's tantrums and unreasonable demands, and browse the inner most recesses of the internet, and get solace from those inner-sanctums. If they were the social beings that the "networking" poster would want you to believe, they would have known better and avoided grad school altogether.

At this point you might wonder, this can't be true and there must be guy-grad students who must be interested in meeting gal-grad-students and vice-versa and such events should be considered as a personal, hand-delivered blessing from God. You are right, but grad school is the wrong place for that. Particularly if you are in the science/engg stream - you will learn this pretty quickly. Students who walk into these departments hoping to meet their Madam Curies and Pierre Curies to become the ideal couple and clank test tubes instead of champagne glasses are in for a rude shock. (The quality of romantic material will most probably be like the quality of paperbacks you find in a waste paper shop- that is a separate story, to be ruminated later!)

The grad networking events, promote only one kind of networking- students networking with food! And most of these events will be held at an ungodly hour. Have you ever heard of a 5.00 pm dinner buffet! You have if you are a grad student. And the best part is when you turn up for this 5.00 pm dinner at 4.45pm (thinking you have outsmarted the smart crowd), and find an already-formed queue that's at least as long as Hanuman's tail. And you join the queue, and slowly move towards the food tent.

And the closer you move to the tent, the more nervous you feel. You see these grad student turned goblins stacking their plastic plates with so much food, and fleeing the crime scene before someone can catch up with them and claim the food back. Have you ever seen a hamburger patty sandwiched between two other hamburger patties? - grad students are smart cookies you see- why waste precious real estate on your plate by putting something as ordinary as a bun on it. Instead stock it with brownies and cookies that you can actually use as snacks for the next two centuries. And forget about seconds. If you are lucky enough to get into the tent once, you should consider yourself lucky. And even luckier if by the time you enter, there is actually some reasonable speck of food in the trays, and not just some ketchup and mayo packets and some cookie crumbs.

While the haves sit around and gorge (what looks like) their last supper, the have-nots try to save face by holding a plate with something resembling food on it, and holding a paper cup with water in it, and pretending to drink fruit-punch or iced-tea, and stylishly tossing the cup in the already exploding waste-bins and walking into what is clearly not a sunset for at least the next 2 hours.

P.S.: UN food managers who will be delivering supplies to calamity-hit regions, should consider training as volunteers in such grad events. They might not be able to take the pressure - but, hey, that is what training is all about!

The Best New Year Song Ever!

If you are wondering how you should celebrate New Year's eve - I have a suggestion for you. Watch this song - if you watch Tamil TV channels, you might have no choice but to watch it, because it is only telecast every half a second during that week. The song I am talking about is "Ilamai Idho Idho…" (Youth, here, here…) from the movie "Sakalakala Vallavan" (Master of thousand arts). The movie was released in 1982, and the song, according to me is still the undoubted anthem of the new year.

It is a club song - don't ask me what that means. In the late 70's and early 80's a lot of these songs appeared in Hindi and Tamil films - where the hero (more often than not it was Kamal or Rishi Kapoor or Feroz Khan) wearing some tight fitting leather jacket and pants studded with thousand diamonds or a serial light set danced with a ill-clad "item"-girl (very rarely the heroine) in a spectacularly lit "club". There were lights on the floor, lights on the ceiling, lights on walls, lights in every dimension possible, blinking like mental stars. Lights of every color imaginable, possible.

These "clubs" did not or do not exist in the real world. (If they existed, the occupants would burn their retinas from all the psychedelic lighting and become delirious and uncoordinated). These clubs existed only in those songs in Tamil, Hindi films. These clubs had their own type of waitresses (very little clothing) and waiters (utterly clueless), odd looking furniture, and glass surfaces for the hero to break in case a fight breaks out at the end of the song.

Coming to the song under consideration, why is it so great! Because it is loads and loads of fun. Illayaraja's (the genius who keeps surfacing again and again whenever there is a discussion of greatness) score is buoyant, superbly varied, celebratory - in simple terms - it rocks! Kamal enters the song in a golden color Enfield bullet in an all-black leather dress and wishes everyone a happy new year - now, if that doesn't make you want to have a happy new year, I don't know what can. And he circles around the club in his motorcycle with a club dancer doing acrobatics on his motorcycle. And then there are the dancers who look like they were picked from a PT teachers' conference, where they slept under a marijuana tent. Doing totally ridiculous moves - but what fun it is! There is light spilling over from every corner of the frame. Did I mention there are soap bubbles floating around?

That is not all - Kamal comes on roller-skates, he dangles from ropes and sways to the tune (actually, editing effects will add another 6 Kamals swaying, with multi-color balloons lifting off). He does the robo-dance, mimes some traditional martial arts moves and boxing moves, flexes his arms and admires his own muscles, sways to a swinging chandelier, finally invites his coy guests to come and dance with him on the floor - where they all dance away into the new year.

All aboard the fun train. Next destination: the very happy new year!

The Social Network

Social Network is one of the best movies of the year. (I haven't watched every single movie released this year - but I can still make such statements, because, one can perceive greatness when one sees it.) Seriously, it is a great movie - go watch it.

It tells the story of the formation of Facebook. Starts when Mark Zuckerberg after being dumped by his girlfriend in a Cambridge bar, leaves his drink unfinished, jogs his way through the night wearing a GAP hoodie and his backpack, to reach his dorm room in Harvard to have some more beers and start blogging furiously about the cross-currents of thoughts running in his head - he makes scathingly insulting cracks at his ex-girlfriend, and in the process of emptying his mind on the cyberspace comes up with an idea for a website that compares and rates Harvard girls based on their appearance.

He completes coding and setting-up the website that same night and sends the link to all Harvard students. The traffic is so heavy on this site, it brings down the university network at 4.00 in the morning. For this, he gets noticed, and is offered the job of joining a team of students (two of them, brothers, with the last name Winklevoss) who are setting-up a social networking site at Harvard called Harvard Connections. He runs with the idea on his own, partners with his friend Eduardo for the money and sets-up Facebook.

The Harvard Connections team sues him for stealing their idea for the website. While the two sides sit across a posh table and go through lengthy, acrimonious depositions, the movie unfolds in the background. Mark and his friend Eduardo get Facebook going (complete with the subtitle of "A Mark Zuckerberg Production"), first exclusively for Harvard students and then expand it to other universities. The site grows spectacularly - and lets just say, things get interesting.

This is a semi-fictional film - the broad outlines are drawn from what is public information. Mark comes across as a socially inept, uber-talented nerd. He writes computer programs like be was born to write computer programs, with manic energy and drive and phenomenal stamina (36 hours coding sessions, anyone?). And there is an entire sub-section of students/programmers who derive their mojo from zoning out the rest of the world, wearing a head-phone to musically cue their brains and have an orgy with machines and … code.

Watch Mark in any social setting - he stands out (not always in a good way, nevertheless). Without exception, he is the most under-dressed guy in any room. Even when there is a feet of snow outside, he roams in his shorts and flippers. The conversations he has with people (who are not his friends or whom he likes) are like playing hopscotch in a landmine field - you never know when things are going to blow up. The first scene where Mark chats with his girlfriend in bar is a masterpiece of dialogue writing - the actors speak at breakneck pace, not just speak, think and dodge and dance with words. Issues crop up like a punching wall and Mark furiously talks, diverts, talks more until he has unwillingly traumatized his girlfriend in every which way possible. His mind works so fast, he is sort of befuddled that it has not led him to the right end. Thinking fast is great, but some pause, some compassion could help.

The film also subtly raises issues like conformity and its role in society building. Parents, family, society everyone who could influence you when you are being formed, tries to make you to conform to things. The more you conform, the better you are for. People sometime confuse discipline with conformity. Discipline to some extent is good. But most of us don't stop until we are way way into the super-safe, super-under-exiting zone of passivity and acceptance. In a world populated by mostly conformists, the non-conformists rule. Boundaries are meaningless to them. Mark is one such example.

A room full of men and women in suits trying to get a penny from a guy wearing a ill-fitting shirt, unkempt hair and bathroom flippers. That says something.

This is a beautifully crafted film. Watch the rowing competition held in England where the Winklevosses lose by a whisker. Spectacularly constructed - the cinematography, the editing, the sound effects, the choice of music - it is slightly eerie, it is odd, it is confusing, it is an experience -just breathtaking. Another scene that is superbly done is the scene where Sean Parker (the guy who created Napster) talks to Mark seated in a loud club about how big businesses are built, and how to dream big - the tension of those words, their implications - you can barely sit still watching the scene.

It gets pretty much everything right. The characters, their priorities, the acting, the world of start-ups, the atmosphere, the college experience. The movie is funny, it is gripping as only the best thrillers can be, it is smart, it is perceptive, it doesn't underestimate the audience's capabilities and it transports you. I don't know how you feel about Facebook - I have still not made up my mind - it is nice to see my old friends on Facebook - but, still…, I don't know if Facebook is a good thing or bad. But, I am pretty sure of one thing - that this is a story that deserves to be told, and deserves to be watched.

The pleasures of language and Endhiran songs

It has been more than a month since the film released. Still, I am not able to get over the songs of Endhiran. Hands down, it is one of the best albums in the last few years. There are several things about the album that rock. First the music - Rahman uses various aspects of the story in the music and creates a seamless and fresh album. The title track, part of the "Puthiya Manidha" song, is a meditation on the possibility of a new beginning and perfectly fits the Robot assembling scene.

Pretty much all the songs are awesome. My picks of the lot would be "Irumbile Idhayam" and "Arima Arima". The girls (who are named Lady Kash 'n' Krissy) who sang "Irumbile" pack so much verve and pep and attitude in their voices, compared to AR Rahman's rather (intentionally, I guess) droll and straight rendering. I never thought the day will come when I'd have to say something in praise of Aishwarya Rai, but it has - she dances like there is no tomorrow for this song - great entertainment.

Apart from being a super song, "Arima Arima" also serves as the song for Chitti- the villain. Rajni's antics in the song are just a pleasure to watch. People should cast him more in villain roles - he clearly enjoys it so much (which he proved in Chandramukhi as well - lakalakalaka). And since he is the only hero capable of taking on himself, script writers should find a way to cast him against himself. The only thing better than Rajni is two Rajnis.

The lyrics of "Arima" also deserve superlatives. Tamil is such a beautiful language. When used well - its effect on you is just stunning. A two thousand year old language working so well for a film about a Robot. There is a line where Chitti sings "…kaamutra kanini naan…" which means "I am a lust filled computer" - three words unleashing the descriptive power of Tamil.

A word about the movie and Rajni's contribution to it. The most talked about aspect of the film has been the graphics. More importantly for me, the movie works because of Rajni - he pulls off the roles of the benign-Chitti and villain-Chitti spectacularly. He hardly seems to emote while playing the benign-Chitti, but is able to convey so much by apparently doing nothing. Villain-Chitti is a different ball game altogether - he relishes his performance, and gives one of the most menacing, entertaining and rollicking villains in Indian film history. Through all three roles, he makes us care for what happens to the characters - and this is what makes the film work , big time.

Why Rajni is possibly the greatest star in the world

Before you could rebut me, please let me explain.

I think Rajni has worked himself to a position where he qualifies for the title of the "Greatest star in the world". The operative word being "star".

By the way, who qualifies to be a star? A star is an actor who is super popular with the masses, and just by seeing his/her image on the poster or trailer, the audience will be half convinced to see the movie. Acting has nothing to do with being a star. There are stars who are great actors, and there are stars who couldn't act if their life depended on it. So, forget acting for a moment. Stars sell pictures. They are marketing tools. When someone is deciding which movie to watch, a star influences that decision and makes you shell out your hard-earned money and watch the movie. That doesn't mean they can make a movie successful - they can just make people aware that such and such a movie is releasing.

Okay, there are lot of actors who qualify for this definition. Tom Hanks, Will Smith, Angelina Jolie, Julia Roberts, Mithun Chakravarty (no, I am not kidding), Amitabh, Amir, Salman, Shahrukh etc. etc. What makes Rajni so special.

Almost all the stars in the world sell their films like crazy. Any Hollywood release is prefixed by a 3-4 month world tour by the star, where s(he) gives dozens of interviews to TV channels, radio stations, newspapers, websites etc. etc. world over. Photo ops, magazine cover stories, talk show appearances etc. etc. They travel to pretty much every country where commercial airlines fly to and talk and talk about their movie. Most of the hollywood ones have these marketing gigs written into their contract. If they don't play ball and help in marketing the movie - then it becomes difficult to find investors who would put up the money.

With stardom comes power and glamour - but it also comes with months of living out of suitcases (for each film you act in), half-dead hotel food, uninspired journalists, publicists, and unending red carpets. Answering for the thousandth time...questions about your marital status, dating status, weight status, rehab status etc. etc.

Rajni does none of that. He chooses his projects, acts in them, and goes to the Himalayas when the movie is about to be released. Now that is the definition of cool. He doesn't give thousand interviews (some interview bites here and there he does - but the reporters catch him in airports or some place like that...he almost never goes to them), do promotional tours, countless TV appearances etc. No other star in the world can afford to do that.

One reason is that - Rajni understands his stardom, and understands the meaning of the word over-exposure. He does one film in 2/3 years. And then disappears and makes people want him more. He doesn't promote cell phones or colas during his spare time. He knows - stop when they want more. When you know when to shut up, the world starts talking about you.

On Vadapav

Statutory warning: Consuming this blog post is very injurious to health - may cause acute shrinkage of brain power and thinking abilities. May cause intellectual paralysis and lead to rapid rolling of eyeballs within socket. Mild disorientation and faintness can also be expected.

People who haven't stepped into Maharashtra- vadapav is a fried potato cutlet/patty/mysore bonda (called vada) sandwiched between a rectangular bun (called pav).

Why do we like vadapav so much? Why is it such a good snack? It is questions like this that keep me up at night. It is questions like this that need deep thought and push me to take long walks and engage in some quality deep thinking. I think I may have found the answer to this question (yes, please sit down, I am also reeling in excitement).

First, I would like to submit exhibit A, B and C for the defense:





























Did you look at the photos. What do you see? I see innocuous looking buns suddenly turning violent and trying to gobble up the poor potato patty. Such rowdy behavior! When we are served a vadapav, what we see is the bun trying very vigorously to swallow the patty by wrapping it's enormous mouth over it. And, instinctively we feel wronged. We bought the vada and the pav to eat, and we are facing the imminent risk of losing the vada and just having the pav to eat. What we do? - we get competitive and jump into the fray and start eating the vadapav before the pav could eat the vada.

That is why it tastes so good. If you grew up with a sibling, you would understand. Even the lousiest of foods instantly transform into the most delectable delicacy if your brother or sister (or friend) wants it. If he wants it, I also want it. If he is trying to eat it, I will eat it first. If the pav wants the vada, I want it even more. Vadapav appeals to this instinct in us - that is why it tastes so good, and an entire state gobbles down lakhs of vadapavs every day.

Also, people who are intrigued by this, and planning to pursue their PhDs in vadapav research, I'll let you in on another top-notch discovery of mine. You know what vadapav resembles, and where it gets its gluttonous behavior from - I have one word for you - pacman. (Yes - your suspicion is right, I am a genius, and if you are planning to nominate me for the Nobel prize, please do so next year...this year I am busy during December and won't be able to go to Stockholm to collect the prize personally). Thanks for your consideration.

Indian Film Classics III: Jalsaghar (The Music Room, 1958) Bengali

In "Jalsaghar", Satyajit Ray portrays a character with whom it is almost impossible to sympathize with and relate to. How much can you relate to an obscenely-rich guy (a zamindar) who has it all, and loses everything almost singlehandedly through pride, delusion and sheer stupidity (when millions around him are struggling for their daily bread). Who is completely oblivious of the change in the world around him - some might call him a dinosaur who deserves to be extinct. You don't meet such characters in your life every day -how do you expect to relate to him. But, by the end of the movie, Ray left me rooting for the character so much, that I wanted to get into the frame, and slap the zamindar guy and tell him to come back to reality, and by the very end of the movie, I was empathizing with him - and seeing the way he is, understood his flaws and what made him happy and why he is acting so knuckle-headedly.

He is a dinosaur, no question. But he is also human. It is easy to vilify such a character, but if you look close enough, or if you have a director like Ray who would do that for you, you see the frailty behind the facade and the obvious- the fatal weaknesses, the pains, the joys, the pleasures. From a social perspective, there is nothing much to like in him - he is a rich guy who think he is entitled to much more than he has, who couldn't care less about the people around him, and strongly believes that since he is born into a privileged class he is better than others and at the best tolerates other people. Personally also, he is rude to visitors, and treats them according to the class they belong to. If you put your socio-political cap on, you would despise such characters - at least I would. But, if you look at him as an individual, possibly as someone who would live in your neighborhood…then it is a different story.

Bishwambhar Roy(Chaabi Biswas) is a zamindar (read an ultra rich landowner apparently without much else to do other than enjoy life, throw parties, celebrate and milk his riches) in rural Bengal in the 1930s. He has a huge estate on the river bank, and the river keeps eating into his land as it rises. He rides his horse (named Tufan) and has an elephant (named Moti) in his stable. He throws lavish parties, flowing with food, drinks, fireworks and entertainment. The main focus of the parties is the men-only music/dance performance held in his music room. The music room is the pinnacle of his pride - it is lavishly and ornately decorated with chandeliers, a larger-than-life-size mirror, and paintings of his forefathers dressed and decorated to the hilt, as a reminder of his lineage and status for his visitors. The men smoke, drink and enjoy the fine arts. For all his faults, the zamindar is a ardent lover of music and dance. He is transported by good music, and will go to any extent to hire the best performer for his music room parties.

He walks into the music room when the performance is underway, and basks in the attention and salutations thrown at him. And occupies the central position (half lying down on a cushy spread), with flowers, booze and a hookah specked around him. Takes in all the music and the atmosphere, nodding in approval regularly to his closest companions. And rewards the dancer/musician after the performance.

He funds all this extravagance by selling his valuables one by one (as his income is way below his expenses, which his manager keeps pointing out to him). His wife too chastises his for over-spending with abandon- he handles her, charms her and nullifies her concerns. His son, taking after him, shows interest only in music and riding the horse, Tufan.

His neighbor, Mahim Ganguli, is a money lender who charges atrocious interest rates and quickly rises up the economic ladder. Which is manifested in Mahim throwing parties and celebrations of his own, and inviting the best performers. This rubs the zamindar the wrong way, and hurts his pride. The zamindar's point is that Mahim represents new money and hence doesn't equal him and is uncouth (which Mahim is). When Mahim visits the zamindar to invite him to the housewarming of his newly constructed house on a given auspicious day, the zamindar wanting to one-up Mahim, informs him that he himself is throwing a party on the same day and forces Mahim to retreat. In spite of dwindling funds, and over-riding his manager, throws a lavish bash in the music room. And sends for his wife and son to return (who are visiting his wife's parents' house) immediately by houseboat.

And tragedy strikes. The scene building up to him discovering the tragedy is masterfully done. Just by inter-cutting a few shots of the window and the swaying chandelier with the performance, Ray builds an ominous tone and suspense. And to clinch it, there is a shot of a cockroach, belly-up, struggling, in the zamindar's drink cup - just brilliantly done.

From that day on, the zamindar withdraws into a shell, and the music room is shut. He moodily spends his days and his only relief is seeing Tufan and Moti (his horse and elephant) and some music. His servant and manager are super-loyal to him. His servant's demeanor and expressions mirror (multiplied by a 1000) that of his master's. He is extremely happy whenever he sees a spark of revival in his master, and is crest-fallen to see his master's morale sag into the shell.

Mahim keeps getting wealthy and keeps irritating the zamindar. And throws a big bash to celebrate his son's thread ceremony, and invites the best kathak dancer available, Krishna Bai to perform. This clinches it- and the zamindar snaps out of his moody shell, and organizes a bash to show Mahim his place (with the same Krishna Bai's performance) in his music room, with the last of his remaining wealth (the rest of which has since been auctioned off to settle his debts).

The manager is shell shocked. The servant jubilantly dusts off the music room and restores it to its past glory. And Krishna Bai performs in front of the zamindar, his cronies and Mahim. What a performance that is - it is one of the best picturized song and dance sequence ever- just see how Ray (and his cameraman Subrata Mitra) build the tension and the performance. And Roshan Kumari, who plays Krishna Bai, dances like a whirlwind. How this scene ends is one of the greatest pleasures of watching this movie.

The zamindar basks in the glory of this last flame-out of a celebration. He drinks and stumbles around the music room, admiring its opulence, his ancestors. And once again, Ray starts working his magic. The candles lighting the chandeliers start going-off one by one (as it eventually will) - and the zamindar panics- as he wants the night to last forever. Of course, it doesn't and the sun rises and disappoints him. He turns to his last refuge and decides to ride Tufan (his horse) in his intoxicated state. At this point, we know that he has nowhere else to go, and is spent, completely. At this point, I started rooting for him, and was relieved at the way the movie ends - there was no other way to go, and he couldn't have saved his dignity any other way. Should we care about the dignity of a loathsome, pompous character- we normally shouldn't. But sometimes, when you look closely at lives like this, it is very difficult to come out the same way you went in. And in the end, Ray has succeeded in making you see the human in the dinosaur.

Ray worked with very limited resources to make his movies. And he was so good at this game that the lesser the resources he had, the more spectacular the result on the screen was. Give him a dark room and a candle or a matchstick and he will create magic just with that - and there are some unforgettable scenes in his movies to prove this. There are few directors who could build so much tension by stringing some seemingly simple looking scenes together. He is the greatest Indian film director till date. And one of the best the world has ever produced.