"Bay...cho...ooo" (BH:D274)

May 6, 2012

My childhood, like most others in middle class India in the 80s, was one in which much excitement was generated at the sight of ever-so-slightly wide and straight neighborhood streets that have managed to hold on to the tar on them for more than one monsoon. Our eyes would widen at the street cricketing possibilities such "pitches" offered. I have noticed that similar eye-widening effect is brought about by wide flat screens and LCD monitors on today's kids. Times change.

Nevertheless, I have managed to find a few dinosaur kids in the neighborhood who still enjoy '1-bounce-out-underarm' version of the game played with a tennis ball. Obviously, I am no good at it but I will blame that on the bat that resembles a buffet spoon in my hands these days. I do manage to prolong my stay at the wicket by entering into furious arguments about LBWs which happen every other ball. Some childhood lessons are never forgotten.

On a recent afternoon, despite my imposing largeness in front it, a sneaky spin ball managed to hit the cardboard sheet that acts as the stumps supported by a brick. The little bowler dude was ecstatic. He punched his fists in the air and 'airplaned' a few feet acknowledging the roaring cheers from an imaginary stadium crowd. Then he did something interesting. 

Pulling his clenched fists closer to the body as if attempting to open a rather stubborn drawer, he silently mouthed, "Bay....cho...oo!" and pointed me to the nonexistent pavilion. The mouthing was done in slow motion as learnt from the action replays of match live telecasts. For those with working knowledge of our national language, it is pretty clear which word he was mis-silent-pronouncing. 

Almost every kid in India who has access to television has learnt this Hindi word even if their state government's insist on education in the mother tongue. It is the most obvious word that accompanies celebrations on the cricket field by our players... our national treasures ....our icons. It has become India's own "fuck!" Our cricket league may use Caucasian blonde cheerleaders, but you Westerners can keep you four letter word with you. We have our own. 

With a virtualyl infinite amount of cricket on TV with the IPL in progress, a few of our beloved cricketers (under the leadership of Virat Kohli) are providing an unexpected (and some would say unpleasant) fillip to our national language.

I remember the unnecessary ink and bit spilling that happened some time back in the USA about the excessive on-field celebrations during NFL. The Indian Information & Broadcasting Ministry that brought down the hammer on the "Dirty Picture" has no qualms about the slow motion repeats of this word. The dime a dozen women's rights groups are also mum about the repeated assault on the opponents' sisters that these players unleash every time they manage a catch or a wicket. That poor player is already returning to the pavilion but the heroes of the occasion seem to insist that the festivities are not complete without invoking his female blood relatives. Perhaps this shows how close-knit and glorious Indian families are. May be they've all watched Stephen Fry discuss the joys of swearing on youtube.

Rain has taken a break today. And this means snail invasion. Which is the most patient kind of invasion out there. In the morning sun, the streets and footpaths sparkle with the ephemeral silvery paths these slimy slow movers leave behind. Like luxuriant grandma's hairs for those who can remember the days before grandma's dyed. In the attempts to cross the roads, they stagger and exhaust themselves in regressive circles, like John Abraham's efforts at acting, till death by squishing under the next vehicle. 

Though the road development and traffic departments of Thiruvananthapuram provide them no assistance by marking lane dividers, the stray dogs in the city somehow pick precisely the middle to crap!

Torturing Thirty! (BH:D273)

May 4, 2012

62 people were injured when an elephant that was paraded for the Thrissur Pooram went out of control. One of the injured women is in serious condition in the hospital. The newspaper headlines suggest that the elephant was in the wrong. Apparently, it was supposed to stand enjoying the loud music, the noise of hundreds of thousands in attendance and the sweltering heat, not to mention the presence of 29 other tuskers. 

The immediate cause was the stabbing it received from the elephant standing next to it. We will soon punish that elephant. We're first determining whether it is of Italian origin before letting the law take its course.

A debate has been raging in the "letters to the editor" section of major newspapers about the torture of elephants in the name of temple festivals. There are enough 'Hindus' who are deeply offended that meat-eating uncouth are screaming for animal rights. 

In a letter this morning, a gentleman suggests that elephants actually shake their heads and wave their ears in appreciation of the music and the rituals. Brilliant! As long as we have such folks who either remember details from their previous elephant birth or know elephant language to be keepers of animal conscience, there shouldn't be any debate at all. 

30 elephants, split into two equal teams assemble for the competition between two temples that forms the essence of the Thrissur Pooram festival. As far as I know, it has nothing to do with the Jewish festival of a similar sounding name, though the Jews were a prominent, powerful section of Kerala's population till 17th century. 

9000 liters of water was consumed by these 30 tuskers in one day. At least during the Pooram, ardent devotess don't go out of the way in imposing new rituals on the poor animals. In other temples there is a new practice of pulling the elephant's tail to commemorate Lord Subramanya pulling his elephant-headed brother, Ganesha's tail. The animal then runs berserk around the temple and lo and behold, the gates of the Hindu heaven swing open.

I wonder if the number 30 comes from the latent memory of another gruesome traditions in the annals of Kerala history. The festival that used to be celebrated in the banks of Bharathapuzha during the day of Makam in the month of Magham, hence the name Maghamakam or Mamankam, has a story that would interest Tarantino. 

Originally, it was a religious festival under the Kulasekhara kings. But after the dynasty's downfall, the responsibility fell on the small time ruler of the area, Valluvakonathiri.

Traders based out of Kozhikode, especially Kozhikode Koya, were interested in capturing Thirunavaya area and the river so that a route opened up all the way to Coimbatore. They got Samuthiri, the Kozhikode king, and Mangattachan, his minister, interested in the plan. During one of the 13th century Mamankams, Valluvakonathiri was killed by the assassins from Kozhikode. 

The festival was transformed into a massive trade fair under Kozhikode's management and continued to be celebrated for 26 days every 12 years. The most amazing as well as disturbing event came during the final day. 

A 30-member strong suicide squad from erstwhile Valluvanad will attack the festive crowd seeking revenge for the defeat of Valluvakonathiri and murder of his two princes. All these 30 men would fight till they get slaughtered by Samuthiri's soldiers. How Fun!

This gruesome, bloody, violent "celebration" was recorded as late as 1597 by Jesuit priests. Better sense prevailed after that year and the final event was made merely a ceremonial battle without the bloodshed. Better late than never! The final large scale Mamankam was celebrated in 1765 after which Hyderali's invasions crippled the kingdom of Kozhikode.

Nowadays, instead of Thirunavaya it is Thrissur, instead of 12 year cycle it is every year and instead of men, pachyderms suffer, 30 of them to match!

"Tight Blouse" (BH:D272)

May 3, 2012

I hope that is the correct English translation. 'Tight Blouse' that is! 

Dr. Sreedhara Menon, the renowned historian and professor, in his hugely informative "Kerala Charitrashilpikal" (Makes of Kerala History) has written about the design of "irukiya blouse". I think 'tight' is the apt English word for the 'irukiya' Malayalam.

The blouse with its tightness makes its ironic appearance in the chapter on Unniyadi. Unniyadi is one among the glorified prostitute (Devadasis i.e. maids of the gods) trifecta of 12th and 13rd century Kerala, the other two being Unniyachi and Unnichirutheyi. It is ironic because from the numerous well endowed female sculptures that still adorn the temples of Kerala, we know that blouses weren't in fashion for much of Kerala's history. 

The Portuguese followed by the Dutch then the French and the British were shocked or pleasantly surprised that from the king to the slave every mallu, male and female, was topless till as late as late 19th century. The same goes from everyone from the boatmen of Salon to the fleeing Jews, trading Greeks and Romans and the Chinese who came to these shores since 1000 BC.

Prof. Menon comes to the blouse while discussing the evolution of the traditional dance form of Mohiniyattam. Mohiniyattam traces its origins all the way back to the "Koothu" dance performed in the temples by the 'devadasis'. It was to originally denote the dancers of this "koothu" that the currently derogatory term "koothichi" in Malayalam originated.

As late as 1900, T.K. Gopala Paniker wrote rather dimly about the practitioners of Mohiniyattam. In his "Malabar and its folk" available freely at archive.org, we find

"Mohinyattam is an institution much akin to Dasyattam of the east coast. A leader obtains the services of two or three young girls of low birth and trains them in the obscene technicalities of the profession. This leader is called the Nettuvan. He takes these girls from house to house and gets a paltry allowance for each day's performance, and thus they make a living. It is performed usually at nights, when the girls are robbed in the finest attire and dance begins led, of course, by the Nettuvan. All sorts of obscene practices are resorted to during the process. This institution is an extremely abominable one. The females who are thus rented out are looked upon in civilized circles with utmost contempt; and it may be said that they exist as a separate isolated class with little or no social interest with other classes.It is some satisfaction to find that the institution is dying a gradual and natural death."

The man protests a little too much, I think. He would really be dissatisfied to find the international acclaim that Mohiniyattam has attained these days. The total reversal of fortune of the "dying" dance can be attributed to two cultural champions of Kerala...and of course, the tight blouse. 

The design of the blouse, the frilled gold-bordered "kasavu" waist cloth and the jewelry that go with Mohiniyattam performances these days comes from none other than Swati Thirunal, the king of Travancore from 1829 to 1846, famous for his magnificent contributions to Carnatic classical music. Though his sartorial accomplishment may not have become as popular in Malabar as his compositions by the time of Gopala Paniker, in today's India, certainly, more women use the blouse than sing his music. 

Swati Thirunal's interference wasn't enough for the image makeover of the dance form. It received its mainstream acceptance only after legendary poet, Vallathol, added it as a part of the curriculum at Kerala Kala Mandalam, the foremost arts school of south India in the second half of the 20th century.

Coincidentally, I found an advertisement for a capsule and an oil combo that promises to enhance the bosom of ladies worried about their 'bodaciousness' (or is it bodacity?). The ad appears in one of those numerous film weeklies that pull off the impossible trick of actually reducing the value of the paper they are printed on. 

An ample bosom is featured along with the ad. Though the face and legs are not shown, anyone who went to high school during the early 90s in Kerala can easily identify the model. Her name starts with an 'Sh' but it is not Shakeela. 

I took one look at that picture and thought "geeta dhuniku taka dhim, tathim kida thom!"

Unexpected floating in of a Swati Thirunal composition. Ah, the side effects of reading history. With my palm automatically tapping the beats of the tune on my thighs, it dawned on me that epic villain Duryodhana could have used a Carnatic music excuse for his unfortunate gesture towards partly undressed Draupadi. 

The 'come hither' move ultimately cost him his femur. If only he had claimed that her sight brought Swati Thirunal to his mind...

Wrinkle Free (BH:D271)

May 2, 2012

"Anno" (elder brother) Mahendran called. I was the 'elder brother' whose attention was sought. 

Mahendran and Muthu, the neighborhood 'iron-masters' had camped in our garage this morning instead of the street because of the cloud cover and intermittent light drizzles. Mahendran has shaved his head. He had recently been to Palani temple. 

I was transferring photos from the mobile to the laptop.

"ithile paattu kedaikuma?" (Can you get songs in this?) Mahendran asked pointing at the laptop. 

"ungalku entha paattu thevai?" (what song do you want?) I obliged eager at the opportunity of fulfilling the daily quota of Tamil conversation.

"Oru kal oru kannadi....appuram Billa 2," ('One stone one mirror'....then 'Billa 2')the man knew what he wanted.

"Billa 2 music nethukku thaan release aayidichu" (Billa 2 music was released only yesterday) he clarified excitedly while I logged into paadal.com

"Ungalku tranfer panni tharanama?" (do you want me to transfer the songs?) I wondered since I knew they listen to songs while working, from Mahendran's mobile that doubles as an mp3 player.

With a full smile, he walked over to give me the heavy device. 

"Bill 2 trailer vandhachu...paathingala?" (Bill 2 trailer is out...did you see?) I asked as the downloading and transfer of songs were in progress.

"Paakkale Saar" he replied obviously hoping that I would show him. I did.

He stood watching the trailer on youtube with a sense of pride stemming from the vicarious association with the hero Ajith. The deep attachment to films and their stars that flows in the Tamilian blood. 

"Oru kal oru kannadi paathacha?" (Did you see Oru Kal Oru Kannadi?) I inquire since the movie is currently running in the city.

"Paathachu, " now that he knew I was keen on the conversation, Mahendran took his movie fan avatar. "Aarya mathiri oru star vache panirundha innum nalla vandhirikum. Ithu Stalin payyane pottu hero aakkarange. 'Boss Engira Bhaskaran' story dhaan." (If they had used a star like Arya, it would have been better. Here they have tried to make Stalin's son a hero. It is the same story as "Boss Engira Bhaskaran")

I set about renaming the songs so that he could find them easily."Kamal Saarude Vishwaroopavum vararu." (Kamalhassan's new movie, Vishwaroopam, is also coming) he said while swinging the iron box with box hands to shuffle the hot coal inside.

"Rajnikanth pona vaaram inge irundhange," I replied instinctively trying to balance the Kamal mention with a Rajni mention, as the unwritten rule of 'Thalaivar' fanclub demands.

"Appidiya?" (Really?) he looked surprised. "Neenge paathittingala?" (Did you see him?) he asked."Illai, security romba jaasthi" (No, too much security)

"Rajnikku vayasayidichu saar. Avare paathale theriyidhu. Mudi ellam pochu. Padathode silavu vidai avar make-up silavu thaan jaasthi. " (Rajni has become old. It is obvious now. His hair is gone. His make-up budget is more than the movie budget nowadays) Mahendran opined.

As he took up another cotton "mundu" to stiffen up, he was on a roll. "Kamal Saar evalavo nalla body maintain panraru. Avar vayasu theriyalle. Rajni graphics mattum panraru. Endhiran ellam enna padam?! Oru storye illai. Dasavatharam, kamalhassanude, evalo nalla padam, nalla story irukku." (Kamal maintains his physique. You can't guess his age. Rajni is doing only graphics. What kind of movie was Endhiran?! No story at all. But Kamal's Dasavatharam, nice movie, good story)

It was obvious which of the two fanclubs that every Tamilian is supposed carry membership to, he belonged. Music transfer was done. 

"Neenge ethana varsham Americayil irundhinge?" (How long were you in America?) he changed the topic."11""Padichavange mattum thaan ange poke mudiyume. Kuwait, Muscat, Malayasia pona mathiri poka mudiyathe." (Only educated people can go there. You can't go there like you can go to Kuwait, Muscat or Malayasia)

I reacted with my relearnt great Indian inconclusive head bobbing. 

"Saar...Americavil irundha ange appa-ammave mattum thaan koottitu poka mudiyum, illaya? Vere brother sister ellam poka mudiyathu, illaya?" (Sir...If one is in America, you can take only your parents there, right? Not your siblings, right?)

"Appidi ellam illa. Tourist visayile poyidalam" (Nothing like that. Others can go in tourist visa)

"Angeyellam kooli vella kedaikathu. Ange irikaravange thaan athellam panrange." (One can't get manual labor jobs there. Americans only do those jobs.)

I think both the candidates for the upcoming US Presidential elections are insisting on that!

The gods of Science (BH:D270)

April 30, 2012

Religions and their gods receive the most support in India from science. By science, I mean the scientific institutions of the country. To be more precise, for today, the local meteorology department. They had pronounced that the summer showers of last week were done on Saturday. It hasn't stopped raining since yesterday night. 

There is nothing wrong with getting predictions wrong. There is a humility and honesty associated with error and risk analysis and their addition to any scientific pronouncement especially the ones involving future events. The essential element of science is such scientific communication. Unfortunately, the gods of science here choose to speak like priests and astrologers...with absolute authority and surety. 

The religious tone with which our scientists speak comes probably because that's the crowd they are up against round the clock. And lets face it, even in modern India, education is about emphatic transmission and total acceptance than about doubting and discovery. 

The trouble is that, as poet Ayyappa Panicker has pointed out, it is impossible for us to rise above the quality and standard of the people that we choose to compete with and criticize.

Oh!Ah...well...ahem...hmm...indeed!

So there I was balancing an umbrella on my shoulder, a book in my hand and trying to pull out the plastic bag for milk from my track suit's pocket, in front of the Milma booth this morning. As usual, the the neatly folded three ten rupee notes also came flying out of the pocket and landed straight into the rushing muddy stream that was flowing over my feet. Before they could escape too far, I caught and placed them on the steel plate of the shop's countertop weight balance to dry.

"They said the rains would stop!" I said trying to dilute the wet money induced grumpiness on the shopkeeper's face. It worked."Who?" he asked"The weather bureau"

"What do they know?," he slapped two packets of milk on top of the glass jars that contained some sweets and snacks preceding the paleolithic age. "They can say whatever they want. But in reality everything is decided by the one who sits in the heavens. Only God can say anything about the rain."

India launched its RISAT satellite last week. The device is capable of imaging even in darkness and cloud cover. It can tumble all it wants in its orbit but the emphatic declarations of the weather beaureu continue to seal the common man's trust in god. I took the milk and left. Afterall, this is the land where gods displayed an insatiable appetite for milk a couple of decades ago.

If the underworld and mafia are the garbage human society, what should one think about the "Garbage Mafia"? That's the latest mafia operating in the city. With their genetic irresponsibility and criminal neglect, the politicians have ensured that garbage hasn't been cleared for 5 months now. This absence of the utility has hit the restaurant and catering business the hardest. Enter the 'garbage mafia'. For a hefty sum they collect the garbage from those businesses and dump it secretly in different parts of the city. City stinks. Mafia mutates.

An Islamic cleric had recently organized a Kerala tour to invoke "humanity". Around 400,000 capped, clad-in-white young men assembled at the final destination of the journey in Thiruvanthapuram this weekend. Humanity might have been invoked by the journey but Chandrasekharan Nair stadium where the rally concluded was left like a battle field. Garbage, plastic and paper all around. I am not sure if cleanliness and civic responsibility is part of "humanity". This cleric is trying to set up Asia's biggest mosque in Kerala to house a hair of Prophet Mohamed. If only environment received a fraction of the care the Prophet's hair has been given!

Film shooting in progress at Jawahar Nagar and Cafe Coffee Day since the weekend. Ever since the movie, 'Salt N Pepper', which had a crucial scene filmed in Coffee Day became a huge hit, I think some kind of superstition about the location is afoot. At this rate pretty soon, producers will throw the CCD logo before the beginning of the movie instead of the usual pictures of gods and saints who supposedly bless the venture. 

In this particular sequence, there are only a couple of actors involved. They don't look like Malayalees but the director is a Malayalee, Shyamaprasad. I presume the actress is from Punjabi but that's purely a speculation based on the slender daughter-hefty mother stereotyping. For two actors and one director and cameraman, there is a crew and catering department that is at least fifty people strong. I can understand how there is a financial crisis in the industry. It is truly an industry.

A tale of twenty rupees (BH:D269)

April 29, 2012

Continental Bookstore opened their renovated store near Overbridge last week. I went to check it out this afternoon. They have lost their uniqueness and now look just like any other big city book store. 

The shop is located in the lane that leads to the old Sreekanteswaram Temple across from the SMV High School. An old home right next to that temple called Kovil Vila has now been upgraded to Kovil Vila Bhagavathi Temple. The temples were closed in the afternoon. 

The new temple sports an enlarged replica of one of the mural paintings found inside the sanctum area of Padmanabha Swami temple. With its shiny golden colored door, lock and finial, the brand new goddess temple looks well on its way to having a road-blocking, crowded 'Pongala' festival attracting female devotees soon. 

Having a traffic blocking, city block smoking Pongala festival is now the status establishment symbol of the goddesses. The one at Attukal still rules supreme but she does have some smoking hot competition in the city and its outskirts.

Since Continental store had no Malayalam section and I had been wanting to check out other books by Velayudhan Panikkasseri after reading his informative and expansive "Kerala Charithrathinte Ullarakal" (Inner rooms of Kerala history, more detailed notes on that book later), I walked to DC bookstore. 

The half a dozen bookstores en-route were closed. I wonder when Thiruvananthapuram will become a city that stays open on Sunday. Not that I want it. I wouldn't like her becoming just another beast who swallows my identity and spits out my insignificance at every crowded street like Mumbai does effortlessly.

After spending an hour inside DC books, I left with the purchase of Dr. Sreedhara Menon's "Kerala Charitrashilpikal" (Movers and Shakers of Kerala history). As it must have dawned on anyone keeping track, I have been busy making up for the centralised ICSE syllabus I had in school which has left me a big zero when it comes to Kerala. When it comes to national and international history, my radius is much smaller.

I got into the East Fort- Aruvikkara bus to get back home from Statue Junction and the main story begins.Even before sitting down, I noticed a rather vocal old man, seated three rows ahead on the other side. He was in a forceful argument with the similarly aged man seated behind him. The smell of Indian made foreign liquor hanging in the air received a new punch of life with every point he made.

The argument was monetary. Alcohol has the same effect that it has on sex on money matters as well. Small appears big. Details garner obsession. The belief that lies lied louder become truth grows stronger. 

"Nooru rupayalle njan koduthathu," (Didn't I give him Rs. 100?!) the man, who resembled Malayalam writer Unnikrishnan Puthoor (google if you haven't already created a mental image) repeated the umpteenth time. He then repeated the story of how he had been paid Rs. 100 for some work earlier in the day. 

He was emotional about being wronged. In two ways.First, the contractor at the site where he was a day laborer paid him a rate different than the younger immigrant from Bengal. "Enthonnu hamara tumhara, Phaaa!" (What ours and yours, Phaa) he cursed after imitating the contractor's Hindi.

And now, the conductor had wronged him by not paying back the correct change for his ticket.

The conductor, a man in his late twenties, with well oiled hair and a red kumkum streak across his dark, glistening forehead was getting impatient. He was pretty sure he gave the man the right amount of money. When we reached Palayam, the man was warned. 

"Ini ningal bahalam vacha, ningale ivide irakki vidum. ningale kondu vandi ini pokula, ketto?" (If you continue the ruckus, you will be thrown out. the bus won't go any further with you, understood?) warned the conductor.

"Pinne," (Really?) pooh poohed the drunk, "nee enne irakkanum ponila, vandi pokanum ponila, kanam" (You won't throw me out and the bus won't go without me. We'll see)

More and more passengers were growing restless. Especially the ones who were accompanied by ladies. After the bus turned towards Vellayambalam at RamRao lamp, the old man leaned out of the window and started abusing invisible gods of fortune. 

Several abusive Malayalam words beginning with 'Ma', 'Tha' and 'Pu' were invoked. More shifting in the seats by the gentlemen with the ladies. "Iyale irikivitte," (Make him get down) couple of them said. Plenty more head bobbed in agreement.

As we stopped at the Museum traffic light, the conductor consulted the driver who immediately pulled the bus over close to the Museum Police Station which is right by the road side.

The Inspector who had given a lecture about traffic safety at our residents association function was standing outside the station. So were a few constables, couple of them in uniform, rest in 'mufti'. 

Seeing the conductor get down and talk to the inspector, the old drunk fell silent.

"Ini ningal ivide randu divasam kidanittu vareen" (You can come after staying at the station for two days) joked the man sitting behind. 

"Athinu njan onnum cheythillalo," (But I didn't do anything) the man protested weakily.

One of the officers in plain clothes(i.e. mufti) glared at the man. It looked as if that officer had been itching to beat someone up. A constable in uniform got into the bus to get the man down."Njan vannolam" (I will come myself) said the man getting up. As soon as he got down, two policemen caught his arms. 

Suddenly the man sitting in the seat behind his shouted, "ithaa, ivide oru irupathu roopa." (Look, there are twenty rupees here). Two currency notes of ten rupees were lying on the floor under drunk's seat. The root cause of his misery. He was given the money through the bus window before he was marched into the station. He looked like he had done the marching several times before. The bus left.

I hope he will be let off with a warning. A recent economic survey stated that Rs. 66.50 per day was needed per capita to be above the poverty line. 65% of the Indian population fall below this line. Government has fixed a much lower, ridiculous limit of Rs. 35, so that the country statistically looks better off. 

There are millions and millions of Indians for whom Rs. 20 matters a lot. And alcohol is a very serious problem among them, especially in Kerala. As a part of India races into more luxury, into more consumption of silk and gold and Akshaya Thritiya, fairing itself to Caucasian standards with the latest new skin cream, debating the virtues of Android over iPhone, there is a bigger, dirtier, browner India that is drowning itself in alcohol and gets thrown out of buses. Around 120 years ago, a sober young man was thrown out of train in South Africa that set off a chain of incidents that has ultimately given Indians the right to throw a fellow citizen out of a local bus.

Tree Rain (BH:D 268)

April 28, 2012

The mango showers that lasted three days seem to have ended by this afternoon. Flaky, powdery rain during the morning walk. Closed the umbrella and walked enjoying the nearly invisible spray. "Maramazha" (Tree rain) regularly from the saturated tree canopies at every inkling of a breeze. 

The rain has opened up a deep, nearly perfect circle hole in the middle of an intersection in Jawahar Nagar colony. The road had been tarred only a few months ago. Some good samaritan has erected some tree branches and placed couple of orange traffic cones near it. It is no wonder that residents of Thiruvananthapuram feel the city is steeped in history and has several layers. Its depths are revealed by such holes very frequently all over the place.

Yesterday at the shopping festival, we found a stall selling mango juice. Mangoes across the country are not yet ripe. The 'Mango Fest' scheduled for the last week of May sounds like decent timing. Almost all the mangoes feigning ripeness in the market these days are cosmetically, chemically enhanced. 

Abhishek hails from Bihar, a state known for mangoes. He picked up a palm-size mango at the stall, smelled it and asked me to try. "Smell the carbide," he instructed. I had never associated the word carbide with the act of checking a mango's ripeness. I used to get strange looks in the Walmart and Farm Patch back in College Station for the olfactory inspection of fruits. I could indeed smell the carbide in that huge, yellow mango.

The central government has cut down the kerosene supply to Kerala. Fishermen with boats that run predominantly on kerosene are completely dependent on the black market which has been, reportedly, charging five times the usual market price. This is reflected in the market price of fish. A single squid had an asking price of Rs. 150 yesterday at Palayam market. The fishmongers there appear to have informally unionised against fish that come from slightly distant shores. Apparently the fishermen in the outskirts have diesel boats, so those familiar with the little nooks in the city where they come to sell can still find cheaper fish.

My inexplicable association with architects has kicked into a higher gear. Back in Texas, two of my roomies were architects and I became friends with their friends. This afternoon I enjoyed a fantastic presentation by one of the most experienced and established architects in the state. Ar. N. Mahesh's lecture was organized as part of Indian Institute of Architects' Update & Upgrade program. 

The man began his career back in 1975. Back then Achan didn't even know that Amma existed. As he narrated during the talk, his career began in a 110 sq ft room with an ammonia printer. Today his firm is the go to destination for all grand projects in the state: the gigantic Infosys ships, the Muthoot headquarters, the top of the line tourist resorts... 

Great to get a share of the insights on client, project and office management that he has gathered during his long and illustrious career. The combination of anecdotes, tea and masala vada was perfect for a cool afternoon after heavy rains. Looking forward to the remaining two modules of his talk. For some reason, his slides were graphics-free and purely textual. Hopefully, some memorable graphics will enhance the ones in future.

Like all experienced masters, he spoke with splendid clarity. Such minds are like those rain saturated trees. Refreshing shower of wisdom every time they are shaken ever so slightly.