October 16, 2011
The name Powai comes from the erosion of Padmavati. The Padmavati temple stands inside the IIT campus overlooking the Powai lake. The main diety is a jet black stone with facial features and piercing eyes that has been recovered from the lake. The temple in its current form was built in 1975 and was dedicated by M.S. Subbalakshmi, the carnatic vocal legend!
A metal grill fence to guard against the lake's crocodiles, a new gateway arch and paved path have been added in the last decade. It is in this temple that Vishnu, my cousin, was to get engaged to Lakshmi. Vishnu and Lakshmi, those familiar with Hindu pantheon would recognize, are a match made in heaven. When I reached the temple, the Phd students of Vijayalakshmi aunty, the groom-to-be's mom, were hard at work creating color powder rangolis. Couple of these students were married, so their wives were also directing and assisting in the endeavor. It could be because they were all nanotechnologists that major attention was paid to minor details. Across the globe, PhD is 50% personal relationship with the advisor. The other 49% is luck.
While waiting to be dropped at the temple, I watched a documentary on Choice dairy farm on the Asianet channel. The cows wake up to the Ilayaraaja song in Mohana raagam from the movie Sagarasangamam, "karmekha varnante maaril...". Only the cows that give more than 30 litres are milked using the machine. The owner of the farm has developed a new fodder composition which saves him Rs 5 per kilogram.
At the temple, most of the guests arrive by 9:30. I recognize plenty of the old smiles aged by a decade. Balachandran uncle, Mohan uncle, Annie aunty, Dr. Sudhakar....Numerous enquiries about my marriage plans.
Vishnu dressed in a splendid kasavu double mundu walks with baby feet like a coy Japanese lady in kimono. The auspicious time is between 9:30 and 10:30. Even by the standard watch advertisement time of 10:10, no sign of the bride. Vishnu stands with the "she will arrive, won't she?" expression. In a couple of minutes, three cars pull up. The bride-to-be in all her splendor. But all eyes are quickly diverted to the long haired, black bearded man in white kurta-pyjama who is wearing more gold than the bride. He has thick chains on his neck. They rattle when he shakes his head. On both arms, bracelets, bangles, bands of gold. At least 15 rings on his fingers. A prominent red kumkum vertical streak on his forehead.
Guest speculate about his identity. "Must be a spiritual guru" opines one uncle. "His family must be letting him wear such things so that he feels good," suggests another less generous uncle. Turns out he is a close relative who happens to be the leader of a local political party. This is their standard outfit. Accompanying him are three scary bodyguards who must be spending every waking hour in the gym when they are off duty.
The ceremonies proceed quickly after an impromptu prayer by one of aunty's PhD students. His dad happens to be the head priest at the famous Ganesh temple at Pazhavangadi Thiruvanathapuram. So he was the default choice. The fathers exchange horoscopes. The progenies exchange rings. Marriage is announced for February 9th. Applause. Onto 'vada', 'laddoo' and tea.
Since it was not the examination season, very few student visitors at the temple.
After the snack, lunch at the newly constructed Gulmohar hall near the IIT guest house. I notice the gold-clad political figure talking on his cellphone outside the hall. The bodyguards are a few feet away. I couldn't resist walking up to him.
"Saaru malayali aano?" (Are you a Malayalee?) I ask
"Athey" (yes) he is undecided whether to smile
"Born and brought up bombaya?" (were you born and brought up here?)
"hmm...anaganeyum parayam" (Pause...you can say that)
"Politicsila?" (Are you in politics?)
He shakes his head and smiles.
"Naattil evida sthalam?" (Where in Kerala are you from?)
"Kozhikode"
For me, this man is the posterchild for the immense adaptability of Malayalees.
More introductions and reintroductions at lunch. Even a relative hailing from Amma's native village is revealed. Annie aunty had gone home after the morning ceremony to fetch me a photograph of me and Vishnu from 1996 when we went to her apartment to attend a Holy Communion. She said she remembers me very well because I had hosted the L. Subramaniam-Kavitha Krishnamurty concert at IIT in 1999.
In a conversation about men who wear gold, naturally Hindi film music composer Bappi Lahiri's name comes up. Vishnu's friend recalls that once at an airport a bunch of people including himself went into the men's room just to see how Bappi Lahiri manages all his jewelry when he goes to pee. They discovered that he grabs the necklackes hanging all the way down to his belly in one hand and flings them all backwards in one go. None of us wanted to hear the subsequent steps.
Vishnu had arranged a celebratory dinner at the Mirador hotel in Andheri. While waiting to be picked up from the guest house, I watch the beginnings of a Kannada move. The hero bashes up some white goons in an American bar. Then he sings about his super rich life. Like Bruce Wayne's Alfred, his butler advises him to go back to India to manage businesses there. "Prepare my jet" he says and the next shot shows a 747. He lands in India, is stuck in traffic. "I need a helicopter" he tells his manager and just then he notices the heroine, waiting for the bus across the road. He dreams and sings in his dream with her in Spain.
An arrangement of heliconias greet us at the hotel. We were half an hour early for the buffet. We go upstairs to wait at the cafe. Sitting around in sofas a bunch of young Indians were trying to convince some Japanese to invest in their business. Laptops on the tables, writing pads in hand, anxiousness in the eyes.
The cafe bakery's chalkboard announces a wide 'verity' of snacks including 'browine' cookies.
8pm: Sumptuous buffet. Live music. Keyboard and Guitar. The man of the one man show aspires to look like Jagger and Depp but less wrinkles and less hot. The suit burdens his frail frame. Long hair resembling trails of smoke from invisible ciggarrettes hidden under his cowboy hat. He nails a few Elton John songs.
I catch him taking a break and walk up to say that he is a good performer. He says he will come over to my table. When I am relishing the custard, he arrives.
"Are you from Kochi?" he asks
"No, Thiruvananthapuram" I say
"Only south Indian guys stop by to appreciate"
"What is your name, Sir?"
"I am Khan....and I am not a terrorist"
"You don't look like one"
"Is there a standard terrorist look?"
"Touche"
He goes on to talk about his admiration for south Indian composers while finish my dessert. "They are all so well educated and not just in music." We talk about Jassi Gift's pursuit of doctorate. Mr. Khan sings at the Mirador all nights except Monday or may be it is Tuesday. I forget. The dessert was brilliant. In his second session, he sang some old classic Hindi songs with English words inserted. Went well with the crowd. "I pick the songs based on the crowd" he had said earlier. One of his numbers was greatly appreciated by one particular table who clapped hard and long as if they had a localized mosquito problem.
The night continues with food, drinks and laughs. I am informed that it is bad luck not to look at the other person's eye while clanging glasses for cheers. Such horrendous bad luck that brings seven years of bad sex. I knew that if you are unable to look the other person in the eye and hold your glasses steady for cheers, at least one night of bad sex is guaranteed. May be there is a ritual that can rid one of the bad luck. Five coconuts, perhaps?
The plans to move the party to Elbo Room pub are shot down. Obligatory commemorative photo taken outside the hotel so that facebook tagging can complete all the introductions.
Vishnu drives us back. Mumbai has traffic jams at 11pm. And the drizzle is not helping. Small pools on the road where new gigantic concrete pillars for the new metro rail are being erected.
Back in the room, I let Kannada film songs play while I sleep. They should scare the hell out of any sneaky leopards.
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