December 25, 2011
Chill air rushed in as I opened the window this morning.
4 am.
The wet freshness of yesterday's rain lingered in the air.
Cricket orchestra in full swing.
Something, dead or alive, makes a muffled plunge from some neighbor's tree to the rain soaked soil. But it is loud enough to induce a momentary respectful silence from the insects.
M.S. Subbalakshmi was already half way through 'Venkateshwara Suprabhatam' from the loud speakers of a distant temple. By the time, I had washed my face, she was followed by some unknown local singer duo belting some Malayalam devotional hymns. The devotion seemed doubly loud this morning.
And it dawned on me that it was Christmas!
The marketing machine geared towards clients of the Hindu persuation of course had to be doubly louder than usual!
By the time, I installed myself on the sofa throne on the recently reclaimed base upstairs, guttural nascent wail of a scooter engine. I uninstalled myself to look out to the street below. Our neighbor Leny chechi has been suffering from high fever for the last couple of days. The hospital ruled out dengue, thankfully! I was checking to see if it was her son, up and about early and if he needed any assistance. The neighbors have been taking turns in taking care of their meals.
It wasn't his scooter. It was doctor uncle and aunty on their way to the sunrise mass at their church. Aunty had been practicing daily for the last month her choral responsibilities. We have been working through the delicious homemade cake she gave us four days ago. Yesterday Amma bought some non-alcoholic wine to complete the Christmas celebrations.
The non-alcoholic wine beast is new to me. Billabong brand imported from Australia. Since I am facing stiff alcoholic sanctions for a few more months, something is better than nothing. Amma's Christmas provision shopping exceeded Rs. 1500, so the store gave her 2 kg of sugar free. Given that she is the only on in the house who can indulge in refined sugar, it should last us till next Christmas.
We paid a visit to my sister's in-laws. It is jackfruit season. The lush jackfruit in their backyard was in form. And it was the delicious 'Varikka' variety with its crispy carpel that I prefer to the other common Koozha variety. Delectable moist golden yellow pieces. This succumbing to temptation I rename as cautious consumption in my personal narrative and instantly felt good. In hindsight, it might have been the fructose.
Sweeter conversation with the granny there. A freedom fighter, she minces no words about her frustration with the current breed of politicians who she calls Maharajas (those of the state) and Emperors (those in Delhi). "There is only one patriotic Indian at this point, I suppose," she declared. Anna Hazare? Kiran Bedi? Kapil Sibal? Katju?Santosh Pandit? the names that bubbled up in my brain proved beyond doubt the undetectable alcohol content in jackfruit of the varikka variety!
"Abdul Kalam," she said.
Ah, that would have been my next guess.
She went on to talk about P.C. Alexander, whom she personally knew,and who was the candidate opposing Kalam in the 2002 Presidential selection. As we left, she asks me to check out the article in yesterday's Mathrubhumi newspaper about earthquakes and dam safety by a scientist.
She is past 85. It's wonderful that she gets excited about such articles rather than the perpetual tragic fate of the heroine in a never-ending megaserial or yet another limp miracle cooked up to drag on one more episode of a mythological tv series.
"It is written by some Arun," her eyes twinkled behind the lenses.
I borrowed the newspaper from Rema aunty's as soon as we got back home to read the article by some Arun. Sure enough, it is the sanest of everything that has been splurged so far in all of the media about the Mullaperiyar issue.
The Billabong wine and cake by lunch time. Chappatis and Seer fish curry too.
Visits in the afternoon. More cake and wine gifts. Technically, not wine. The label says 'health drink' appetizer. Again, something is better than nothing. "I had declared well in advance that none of this non-alcoholic stuff will do for me," revealed my youngest uncle, visibly pleased about his gift bottle of Bacardi. The cake is black forest. Mindful of my morning indulgence, I restrict myself to the cherries and the dark chocolate shavings that are rather submissive on the tongue. We decide to test if the cherry pits will sprout in the backyard.
The sweetness of the cake does precious little to the bitter conversation about the doomed garbage collection situation in the city. The Bharatiya Janata Party has declared a hartal in protest tomorrow. That is even more trouble for the common man. The BJP would be appreciated better if their party workers collected all the trash and disposed it or at least dumped it in front of the Mayor's house or the corporation office!
Found time to study a splendid essay by Kuttipuzha Krishna Pillai on Tolstoy's art criticism. The essay opens posing the challenging questions: What is art? What is its purpose? Tolstoy demolishes the common notion that art is an exploration and stimulation of beauty and its purpose is to provide joy. He opines that art is born out of the artist's uncontrollable desire to share an intense experience. The sharing creates a commonality in the minds of those experiencing the work of art. This breaking down of boundaries is the purpose of art.
Tolstoy lays down the four essential characteristics of true art: universality, individuality (originality), clarity and sincerity!
He laments that what is produced in the name of art is mostly for the satisfactions of the baser instincts and unrefined taste of the elite minority. He suggests that when art appeals to the poorer and weaker sections of the society, it will be elevated. He made these observations based on Russia a century ago. In India today, appealing to the baser instincts goes hand in hand with satisfying the majority of the population, from the balcony to the frontbench.
Those seeking universality, originality, clarity and sincerity have shrunk to a minority and they certainly don't call themselves the elite.
I consider Azhagar Samiyin Kuthirai (Azhagar Sami's horse, Tamil) to be one of best Indian movies of the year. So I was excited about director Suseenthiran's new project, Rajapattai, with national award winner, Vikram. However, the reviews are sorely disappointing. The poster of the movie, out here in Thiruvananthapuram, does not highlight the actor or the director. Instead it says in big bold font: "4 songs, 4 fights, 4 heroines, 17 get-ups!" Dismal! 'Get-ups' are probably the number of times you feel like leaving the theater during the film.
2 cakes, 2 drinks, 2 conversations, 17 pieces of fruit (jackfruit, grapes, cherries) is my Christmas poster. May be a little too sweet. I am glad Christmas comes but once a year.
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