October 28, 2011
The brand new Budh circuit in Delhi reverberated with the roar of 18,000 rpm engines today. India's capital joined the select few venues in the world qualified to host a Formula 1 Grand Prix. I wasn't there but I listened to the intense whirring through phone, thanks to Seenu. She was at the track by virtue of her job with the Times of India. The use of the word virtue in a sentence that has Times of India in it, is regretted.
I was a stranger to F1 till 2006. Then I met Sundeep. The young man was obsessed with the sport. It was infectious. After seeing him glued to his laptop on weekends, mostly very early in the mornings, and taking part in high voltage discussions online and offline, I succumbed. One morning, I checked 2-3 books on F-1 from TAMU's peerless Evans library. After lunch, I came home, sat on the old sofa in my apartment, plugged in my laptop for wikipedia and youtube cross-referencing and read "Formula 1 for Dummies" and "The idiot's guide to Formula 1" in one sitting. My intense immersion session lasted around 7-8 hours. I might have been assisted by the ever-reliable Bacardi & Coke memory tonic. I don't remember. Recently, the doc said that such "sittings" had contributed to the aggravation of my hernitic (notice the n, not m) tendencies. It was a Friday.
From that weekend onwards, I was also awake watching the races.
I was so hooked that I took a Direct TV connection specifically for the Speed channel.
From Blockbuster rental, I would order annual F1 dvds from the previous years. Every morning, I checked crash.net and f1technical.net.
I tried to recall long forgotten aerodynamics lectures to pass judgments on new spoiler and chassis shapes.
Gigabytes of F1 wallpapers were downloaded.
Pit babes scrutinized. Statements from drivers and crew analysed.
Anyone who didn't agree with my opinion about a track, team or strategy was instantly dismissed as a 'moron'.
Even the regular Friday and Saturday night dart games at Fitzwillys were cut short in order to wake up early to watch qualifiers and races.
I became the dedicated fan of a talented driver who drove for an average team. Underdogs deserve more fans, I philosophised.
I was a hot-blooded convert to this high octane global religion.
After three seasons, by 2009, my interest began to fade. I think graduation came in the middle.
Last month, I have been a passive observer of the Indian media circus associated with the arrival of F1 to India.
With the world's most exclusive, expensive and technically advanced sports making its appearance, it is safe to say that there is not one, but three broad Indias. There is the affluent India, on par with the richest of the West & China, that takes tablets for depression if deprived of Grand Prix tickets. Then the middle-class India that is ambivalent about affluence, fearful of poverty and utilises every opportunity to harangue about the corruption, financial and moral, that's afflicting their India. Finally, the 800 million Indians who live on less than 50 cents a day. A few thousands of those hands built the world-class race track on which Schumacher, Button and Hamilton will zoom through tomorrow.
Seenu called at the end of the practice session to say that she bought a Ferrari jacket. "Alonsoyude peranu. Massa theernu poyi" (It has Alonso's name on it. The Massa ones were sold out) she said. Hindi-belt fans must have thought that Massa sounds like fun.
Prominent historian, author and editor of school textbooks, Romila Thapar gave an elaborate interview published in the Hindu newspaper today about the controversial dropping of A.K.Ramanujan's essay on the various versions of Ramayana from the history syllabus of Delhi University. She rightly rues the state of affairs when any political outfit can decide what research needs to be done, what lessons need to be taught and what is "the truth"! She points out that most of these defenders of faith know only from the TV series version or comic Amar Chitra Katha without ever bothering to seek and study the extensive, elaborate versions of the epic.
I wonder how these defenders of faiths with their moral superiority and easily offended religious sentiment would react to the episode of Mahabharatha that I read today. This is the story of Deerghathamas and is not for those who are finicky about sexual content.
Brihaspati (Jupiter) is the guru of the Devas (the good ones in the heavens). He has a drinking problem. Apparently that doesn't interefere with his guru-ing duties and other magical capacities. But it probably had something to do with his approaching his elder's brothers wife for sexual favors while the brother was away. What's more, the wife was pregnant! The sister-in-law tries to discourage him by saying that his "long lasting" semen will interfere with the baby that's already in her womb and she doesn't have space for two babies. Brihaspati is burning with lust. He insists that she at least embrace him. From the embrace, he proceeds to full fledged rape.
Now, the baby inside is already well-versed in the Vedas and the sciences. He is justifiably upset about the rape in progress. He pleads to his uncle not to ejaculate. Brihaspati dismisses his appeals and proceeds to have an orgasmic ejaculation inside Mamtha (that's her name). The smart baby who anticipated the move kicks the semen out of the womb. This disturbs Brihaspati to no end. His bliss suffers premature set back seeing the semen splattered back outside. He curses the baby for interrupting the most pleasurable moment in a man's life. The baby is to suffer a world of darkness. Deerghathamas, as his name suggests, is born blind.
After reading this episode of Brihaspati's behavior, I have decided to be less judgmental about modern-day earthly 'gurus' who are frequently caught with their pants down.
More tragedy awaits Deerghathamas in his old age. Shunned by fellow sages and abandoned by his wife, his sons throw him into the Ganges (as commanded by their mother), tied to a tree trunk. He is rescued by a king whose queen he impregnates upon request. She gets four sons who go on to establish four ancient kingdoms including Vanga and Anga. Thus, basically, bulk of India was founded by men born to a blind man whose mother was sexually assaulted while she was pregnant. I don't think any political outfit will tolerate such a blasphemous background tale for the bulk of the country. Vyasa must certainly be banned from further publishing!
My second youngest uncle who had virtually disappeared after my sister's wedding reappeared today. He used to come over every day before the wedding. Turns out he was assisting my cousin pack. The cousin immigrated to Cananda yesterday. Regular visits from the uncle can be expected again.
As soon as he arrived, he asked, "Mone unni, nee net-il onnu nokkiyeda..." (Unni, son, look this up on the internet) Before he specified the topic of the online research, I got the laptop ready. I must have overshot the 40GB monthly limit of the broadband connection. The speed has dropped to 512Kbps instead of the 2Mbps that I had been abusing.
"Nellikka paalil ittu rathri vachittu ravile thechal mudi karukkumo?" (If gooseberries are soaked in milk overnight and applied next morning, will it turn grey hair back to black?) This was what he needed to find out. Internet hasn't warmed up to this idea yet. There is mention of coconut milk and gooseberry powder being great for voluminous, shiny hair.
"Nellika veruthe itta mathiyo, arinjidano?" (Can we drop the gooseberry whole or should be cut up?) I was curious about the procedure.
"Aaaa.." he said, palms facing upwards indicating 'no clue'.
"Paalu ravile karukkum enna parayunne" (They say the milk will be black by morning)
"rathri cheythu nokkam" (We'll try tonight) I said pointing to the gooseberries on the fruit holder on the dining table.
It was a sunnier day today with cool breeze through out. The little plants that were grounded in yesterday's rain were regaining their posture with the morning sun. They reminded me of the NASA-verified yogi who eats nothing and survives by staring at the sun for a few minutes every day.
In the afternoon, Achan, uncle and I sat in the verandah enjoying the breeze. Well, I sit intermittently because 'medically' it is better for me to keep pacing about. Conversation ranged from the Bermuda triangle to bizzarre foods. The bizzare food chain of our discussion went from frogs to snakes to dogs. At that point, uncle recalled that in Nagaland, dog vomit is a delicacy. Dogs are first force-fed and then forced to vomit. It is then spiced up and eaten by high-class members of the society. Too bizzare for me. I looked it up online and found some links to this "tradition" as part of a festival in Indonesia!
I typed this note while sipping on the evening tea. Sugarless. Sugarfree tea in Kerala is commonly called simply 'without', leaving out all mention of sugar. May be a reflection of the complete eradication of sugar from a diabetic's life. Even the word is purged from usage. If you go to a tea shop or hotel or even a home, you can specify that your tea must be 'without'. It is universally understood and served with enough pity to make up for the sugar.
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