Fishy Headache (BH: D295)

May 26, 2012

Incredible details of the recent software engineer suicide in Bangalore are surfacing. The 25 year old from Kerala was contact by a lady about a loan. She then assumed the false identity of "Jennifer" who works in IBM. Chats, emails and phone calls soon left the realm of loans far behind. 

He wished to see her. She sent him the photograph of her good looking friend. She created a false facebook profile with the same photo. He wanted to meet her. He wanted to marry her. She invented a story about her family forcing her to marry a "David in London." 

He was heart broken. He wound up his feet with duct tape sitting in the back seat of his car, swallowed an overdose of sleeping pills, stuffed a cloth in his mouth, covered his head with a plastic bag suffocating to death. The first phone call was in January. The suicide in May.

The incident points to so many things that are wrong with the society. This is not an isolated incident. Numerous along the same lines but of varying degrees of severity happen daily. It is a gruesome mix of wealth, loneliness, delusion, greed, inferiority, superficiality and technology. 

Driving through PTP Nagar in the city this morning, totally stunned by a drop dead gorgeous police woman on the road side. As if to seal the "drop dead" status, she had a holster which I am not sure if police women usually have. Actually, I haven't really paid much attention to details of female cops for my own sake in India. The attitude here is much different from Texas where a lady officer once was only too happy to let me gauge the weight of her belt.

I say once but my mathematical memory is admittedly overwhelmed by the emotional one about that story. Anyways, genuine surprise for a moment at the decent amount of make up Kerala police women have started wearing before spotting the huge camera and crew on the other side of the road and realizing that she was an actress in costume.

Heard a rather interesting story about a friend of a friend as stories tend to be in India. The man returned from work one day to find all the gold fish in his neat little aquarium dead and floating. His little kid was only too happy to own up to the crime. It wasn't a crime in his boy book. 

The budding doctor was only trying to help. He said the fish spoke to him!

They came near the glass walls and repeatedly told him, "I have a headache!" 

Rest us humans who don't have the ability to understand 'fish speak' tend to think that the fish are simply swallowing by moving their mouth. Apparently it is a constant migraine complaint....you know like the ones that inflict the bedroom with unequally enthusiastic partners. So the little boy helped the fish out.

He gave them Crocin tablets to relieve their pain! Of course, he knew they couldn't swallow the big pills. So he powdered a few of them and sprinkled into the water. Humane!

Back to back trips to native village coming up in the next two days. My young cousin bro is getting married. I've fabulous unmarried older cousin role to play. Looking forward to the several entertaining rounds of "life" advice from concerned relatives. Fun!

Madness (BH: D294)

May 25, 2012

There is only a narrow separation between stupidity and madness. Sometimes it is around 20 feet deep. Like the major excavation project that the public works department was conducting this morning at the Vellayambalam Junction.

The half of the road that leads to Sasthamangalam from Vellayambalam resembled the opening sequence of any Egyptian fantasy based Hollywood classic. Three men revealed their presence only by the regular, frequent appearance of one end of their pick axes. 

The digging was not drinking water related, for it had gone deeper than the big, thick pipes. It wasn't for telephone cables either, they already formed overhead piping for the diggers. A few confused morning joggers joined the single traffic policeman in silent admiration of the massive excavation.

But all the fun was happening on the other side of the road. Since the onward half was completely blocked, now the open half was used by the to and fro traffic. And here is the Indian genius and stupendous belief in its 33 million gods: There wasn't a single indicator about the diversion.

Morning drivers hurrying up from Sasthamangalam were absolutely bewildered to find huge government buses coming against them through a lane that was till the previous night been going the other way! Pedestrians carefully watching only one direction till they run to the middle divider froze on their path when tires from the unexpected direction screeched just in time next to them. 

By 9 am, total gridlock. Still no signage or deviation indicators anywhere on the road. The same traffic police who become hyperactive if a dignitary comes along was totally not bothered. Even more surprisingly, it looked like they didn't think anything was gravely wrong with the situation of letting traffic flow freely both ways through one half of the road.

"Is this a land of a bunch of idiots?" I wondered aloud as soon as I got home.

"No, we have strict procedures," Achan advised as Achans are meant to do.

"We will have court commissions and compensation payouts when accidents happen!" he explained.

"Why not take simple steps to prevent them in the first place?"

"...and mess with gods' plans?! How dare we?!"

When coming home late in the evening, a mad man walking in front of the car. Unkempt long hair, blackened dirty torn old shirt and trousers that have aged into knee pants. Shiny reflection of the head lights from his ass. He was busy scratching it as madmen universally tend to do. He was using a 700 MB CD as the scratcher. Good reflection!

Plaza Hotel (BH:D 293)

May 24, 2012

I spent the last half hour watching photos and videos of the quick and easy demolition of the Plaza Hotel in College Station. Situated at the intersection of the Texas Avenue and University Drive, the building was a landmark or an eyesore depending on your point of view.

I had been to the hotel a couple of times. But no amount of feverish memory jogging attempts is helping bring up the purpose of those visits. The only clarity is that I have been to one of the rooms upstairs once and I had been to the lobby once. They must have been for meeting or picking up someone who was in town for business visit. But for what business? Were they from out of the country?

The more the memory is strained, the better the imagination kicks in as Jonah Lehrer had beautifully conveyed in his pithy, little "Proust was a Neuroscientist". It is the same protein that creates memories and fantasies. The protein pictures I am conjuring up are about a continental breakfast buffet at the hotel lobby. Then there was a dinner, on the other occasion. The events might have been years apart. Was that dinner at the nearby Appleby's? I wish I had kept daily notes then. Thousands and thousands of colorful characters have been dissolved in the protein juices forever now.

The demolition seems to have been quite an event. Facebook told me that Taco Cabana was giving away free food for those who came to watch. Most of the youtube videos contain excited, Chinese or Korean voices. The event itself took three or four seconds. A series of explosions and a neat perfect collapse...massive dust cloud bellowing up in the aftermath.

The act couldn't be farther away from the old home demolition that has finally gotten underway here. Our old home, a small single storied, tile-roofed 1954 building has been contracted out for demolition. Ever since the demolition came up, everyone who has been associated with that home have been waxing sentimental to varying degrees. Negotiations dragged on about how difficult it is to carry the debris away and how the operation makes no profit for the contractor. Then there continues the unending demand for salvaging bits and pieces.
"Oh! the ceiling wood is so good!",
"We certainly can reuse the metal sheets."
"Why would we throw away the solid doors and windows?!"
"Someone could surely use those roof tiles!"

The process moves painfully slowly. The mental inability to let go is gloriously reflected in the actual physical process. Luckily, NGOs and rest of the society hasn't interfered in the name of heritage.

Had it been in India, just the unsubstantiated rumor that some political or religious outfit's head honcho had taken a siesta one god forsaken afternoon in one of the rooms would have been enough to stall the demolition of the Plaza Hotel. Even if the demolition went ahead, it would have been done over a couple of generations with every single bit of the building finding use somewhere else. Like the Indian soul, rebirth galore. As the demolition of one side progresses, we would have easily found guests only too willing to stay in the rooms still intact.

America destroys quickly, decisively and rebuilds from scratch. In India, everything lingers and transforms, never totally lost. To remember like an Indian and act like an American...that's the elusive combination, I guess!

Schooling (BH:D292)

May 23, 2012

Late in the evening, I find myself in a restaurant outside the women's hostel of Trivandrum Engineering college. Few inmates of the hostel are enjoying multicolored 'sip-ups'. It's hot...the evening.

Discussion over sweet milk coffee with the owner about a variety of subjects. The man is a yoga enthusiast who also runs a successful primary school in the city. His vision is to provide emotionally intelligent members to the society. "Our young women grow up unable to react. They bottle up the frustration of the repetitive teasing, taunting and abuse they continuously bear in the society. Our schools should groom girls who are bold and know how to react to abuse and injustice." He mentions that a karate class has been instituted in the school.

The man is doing an MA in psychology. I like seeing a school manager being an learner. Turns out he has send his wife also back to school so to speak. "We are not equipping our children with a healthy attitude towards failure. They are terribly scared of failure. It freezes them. You can't face life with that mindset." I bring up my favorite point about the repetitive hard-knocks and back to feet training from American football providing a healthy view of life to American students. "We rarely have team sports anymore. There is never really a defeat when it comes to video games. As long as you have the power to turn it off, you remain the ultimate winner. It is different from playing with your peers, giving and taking respect."

"Once you have a vision, it is not difficult at all to implement it in a school environment. And it is guaranteed that you will provide society with the students who carry on that vision. It is unfortunate and disturbing that most people are looking at schools are a chit fund or get-rich-quick scheme. If you squeeze the parents and get stingy with the teachers, that is the end of any vision."

We digress into yoga and psychology. He mentions a German psychologist's theory about the illusion of free will. I recall Ray Kurzweil's point about the mind being just a powerless general who thinks he is in charge but actually is informed about the troupe movements only after the troupes are already on the move. He goes gaga about the analysis of mind-matter conundrum in yoga texts. I swallow a comment about Indian thought in Ouspensky's preface to Tertium Organum.

The business of schooling is brought to the table as coffee cups become empty. "Trivandrum has the best suited environment. Qualified teachers in other parts of the state charge twice or thrice the salary. The new rule by the government that the campus should be minimum three acres is a bit troubling." He goes on into some more details about the finances. I can only be the silent learner in this part of the conversation.

"Recently a kid came to me to talk about some suicidal discussion he had heard in the family. This is a 7-8 year old. It is great to have established such a rapport, a trusting relationship with such young minds. It is the most satisfying element of the business." Amen.

I've been irresponsible with the note writing for the past few days because I have been busy most of the day typing pages and pages of the biggest business plans I have ever written. If they come to something, it will be awesome. Even if they don't, I would always have the satisfaction of having created some decent documents. Will know in a couple of weeks.

On the way back at Srikariyam, we get stuck behind a DYFI protest march against the petrol price hike. Tomorrow is yet another 'hartal'. Long lines outside every single petrol bunk as financially responsible citizens try to beat the Rs. 8 per liter increase at least by a tank. There is a huge flux board of "Vava Suresh Fans Association" at Srikaryam. It has the picture of the man standing with some python and cobra on his neck...not quite like Lord Shiva. The man renders tremendous service to the society by catching poisonous snakes, but I wonder what exactly his "fans association" does!

Carbon dating has been conducted the ancient "mana" that was supposed to have been home of Melpathur Agnihotri. Wood samples suggest that the place is 1400 years old. Article doesn't include any details of how and why the particular samples were collected and there is no mention of any peer-reviewed journal in which the full paper of the findings appear. Nevertheless, if the dating is valid, it gives the 600 AD ball park for Agnihotri and his siblings, putting them nearly two centuries earlier than Adi Shankaracharya.

Apparently, the popular Kerala breakfast dish of Appam was introduced to the state by Jewish settlers couple of thousand years ago. The coconut, toddy and other additions were Kerala enhancements to the dish. I wonder if there are other dishes that reached the state from Egypt, Greece, Rome, Mesopotamia, Assyria etc to which coconut was invariably added spelling their doom!

Mathileri Kanni (BH: D291)

May 22, 2012

"Mathileri Kanni" was advertised as the big budget Kerala martial arts folk lore based theater extravaganza. The advertisement clearly worked. VJT Hall was standing room only by 6:15. Unmistakable smell of Indian Made Foreign Liquor in the air. Fairly large number of gentlemen had shown up after work, tipsy, to enjoy the play amount the warrior princess.

Half the tipsiness must have disappeared with the prelude that opened out of all unexpected places, in the reception area of a 'self-financing' engineering college in Tamil Nadu. The curtain opened after a tirade about such colleges ruining students and families with their exorbitant fees and corrupt management.

To convince the audience of the arrogant, rich, spoiled kids who come to study at such institutions, a rape was simulated on stage with actions that could easily pass for Telugu cinema choreography. Then there was the reference to the gang rape of a first year student. A cover up follows. Her 'high society' mom cannot sympathize with her. Her dad over sympathizes. She jumps off the building and kills herself.

I sit stunned through the relentless overacting on stage. The play looked precisely like those mock plays shown in movies to make fun of the theater scene in Kerala. It was really bad. The script was full of pompous, flowery language and abrupt jarring emotion changes.

Post prelude, we are lectured that young women of the state must be taught martial arts so that they can defend themselves from the ruthless, shameless society. 'Parassini Kadavu Muthappan' and ' Thee Pottan', two divine art forms, appear on stage to introduce Kanni. The whole point of the drama seems to be to establish a role model for women in Mathileri Kanni, the ruler of the fiefdom of Chirackal.

The folk lore bit of the play opens in a forest where a low caste "Mannathi" is getting ready for another human sacrifices. More references to rape. Couple of young men bring a high caste lady who they have abducted. Just as she is about to be sacrificed, Mathileri Kanni and her childhood friend come to the rescue, in disguise.

From then on the play moved onto to new unforeseen levels of unbearable. By the time the romance between Kanni and the king of Venad kicked in through a song, I left. Admittedly, there were a couple of clever stage production tricks like real water drawn from a well and flame throwing. Songs were good. But overall, this Kanni would have been as sharp as the swords wielded if half of the words from the script were chopped off!

Kothamoori (BH:D 290)

May 22, 2012

Adoor Bhasi memorial professional drama competition at VJT Hall. The fifth out of eight plays competing: Kothamoori by Valluvanadu Brahma Theaters. Kothamoori is a rustic corruption Godavari, the celestial cow that came to feed Krishna. Hero of the play named Kotha. The story is about his relationship with the bull(moori) called Manickyan. Kothamoori is also the name of a rare ancient folk art form in north Kerala.

Packed auditorium. Play began 5 minutes ahead of schedule!! Excellent rerecording and sound design. Perfect lighting. Out of the world set design. Some of the best art I have ever seen on stage. 3 part division of the stage. Clever use of the farthest portion that is visible through a screen to enhance entries and exits.

The prelude itself was half hour long. The tale of bull fighting contest between two villages. The winner takes the produce and cows of the loser for 5 years. Godavari village has been on a losing streak. Tamilian village has been winning. Unmistakable shades of Oommen Chandy and Jaya Lalitha in the village chieftains. Once again the bull train cheats to help Tamilian village wins. Hero is introduced as a resisting rebel in the starving, famine-struck village. Unfortunately the actor (who is also the producer) is a 250 pound big belly. Major disconnect with the starvation story line.

The big man has a baby face. He is a decent actor but the fat coupled with his topless costuming distracts big time. All attempts to work his belly and manboobs into the script for comic effect don't make headway. The story twists and turns through up and downs till it plunges into a series of tragedies. If the opening sequence reminded everyone of Priyadarshan's "Thenmavin Kombathu" (Saath Rang Ke Sapne in Hindi) the talking bull seemed like an avatar of St. Francis from "Pranchiyettan and the Saint"

The inconsistency in scripting and acting was saved big time by the phenomenal production value. The villain characters excelled. The only song in the play, a romantic one, was beautifully done by lighting the stage in gray scale to reflect the color blindness of the bull. It was a big surprise that the correct colorblindness was referred to in the play when routinely Indian movies use the myth of the bull and red color to create violent climaxes.

Few sparkling directorial touches. The vile bull trainer's bull like reactions upon seeing the woman given to him as bribe, the inhuman throwing of a spittoon's contents into a pleading old man's face, the crowd creation and management in several scenes are worth mentioning. Above all, the bull. Realistically made and well controlled, it added an indispensable element to the play. Had the bull also been as shoddily built as the hero, the play would have fallen apart easily.

All the tragedy doesn't work towards a solid ending. The message in the end doesn't sit well with the rest of the play especially the suggestion that rule under women might be better. The play had either very weak or rather wicked female characters who won't make good leaders at all. Great touch bringing the fire carrying 'Kothamoori' theyyam onstage for the finale.

Bottomline: Professional theater in Kerala is way ahead as an art form compared to cinema.. Looking forward to the big budget martial arts folk tale extravaganza "Mathileri Kanni" tonight!

Comb & Scissors (BH : D288)

May 20, 2012

Since whatever is left of my hair had started making spiraling escape attempts to outer space, I went to the nearest barbershop first thing in the morning yesterday. By first thing, I mean after breakfast. And I am not sure of the mathematical precision of the "nearest" claim. But the shop is less that half a kilometer from home.

Despite the proximity I had never been there before. Mostly because the owner and chief head operator, who usually stands outside chatting with the taxi drivers and loading/unloading laborers of the area, looks like a popular bug eyed Telugu movie villain. As a teenager, I wasn't comfortable about spending time near such a man armed with blades and scissors.

But enough Dutch, American and other forms of courage have coursed through these veins in the past decades. Still, I wasn't ready for the sight that greeted me as I pushed open the dark film covered glass door. Achan had told me that barbershops open for business by 7am. Evidently, not! I entered the shop to stare at the man standing shirtless with his enormous rice belly resisting a belt arrest at the waist.

He nodded towards one of the waiting chairs. So did the belly. I couldn't but follow such a weighty suggestion. He went the 'opening' rituals slowly. The shop opening, just to clarify, in case you were struck by other vivid images. Bare chested he approached the faded array of gods stuck in a dusty glass frame near the ceiling. I wondered if the shirtless approach to gods is a Brahmanical principle. The man didn't have the usual girth-measuring thread the high castes sport. Perhaps his belly didn't quite measure up. 

He squeezed yesterday's oil out of a dirty yellow wick before reuse. Vivid image, I know! With the gods given light to view the proceedings from the vantage point, the man turned on the radio: an old 'Toshiba' tape recorder that was for some reason stuck inside two decrepit pieces of Thermocol.

As a government sponsored, cringe-worthy jingle about consumer rights rose from the radio, he went behind a gradually accumulated curtain of old clothes that separated a small wedge of the 12 ft by 8 ft shop, emerging fully clothed in half a minute. 

A nod summoned me to the execution chair. White shroud over me. I take note of the dog brushes and talcum powder tins on the shelf protruding from the wall to wall mirror base. And in the mirror I notice that the man is praying. Holding the comb and scissors in his right fist, he has both palms close to his chest and eyes closed. Nobody has prayer before my head before. Well, not the one on my neck anyway. 

I have been to many American homes where a prayer before the meal is a norm. God gets thanked for whatever is about to be eaten. I don't remember seeing the prayer before beginning of work ritual though. But that is an essential element of the Indian workplace and working day. I wonder if Indian prostitutes have a prayer too.

The hair cut was as lousy as Lehman Brothers'!