Links for the day

AO Scott on Babel:

In the end “Babel,” like that tower in the book of Genesis, is a grand wreck, an incomplete monument to its own limitless ambition. But it is there, on the landscape, a startling and imposing reality. It’s a folly, and also, perversely, a wonder.

Now, to wait for the pirates!

Pamuk on 30 years of writing:

For what is a novel but a story that fills its sails with these winds, that answers and builds upon inspirations that blow in from unknown quarters and seizes upon all the daydreams we've invented for our diversion, bringing them together into a meaningful whole? Above all, a novel is a basket that carries inside it a dreamworld we wish to keep forever alive, and forever ready. Novels are held together by the little pieces of daydreams that help us, from the moment we enter them, forget the tedious world we long to escape. The more we write, the richer these dreams become; and the more we write, that second world inside the basket becomes broader, more detailed, more complete. We come to know this world through writing, and the better we know it, the easier it is to carry it around in our heads. If I am in the middle of a novel and writing well, I can enter easily into its dreams.

Peace

Ofcourse I am happy about Pamuk but I am ecstatic about Yunus and Grameen. I cannot think of a more deserving person to win the Nobel Peace Prize.

Meanwhile, needless to say Bill is adding one more to the Bangla count.

Pujo tales

Day 0

Diligently listened to program for next four days and nodded head like dutiful daughter-in-law. All events were scheduled with military precision. Looked over shoulder and yes, the program was written down in triplicate. Only thing I was required to do on Day 0 was to get to Pujo pandal across the street sometime in the evening and show face. The Kid was also supposed to show face but he's managed to get himself excused. Big, evil companies can be good once in a while, I guess.



Recognized only Durga and Ganesh. Checked who the others were and why they were there. The two women on either side of Durga sort of looked like Saraswathi and Lakshmi but you know, where I come from, a veena looks like a veena and a lotus looks like well, a lotus. Also couldn't figure why these two women would be there in the pandal anyway. What have they got to do with Durga ma? They are her daughters? Oh, I see. And who the hell is this other guy on the right? I can venture a wild guess but my beloved Chola land will disown me completely. Siva Siva! This is how they caricature the most adored of all Tamil Gods - is this really you Muruga? Vetri Vel, Veera Vel, where is your Vel kandha? Karthikeya, Senthilnatha, Mayilvahana what have they done to you? Will you ever forgive these sinners?

Wandered over to food court and hogged fish chops and cutlets. Bery Bong food, I was told. Of course. Chops and cutlets are so Bong just like bread and butter. Walked over to cultural stage - an audio play was in session. Least understood but most enjoyed of the day's events. Picked up words here and there (like I actually figured that the play was centred around hilsa) and had good fun trying to figure out the rest. Day done.

Day 1

Day 7 of the Pujo. Required to show face both morning and evening. Which wasn't so much of a problem except that moi's supposed to wear sari in the morning. Now, I don't have anything against saris, I tell Mrs. S, in fact I like them quite a lot and think they are nice and airy. I am also not one of those people who think that invisible Dushashans walk around pulling my sari from every direction; instead I am super comfortable wearing one and would love to wear one today. But Mrs. S, there is one minor issue though, you see, moi never learnt how to wear one. Amma dear at home and A~ dear in college have kept myself from learning all these years. So you see I really cannot wear sari for this event. Salwar kurta will do, right? No, really? You? No, no you can't help me wear one. Yes, I know you have been wearing them for more than 30 years but you have no experience in helping other people wear na? Comes from having two sons. Maybe if you had a daughter but what use in talking of such things now? Boys don't like to wear sari no, that is true. You dressed up the Kid in a sari when he was a real kid? How about Bill? Do you have pictures? Do you have a scanner? No, no never mind about that. I have this nice salwar kurta which I am sure will do fine. You want to try to help me anyway? Really? Especially since I am very comfortable in one? You sure you have the time? Okay then.

Thus turned up in sari at pandal. Mrs. S kindly told me to come late so that I didn't need to stay long. Very thoughtful of her. Didn't have to introduce evil daughter-in-law to everyone you see. Worked for me too. Turned up right before the puja ended, smiled at a few faces, hogged food and headed back. Evening, the Kid put in appearance and was promptly told to take care of me and take me around the pandal. I was all happy as the Kid, unlike Bill, doesn't believe in image building. He wouldn't stay there more than 10 minutes. So I just had to tag along and I would be back home in 15. But we finally ended up staying for a good hour or so. There was a Calcutta folk band singing Bong folk songs which were quite entertaining. Reminded me of long forgotten Tamil folk songs my Dad used to sing long ago. Again, it would have been nice if I could understand what they were singing but as some people keep telling us, it is a lot of fun listening to a song sung in a foreign language where you can recognize some words and would have to guess the rest.

Day 2 - Ashtami

Same schedule as Day 1. This is turning out to be a little too much. The evenings are good but I need to get out of the morning Puja nonsense. But Ashtami is supposed to be the Day. Can't wiggle out of this one. Mrs & Mr S leave in the morning for the puja. I am told to wake up Kid and get there by lunchtime. I go back to my reading. Hours go by. Finish Cuckold. 11 AM. Talk to Bill. Take a bath. 12 Noon. Do some work. 1 PM. Decide to leave for Puja lunch. Hang on, aren't I forgetting something? Oh yes, the Kid. Insomniac early riser that I am, I am sure the Kid has fallen sick. Or worse, maybe he died in his sleep. No, he seems to be sleeping peacefully. He is definitely breathing, he is just sick then. I try to wake him up and ask him if he is alright. Its just 1 PM for God's sake, can't a Kid get a good night's sleep anymore?

Its 3 by the time we get to the pandal. We gobble up leftovers. The Kid gets shouted at. We all get back home. We will all rest now, I am told. What? In five minutes, the entire family goes back to sleep again. Amma, I told you, this family is strange. Do you know they sleep for 4 hours in the afternoon after waking up so late? How dare you get me married off to such a family? What are we to do now? Calm down? What do you mean calm down? No, they will not hear me. They are all asleep I am telling you. Yes, yesterday also they slept so much but I just thought they were tired or something. Who knows how much Bill sleeps? Its not like I live with him. I used to live in Chicago remember and he in Pittburgh remember? Of course, I will find out soon. And you will see why this marriage was doomed from day one.

Day 3 - Navami

Program was to go visit other pujo pandals across Bombay. But that was in the evening, first we had to go for morning Puja again. Enough is enough, I am not doing this anymore, I decided. So conned the Kid to take me book shopping though not like he needed any conning for that. He tells parents and gets shouted at but soon we are on our way. Took the train down and the Kid didn't stop talking about Bombay. We got to the New and Secondhand bookshop and spent an hour there. The Kid picked up an illustrated edition of Through the Looking Glass and I immediately started telling him about Jabberwock, Falstaff and Ludwig. He looked at me like I was mad. I shut up. We had lunch at the Kid's favorite Parsi joint and went to Strand only to discover that they were closed. How dare they close the store on Sundays? No choice now but to go to that lifestyle store on Peddar Road. Spent the next couple of hours there but most of the time we were in the Children's section. Bought the entire St Clare's and the Naughtiest Girl series among other things and headed home. At home, we had a minor issue getting in the door when the books we were carrying were sighted. We were told that because of space constraints, either the books get in or we get in but not both. I had to promise to take all the books with me when I leave next week which of course I had no issues with. The Kid sulked the entire evening.

Evening, it was pandal hopping time. Quite ostentatious. Here are some pictures:





Day 4 - Yeah, its over!

Apparently, Durga is to be sent off with all kids to husband's place now that her vacation is over. All married women apparently have to go do Puja, feed her, put sindhoor on her and send her off from the pandal. Men have to take her to the sea and get rid of her there. These Bongs are really funny. Didn't have to do much except show up for lunch, so it wasn't too bad. The Kid got into a nice, little argument with parents about why he wouldn't go send her off which somehow went on to how he has no Bong identity or respect for Indian culture - a very entertaining "discussion" for a peaceful onlooker such as moi.

Meanwhile, my mother's laughing her head off. She cannot believe that daughter is visiting more Puja pandals in a week than she has visited in the last 25 years. Such, I must say, is life.

Pujo time

Landed in Bombay yesterevening. En route to Bill's place:

Mr. S: See, this is the pandal, this is all decorated so nicely.

Me: Yes, it is.

Mr. S: From tomorrow, the kitchen is open only for breakfast.

Me: What kitchen?

Mr. S: Our kitchen. Aunty will make only breakfast.

Me: Oh, thats alright. I know how to cook. (Bill @#$%^&!, just you wait...)

Mr. S: No, no, not that. We will go have food with everyone at the Pujo place.

Me: Oh, I see.

Mr. S: There will be all kind of stalls where we can go get food.

Me: That's nice.

Mr. S: We will also have cultural function every evening.

Me: Nice. What sort of cultural functions?

Mr. S: Tomorrow, there will be Bengali folk songs. Singers are coming all the way from Kolkata.

Me: Oh

Mr. S: And the day after, there's a play by an upcoming troupe from Kolkata.

Me: Hmm..

Mr. S: Don't worry, we will get the Kid(aka the bro-in-law) to translate for you.

Me: Okay (Like the Kid knows any real Bong...)

After a few minutes.

Me: What's this pandal? This looks nice.

Mr. S: Oh no, this is all local. Gujarati festival. They also have Navratri na?

Me: Yes yes.

Mr. S: Anyway, all they have is song and dance. Quite loud too.

Me: I see.

Mr. S: No cultural functions. Just some filmi people they will call and dance.

Me: Of course.

Mr. S: We will also go visit different Pujos across the city

Me: There are different Pujas?

Mr. S: Of course, every locality has their own. In Powai, this time we are having a model of the Dakshineshwar temple.

Me: How cool! (Isn't that an overkill?)

Mr. S: Artisans from Bengal have been working on it for the past few months.

Me: Nice (Of course it takes months, they work only every third day since they have to be on strike the other days)

Mr. S: As you will see, its not really religious. Thats just an excuse. Its mostly a social gathering with a lot of cultural events.

Me: Nice. (Good try)

Mr. S: We are really looking forward to having you here. You will see first hand our Bengali culture.

Me: I am looking forward to it too.

So there. Next few days in Bombay taking the Bong association of Greater Bombay by storm. Moi. Stay tuned.

Onions and garlic in a city that never sleeps

At the risk of being assassinated by one of my New Yorker / Mumbaikar friends, let me say that no, I am not talking of either of those two wonderful cities here. Long before I was introduced to Bombay or New York, I was introduced to Madurai. That's why whenever someone starts talking about how her beloved city never ever sleeps, I always tell her if thats the standard by which you judge a city, Madurai should be right up there at the top. Every year, after school closed down for summer holidays, we would get on a Thiruvalluvar bus from Trivandrum bus stand sometime in the evening, and I would get woken up at Madurai's Periyar bus station at somewhere around 2 in the morning. There were no convenient trains to Chola land then, and the car didn't arrive for another half decade or so, and so rickety Thiruvalluvar bus it was. Stepping out of the bus and into Pandya soil, the first thing that hits one is the stench. And then, the madding crowd. Everyone who's been to God's own country and its neighbors know that every kilometre from the border, it gets progressively less greener and much less cleaner. By the time we are actually like some 300 km off, I start cribbing about all things Tam. Just look at this place, no wonder Kannagi burnt this down, I would say. That was a different Madurai; that city went under the sea, Appa would immediately correct me. Amma usually grits her teeth and asks us to hurry as we aren't done with our journey yet. We have to go across to the town bus stand to catch a town bus to yet another bus stand from where we have to catch a bus that would take us into Chola land.

As we get out of the bus stand, the crowd gets interesting. This is not the transit crowd anymore, these are the people of Madurai. And they are everywhere. All stores are open, and people are actually shopping. Yeah, At 2 AM. Restaurants are open too. There are also special night restaurants like Ariya Bhavan by Night which are filled with people. This is all surprising to little me because back in the city I call home, you cannot like buy a beedi past 8 PM. This is astounding, I tell Appa. Yes, it is and its not just this area, the entire city is alive as you will see. Huge chanthais on either side of the road where the vegetable vendors are doing brisk business. And the stench I was complaining about all this while is as good as gone. Because the aroma of fresh Malligaipoo completely overpowers anything that gets in the way. Jasmine here, there, everywhere, and unlike the ones we get in Kerala and may I also add Madras, these actually smell like jasmine. Not to mention the way they tie these flowers together. They tie them so close together that not even air can get in between them. On top of that, these flower sellers are the nicest people in the world, yes, they even bargain ever so nicely. [I know you Madras junta will have all raised eyebrows, but keep in mind its not just the flower sellers. Flower sellers only reflect the mood of the city they live in. Example: go check out Kovai!] My mother could never resist buying jasmine whenever she is in this town and its easy to see why. Hell, even I can't resist it and so I end up buying a small strand and carry it around like some treasure for the next day or so.

In later years, I have spent a fair amount of time exploring this city and must say that after Coimbatore, this would be my next favorite city in Tamland. Because it is filled with simple people who work hard, and it has no airs like Coimbatore, and its not a Maami-dom like Madras is. It has culture and a hell lot of character and it makes no apologies for what it is - a center where the people from the dry plains around it can come in and make a living. Anyway, so I was there the last couple of days and it wasn't very different from before. Didn't see too many skyscraper cutouts; maybe they got sick of them now. But the rest of the city remains the same. The super enthu driver anna [You know you are really, really old when the driver anna is a kid some 5 years younger than you] was so insistent that I need to see the city though I told him that I have done all the touristy stuff that he drove me around all four entrances of the Meenakshi temple and bid me to pray at each of them. He then gave me a driving tour of the city at night and before he dropped me off the train station, he brought me a strand of jasmine that I could take home to Amma dear. Needless to say, scored brownie points with Amma this morning who thinks that daughter's become all responsible now.

What onions, what garlic?, you ask? Oh well, read this delighful little book called No Onions Nor Garlic by Srividya Natarajan while I was on the trip and thought I would talk about it on this post, but this is way too long already. So all onions and garlic coming to a blog near you hopefully sometime soon.

Flooded!

You know you live in the oldest house in the neighbourhood when an evening's rain is all it takes to lock you in.





Once upon a time, ours was the only house, the last on the line, and on the other three sides was wide, open land. Leave the doors open and we would get the bestest breeze in all of Malluland and so we called the house Thendral. The Killi River used to overflow during the monsoon, and I would watch from my high tower as the water slowly crept down from the embankment and filled up the space in front. The breeze is gone now, and the land too and the road in front is much higher than it used to be. I remember people used to make fun of how high the house was set from the road, wonder what they will all say now!

Btw, I am off to the Temple City and roundabouts for a couple of days and won't have access to the online world. Haven't been to Madurai in a while and so looking forward to all the jasmine. Before I go though, here's something to read - Falstaff's review of Carry Me Down. Yeah, this one made the shortlist, so go read and bet!

36 hours: Chicago

The Times tells you how to spend your 36 hours in Chicago.

Some changes I would make:

Friday

1. 4 PM. After Millenium and Grant Parks, forget the mini golf. It sucks anyway. Instead, cross Lake Shore Drive and spend a good hour by the lake. On beautiful summer days, perhaps you can make friends with the sailboat owners in the harbor and con them to take you out on the boat.

2. 7 PM. Oprah? Nonsense. Instead, walk over to the Gene Siskel Film center and see what foreign/indie movies they are screening that evening. If you are lucky, you may get a seat. Oh, and haven't been to the Saltaus myself but heard its good, so try that.

3. Billiards, cognac? In Chicago? No way. Head to Buddy Guy's, or up North to B.L.U.E.S or Kingston Mines or something. You dare to come to Chicago and not go to a Blues bar?

Saturday

4. 10 AM. In agreement. Orange rocks. But here's a tip - they have a branch in South Loop. The one is Lakeview is crazy crowded and people have waited for around 90 minutes to get a table.

5. Noon. NO. You absolutely have to go a little north to the Art Institute. The Museum of Contemporary Art is not worth a trip if all you have is 36 hours.

6. 5 PM. Ya ya, recommend the river cruise. A quick crash course on Chicago architecture.

7. and 8. Love Andersonville and Lincoln Square, so go for it. If you want to substitute one, choose Ukrainian Village.

Sunday

9. 9 AM. Hmm..haven't spent much time in Pilsen, so instead spend time in my neighborhood - Lincoln Park. Have yummy crepes at the North African influenced Crepe and Coffee Palace, and head to the park/lake. On a day like today when the humudity is unbearable and the monsoon is behaving like an extremely spoilt child, what I wouldn't give to spend an afternoon by that lake!

10. Agreeance. Just one addition. Buy some books, and then go see the Frank Lloyd Wright's Robie House right across from the Business school building of the U of Chicago. This is a must see especially if you haven't see any other Wrights. For the architecturally inclined, I would actually suggest a long long drive acorss a couple of states to Pennsylvania to see Wright's Fallingwater, but hey, that's another post.

A scandal in Karamana

There was a time I was sad that I wasn't part of any scandal; after a marathon gossip session with BM or MR or one of that crowd, it would suddenly strike me that we talked about everyone else but moi! Marriage did that to me, I used to think, no one wants to talk about me anymore, overnight I have become uninteresting and not worth those precious night time minutes. Not anymore. All's well again. I am glad to inform you all that I am back in the limelight in this part of the world. Why, you want to know? Well, because I am home.

No one seems to understand what I am doing at home for months together. When I tell people that I am just here whiling away time, no one believes me. So then I resort to the gospel truth - Bill kicked me out demanding dowry, and I am here to collect some dowry money. I also put one Tirupati style hundial right here in the middle of the living room so that everyone can contribute to my dowry. But the people here don't seem to be satisfied with that explanation either. Rumors are flying all over, and so I figured might as well put down the top 3 rumors here so that all of you are also enlightened.

Rumor #1: Baby killer!

Aunty 1: Did you hear? Veena is here!
Aunty 2: Yeah, I heard too. Did you go see her?
Aunty 1: Yes, she is fine. Wonder what she's doing here though!
Aunty 2: She says something about spending time with parents. But c'mon, do we look like we were born yesterday?
Aunty 1: I know, do you think something is wrong?
Aunty 2: Well, I heard something about a trip to the gynecologist.
Aunty 1: Really? But that's good news!
Aunty 2: No, no. You know her well. Do you think she will have a baby?
Aunty 1: Ayyo! But what about Mrs. M? She would surely not allow it. Poor thing will be heartbroken.
Aunty 2: Yes, but when did she ever listen to her mother?
Aunty 1: True enough. I don't really believe this. How can she do this?
Aunty 2: Some people! Shiva Shiva!

Rumor #2: Baby generator!

Uncle 1: Did you go meet Veena?
Aunty 1: Yes, today. Do you know why she is here?
Uncle 1: Not really. Why, whats wrong?
Aunty 1: She's been to some gynec and stuff. You know that kind.
Uncle 1: Nonsense. You have got it all wrong.
Aunty 1: How do you know?
Uncle 1: Because the gynec she went to is apparently some fertility expert.
Aunty 1: But Mrs. G told me...
Uncle 1: Mrs. G doesn't know anything. I have this on good authority.
Aunty 1: Poor girl! I knew she would never do anything like that. She loves her parents after all!
Uncle 1: Of course.

Must say here that I was sort of the originator of this particular rumor. Uncle 3, who is Uncle 1's buddy asked me innocently "vishesham undo?" (Mallus, Tams too for that matter never ask you whether you are having a baby. Instead they ask you if there's any "special news". This happens right after the day you are married and continues until you have atleast three children.) and I patiently explained to him how I cannot have a baby at all, and I have seen around 7 fertility specialists all over the world. When he looked at me very unbelievingly, I promptly pulled out from my wallet the business card of a fertility expert in B'lore. (Well, if you have to know, this is the groom's eldest cousin I had become fast friends with during the wedding comedy in Bangalore) Now no one asks me "vishesham undo?" anymore.

Rumor #3: Evil, jobless girl!

Aunty 3: No, no that's not it at all. I know why she is here.
Aunty 1: Why?
Aunty 3: She fought with her husband!
Aunty 1: But he seems so nice.
Aunty 3: He is nice. Who said he fought with her? This girl, you know how she is. She is so adamant. She would have gone and fought with him needlessly. Poor guy, what is he expected to do? He is a guy, after all. Will have some ego na? He couldn't take it anymore.
Aunty 1: Hmm..I can believe that. But why is she here? She has a job right?
Aunty 3: She had a job.
Aunty 1: But she was saying something about London....
Aunty 3: Nonsense. Apparently she created so much drama at work that they had no choice but to send her away.
Aunty 1: Oh God!
Aunty 3: Do you really think anyone will just come and sit at home while they could be earning dollars?
Aunty 1: That is also there. I never thought about it that way. But she seems to be on her computer all the time! Atleast when I was there.
Aunty 3: Of course. She is trying desperately to find a job. But you know how it is. Now that she's fought with her husband and spoilt her reputation, who will give her a job?
Aunty 1: True true. Poor Mrs. M!

Billetta Rani Vilikkunnu

Disclaimer: Non-Mallu readers please excusez moi as a good part of this post will only make sense to the Mallu speaking world though I am going to try to explain stuff here and there. I wrote this down orginally as an email to Anoop with almost all of the conversation in Mallu[1], but then Bill wanted to understand what was going on and I had to translate anyway, so figured might as well spread the joy to the entire world.

Title: The title of this post literally translates to "Billetta, Rani calling you". A rip off from a superhit Mallu movie from the 80s with Mohanlal in the lead role - "Mukkunetta Sumithra Vilikkunnu".

Billettan = Bill + Chettan. Chettan is a sort of endearment in Mallu which is appended to a brother's, cousin's, boyfriend's or a husband's name, literally means brother. If you would like to know how exactly one is supposed to figure out whether the person being addressed is a random guy on the street, brother or husband, please to check with Anoop. Depending on the tone, pitch and other such characteristics of the addressor, apparently you can figure out the exact relationship between the two people - Anoop has a journal paper on this topic that will be published soon.

Introducing Rani: The quitessential Mallu fishmonger, Rani is everywhere, and she knows everything about everyone. She goes to the kadavu before the sun rises, loads up her basket with the freshest catch of the day, and walks a good 7 km to my neighbourhood to sell the fish. I can't remember a time when Rani wasn't around, I can't remember a day at home when I hadn't heard Rani shout 'Chechi, Meen venno?' (Sister, do you want fish?) Rani quotes some exorbitant prices but everyone loves her as she will come down to a fair price finally, and she always has the freshest fish. My knowledge of the fish world I owe it to Rani who over the years taught me to identify the different kinds of fish, their ages, and how to find out whether it is a fresh catch or not. Fish and Rani are so intricately tied together in my mind that every time I walk over to the fresh fish counter at Whole Foods, its Rani I am reminded of and its Rani I miss.

Incidentally, Rani is also the name of an actress who happens to be number 3 on Bill's list of hot women[2]

Scene: 8 AM. Don's getting ready to leave for work, glaces at newspaper. Jobless me hovering around doing nothing. Rani is talking to Amma.

Rani: The para is 80 rupees. It is real fresh.

Amma: 80 rupees. Everywhere in the city they have one price, Rani has another. Rani special - triple the real price.

Rani: Chechi, Jesus promise, I got this para for 70 rupees. Why would I lie to you chechi? (Sees me walking up to her) Idhu arra? (Who is this?) When did the Americakkari come?

Me: A couple of days ago

Rani: Your mother did not tell me at all. Chechi, how dare you not tell me? No wonder you have been buying so much fish over the last couple of days

Me: Yeah, what do you have today?

Rani: Para and Konji. Your mother thinks I am cheating her.

Amma: Whatever! I will pay 50 rupees for this para. Here, cut it for me.

Rani: No way chechi. Now that mol is here, you have to pay even more. Mol special - 100 rupees

Amma: Yes, now you will quote prices in dollars only.

Rani: (to me) Chettan vanno? (Did Chettan come?)

(Take a moment to realise who she is talking about)

Me: No, just me.

Rani: Why just you?

Me: Why, I can't come by myself?

Rani: Of course you can. These men need to be kept in their places once in a while.

Me: Indeed.

Rani: But your Chettan is so sweet. He was here no for the wedding? I saw him then.

Me: Huh

Rani: Amma told me he likes fish. You should bring him no, then we can feed him fish.

Me: Yes

Rani: I will show him that Rani has the best fish in the world. Way better than all the river fish he is used to.

Me: Of course

Rani: You ask him to come okay?

Me: Okay Rani

Rani: Why aren't you wearing anything on your neck?

No answer

Rani: You don't wear anything, you know what people here will say? I remember your wedding - even my daughter will wear more jewelry than that!

Moi: With the prices you quote, that isn't surprising Rani

Rani: Now you also shout at me. For years and years, I bring fish just for you, and look at you complaining. Sar!

Don: Yes Rani

Rani: Sar, Onam is on Tuesday

Don: I know

Rani: Haven't received anything yet

Don: You ask your chechi. Why are you asking me?

Rani: Chechi will give. But still, its Onam Sar. You also have to give something.

Don: I am the poor man in the family. You ask your Americakkari.

Rani: Of course Sar. I have been telling her to take me to America and she isn't listening. I can't deal with all the bargaining here. People have no respect.

Don: So you are going to America now?

Rani: Mol is not taking me, so I am going to ask Chettan when he comes here. I will feed him the best fish in the world, and he will take me to America. There I will be treated with more respect.

Amma: I am sure you will be. Here's your money, if you will still accept rupees that is!

[1] As part of our email series on Mallu dialogues so as to ensure that both of us do not forget the language of our childhood. Years of Malluland schooling and more years of watching Mohanlal movies made sure that we speak better Mallu than the Mallus (especially the ones from Greater Malluland of the Gelf) but over the past few years we have been discovering that we cannot speak a sentence in Mallu anymore without using any English or Tamil words. Losing a language, I have been brought up to believe, is akin to losing oneself and this email series is an attempt to make sure that we don't lose ourselves.

[2] Based on a conversation that Bill and BM had one day long years ago when BM asked Bill for his list of hot women. (Yeah, BM is that way sometimes, no one knows why.) Bill complied, and BM diligently took notes, and as she got down to number fourteen she started to notice a disturbing pattern - she had yet to write down a non-Bong name. There were some women who were 50% Bong but that pretty much seemed to be the cut off.

No Thiruvasagam at Thiruchitrambalam

I don't usually associate myself with the language movement partly because I don't relate to the extreme views they seem to espouse, and partly because these campaigns are pretty much taken over by political parties and so you want to have nothing to do with them, but here's a recent controversy at the Chidambaram Natrajar that caught my attention. (Thanks to Sun TV which between my mom's favorite tearkjerkers reported this story yesternight. Committed to helping the Don cut the jackfruit that fell off the tree yesterday, I had no choice but to watch TV)

The story is that this old Saivite dude wants to recite Thevaram and Thiruvasagam at Thiruchitrambalam(which is located right in front of the sanctom sanctorum) inside the Chidambaram Natarajar Temple, but he isn't allowed to do so by the Podhu Dikshithars who run the temple. Reasons, you ask? Two, actually.

1) Only the Podhu Dikshithars are entitled to sing the glory of the Lord from the Thiruchitrambalam. Others are of course welcome to stay a little away from the Lord and recite whatever they want.

2) Only Sanskrit hymns are allowed. Thevaram and Thiruvasagam unfortunately are in Tamil. So sorry, Natrajar understands Tamil only when its spoken from a distance.

Yeah yeah, all this in the land of the Dravidian movement alright :)

So anyway, what does old Saivite Mr. Arumugha Samy do? Demands police protection so that he can go sing his thevarams. Not so fast, the Podhu Dikshithars move court and get an injunction. Soon after, the Municipal Court Judge rules that no, Mr Samy cannot sing his hymns inside the Thiruchitrambalam. Why, you ask again? Two reasons again.

1) It will affect the sanctity of the place and
2) It will disturb law and order and result in a loss to the Dikshitars.

Before you ask, yes, this is the Court. The Hon'ble Judge made the ruling citing these reasons.

One Book to rule them all...

[Yeah okay, this is late but it ain't my fault, they decided the book after I left the city.]

The City of Chicago announces the newest selection for the One Book, One Chicago program - Jhumpa Lahiri's Pulitzer winning Interpreter of Maladies. Lahiri now will be spoken in the same breath as Harper Lee, Jane Austen and Alexander Solzhenitsyn. For the uninitiated, this One Book, One Chicago thing is sort of a big deal in the city - every bookstore, every coffee shop, and every library will display the book prominently during the next six months; there will be readings and discussions all over the city. Can't do any harm to the movie that's slated to come out soon, I guess.

PS: Bill is jumping up and down with joy, all Bongness oozing out. But he wants me to make it clear to you all that like every self-respecting Bong, he likes only two of the nine stories in the book. And no, he doesn't think Lahiri should be writing novels.

Late Links

After all that pain abt being home for Onam, spent the last couple of days across the Ghats in Kuttralam. Don and I got lost in the forest trying to find more watefalls and Mummy dear had to come rescue us. Also, after witnessing my super cool driving up and down the Ghats, Don's promised me the keys to his car. Trip accout coming up soon. If you insist, you can go read about my last year's Peru trip here.
:)

While I have been away, more Booker reviews have come in:

Prufrock Two reviews The Night Watch here.

Falstaff's review of Theft: A Love Story here.

Falstaff's review of The Secret River here.

PS: The man's sort of promised that he ain't going to read prose for sometime, so you still have a chance if you want to be the first to finish all the books on the longlist.

Athapoo time

Don and wife took me to a Boys' Home yesterevening for the Home's Onam celebrations. Don's buddy is a patron of the Home, and we were all treated to an excellent Onasadya. Here are some pictures from the Athapoo competition:

Home Alone

Back home in God's own land after a busy three days in Bangalore. B'lore has become almost unrecognizable to say the least.

Highlights of visit include:

1.Dutifully turned up a couple of days early for friend's wedding but strategically complained of jetlag and didn't lift a finger. On wedding day, acted as if one was doing all the work and managed to get hazaar accolades from everyone except ofcourse the bride. The wedding consisted of an Arya Samaj ceremony in the morning, a church wedding in the afternoon and a reception at night. All went off peacefully.

2. Met the kind Professor at the Institute and bored him to death. Conned kinder Doctor (aka the kind Professor's wife) to feed me dinner. Delicious dosais with podi :)

3. Promptly got lost atleast once each day and complained to everyone about how buildings and landmarks seemed to have changed places since the last time I was here. No one was amused.

Finally managed to get on a flight home. All grand ideas of making an entrance and surprising the Don (aka the Father) didn't really work. Don was all happy to see daughter until he realised that jobless daughter was going to stick around for a few months. Don and wife informed daughter that they have a life which cannot be altered to suit daughter's schedule. Like today, poor daughter is home all alone while Don and wife have gone to attend the fourth wedding of the day. It is Aavani alright.

Booker Reviews

As expected, Falstaff's reviewing the Booker books like nobody's business. Review of Black Swan Green here and review of Mother's Milk here.

So it goes...

Keys pulled out of the keyring and neatly arranged inside the top, right cabinet in the kitchen, a cursory look around to see that nothing remains, no trace of the person who lived here the past few years. It rained as I stepped out of the building and into the cab, premature showers proclaiming end of summer. No time to walk by that lake. Past the tree lined streets of Lincoln Park northwest onto I-90. Everytime I pass this way, I peer into my rearview mirror to look at the glorious skyline but I did not turn to look at it yesterday. O'Hare loomed ahead, a little omnious. Twenty five boxes in a friend's basement from where the movers will pick them up and ship them to England; my India suitcases in the cab with me. Did I just leave home or is it home I am flying to? Why does home have to be such a possessive idea?

2006 Booker Mela

Its that time of the year again, and Falstaff ain't letting me get away without a Mela, so here we go:

The Booker long list is out. Though its not a star studded cast as it was last year, it has some interesting entries. So all of you get ready to read and review 19 books in 60 days. Lets see how much of it we can get through. Rules like last year - pick a book or two and let me know that you will be reviewing them, and when you are done send me a link to the review.

Here's the complete longlist:

Carey, Peter Theft: A Love Story - Prufrock Two
Desai, Kiran The Inheritance of Loss - Falstaff's review, 30in2005
Edric, Robert Gathering the Water
Gordimer, Nadine Get a Life - Falstaff's review, Nithya
Grenville, Kate The Secret River
Hyland, M.J. Carry Me Down - Dips
Jacobson, Howard Kalooki Nights
Lasdun, James Seven Lies - Falstaff's review
Lawson, Mary The Other Side of the Bridge
McGregor, Jon So Many Ways to Begin
Matar, Hisham In the Country of Men
Messud, Claire The Emperor’s Children - Black Mamba
Mitchell, David Black Swan Green - Small Talk's review, Falstaff's review, Veena
Murr, Naeem The Perfect Man
O’Hagan, Andrew Be Near Me
Robertson, James The Testament of Gideon Mack
St Aubyn, Edward Mother’s Milk - Falstaff's review
Unsworth, Barry The Ruby in her Navel
Waters, Sarah The Night Watch - Falstaff's review, Prufrock Two, Anoop

Last year's Mela here.

PS: Falsie, you don't need to pick any - that's only for people who have a life. I will put you down for all of them.

Leaving America

I stepped out of the flight yesternight feeling happy. I would never have to do this ORD – LAX leg again, this is my last trip. I skipped along the jet way, and my sandal strap promptly snapped. Of course it stands to reason that this had to happen on the week when instead of carrying two shoes and sneakers, all I had was the pair I had on. And so, a few minutes later, instead of whizzing through the car rental place, I stopped by the counter. I asked the lady directions to the nearest shoe store. Like every Ethiopian I meet, she mistook me for Liya Kebede and we had a long discussion about Ethiopian food in LA before I got my shoe store directions. Stepping out, I felt a little sad; in my two years of frequent travel to this place, I have gone into the counter and met these people maybe thrice.

I was reminded of last Thursday, when I started to pack up six years of my life in neatly arranged boxes of three different sizes. Nostalgia was definitely in the air and it slowed me down considerably. But interestingly enough, this time I wasn’t thinking of this country's amazing buildings and the wide open spaces that I would leave behind in another week. A long forgotten picture of the Yosemite half dome fell out of an envelope. The magnificence of the half dome, the Ansel Adams gallery, the tiring treks, and the log cabin at the village where we stayed all come into focus, but there was something else. A memory clip that eclipsed all the others. It is of my friend, the photographer who decided to entertain us that night four years ago, and climbed into a wooden box under the bunk bed in our cabin to perform what he termed a Houdini act. He would be here tomorrow, I thought, all the way from Austin, to load up boxes and drive the truck.

Austin is Anoop, SLR in tow, a Mohanlal style muffler around his neck patiently waiting for me below the escalators at Bergstorm International airport. San Francisco is Shilpi and BM at the BART station, and as I get into BM’s black bug, the aroma of chicken biriyani that they just picked up from a friend’s takeout joint. Alaska is the innkeeper who spent a good couple of hours teaching me how to carve wood, and make headboards. Boston is J, with his plays and insects, watering plants and visiting cemeteries. New York is Stu with her men and her ideas, getting younger with every passing year, and now, there’s MR too, in her trendy UWS studio, all sensible and driven and trying her best to make me feel not so married. Key West is the homeless man outside Hemingway’s home, in Fahrenheit 451 style, memorizing every Hemingway he could get his hands on. Sacramento is TS, always the perfectionist and Raleigh is CJ, always the believer. San Diego is the stowaway from across the border who taught me how to make a mean mojito. Pittsburgh is J smoking pot inside her beat-up convertible, and of course Bill who every time I turn up in his apartment unannounced has what I call “What the hell is this woman doing here?” look on his young, innocent face. And it is these people that I will miss most (okay, okay, not Bill) when I leave the country for good next week. It is, after all, the people stupid.

On Sunday last, after we were done with moving, we took another of those architecture river cruises. A ninety minute lowdown on all the interesting buildings of the windy city. Right after a quick tour of the Wright’s Robie House in Hyde Park. An architecture day alright but as we stepped out of the boat onto Michigan Avenue that evening, my mind wasn’t on Jahn or Weiss, Graham or Khan, not even Wright. Instead, it was on the people I actually knew.

The End of an Affair

I remember the exact moment that I realized that I was hopelessly in love with you. Two and a half years ago, in front of the Rookery at LaSalle and Adams. I had known you on and off for years, and the last year we were quite intimate. But it wasn’t until that very ordinary moment on a dreary winter afternoon, when I was about to cross the street and all I could see was you all around me, you and nothing else, that I finally seemed to have gathered the courage to acknowledge it. I still remember the exhilaration I felt then, that top of the world feeling, and I wanted to climb on top of that uber touristy tower, a building I usually try to disassociate myself from, and proclaim my love. So banal, I hear you say, no different from a lovesick, chick-flick watching yuppie about town. No, let me assure you, this was different. Not because I wasn’t a lovesick yuppie about town how much ever I would like to deny that, and certainly not because I spent the next three hours reading Sandburg borrowed from the nearest Borders, but because for the first time in my love life, in the same exact moment I realized that I was in love, I also felt utterly hopeless. You see, darling, I had always known that we didn’t stand a chance. We might have been meant for each other, but we weren’t meant to last.

I know what you are thinking. But no, just because this separation was expected does not mean that I am happy to let you go. This was always the moment that I would have to face somewhere in the near future, but remember that the near future didn’t arrive at my door for nearly three years. Three lovely years that we spent exploring each other. I remember the long walks in the park, stopping to watch the men play chess by the lake, the trips to Ravinia in late spring, sailing in the summer, running through the rain-drenched streets in fall, and the Art Institute in winter. We had our share of fights and I remember how much I used to sulk – when the wind didn’t spare me in January, every time I had to clear the ice, and that fateful day when I thought the car was stolen and walked around in sweltering temperatures searching and it was all your fault. I remember introducing you to my friends, singing your praises, and later feeling insanely jealous because they were getting to know you better.

I have spent countless number of days with you talking about how I would leave you one day as my restless heart would never be happy being in one place, but why then darling can I not bring myself to ticket an itinerary that I have blocked for the past three days? Why then have I been inventing one excuse after another for why I need to stay here with you? I know it won’t be long though. I will soon run out of excuses and get around to ticketing. And soon after that, I will be gone. No, not forever, never forever. We will meet again, I am sure, we will have our stolen weekends here and there; we will discover each other all over again, and this time with the pleasure of knowing that this affair is illicit and would last only for the weekend. Infidelity and betrayal for sure, but I wouldn’t be able to help myself. And I hope neither would you.

Finding the way home

Here. If only I can figure out a way to find such a long way home!

Part 2: Lost in the Tetons

Day 2

Teton Village, Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Wake up and see beautiful, green slopes in the backyard. Checkout and get out, and discover that this is a one-street town. Rich tourists all over the place. Posh hotels. An antique car auction in progress. We are a little confused; all this opulence doesn't make sense, isn't this just a small little town outside a national park? What are we missing? Winch. Oh yes, ski resort. This place's apparently a ski resort of some sort. We walk over to Snake River lodge to get some breakfast.

MR: Table for three please.
Waiter: Sorry ma'am, we are closed for lunch.
MR: But its only 10.20.
Waiter: Yes, but we close at 10 AM as you can see here.
MR: Hmm, is there any other nearby where we can grab food?
Waiter: Yes, if you walk up this hill here, the Four Seasons will be open for breakfast until 11 AM
MR: The what?
Waiter: The Four Seasons. Right up this hill.
...
MR: This place has a Four Seasons? Middle of Nowhere, WY has a Four Seasons, ha ha.
Bill: Apparently, it is not exactly Middle of Nowhere. I read this in the hotel brochure but thought they made it up
Me: Made up what?
Bill: Jackson Hole is the fourth most prosperous county in the United States
MR: Goodness! Anyway, think we should go check out Four Seasons. We have to eat right?
Me: Of course.

Two hours later, after a long, leisurely brunch at the Teton Village Four Seasons, Bill, MR and I enter Grand Tetons National Park. The Tetons are the youngest range in the family of mountains that includes the Grand Canyon, and the mountains in this range have no foothills. Lush green slopes, halfway up the mountains, the green's gone and snow's taken over. Much more beautiful that anything we had seen at Yellowstone the day before.


We decide to head North to Jackson Lake for a hike around the lake, and then get back to the Jenny Lake and hike up to Hidden Falls and Inspiration Point. Jackson Lake is very pretty, but the supposed hike is actually a mile-long stroll along the lake. We decide to go canoeing instead, and soon in three men in a boat fashion, we are going around in circles. While other canoes are happily speeding past us, we take our time and claim to enjoy the scenary. We get the hang of it after sometime, and we are cruising along different inlets amazed at our rowing skills. Very impressive, we think. We could easily make the Cambridge rowing team, Bill claims. MR performs some neat acrobatic feats to shoot some pictures.



Me: Isn't is time to turn back? We have been here for an hour, I think.
MR: Yeah, we should. It is quite late and we have to do Jenny Lake too. Lets turn back.
Bill: Yep, we have to go around this island and we should see the visitor center.
MR: Yep, lets see, twenty five strokes and we should be around the island. Go.

Twenty five strokes later, we are around the island. Happiness. We did it. But the visitor center is nowhere to be seen. Another island is there though.

MR: Looks like we did hazaar distance. It must be around this island. Lets go.

Around the second island, and we see a third one. But there are no inlets North of us. Which means we are in the open bay. The wind's blowing the other way, and the waves are becoming bigger. No other canoes can be seen. Only motorboats whose wakes nearly topple us. We are utterly lost.

Me: I think we are lost. We will call for help.
Me: You guys think we should call for help?
Me: This map doesn't say anything. I do not know which way to go. And my arms are dead.
Me: Guys, are you even listening?

Bill and MR both have the same serene look on their faces.

Me: So do you know where we are?
Bill and MR: No
Me: So we should do something right? We will get toppled over soon by these waves. We are going to die.
MR: Do she always get so hyper over everything?
Bill: Yeah, she does
Me: Dudes, this is my life!
MR: Oh, enough drama! I think this is the one. We should see the visitor center if we go around this one.
Me: Okay lets go. If we don't see the visitor around this bend, we will call for rescue.
Bill: Whatever

Around third island, and all we see are two fishing boats. We row over to one and ask them for directions. They cannot believe that we could get lost in the lake. Stifling laughter, they tell us to cross more islands and then follow the bank. And thus, three hours after we originally set out to conquer the lake, we are back on the shore - exhausted but elated. MR and I show off our bulging biceps to each other.

Next stop: Jenny Lake. We are to take the boat shuttle across the lake, and then a half-mile 250 ft climb up to Hidden Falls, and another half mile to Inspiration Point from where panoramic views are promised. But when we actually get to Jenny Lake, its past six, and the last boat left at six. But we, well, MR is not to be discouraged. The sun won't set until 9.20, she claims. Which means that we could take the 2-mile trail around the lake instead to taking the boat, and then climb up the hill. What if the sun sets, and who knows what creatures live in these jungles, says I. Vetoed. Soon I find myself following Bill and MR into the jungle. The last of the hikers are coming back. We seem to be the only brave people in the entire park heading towards Inspiration Point. Yeah yeah, we make it alright. Totally worth it. Here's Hidden Falls.



(Btw MR, where the hell are pictures that you shot from Inspiration Point? You mean to say after all that risking life comedy, you don't have any pictures?)

Well, the day ain't over yet. We got back down by 9.40 and drove out of the park into Jackson, WY. After searching for an hour for places to eat, we finally had dinner at a sushi place. And then drove like crazy across the Teton Pass, into Idaho Falls, and all the way back to Salt Lake City. Hit the bed at 4.30 AM.

Coming up: Day 3 at Arches / Canyonlands

Unrelated trip notes: Just back from a wonderful weekend in Northern CA. Good wine, great friends and The Tempest in the park. Could not have asked for more.

Part 1: Romancing Yellowstone

Day 0

Last Friday at SLC International Airport, I sat down to write an eulogy for the very average Mr Wainwright. Someone ought to do it, I thought. There was no doubt in my mind that Wainwright was dead. After all, Falstaff reached Delhi on time with all bags intact, didn't he? It stands to reason that Wainwright died. But I was mistaken. We all were. Mr Wainwright, I am glad to inform you, is alive and well. Why, just last Friday afternoon he spent three hours watching NASCAR races at a neighborhood bar in Greensboro, SC. While MR spent the same three hours sitting on the runway in Newark, NJ waiting for her flight to take off. You see Wainwright's life isn't really tied to Falstaff's flights being on time, it is tied to MR's travel plans working out as planned. Almost every time Falstaff's flights were delayed, it was really MR's travel plans that were in jeopardy. So Wainwright is alright. Just that MR, Bill and I got a very late start on our holiday plans.

Day 1

Woke up and realised that we were in Pocatello, Idaho. Apparently we drove here yesternight from Salt Lake City. Bill walks around the room claiming that he is in love with Idaho. Look out of window, Idaho State University campus. Go Bengals everywhere. No wonder Ohio and Idaho are Bill's favorite states now.

MR starts to unpack. This is surprising because we have to leave the hotel in the next half hour or so and we will never come back. Oh wait, no, she is not unpacking, she is showing me all her hiking gear to make sure that she did not miss anything. For a whirlwind "four national parks in four days" trip where our longest hike would probably take us three hours, MR has dutifully packed the following:

- Hiking shoes (1 pair)
- Backpack (Red and Black)
- Hydration pack (Camelbak)
- Hiking towel (2)
- Rain Jacket (Blue and White)
- Sweater and fleece jacket
- Flashlight (2)
- Swiss-army knife (1)
- Hiking socks (3 pairs)
- Reflector hat
- Water purification filter

I assure her that yes, the only things she's missing are tents and sleeping bags which we most definitely need but maybe we can pick them up at the park visitor center? MR looks skeptical. An hour later we get out of the hotel and have breakfast at the nearest IHOP which happens to be in the same strip mall as Macy's. No Macy's in Chicago, IL[1] but there is a Macy's at Pocatello, Idaho.[2]

Soon, we are on our way to the west entrance of the park. Before us, the horizon opens up its welcoming arms, the famed potato farms of Idaho stretches out on either side, the mountains behind them watchfully guarding them. The road is so straight that it could put the highways of the midwest to shame, and we peacefully cruise along at 90 miles/hour. After Idaho Falls, the potato farms give away to pine trees and the highway starts curving as we enter the Targhee National Forest. Up a steep mile-long stretch and down again, and we find that the trees have receded from the sides of the road. They are all the way back by the mountains, and stretching out on either side now are expansive, green meadows.

Bill: This is beautiful!
MR: Yes, it is.
Bill: Though I guess this is not what I thought this place will look like.
MR: Me too. I was thinking this place would be all parched with just sulphur pools.
Me: Agree but we aren't at the park yet. So maybe it will change.
Bill: This is so green and so big! This is like a Disney movie.
(MR drops her camera)
MR: This is what?
Bill: Well, you know how in the Lion King type movie, you see meadows like this extending all the way to the horizon.
MR: You see this and you think of a Disney movie?
Bill: But the sun rolling high / Through the sapphire sky /Keeps great and small on the endless round / It's the Circle of Life /And it moves us all
(MR gives me a look that says it all)


Up and over the Targhee pass and the state border, past the small town of West Yellowstone, MT and we find oursleves at Yellowstone National Park. A small river on our right, huge mountains on our left with trees, but no leaves. We stop for some pictures; a plaque tells us that the wildfires of 1988 burnt the forest down leaving only the stumps. Wildfires that despite best efforts could not be put out for months. Dickinson says You cannot put a fire out/ A thing that can ignite/ Can go, itself, without a fan/ Upon the slowest night.


After a brief stop at the visitor center where we are told 12 times that we should stay on the boardwalk at all times, we drive to Norris Basin which houses a host of geysers including the highest in the world - the Steamboat Geyser. We can smell the sulphur from half a mile away; its like being back in Chem lab. We walk over to the nearest pool which looks like a deep blue jacuzzi spouting sulphur fumes. The earth around the pool is parched and cracked, we read that one can get second degree burns just by stepping on them. We go over to the Steamboat geyser which when it is in action could rocket scalding water over 300 ft. But since we did not want to spend a lifetime waiting for the boat, we leave to see the other pools in the Basin. Vast stretches of land with smoke arising out every 30 yards or so; it would be Mordor but for the trees in the background. A dying land not yet Dead as Tolkien would have said.


We leave Norris Basin and drive towards Canyon Village. The landscape changes abruptly - one minute we are in the middle of arid hot springs with scant vegetation and the next, we are in Ansel Adams territory. Lake Yellowstone, bluer than Tahoe, before us in all its magnificence with snow-capped mountains behind her. At Canyon Village, we decide to hike down to see the Lower Falls of the Grand Canyon of the Yellowstone. With 328 steep steps and a 410 feet elevation change, it is classified as a strenous hike. In the interests of making good use of MR's hiking stuff, we climb down to see the Lower Falls. It is most definitely worth the climb up.

After stopping at Artist's Point so that our staff photographer with her wannabe-SLR camera could shoot some more pictures, we drive to Old Faithful to witness the grand performance. 40 minutes to go before Old Faithful's expected to send out water, the Park Ranger tells us. Just about enough time for MR to set up her photo shoot. While Bill and I get dinner, shop for souvenirs and take a walk around the place, MR finds the perfect spot to shoot the geyser from, sets up her tripod and fiddles around with the camera settings. A young, Punjabi couple walk past her.

Man: You are so bad. You keep taking pictures all the time.
Woman: I like taking pictures. Is that a problem?
Man: No, but you behave like a Japanese tourist. Or worse, like some Patel.
Woman: You look there. Look at that woman there. See how she is setting up her shot. That is how you take pictures. You wouldn't understand.[3]

Yeah yeah, Old Faithful was quite loyal. Here.



And a bonus picture showcasing MR's talent. When I pointed out that the sky did not look anything like this that day, I was told that I am too stuck in reality and that true photographers transcend reality. But, of course.



Coming up:
Day 2: Getting lost in the Tetons
Day 3: How to borrow a tripod to shoot the Arches at twilight

[1] Yes, I know Macy's technically own Marshall Fields now. But it still says Marshall Fields okay?

[2] Note to Falstaff: Throughout the trip, Bill missed you. But on this particular occasion, when he saw MR and I exchange glances on seeing Macy's, he actually screamed for help. I am quite sure you must have heard that SOS call in Delhi.

[3] Now when you see the billboards back home with pictures of MR with Rebel on them along with captions like "This is how you shoot", you know exactly how MR became the role model for trigger happy Punju women all over the world.

PS: Yeah, I know. Footnotes, poetry, copious descriptions and making fun of MR n times do not belong here in this blog. But hey, I was just trying to check off at least four things on my cheat sheet on "How to write a long, rambling Falstaffian post".

PPS: Falstaff, let me remind you that you asked for this.

Never Again

Too lazy to start a travel blog, so this space proves too inviting. First piece here.

PS: Yeah I know, depressing place to start with but hey, it can only get better, no?

Close encounters with the canine mind

Middle of Nowhere, CA. Huge cars on wide freeways and multi million dollars homes on hills. Homes that I have seen tumbling down during mudslide season but they build them back anyway. I complain about coming here all the time, taking a four hour flight every week to get to the land of the sprawl puts me off but then, watching the sun set over the Santa Monica mountains on a glorious evening (as if there is any other kind in this part of the country) makes me want to fly here all over again. The mountains are always golden here in the golden state except for a few weeks in January when the rains and the Santa Ana winds confers on them a familiar shade of green. Yes, all's well with the world as I set out from the hotel to climb the nearest mountain. I can see the mountain from my room, the foot of the hill can't be too far. Past the wide roads with no pedestrain crossings. Every house has a neat garden or two, and every garage a BMW or two. A cute little gate like in a fairy tale and a sign that reads "Come in and smell the flowers". I hesitate for a moment, read the sign again and walk in. Wildflowers, a waterfall, and incongrous classical statues. I sit down on a low bench and contemplate life.

The Glockenspiel at Marienplatz strikes 12. Mozart plays at the Schönbrunn Palace. Tango at the Brahms bar in Stephansplatz. A Swarowski guitar is playing Joni Micthell's California. The guitar changes into a veena, which someone is playing in the Malibu temple. Outside the temple, the Malibu canyon beckons. I drive through the canyon, and buy puliyodharai at the SV temple. At peace, I sit down to eat in a garden with a fountain. Ah, the heavenly taste of fresh tamarind. I wake up to find a huge dog staring quietly at me. I jump up. The dog keeps staring, it doesn't make a sound. I start sweating. There is no doubt that the dog is waiting for me to move before pouncing on me. I look around for the owner. No such luck. I look plaintively at the dog. I start talking.

"The sign said come in and smell the flowers. I wasn't trespassing or anything."

You weren't smelling the flowers.

"No, I was smelling the flowers and then I fell asleep. I didn't mean to."

Really? I wonder what you were really upto.

"I wasn't doing any harm. I will leave now."

Be my guest.

"I am going to retrace my steps. Just watch, okay?"

Are you blind? I am watching.

"See, I am taking a step back. And another."

I can see dammit. Shut up.

"Just a few more steps and I will be out of your garden. I mean no harm. I am not stealing any flowers."

Of course you weren't. You were sleeping on my bench.

"I am opening the gate now. I will lock it when after I step out. I promise."

Let us see.

Out. Gate locked safely. I make faces at the dog.

"You stupid dog! You thought you were going to get me? Ha Ha! Now we will see what you do."

Enough talk. The dog barks. Finally. It comes running to the gate. It puts up one of its paws around the latch. I watch, shell shocked as the gate swings open. The dog steps out, stops and stares at me. I start talking as I walk backwards. All the way downhill.

Bloomsday

On this date every year I promise myself that I would finally finish reading the book before the next anniversary comes around. After nine years of resolutions, I am at page 56. Here's to hoping this year will be the lucky year!