Normally !

The ceiling fan has been going around far too many times than normal. And at greater speeds than normal.

'The electricity bill will shoot through the roof' says the missus, in a tone that has a higher decibel than normal.



Cans of juice disappear like discarded cricketers fading from the front page of the normal newspaper. Sweaty shirts and double handkerchiefs are more common than normal.

Public tolerance levels are above normal and yet it is quite normal to see normal folks losing their cool.





Normal festivals have normal water in colourful glasses. The business of selling packaged water is doing business that is above normal ! Water packets with exotic sounding brands like 'Cancai'.

'Its the last stretch', said the normally quiet neighbour to his normally loud wife the other day in a normally dull lift. Received with a grunt of approval that brought back memories of a certain Monica Seles in a normal French Open.

Normally, these conversations are beyond my ears. Today, the sun has beaten me down solid and beads of sweat in every inch of visible and invisible skin was sample evidence. Today, there is my imagination runs riot. Which 'last stretch' could he be talking about ?

The half of the hindi movie that remains to be watched together ?

Perhaps its about some interesting yoga postures they are learning together.

Perhaps some therapy sessions. Perhaps some bet that they lost because of which they had to wear funny clothes for seven days or something !

Imagination brings about a wry smile ! At that precise moment, he looks at me and our eyes lock. He seems to read my mind. He rushes to state :

'Its the last stretch Of summer you see'. 45 degrees in Nagpur. Phew"

Pausing before asking in a profound tone. "The rains arrive in June, don't they ?!?"

Now, he is the bloke who has been living here for far too longer than i. I want to engage him in a conversation about his three air-conditioners that could be reported for noise pollution and he perhaps could get to be their brand ambassador for he never switched them off !

Let alone ask if has gone any centimeter in the direction of Nagpur. Even on a map ! I wonder if he thinks i have some secret hotline to the met department. [ The met department of the 'it may rain or may not rain' fame ].

I am still in my trance. And as his wife turns to give me a stare, with a 'how dare you keep mum after my man has asked you a normal question' i mumble..

"..well, normally !"

Normally !

Its in the eye !

Three quarters of the legendary 'big fat tyre' just beneath the chest is not only because of a sedentary life style or whatever else that the world will have us believe often. A good vision with a pinch of a vivid imagination can be as potent as well !

Now, you are either taking umbrage or laughing away at the nadirs of emptiness in the mind that i have reached. hmm Well, seriously... Take a look at this.


Here are whats called 'murukku' in Tamil territory.

Not much technology here. Infact, age old recipe. Plain old flour coming from grain, going through different moulds to create basic designs. Of course, deep fried in oil or sometimes in mouth watering ghee !

There you go. Petals. Whorls. Plain surfaces. Labyrinthine mazes. A sight to the eye. All hoarding calories like a glutton engulfed with additional greed !

Invariably its the eye that spots these. The whorls and patterns draw the eye like parched land to rain !

The mind and imagination then kick in their work. The imagined taste of each of these awaken the slumber of hidden taste buds resting in the tongue.

The ears hear the crackle of the 'murukku' against the teeth, the melting of the ghee and the after taste after the murukku is long gone into the deepest recesses of the tyre !

( Yes, the mind allows thinking of the tyre to seep in only after the snack sinks into the alimentary canal ) !

And even as the mind is thinking of all of this, the eyes induce the hands to declare independence. The wallet comes out and in a while the rest of the world hears the crackle : the crackle of the murukku as the teeth work on them !

The rest is history !

Ah ! The eyes !

Its in the eye !

Mistakes or Right-takes !

A mistake may not be a mistake. Even though it may seem to a mistake. A mistaken mistake is more the mistake of the mis-taker than the mistake itself.

Phew. Thats about the distance that can be travelled on this blog to sound profound !

Coming back to the mistake domain, survey this signboard, seen somewhere in Tanjore.



How profound. Wouldn't you think so ?

Speed breaks heads ! Reckless speed breaks many heads! The Superintendent of Police of Tanjore has better things to do than comming after you with his pet lathi and pocket revolver to split your head, when you exceed speed limits. This is pretty much a do-it-yourself excercise !


Or take this signboard from Lonavala.



Rickshaws these days with run the streets with colourful seats, hanging beads, and broken silencer pipes, that can roar down the Ferrari in all departments.

Throw in a fretting driver, who will haggle over the authenticity of the meter reading with a ferocity best otherwise seen of a screaming TV channel going after an insipid cricketer ! Add a dash of driving ( acrobatic ) skills that would have Schumacher and his tribe cowering in the bushes.

What would you have ? RickShow indeed ! :)

Or for that matter, sample this, found on every other wall in a fancy apartment complex where fancy heavy duty friends live. Every attempt has been made to let this blogger know that these are two different instructions on one piece of paper.



Well..

The complex is fully loaded. With four wheel drives, high profile designations and pockets that run deeper than the Pacific ocean ! And sometimes people with more jewellery on them than clothes. (The last part was an exaggeration, but you get the drift. Don't you?)

Of course, there is not much of room for humour with the dour security chaps out here. With their stern looks, dry instruction and menacing walk, you must be out of your mind to spit and drive slow !

If you must spit, drive fast ! OK ?


Mistakes huh ?

Mistakes or Right-takes !

Dhoti Pants !

'The National Attire of the deep south', said a friend from Obama land nonchalantly nestling a glass of beer, 'is wraparounds' !

Well. He couldn't be faulted to the full distance. 'Well, yes, sort of. But no. Don't call it wrap around' was a response that quite quite get past his left ear lobe. The pitchers of beer were at work.

Lets set the record straight.

The dhoti ( called 'Veshti' ) is the sort of thing that gives a certain impeccable identity to the average man on the South Indian street.

A pointed mention to all North Indian friends here ( and as an average tamil from the deep south will define, 'north India' means 'north of Chennai' ), the dhoti is principally a different garment from the 'Lungi '

The 'Lungi' is akin to pajama wear. Dotted, coloured, checks, stripes etc. Worn to bed. Worn at home. Period.

Multitudes of authentic dhoti wearers have cringed as they enter weddings and such other social events in the 'North' only to be complimented with 'thats a nice lungi' ! Well, to give it some perspective, imagine going to a wedding in a Armani bespoke suit, to hear compliments : 'thats a nice pajama' !

The Dhoti is regal apparel. ( Except seeing 'dhotis folded at the knee or thereabouts and bristling with striped knee length underwear as seen in tamil movies). Its supposed to give the average male some spirit in his step. Its airy, lose and fastened at the hip by ingenious folding of the garment.

Modern city bred males however require belts and such else as insurance against wardrobe malfunction.

Any visit down south, gives an opportunity to wear the dhoti, brave the heat and walk about with this sense of new found freedom ! At least the proverbial 'pajama question' that would reach the ear, when the same is done in any other part of the country, is absent.

It is another matter though, that the dhoti is not part of accepted corporate attire.




Quite obviously seeing this in a big city mall in Mumbai created some flutter in the heart. Like the flutter actors and actresses are shown to have when they find true love, or the brother that they were separated from in the village fair. A combination of a 'Dhoti' and a 'pant' seemed to be a super deal.

Only to find in a short while later that a 'Dhoti Pant' is women's wear. Some thing that loosely balloons from the hit only to taper at the feet. And could make the wearer look like she is floating on a helium balloon across the road. To a casual bystander.

More authentic explanation is in this link here.

What particularly catches the eye is this statement from a fashion designer : "To get the funky look, a body hugging T-shirt and dhoti pants would make a great combo. To complete the look, illustrative danglers and funky belts would look great."

Illustrative danglers and funky belts for 'completion of look' is an awesome amount of elastic stretch to the simple elegant dhoti !!

Whatsay ?

Dhoti Pants !

Maths. Gymnastics. Art.

If you walk by a traditional South Indian street early in the morning chances are high that you would spot a lady dotting the front yard with fine white flour, are high !

If you hang around there for a while and look with an ordinary eye, you will see dots emerge in sequence. Dots in proportion. Dots in synchrony and symmetry.

Of course, you can immediately sense that is maths in action. Yes. Math ! 8 dots. 16 dots. right angles. symmetry. Etc etc !

All while the lady, stands up and bends down ! Mega city lifestyles and modern day junk food and leisure lifestyles ensure that such postures befit a great cosmic yogi (at best) or a Russian Gymnast (at the least ). That another story for another time.

In some time, the fine white flour that went into making of the dot slips through the fingers to form simple, straight lines. Straight lines that would look like those drawn with a scale !

In a jiffy the lines become curves. The curves become U turns, with the dot in he middle ! Sharp curves that would get a F1 champ's adrenalin going.

The lines and curves form a seamless symmetry of art on the floor. A dash here. A dash there. A curve now and then. Suddenly there is a piece of visual delight on the front yard !! Coming to think of it all, to get out of bed at 5.00 AM is something. To get to the courtyard is something else. And then, to alternate between gymnastics and mathematics with ease, is stuff that is beyond me. To do it everyday is super human.

It took me an effort to locate the camera and shoot ! My mom looked bemused and surprised. Initially at my interest, giving me 'Ah, whats so great about it' look !

A while later, the household help came in and added some of her own designs and a dash of colour !

I have stayed a mile away from maths. ( Or rather, maths has stayed a mile away from me). And two miles from gymnastics. I always thought so.

Seems i was pretty close ! My mom orchestrates them to do the ballet on the front yard
everyday !

Maths. Gymnastics. Art.