'96 - Gender fluidity and conversation beyond words

Last evening, the husband and I watched a Tamil film '96 starring Trisha Krishnan and Vijay Sethupathi. My sister had earlier nudged me to watch the film. I quote her, "Don't have high expectations. It's a simple film. Just sit back and enjoy." She was right about the film being simple but she was wrong about the high expectations. Watching films quite often, as audience, I guess we allow ourselves to imagine cliched dialogues and familiar situations; This cliche is what was absent in C. Prem Kumar's '96 - a nostalgic walk sans the melodrama and long tear-jerked dialogues. The film's power lies in the unspoken words and quiet moments interspersed with a powerful soundtrack. It was as if the lyrics of the songs were snatched from the minds of the audience.

'96's strength lies in C. Prem Kumar's treatment of the entire plot coupled with beautiful cinematography. The visuals in the introductory song was subtle, beautiful and set the tone of the film. But what captured my mind was the way the director broke down the roles of men and women. Ram (Vijay Sethupathi) was not the macho alpha-male who tries to prove his brawn and brain all the time - he acts feminine at times and does not fail to feel shy or cry when the situation arises. Similarly, Janu (Trisha Krishnan) is not the coy and gentle character - she takes the lead in the second half of the film and comes across as someone who does not hesitate to ask questions and chide Ram as the situation demands. The presence of her thali or meti does not interfere with the bond that is shared by the erstwhile lovers.

The entire second half of the film's tension lay in the premise of whether the erstwhile lovers will profess their love and probably make love - but Prem Kumar destroys those age old cliches and gently leads us through the night. Sometimes when nothing much is conveyed through words, the facial expressions and body language take over and this is precisely what happens in the film. I must confess that I break into tears quite easily and '96 was one such film where I was reduced to tears, not once or twice but during several instances - the tears were for the powerful lyrics of the first song, the thought that something might have happened but did not, the blink-and-miss situation when K. Ramachandran went to see Janaki Devi in her college and all the What ifs which were generously spread throughout the course of the plot. The word 'perhaps' is the tagline of the film for me - The perhaps and the what ifs caused the free flowing tears and I guess that would have been the cause of the many tears that were shed by the audiences who watched the film.

The tears also flowed for the bygone years which was so familiar to me while I was in my X, XI and XII standards. I fondly remembered the long walks in my school's corridors where boyfriends/girlfriends waited for a glimpse of their beloveds; the quiet, stolen glances in classes, the sharing of tiffins, the school uniform, the absolute lack of communication when someone is absent and no means of finding the reason, the cycle sagas, the hero pen, the splashing of the ink on the last last day of school, the innocence of first love and FLAMES - Prem Kumar brought every element of those days alive for me. It comes as no surprise that my batch was the batch of '97 - not very different from the batch of '96. I could identify every single character from my own school days and perhaps that's why the film moved me and the fact that I am so away from Tamil Nadu and everything familiar pushed those extra tears to fall. 

What happens when you plan to lose yourself?

Yesterday after a long long time, I had an opportunity to listen to a flute recital by Pandit. Pravin Godkhindi - yes, a wonderful time to lose yourself in the notes of the flautist! The evening had just began and we were settling down as the musicians were warming up. Alas! the setting had something else that was not part of our plan - The three ladies in the front row had settled down as well BUT with their conversation and attending calls on the mobile. That they were sitting in the midst of a lovely flute recital was of no concern to them. They why attend the recital, is my question.

Without much thought, I blame the mobile phone revolution that has bereft people of courtesy, manners and kindness - the three which stand in direct contrast to individualism! The three ladies were insulated as they enjoyed talking in 'loud' whispers and blissfully attended to not one but several phone calls while also filming the flute recital when they weren't busy chatting. What irks me is that I could not ask them to stop, while my companion after a few irritated looks, decided to ask them to STOP. Well, they did stop attending calls but started talking in loud whispers (I bet they were berating us).

The mobile phone which has no doubt given us many pluses has also insulated us while amidst a gathering, communal gathering and so on. Imagine this: we are enjoying a quiet lunch with our loved ones and all of a sudden the mobile phone buzzes - we rush to get the call in the meanwhile breaking the invisible circle of the chatter and catching up; While we finish the call and return to the circle - the circle has closed and it takes an effort of ten to twelve seconds to get back. But after getting back, if further calls are encouraged, then the afternoon is lost.

While it is easy to dismiss young ones of the mobile culture, it is sad to see that this phenomenon has seeped into every age bracket and gender. Have we lost the meaning of collectivism after the mobile has entered our lives?

Does the small machine control our behaviour so much so that we forget a lovely flute recital and attend to small talks?

Teaching at 25 and after 35

The title gives away the topic and I guess that you already know the content of this post but then HOW I say it matters, and I hope that this keeps you hooked.

The passion: Waxes and wanes

The energy levels: Waxes and wanes

The students: A general lull in life

The subject: Partly exciting, partly drudgery

The feeling every morning: Depends

The situation (physical, mental and emotional): Like a graph

End result: Growing older also means that one has some firm ideologies and notions which are a bit difficult to alter nevertheless I tend to allow myself to be questioned and amused by students. Sometimes it so happens that I already know what is going to be uttered but I still shut up because students - sometimes tend to surprise you and break your pre-conceived notions!

Will I teach forever: I don't know

Would I like to teach forever: I am pondering

Bottom-line: CARPE DIEM (Every single freaking day!)

Madras Musings

A terribly cliched, title, I realise! Over the years, visiting Chennai, time to time, I have grown used to the oscillating emotional scales; The roads, smells and the sound of Tamizh being spoken - Once all these used to evoke a sense of deep melancholy within me but I now seem to have made peace with them. I now no longer gush at the flyovers and the electric trains which were strong reminders of the yellow past. I have not completely lost the sense of nostalgia as I step down from Indigo into the bustling city. I still allow myself to be moved, turn misty-minded (not eye, mind you) and gasp at how different Meenambakkam used to be and smell. Today, I was a tad apprehensive when a good friend asked me to board the Metro and meet him. I have never boarded ANY metro in my life, I quipped. "It's nothing," replied he. How would he know the trepidation. I, of course have moved past the initial moments of apprehension and have decided to be brave enough to get into the metro and experience the joy that I have often seen on Facebook posts of people who have put up pictures of their 'First Metro-ride.' As I get older, experiencing something for the first time does create a small flutter in the pit of the stomach. I try to remember when I first took the electric train - I honestly don't remember that - It was after all a long time ago, say somewhere in 1990 or was it 1992. Let that be!

I think after a point, years blur, memories fade, though not entirely gone. I guess that I have been out of Chennai for a long time now that old memories are being replaced by new ones. It is not a conscious process but something that happens but not without leaving tiny remnants in the back of the mind. On a normal (read relatively younger) day, the sight of jasmine flowers would send me into a dizzy ride which begins with, "Malli poo reminds me of . . ." but now, I just stare at the flowers - blank in the mind devoid of stars in the eyes. I still love their fragrance and texture but don't have the urge to grab them and store their presence in my hand for eternity.

I still think whether I should return and search for a job in Chennai. And then, I think of the traffic, the hard water, the irritation of the heat and stop my thoughts. I know that I cannot return. Returning seems like a sweet respite that is tinged with nostalgia, only beautiful in the crevices of the mind. I am content with dwelling in the tiny state of Goa with all its warts and minus the malli poo and khusboo idlis. Whenever in Chennai, the affection wanes after three days when I begin to get restless with insipid days. The intoxication remains only for a time after which the land of Feni beckons.

Sometimes, I wonder which is the home - where is my heart and what does it mean to be traversing to places which are considered  homes. I guess I should thankful that I have not relocated out of the country, otherwise I would constantly be in a restive state of doubt about home(s).

Image: Internet

The year of deaths and reminders of mortality

Every year is another beautiful opportunity given to us in terms of improving ourselves and actively chasing our desired goals and dreams. But along with that is also the realisation that our life is slowly heading towards death. The feeling is humbling as well as scary for it drives hard the fact that we do not have time at our behest. The passing away of diverse personalities this year has insinuated many thoughts of mortality and life within me. As I hear news of people who names have been part of my growing up years and adult life pushes me to think of my own life and its fragility. The hardest blow was when the news of our honourable Chief Minister, J. Jayalalalitha's passing away flashed across the many internet websites. The knowledge that someone who was a formidable presence, inspite of the autocracy, drove hard the nail of mortality. The feeling, for quite some time, has been in the air, when Cohen, Bowie, Balamurali Krishna and others left this earth. Well, as one grows older than the previous year, thoughts as these prevail like the dark clouds which cast a spell for a while either passing away or bringing rainfall.

Growing older means that loved ones are becoming fragile and losing the former agility and taut. The body also plays truant especially while getting up in the morning or that stubborn fat which refuses to budge from a you-know-where spot. Enough! I am not here to whine or complain about facts that are irrevocable but thoughts as these cannot be dismissed without the thought running its entire course.

I know many whose lives started by mid-50s or early 60s. I love the energy they display. Yesterday, I was at the venue of the Goa River Marathon. My oh my! The energy in that place was all-consuming - people of varied age groups feeling smug after completing the 21 kms. I wonder how it might seem to them while running and after completing the long run. The myriad emotions visible on their face was radiant, to say the least. Perhaps, this is one way to push fears of mortality and delay the same. Perhaps, it is a way of cheating death. Perhaps, it is the knowledge that death might come any way so let us try adventure and push our limits, raising the adrenaline meanwhile. Whatever it was, the vibes of the place was so invigorating that I felt stimulated to run at least 5 kms next year. In fact, running a marathon has always been a wish/dream/desire but then as always, I was pushing the dream behind everything else instead of pushing myself to run. Ah! I should read Murakami's What I Talk About When I Talk About Running and of course there's is Milind Soman who is successfully pushing away Lord Death from approaching him in any direction!

Let me close with a loved and oft read sonnet by John Donne:

Death, be not proud

Related Poem Content Details

BY JOHN DONNE

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee 

Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so; 

For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow 

Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me. 

From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be, 

Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow, 

And soonest our best men with thee do go, 

Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery. 

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, 

And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell, 

And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well 

And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then? 

One short sleep past, we wake eternally 

And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die. 

Watching Kabali in Goa

I cannot say that I am a fan of the Superstar Rajinikanth but I like to join in the excitement that surrounds him and his films. Having been in Chennai for the better part of my life, a Rajini release did not incite any excitement in me. I did have friends and acquaintances who went insane over tickets and detailed planning on first day, first show matters but I remained aloof from all of them.

Then marriage happened.

Along with marriage, change of location happened.

Then Rajinikanth became one of the synonyms for home and Chennai.

It is always said and largely believed that one starts craving for home in different ways, some of which are quite unusual and one of those was Rajini. Heaping praise for the superstar and getting a high talking about him were aspects of me that baffled me. Very easily, I could turn from a demure teacher to a crazed fan of the Superstar when my students criticised him. I was always a fan of good acting and films that were close to reality. But Rajini was beyond the circumference of my usual like of films. He is a phenomenon worth studying - a vortex that one gets pulled into willingly.

But for the first time catching a Rajini film after two days of its release was something I did not expect that I would end up doing (I guess earning and having one's one own money in addition to living out of Chennai does that!) I JUST WATCHED A RAJINI FILM YESTERDAY!

Watching Kabali was an entirely different experience in Goa. The theatre was housefull (what else!) and almost the entire hall was filled with Tamil speaking people. It was definitely a joy to behold Tamil Nadu in Goa! But alas! my joy was short-lived because many of the Tamils here were only Tamils by birth and not spirit. The children were not as fluent in the language and hardly knew the charisma and wonder of Rajini. They sat there placid and unmoved while I was jumping and hooting in glee. I was quite sad that I was not able to whistle otherwise I would have shrieked with full power. The claps and hooting were only present when Rajini first made an appearance in the film after which the spirit slowly ebbed away. I was quite excited and beside myself and could hardly contain myself whenever the superstar crossed his leg or uttered, "Magizhchi," (translated joy) but everyone around me were unmoved.

For me Rajini is not Rajini but my years of growing up in Chennai, my memories of school, sightings of huge cutouts of superstar when any of his films were released, friends bunking classes to watch first day first show of Rajini's films - In short HOME. Home means many things to me but on this occasion, home was Rajinikanth and Chennai. This explains why I was a bit low when I did not spot any cutouts, life-size posters or any merchandise of the superstar - In Goa and for Goa, Kabali was just another film (from South India). I went to watch the film not because it was a Rajini film (I also watched Mani Rathnam's O Kadhal Kanmani on the second day of its release) but because I wanted to vicariously experience the spirit of my growing up years and memories of distant teenage.

Needless to say, I enjoyed the film - the complete package with popcorn, hooting, clapping, standing up and applauding the man and also shedding copious tears when the superstar misses his wife whom he assumes to be dead.

Thalaivar - magizhchi!

An ode to Afonso de Albuquerque

Today, I attended a talk on a small but important island in Goa - the Chorao island. There were many interesting points that were made in the talk by Dr. Aaron Lobo but what stands out for me is that the Chorao island is the place where the Alphonso mango originated. Wow! that was something astounding to me because I have visited the island and there is nothing fascinating that strikes the person on a first look at the island. The island grows on you, much like a cultivated taste - the peculiarity of the landscape, the species of fishes, crabs and other animals that are found only in the island and more popularly, some birds which could be sighted. The island is also made famous by the Salim Ali Bird Sanctuary, well known for its many varieties of mangroves. But if a lay person visits the island without an accompanying expert, then one might even think that the visit is a waste of time.

Well, coming back to the mango - Afonso de Albuquerque, a Portugese general and military expert brought the variety from Portugal and introduced the same in this Konkan region. Despite the fact that de Albuquerque was helping build the Portugese to establish colonies and conquer various territories, one cannot but help wondering if the Portugese had not invaded the Konkan region, we would have been deprived of this delicious and delectable fruit. Thinking of tastes and food, it is quite sinister of these countries to leave their mark, that too, an unforgettable mark in the country. I don't know how many can actually associate the Portugese and the Alphonso mango but I guess that food and the various ingredients were the primary cause that lured the foreigners to Indian shores - the abundance of spices and the range of plants available for consumption made the guests overstay their hospitality and invariably become the land owners and then rulers of the land.

Not only the Alphonso, India owes to the Portugese many such items that have become commonplace in our kitchen -chillies, vinegar, potato, tomato to name a few. How much ever,  we may bemoan the fact that they destroyed the ethos of the land and made slaves of Indians, we can never ever forget their contribution to the Goan and Indian cuisine.

Thus saying, I bow to Afonso de Albuquerque for giving us the Alphonso, which is named after him but not without despising his ambition to conquer the whole world!

Visions around me

Mandovi serenely flowing

A hoary tree at Campal

A wee sun bird toiling at its nest (Spotted outside my window in my garden)

Three different pictures taken at different places make me come alive with the vision that surrounds and uplifts me. I feel glad to be able to partake in the beauty that without any effort is presented to my sight.

Clevage, cats and fish

If you have visited the fish markets of Goa, then the title would not make your mind wander away. The markets are a 'must see' place if you are keen on experiencing a slice of the Goan way of life and believe me there is more than fish here. Well, if you are a fussy vegetarian who cannot ingest the smells and sights of slaughtered sea creatures, then I suggest you stroll in the beaches and update your Facebook status with sun, sea and sand and of course you spoiling it all with a wide grin! No offence, please.

When I first stepped into the market, the assault on my eyes and senses were incredible. I loved what I saw is an understatement. Of course, the smell was overpowering but so is culture! Fish - big, small, medium, white, yellow, orange, black, and the shapes and the variety was indeed a treat. And added to the fishes, crabs and prawn were the fisherwomen - buxom, garrulous, colourful, gold laden and flowers on their hair. They were a picture to treasure. And some had cleavages that could be mistaken for a tunnel - dark and deep. Some of my friends tell me that the cleavage sells more fish if the customer is a man. Well, do we actually need to hear it to know it! And if someone asks for a discount, then . . . the rest is history!

Oh oh . . . did I also mention cats. They dot the entire market and again we find, striped, plain, dotted, black, brown, white, black & white, brown & white, black & brown - They either sleep, eat or longingly stare at the fish and almost always their wait is rewarded. I must say that the cats are fat and lazy. Each one has a favourite spot at the market which can either be at the foot of the fish monger or the spot where the fish waste are thrown or on the lap of the woman/man. People and cats love fish in equal measure in Goa --- some like it raw while some like it hot!

Mario Miranda's depiction of a fish market in Goa

On one side of the market are men who cut the fish for customers for a price of 20 rupees and often while at the job, they strike a conversation either about fish - the cutting and cooking or about life in general and while the tongue utters the hands cut. Their knives, which is a prized possession makes smooth slices of the fish. Some salivate just by watching the fish being cut - Food like sex is a very personal and intimate act and knowing one's taste is the key to enjoying the process.

This reminds me of the film that I watched this afternoon, A Hundred Foot Journey which discusses the culinary experience of a young and handsome Hassan Kadam who enjoys and savours food that he goes on to becoming a Michelin chef. Every time he held an ingredient, I could see that his senses were aroused and delighted - nothing short of an orgasm. Well, I did say that food and sex were not quite different.

So, when food and sex can be mentioned in the same sentence, why not fish and cleavage (too much of Freudian symbols, I reckon ;) )

Image: Internet