all sound and light...

The mind numbing cold of December makes one do rather silly things, especially the 'improving one's mind' kind of activities. Our family went, en masse, for the son et lumiere show at the Red Fort. The good folks at the fort take their work literally - only sound and light, no shadows or anything to add dimension. At least we had different colour lights. Anyhow, it rambled on about the fort was built by Jahangir (I think) and how the women of the fort were in charge of the place once a week.....

Then after Aurangazeb the place went to the dogs for the following Mughals were weak, insipid, alcoholic louts. Like the one who kept drinking (we heard him) inspite of news that some invaders or the other were descending on Delhi. All he would say amid his drunken orgy was that Delhi was still far away. Our favourite lout was this unnamed guy who, according to the Voice, fell in love with a common Slut. At this point the sound system's delicate sensibilities were overcome and it shut down for a while. After smelling salts were administered, the system recovered but started all over from the beginning. We half expected it get horrified by the S word again, but it overcame its embarrassment most manfully and continued without a glitch.

I also went for a play about Pushkin written by some Indian woman and dramatized by somebody else. It was called Pushkin's last poem (or was it letter?). With some sad acting and even worse directing, it was one of the most pathetic plays I've seen. They had this narrator who would smirk and explain the scene, and then the actors would enact whatever she said! So silly. And the play certainly did not increase my knowledge of Pushkin or his work except in that he seemed to conform to The Artist Rule, ie., all great artists should love a woman but not be with her, instead they should be womanizing drunks who no one understands and everyone persecutes. And their genius gets recognised posthumously.

The wiggle mama...and others

People do the oddest things while driving...perhaps they think they are invisible. This portly mama in front of me, on his vespa/chetak was chugging along at 40 kmph when he suddenly did an excellent butt wiggle. So out of the blue was it that for a second my cousin, S and I weren't sure if we had actually seen the wiggle. A glance at each other told us we hadn't hallucinated. (UGH! Imagine, hallucinating about plump mamas doing a butt wiggle).

I do meet some interesting mamas don't I? Ohhhhhhh! An absolute gem of the mama breed was the one I met in Toronto....classic mama, he was.

This was way back in the good old days...2007. I was visiting Buffalo and Toronto in the height of tourist season - January. I was staying with family (as always). [An aside: whoever came up with that line about mallus in every corner of the world got it wrong. The original usage had to be extended R.S. Mani clan. This was for the those in the family or as they say in TN, "those in the family way"].

Anyhow, I was staying with family, having a great time freezing while exploring downtown Toronto and getting very familiar with every Starbucks in the area. One day, my aunt said we had to go for a seemandam- 'the loading of bangles and eating pure carbs' ritual for expectant mothers. So we dutifully went to some TamBram (Iyengar specifically) house nearby. And there I was introduced to a mama (more a thatha really) who had been dying to meet me. His family was from the same village as my dad and his dad knew my granddad....and so on. So he sat me down and went into an explanation (for the benefit of others seated nearby) of how we hail from the same village and how my granddad had 9 kids and one was a doctor.....and then he says, one of her (ie me) uncles scandalously got married to an....IYER! Gasp, the horror of it! I kept trying to interrupt and say, ahem..actually it wasn't my uncle, but my dad.

Gotta love the mamas. Just gotta.

No Irish lakes for me...

Went for a talk in IHC (India Habitat Centre for the non Delhites). It had the intriguing title, Early Irish Mythology and India. Since I wasn't aware of any Indian connections with ancient Ireland, here was an opportunity to learn. Reached the place a bit late but found nothing going on. Some Indians and presumably Irish folks were wandering around in their evening best. The talk started over an hour late. Apparently the Irish believe in IST too - Irish Standard Time.

Anyhow, sat through some random intro speeches including this really hilarious guy called Dr.K. He was to introduce the main speaker. It was so funny I actually noted stuff down. His gems,

.....rebuilding the mammaries of the existence of ancient peoples. [That was memories if you haven't got it yet.]

Then he went on about the main speaker's interest in antiquities,

"As an Indian, I can appreciate his interest in antiquities". [As if Indians have a patent on appreciating antiquities.]

After we (colleagues and I) derived much enjoyment from these words of wisdom, the main guy with an unpronounceable Irish name (and they say South Indian names are complicated!) started talking. Apparently the names of the father and mother gods in Irish and Indian mythology is very similar. Unfortunately I didn't catch the names due to his lovely accent. After that there was no Indian connection. He just rambled on about the Celts who had some bizarre myths. No Indian angle at all. So we got bored (no visuals for us lesser non anthropology creatures) and left rudely half way through the talk. I did hear a lovely myth which I just have to share:

This is straight out of Indian movies (ah that is the connection!) with a couple on the run from the guy's father who is a god of something or the other. The pair are in spot of trouble so the girl's father gives them this wondrous magical horse. The only catch (of course there is one!) is that the hero can't let the horse stop or urinate. If either of this happened all would be lost. Imagine the fate of these star crossed lovers being dependent on a horse not peeing.

Of course, the horse stopped AND peed. And this formed a spring from which arose a lake. This is the origin story for Ireland's largest lake apparently. As for the lovers, all was not lost. The girl's dad gave them another horse. Didn't find out if this is a loop story with endlessly repeating elements. Hopefully not for I wouldn't be able to go into any lake in Ireland then!

Rockin' the baarder...

We wisely skipped the rockin' pre christmas party, if it ever occurred (I have my doubts). Instead we waited for New Year (a more secular day) and partied in our own inimitable baarder style. That basically meant partying with all old coots we live with and a couple of non coot friends. And of course, the coots out danced, out drank, out partied us young things. One of them even got these crazy lights - indescribable!

Of all places, the baarder was happening!

Unfortunately, the next day I was subjected to the beret editing my work! He's on an editing spree- none have been spared. To celebrate this he brought out the smashed milk can hat. So now we have a Stevensonian stand off between Dr. Milk Can and the benevolent (comparatively) Dr. Beret. Fun n games! [No doubt that last exclamation point would be edited out with a stern 60 minute ramble if he ever saw this blog. And that would be followed by a pathetic me back on the job market).

In between all this we were mightily entertained by K chasing V around the office after supposedly digging his nose. V is notorious for her fastidious nature. Need I say more?