ஷவரம் பண்ணிக்கரதயும் உத்தியோகத்தையும் உட்டுட்டா, ஒண்ணும் வராது நோக்கு. மனச உட்டுட்டா மகா கஷ்டம்! Life goes on...

– Bhashyam Iyengar, in Hey! Ram.

Giggle, and fuck the bigil.

Another hike. Giggle. Uncontrollably. And, fuck the bigil. Hedonism, here’s coming to you.

Update (on Apr 23, 2007; 6:46 p.m.): Woo hoo and all that. (Currently listening to Siru Ponmani. Anything and Ilaiyaraaja, I say!)

The road that's taken

It was a weird feeling. She even found it a bit hard to shrug it off. None of them, her friends, colleagues, various acquaintances, seemed to bear that sort of boisterous mood that they used to when in her company those days – when she was still “available.” Their unrelenting and irrepressible attempts at humour, with occasional “successes” – she'd give a snobbish, miserly smile which was still strong enough to have them in restrained rapture, the unconditional approvals, the matter-of-fact acknowledgements, were all missing. Instead, now, they were totally unruffled, cordial, all smiles, wishing her “all the very best!” (on all her future endeavours, some insisted). No cute silliness, just gentlemanly demeanour.

All this seemed to affect her in a mild – of course – but inexplicable way. She even wondered the possibility of one of these men classifying his relationship with her as “platonic.” Ah, ‘platonic,’ the word she endlessly made fun of, in her mind.

Not her fault really, she’s just so used to all such jazz. What a queen she was during her college days! The guys who showed no shame whatsoever in openly contesting among themselves to “get her,” the girls who tacitly acknowledged her “superiority,” all those crazy proposals, proposals so tedious that they were masterpieces in their own right. And, all the while, she was so level-headed leaving more men floored in the process.

And, now, she has this man beside her, who, to be fair to him, is smarter than it usually gets. Somehow, she wished he tried, visibly enough, to qualify himself for this. But, he seemed to be in no hurry. Instead, he was busy recalling some not-so-dull in-jokes with his friends. (“Some of my jokes are so ‘in’ that only I laugh at them!” he quipped to her asking for excuse, in between. She laughed.) She shrugged the thought off, smiling at herself, and waved her hand joyously when her eye caught a close buddy.

In a few moments, when she was introducing him to that friend, she couldn’t help but wonder a little, “So, just this man. That's it?”

A very rough reminder

Oh, for god's frigging sake, the "controversial rain rule" that knocked out South Africa in the semi-final of the 1992 World Cup was NOT based -- I repeat, NOT based -- on the Duckworth-Lewis system.

Fuck pride.

"Now the night of the fight, you may feel a slight sting, that's pride fuckin' wit ya. Fuck pride! Pride only hurts, it never helps. Fight through that shit."

– Marsellus Wallace.

An all-time favourite line. Needless to say, "Marsellus Wallace was right." Always.

Faith

O Lord!! *In tears*

On existential wit and profundity

1. "Illingo. Idhu bigilu, idhu biskothu." - Kamal Haasan in Pammal K. Sambandham. No words for this. Just awesome.

2. "Chappathi chappathi thaan, rotti rotti thaan." - Nagesh in Nawab Naarkali. What sublime wit!

A ‘Ha!’ moment

My life takes a 360-degree turn every goddamn day. And, hell, it takes me along with it.
-0- on 07/06/2006 7:00:18 p.m.

Yours truly, more on this, at Chenthil’s.

[T]here's definitely something about going all around on what seems like a circular path and coming back to what seems like the same point, but still feeling that you must definitely be standing at a different point.[link]

This is the profound truth that I’ve been trying to express all along in this blog, and by far the profoundest thing I’ve said in it, staying true to the character.

Thank-you Note: Mukund and Chenthil.

A Political Post

No, no, I don't have a political viewpoint now. Not yet.

But, despite all my own self-proclaimed inanity, which I duly keep to myself, some things, which are at times political, infuriates me quite a bit and drops a pebble in my tranquil mind. And, of all such things, Mr. Anbumani Ramadoss is of the highest order. So, here's [via] Karan Thapar pillorying him just like I'd have liked to. I'd like to say something, though. The man isn't arrogant and stuff. He can't be. He's just silly and immature.
Not that there's anything wrong in being so, of course, but only if you keep one's ideas, children of one's very inventive imagination, and one's mindless servility to one's parent, to oneself and private gatherings of the likeminded.

Actually, I really wanted to catch this on television when I got to know that it was to be telecasted on Sunday, but somehow missed it.

Okay, my prime source of infuriation was his call for banning smoking in films. I mean, to waste the precious time of many a soul on something as silly as that!

I do mind, the Dude minds. This will not stand, ya know, this aggression will not stand, man.

And, while we’re at God’s grace

Check out Manoj's new Pre-1985 Ilaiyaraja Radio. Just awesome. (Yeah, yeah, the overwhelmed self wrote many a comment over there thanking him profusely.)

Awesome!

Radha! Radha, Nee Enge?

Just awesome, this one. Oh-so-beautifully sung! And, the violin! Just awesome.

Usually, one’s deaf to lyrics, but the lyrics of this song (Kannadasan) is superb too.

And, of course, this is from the same film that has one of one’s all-time favourites, an absolute masterpiece, sung by Yesu himself.

And, what do you possibly want one to add about Raaja? Is there a temple of Him somewhere? I mean, for God’s sake!

A plug

It’s not often I get to plug. So, here’s one.

Ranga, an ardent cinephlie who can quote from many a Tamil film at will, and a cousin of yours truly ^[1], has started a blog on, well, what else but Tamil Cinema.

டங்கன் முதல் மிஷ்கின் வரை…

The fellow dabbles in bloody so many things that I can’t possibly list them. Apart from films, he is a big fan of Sujatha, Cho, Crazy (not to forget that yours truly also is, oh so absolutely!) and S. Ve. Shekhar.

Now, I don’t mince words much when it comes to acquaintances, but, this man is pretty much the funniest man I’ve personally known.

In short, one points the readers towards much better reading. If the posts keep coming from there, that is.

[1] - Is this blog becoming a “family type” blog by the day? Time for some Lynch-esque posts to take over, eh?

A let-me-call-it-long interlude of absurdist hedonism

So, I, along with a bunch of jobless folks, went to Goa the last long weekend, basked in the beaches, laid down sodden in water for long, rode along the mountainous roads in bikes, reached places, and basked there, in turn.

In short, immensely enjoyed every moment of it, including the ones when I walked along the beach almost fully wet (and a bit Rum-ed too) for a couple of kilometers and came back past midnight. (And, yeah, the plain sit-and-stare-at-the-wall ones too.)

Like, for instance, here I'm examining a bottle of Smirnoff to see if that's where it lies.


And, a Leone-esque shot, albeit in a contrastingly picturesque spot.


A moment of clarity, is that?


And, this, I thought, was nice. No?


Umm, how about this?


And, here's the signature shot.



A lot of such priceless pics were taken. Some for the readers' discerning eyes.

Dining Philosophers

Author’s note: Like anything else in this world, there’s no pre-requisite per se for this post too. But, read this previous edition anyway, it’s life-affirming.


“Now, we all agree that you’ve become nihilistic, don’t we?” asked Vels addressing a grand audience of one person in one of those vegetarian restaurants where Sambar tastes, well, like it does in Tamilnadu and Vada (not Vadaa) doesn’t have coconut pieces ingrained in it.

Ashok is not a man who’d concentrate on his Sambar Vada (not Vadaa), much as he loves it, when posed with a question of such proportions, especially when he isn’t quite sure about the answer himself, like this one. In fact, that’s when he comes out flourishing with obscure drivel, dishing theories one after another. But, in this particular case, he chose silence and Sambar Vada (not Vadaa) over sublime nonsense for a few precious moments.

Then, very assuredly, he mumbled, “Huh? I am not nihilistic.”

Vels, a little perplexed, continued, “Damn you bastard! So, now, do you claim you believe in something? One of those times you even said you staunchly believed in bullshit and blah, trying to sound very cool and Woody Allen.”

“‘Positively, no,’ I should say.”

“Then, you are one.”

“But, I don’t believe in Nihilism either.”

“Another one of your failed attempt at quirky witty and whatnot one-liners. Now, I can’t bother too much to point out the absurdity in your logic, can I?”

“Don’t. I’ll do that myself.”

“Well?”

“See, I know it’s absurd. That’s exactly why I am not nihilistic.”

“You are just fooling yourself.”

“Right, that too.”

“What?”

“Yes, I am fooling myself, admirably well” – Vels started at this moment – Ashok snapped and continued, “I know, you are going to point out that how the hell would it work when I am aware of it.” Vels just nodded in anxious agreement.

Ashok continued, “It would work exactly because of that. I fool myself and I am so well aware of it, and when one’s so well aware of fooling himself” – Vels interrupted and finished, “He can’t fool himself anymore. That is all.” in a heavily M*A*S*H-influenced tone.

Just as Vels thought he had concluded the topic in an unexceptionable fashion, the hot Pongal Ashok had ordered arrived. As if to assert his winning, Vels dragged the plate by his side and gazed satisfyingly at the Pongal.

With a degree of composure that he had not feigned in months altogether, Ashok continued unperturbedly, “No. I fool myself – not to mention that I do that admirably well - and am so well aware of it, and because I am so well aware of fooling myself, I fool myself, um, very correctly. Yes, I know to fool myself very correctly, precisely, exactly. The perfection has come over the years.”

“Why do I feel that you never knew this darn crazy logic yourself just a few seconds before when I snatched your Pongal?”

“Right ho! If my reasoning was that spontaneous, it should be all the more appropriate.” Ashok closed the case, dignifiedly leaving the Pongal for his companion and deciding to have a nice Masaal Dosa (not Dosaa) for himself.

Thoughts on self-deprecation and suchlike

Self-deprecation is often quite misconstrued as a desirable quality that comes entirely out of unreserved humility. But, some discerning souls do see through it.

Chenthil, while talking about his very commendable attempt to write like this blogger (who incidentally can’t write for nuts) to showcase his ghost-blogging skills, had told me this:

Chenthil: I had to try hard to get that self deprecation (a superior form of snobbery)
me: hmmm.. ^[1]
Over Google Talk. Underlining the key content and adding pointer(s) to footnote(s) by yours truly.

Indeed! That was quite a neat, insightful, little take on a writing style usually left behind for flippant remarks. That got me thinking on what makes one bring in self-deprecation in one’s writing.

Yes, it’s certainly snobbery, a show of soft arrogance, soft enough to conceal it lest somebody see through it. In short, an act of sneering.

But, one sneers at self. And, that, one does, because one genuinely doubts oneself. And, when one doubts oneself, and very genuinely at that, it’s a sheer dilemma - or even worse, a totally tilted I-see-through-this-crap feeling - that makes one express one’s apprehension about the quality, or rather the lack of it, in what one’s writing.

It’s pretentious, of course. But, like in any other case of pretense, it’s not entirely that. And, nobody, including the sneerer himself, knows whether the sneer was befitting or overdone or plain boring patronization over oneself.

Taking a specific example, albeit quite a bad one, let me see why I bother to crack an arbitrary (bad) joke about my non-existent writing skills, time and again. Because, like Kierkegaard would have put when in deep slumber or deeper inebriation, I doubt myself!

To cut the long story short, snobs are basically very nice people, I tell you, especially if their EQ ranges from 5.7 to 5.9.

[1] - What else could one do at such moments but just “hmmm”?

A pointless clarification

Apparently, I was the “Bombay reader” of this blog.

On any day, I’d have been tempted to think it was only me ^[1]. But, as life would have it, my Site Meter stats thought those visits were from Bombay and I believed it. It was a nice joke on me, I thought. A proper “Thanniya Kudi” moment.

[1] - Though I had configured the tracker to ignore the IP where I blog from, and I don’t read my blog as often; or keep one of its pages open for a frightfully long time.

Oru konjam-chinna update (on 04th Oct, 01:45 p.m.): Oh dear! This post was to enlighten the readers about the “Bombay reader” if the previous revelation was a little murky. And, about the total bulb moment of my discovery that it was indeed me. And, look what some dear commenters have turned that into! Serious'aa, Onnume puriyala!

This long weekend will be spent in Goa. An orgy of sorts, drinking all day long, is in the offing. But, one's already in really high spirits. Mabbu glass'la'ya irukku? Mansula irukku!

Heard that the Bombay reader will be there too. Hmmm.

Dear other readers, as I found out on further stalking, the reader from Bombay is not actually in Bombay. He is, in fact, from Bangalore and has never been to Bombay. And, he is male.

Just a while ago, the reader from Bombay reluctantly confessed to have been reading my blog for a while, but vehemently pleaded innocence claiming that he always closed the browser window much too quickly. The Bombay reader also claimed, more vehemently, that he stays in Bangalore.

And, the bastard has a lot of coffee. (I always guessed that it was coffee, didn't I?)

Thus, I saw all the pieces of the puzzle in place, and him typing this post.

Dear reader from Bombay, I know you very reluctantly open my weblog in your browser and quite immediately step out for some hot coffee, or even to take a neat little nap wondering why would somebody write such stuff.

If that's indeed the case, and God forbid otherwise, please close the browser before you go, if it's not much work. Probably, doing that will close your session at my Site Meter tracker installed in my blog, rather than inadvertently let it make utterly false notes that you spend horrifyingly long time reading my blog.

SQoSSD #7 (or) From the Things I’ve been telling people dept.

Art is pretty unfair, I tell you, unlike software.