THE POT BELLY BARD - THERE IS NO TOMORROW FOR ME

Suck on my fingers and lick the plate clean

A burp here and a fart there to announce i'm pleased

"And where are your manners, Mister?" a frowned mum bellows

None left, 'cause there may be no tomorrow for me.

Clean the house and mop the floors

My legacy shall not be a dirty sock or a wet towel

Remove the cobwebs of life and dust off problems

Worry not, there may be no tomorrow for me.

Hug my friends and kiss my family goodbye

Make love to my darling until evening, and then some;

I shall ride into the sunset

Stare at the road and lights, as if there is no tomorrow for me.

Spread my arms wide and howl into the moonlight

Strip down butt naked and run on all fours

"Pray, what ailing animal might that be?"

And to the bemused Bard i say, there is no tomorrow for me.

RESTAURANT REVIEW: SUJATHA RESIDENCY, 1961

This place is nestled in Bannimantap; even the directions to this place are nestled between the branches of trees and is dwarfed by its huge cousin, Nalpad Residency. 1961 is the bar and restaurant in the premises, apparently named because it was started in 1961.
As you enter, the open bar greets you. The lighting is low, enough to see the food but a strain to read the menu. Mangalore tiles on top ensure a cool atmosphere, so cool that the office drinking party, a strong 30 in number, decided to drown in more beer and wine. There is no separate seating for family.
We were joined by a couple with a teenage daughter, and even one on a date; soon ladies who had boarded at the lodge showed up. Including mum, it was unnerving experience sharing the hall, huge though it was, of drunken middle aged, bored of wives men.
The seats are comfortable, minus the lounge chairs and the music is the 70s oldies. This was perfect for dad, and his alcohol guzzling species at the back. The fish is exorbitantly priced, and thanks for having a chef for a dad, we were saved from being taken on a ride. For starters, we ordered prawns kolivada. A good dish, though we could not figure out why no accompanying sauce was served. Tangdi Kabab was next on the menu, instead Chicken gravy was served. We could not help but look helplessly, as the dish cooled down.

After reminding the waiter to serve us dinner plates, we finally got the main course along with Mutton Rohangosh, Roti basket, Chicken schezwan served with thick gravy; none of them went with the behemoth amount of rotis. The only saving grace was that the meat was cooked well. Probably spices from 1961 were used, as flavors were missing and lacking in punch. The momos were good.

For 120/- rupees, the Roti basket is more than worth the money. The waiter failed to inform us that it was suited for five or more people, not for the hapless three of us. We could finish barely half of the options, from butter naan to variety of paranthas. The smell of alcohol and that infamous 'drunken breath' wafting through the air made this eat-out unpalatable. The untrained staff forgot to refill water, and the bill was more delayed than the main course. But it was understaffed in the first place anyway.

1961 is good enough for a Bachelor's party, divorce party, office party, or to drown your sorrows in Scotch. The wash room, with its many patrons, smells like Oktoberfest. The prices are minimal, and smoking is allowed, with free peanuts and you can even throw-in a few jhatkas and matkas.

The risk is in your woman being mistaken for Munni and Sheela. Better avoid it during weekends, unless your lady is alright with alcohol. The boy cleaning your tables, who i'm pretty sure is under 18, is not a welcome sight. This Shikar ki pukaar den is only a once gone, forgot-about-it affair.

Bar

Roti basket

THE POT BELLY BARD - I AM A PHASE IN YOUR LIFE

How could i not fall for you?

You are a beautiful soul

Though bodies prettier than you have met these eyes

I am but a phase in your life.

I'm not the first chap you've befriended

Nor the last you will caress and hold tight

But in this moment, these fingers are the ones you have locked

Too bad, i'm only a phase in your life.

You've shared your dark secrets

Tales so deep that our eyes couldn't blink

This burden shall be mine and be buried with me

 Like your mascara for the night,  i'm just a phase in your life.

Now we sit next to each other

You brood over the sunset and life, while i on you

Certain you seem of an unpredictable future

While i'll be your history, just a phase in your life

Years from now, destiny shall pit us against each other

A time when age has grasped your face, and wisdom mine

"Do you know her, oh wandering monk?" a Bard shall ask

Not anymore, shall i sigh; I was just a phase in her life.

KARIYA I LOVE YOU

Duniya is a must watch movie. One of its most memorable songs is Kariya I love you...

The songs strikes a chord with dark skinned people, be it South Indian or those who could not afford sunscreen. 

Recently, on Change.org, an online petition signing website, someone launched a petition against misleading advertisements, specially the male fairness promoting ones. Shahrukh endorses the Nivea Fair and Handsome, and proclaims using it will enable one to become like him. Shahrukh, in one of his first roles on TV as a soldier, did not look like a guy using deodorant, let alone a fairness cream. Same goes for the Old Spice ad. The original black dude, who forced American women to unseen fantasies, has been replaced by Milind Soman, fit for the housewives and aunties. The uncles are left fuming, at the words and the tea, wondering where why the actual tea is not served. 

More embarrassing are the kids at weddings. Camera phones savvy, they speak their head out. "Uncle, you are not visible in the camera. You're too dark." When a looks-conscious uncle asked why his pictures were not there in the wedding album, pat came the kid's reply: What can the camera do if you're dark?

The uncle has been conspicuous by his absence.

The ads show young men ashamed, holding an umbrella (a yellow one for some reason) and hiding from girls. Well, its these ads that we run away from. Using women's fairness creams is told as pansy. Clumsy me! lest i'm seen at the neighborhood store buying Ponds or Fair and Lovely.
One of the lines in the film's song asks us to forget the people and adopt the whole world as home. Maybe we dark men should do just that, switch off the TV or change the channel and unite against this tirade of fairness creams. We must put our foot down and ask our women to accept us for what we are. Love is not color blind, but should not emphasize this contrast too. Women should accept us for our 50 shades of grey, and black, all hues in between included.
My dear ladies,proclaim your love to your man, warts, dark skin and all, humming "Kariya i love you."

THE POET BELLY BARD - SOMEBODY WAKE UP THE BARD

It's 60+ years of Independence

The freedom fighters have long gone

For the problems have replaced our anthem, that is now just a song

Somebody wake up the Bard

Our sister has been raped

My friend molested and young daughter pregnant

My wife hasn't returned home yet

Somebody wake up the Bard

Onions have replaced gold

Whistleblowers silenced and corruption knocking on our door

Nights spent around candles and in tears

Somebody wake up the Bard

The news anchors are screaming

Colors have replaced truth in the papers

You, me and the random citizen is confused

Somebody wake up the Bard

We need words that move nations

Passions stirred and emotions flowing

For the youth, child, old and the unborn to be marching

Somebody wake up the Bard

THE POT BELLY BARD-JUST LIKE PATTON

I'm watching you

As you lean to copy the answer

I give you a hard stare

Just like Patton

Stealing a quick glance

You indicate where you're stuck

I'm right there and derail your tracks

Just like Patton

You look nervous and hopeless

You've not studied well and missed notes

You hope that i was anything but a strict invigilator

I am just like Patton

Whispering to a friend

A number, a word or a phrase;

I show up and bark at your face

"Gosh!" you say, "He's just like Patton"

Wipe that smirk and smile

Close your ears from my words of abuse

I've caught you red handed and white faced

Fear me, cause i'm just like Patton

I'll pull you by your collar

Drag you by your tie

Face my anger and wrath i shall shower upon you

A storm i'll bring, just like Patton

Ask me for additional sheet and you shall receive

Ask me for extra time and you'll get it

Benevolence and grace i shall show on you

Cause i'm human, just like Patton.

APNA AASMAN, UNKA ZAMEEN

I was impressed by the movie, "Apna Aasmam". It did lack some directorial finesse, both then again you have Irrfan Khan, Shobhana, Anupan Kher and a good supporting cast. You could watch it once. It's about a differently able boy, an artist in the making, transforming into a freakish math genius, with the use of hocus-pocus drugs, supported by his parents and a shady doctor. This part is rather unrealistic. However, it is a happy ending and the boy becomes a painter again.
It did strike many chords with me. Like the movie, my parents worried about my stammer. My mum was concerned, but dad was busy in business (i did find the lines blurring between real and reel life). My mum took me to various doctors, some who agreed to and assured magic cures, with treatments ranging from herbs to swallowing live fish. I was too young to understand what was going on. Teenage, the questions, and an identity crisis made my stammer worse. The respite, of all the places, was found in a government office. A doctor who had come to renew his driving license met me at the Regional Transport Office. He was a Speech Therapist. I picked up within a few weeks and surprised him with my recovery. My parents felt it was odd, but thankfully, they supported me, especially mom.
My stammer did come back, but thankfully, another doctor was at hand.
During this period, i could not understand the structures and formula of Life Science. I had enrolled in Biotechnology, Microbiology and Biochemistry. It was the fad five years ago, and though i chose Journalism and English literature, i was pooh-poohed and made to join B.Sc. It was only due to the support and encouragement of teachers that i managed to pull through. All the text books by foreign authors gathered dust. I could not understand why facts of life had to based on Darwinian Theory. Facts based on theory? How does that work!?
My dreams could not be realized on the grounds my family built for me.
I was lost.
I came out of Bachelors in Science with good marks, and surprisingly, with no back papers. Before i could think of my next move, my mother had already called up Microbiologists, Bio technologists and got the admission papers, with one lakh rupees in cash for admission; i could not take it anymore. I rebelled.
What followed were days of arguments and lectures. Many were surprised at my behavior, that i was talking back and giving my opinion. I gave a piece of my mind to my relatives too, and they beat a hasty retreat, mumbling and grumbling of course. A compromise was reached. If i could not make it to Masters in Arts, i would be joining Masters in Microbiology. I agreed.
Lo and behold! handwork and lady luck were in my favor and i got through the entrance exams for Journalism at the University of Mysore. At the end of two years, not only had i found myself as a writer, i was a gold medalist too, a first in the family.
Like the movie, my story had a good ending too. People accepted me for what i am. I still do get chided for changing tracks, but then, it is not their dream. I weave my dreams in my own sky. And i wish the same for you too.

JUMBO CIRCUS IS HERE

At 13 years old, i was fascinated by the huge tent, wild animals dressed in props, and an elephant being more famous than Sachin Tendulkar in cricket. Fire breathers, popcorn and clowns made me gasp and giggle.
Now, at 24,watching Sachin Tendulkar retire and some animals banned from circus, i got a chance to relive my memories.
Every year, Jumbo Circus comes to the city for Dasara. They pitch their tent behind the zoo. My family has an interesting history related to circus. Gemini circus, the big daddy of all South Indian circuses, had their tickets printed with us. In return, we got free passes and a chance to get up close and personal with the lions. I believe Jumbo circus is an offspring of Gemini.
The crowds have never gone down, although the sheer size of the circus has. The tickets are priced from 60-200. Me and my friend chose the 200 bucks, bang in the front row with the best view. And what a show it was.
Nostalgia hit me. I had sat on my father's shoulders and my mum had fed me popcorn. Those memories came flooding back. To this day, a bell announces the start of the show. The height and size of the ring has reduced, but the artistes still make a grand entrance, accompanied with live music, the musicians perched on top of the entrance.
Beautiful girls, in short, glittering clothes made their mark on the hearts and minds of the audience. From doing a wheelie on a bicycle to riding shotgun on a horse, these ladies can put your girlfriend to shame, and make WonderWoman feel like Hooters.
Some of the performances have remained the same, like the fire breathers, and the body contortionists. Judging by the age marks on their faces, even the artistes have remained the same, a sad reminder of life in a circus aka Jeena yahan marnaa yahan (Mera Naam Joker).
The jokers continued to entertain the crowds; the dwarfs, misfits of society employed from the days of Barnum and Barnum. Forced to laugh for three shows, and two months the circus stays in Mysore. Yes, the elephant playing cricket was there too, the part where i cringed and refused to take a picture. On one side, there was the Ambaari, and on the other, this regal creature reduced to playing footsie amidst a rowdy crowd. The camels were there, and the sight of the trainer holding a baton made them obey his commands, a sign of cruelty and rule through fear. The same was with the dogs and the parakeets, and the horses. A young performer dressed in purple tights fell off the horse, and walked away with her ego bruised. The horse received a prompt kick on his heels, a reason why i hate to see animals in circus.
I was pleased that the biker in his cage of death stunt still exists. The adrenaline rush you get out of it is immense. No question of life insurance for these guys. You either come out, or you're buried in the same ground where your tent was pitched. Some other stunts were there too, with new ones being how to change a curtain, dangling 20 feet in the air. I fell in love with the girl who performed this act.

The trapeze artists, as usual, left you gasping for air with their moves. One more reason was the lack of ventilation inside the tent. But, it was a good show indeed.

The live music is those of old songs, which remind you of the time when circus was the flat screen and HD of yore, artists were our heroes and their acts, as close to Gods power. The Mysore audience, used to the laser show at Bannimantap, refused to applaud and walked out before the act was completed, though many had strolled in late. It is easy to please the Roman Legion, the American President and the Russian Premier, but not the Mysore crowd.

When you go to the circus, and please do, take the 200 bucks ticket, if possible; the money ensures that you have an excellent view and they get to feed their children, the animals and themselves. You are cribbing about the space you have to share with your sibling, take a look at the the artists's tents....privacy is a luxury.
The girls would have preferred studying Arts, Literature or Science, rather than swallowing kerosene, biting on to ropes, juggling a football in short skirts; but they do it. The reality of life is in your face.
 So do visit the circus. And please applaud after every act, even if you feel you've seen better on Travel and Living. Without your love and appreciation, rewinding those tapes might be our only option of watching a circus.

MOVIE REVIEW-GRAVITY

Combine Discovery's I Shouldn't Be Alive with Apollo 13, with a dose of Avatar to it, and Gravity is what you get; brilliance, elegance and breath taking visuals.
For 160 bucks at DRC, it is worth every penny. You can read about who shot the movie, how, why and with what from other sites. But here is why you should watch it..
In order to know how insignificant your life really is, and to always see the "Big Picture", it is essential to get an outside perspective of things. In this case, your perspective is from space. And boy does it look good!
Of the countless 3D movies, it is one of the best to make use of the technology. It gives you the feeling of being right next to the astronauts servicing the Hubble telescope. The camera changes angle smoothly, as if the transition is transcendence. One moment you are inside the helmet of the astronaut, the next you are dodging a shrapnel heading straight for the International Space Station (ISS). The view of the earth, with the lights on and the Amazon, is something you have to see on the big silver screen, and not on your plasma one.
The background score for this is amazing. It is exactly what is needed to create the aura and the panic when you are tumbling in space. From ISS getting clobbered to your escape pod getting tangled, the background score, or the lack of it in some cases (no music in vacuum, remember) is apt.
That Sandra Bullock and George Clooney are paired is amazing in itself.  Clooney plays a brief, yet crucial part. Any woman would feel the Universe is hers when you have George Clooney, and Gravity gives you that, literally and metaphorically. Dialogues are another important part, and the deadly combo makes you even irritated when there is an intermission. You just DO NOT want to leave your seats. Sandra's role as the sole survivor reminds you of Sigourney Weaver's role as Dr Ripley in Aliens.
Gravity is made to lure the Indian audience and to ensure Rajeev Masand gives at least 4 stars out of 5 for this beauty. There is an Indian on board, speaking in an "what Americans think is Indian" accent, and eventually, you get to see his face (you may not like this scene). There is also George Clooney appreciating the sunrise on the Ganges. Guess someone should bring him down to earth and show how it really shines, corpses and chemicals adding to the glitter.
The attention to detail and use of common sense is greatly appreciated. The fact that space suits are not made for swimming, fire floats like bubbles in space; the makers read a lot and did their homework on this one. Yes sir, they did.
Do watch this movie. It's not just for nerds, nor just for kids, nor for Stephen Hawking fans. Its also for those who love cinematic excellence, are fascinated by earth, visuals, or just want to learn never to give up, even if you are lost in space.

THE VALUE OF A GOLD MEDAL

I was eagerly awaiting the results of my Masters. This would open up a world of opportunities for me, or so i thought. The advertisement industry did not mind my marks, but respected my talent. It was a different matter that it became a major lesson in my life about self-respect. (Read about it: http://murgibaba.blogspot.in/2013/02/nightmare-on-first-job-street-part-1.html)

From there, i tried joining call centers and data entry jobs. I would take my marks card, and return home dejected. "You are over-qualified for the job", "Why don't you try in the media sector?". I needed a job, not advice. Money was my priority, and i did not want to be a burden on my parents. The more i ran behind money, the worse it would get. Depression and laziness crept in. Advice from all quarters poured in, and i became increasingly short on temper and heavy on body fat. I had rejected jobs at reputed educational institutions on gut instinct, and faced flak for it. Finally, i landed in a call center. I had accepted this as my future, or lack of it, as it was from 12 AM-5 AM shift.
My friend called me and informed me that my name was on the Gold Medalist list. It is always released a few months after the results are out. It is usually mired in controversy, politics and boot licking. I had got it based on sheer hard work and was pleased with myself. A night into the job, i walked out of the cabin, leaving behind a furious and fuming HR.
As news spread, calls poured in. No one expected that a BSc graduate, who went against the norms and joined Master of Arts, would end up with a gold medal. I was taken back myself. I had to start from scratch. I had no idea of Journalism, while my classmates had done BA, Honors or had work experience. I had to use the principles i was taught in Science and apply them to Arts, the most important of them being what my teacher, Mrs Syeda Farhana had taught me: never accept anything less than perfect. The same teacher had sparkles in her eyes when she saw the gold medal. She was pleased, as were my other teachers.
My sister was so happy for me. She supported me throughout my Masters. My mother ensured every house in the neighborhood heard of my achievement, even the helps and drivers. She went on a temple thanking spree.
Advice turned to alliance, and Shaadi.com seemed a joke with the sheer amount of proposals i was getting. Neighbors poured in with sweets and congratulations. Guests at our restaurant were informed and they wished me luck too. I was on cloud 9.
On the day of the convocation, a year later, i was in line with my classmates. Crawford Hall echoed with applause as we made our way towards the podium. Anil Kumble, along with the Vice Chancellor was awaiting with our gold medals in hand. The Governor had left in the morning.
 I scanned at the hundreds of eyes looking upon us, and searched for mum too, and there she was, right in the front. I went up, took a deep breath and had a good look at the people. I wanted to savor this moment. Two years of hard work, and one year of struggle and depression had brought me to this moment. I squared my shoulders, folded my hands and bent down in respect to the dignitaries. I shook hands with all of them, and received my medal. As i stepped down from the podium, a huge sense of relief came over me, and i felt light. It was as if i was given a new beginning. I had found my way again.

THE 'S' WOMEN IN MY LIFE

S-wathi

S-hubha

S-hyali

For some reason, the most prominent women in my life have their names beginning with S. I have tried to rubbish it as co-incidence, but with the progress of time, more women show up in my life, with the S-tag.

My mum, Shyalini is my best friend, and financier (in that order). Her twin sister, my aunt, is named Salai Muthu. My sister is Kritika, though i call her lovingly as Sis.

My sis-in-law, epitome of simplicity and love, is Soundarya. My aunt is Shyali, and my cousins also have their name starting with 'S'. There's Shruthi, Shwetha, Shambhavi, Sumathi, Sumitha, Sukhruthi and many more. Yes, the other reason is there has been an explosion of girls in the family.

My friends and crushes too had and continue to have the 'S' factor, though i do not mix them. There is Subia, Shaistha, Swathi, Shubha, Sadiya, Serena, Sowmya, Shushma, Shreedevi and many more.

I guess even my wife would have her name starting from 'S', going by the series. I wonder how they never run out of names beginning with S. 

Here's to all the S-women in my life-past, present and future too.

THATHA IS DEAD, AGAIN!

"My thatha is dead, Sir", said the girl unapologetic ally, "I would not be coming for the classes next week."

"Didn't your thatha die last week?" shouted a boy from the last bench, and sent the class in peel of laughter.

Generations come and go, but the excuses are the same. Grandfathers are the first victims of lies and deceit. Their grandparents do not hesitate to kill them in the class, across the country.

Be it a Malayali or a Bihari, the child is taught from the very beginning that grandfathers are "disposable". A leave can be sanctioned on short notice at the very drop of a hat, or a body for that matter. This unity in diversity helps us ensure we attend weddings, birthday parties, house warming ceremonies and even those awkward 'girl-becomes-woman' occasions. It is another matter that Thatha is rarely invited at any of these events. Even if he did show up, with his his grumblings and moaning in attendance, we wish he were better off dead than alive.

Which brings us to the question, why only Thatha? Sure, the ajji (grandmother) is used, but news of her fictional death is kept for special occasions, or when the Thatha's death can be reincarnated no more, whether the actual grandpa is alive or not does not matter. Grandmothers, as Marvin (the baby cartoon guy) says, are the primary goodies givers, while mothers are the primary care-givers. So, Grandmothers cannot be taken for granted. Their sentiments cannot be hurt. Favorite sweets, snacks or biryani cannot be risked at the cost of one holiday. Hence, great care is taken to keep them alive, while they are alive.

Thathas on the other hand, are 'expendable'. Their stories can be replaced with 'Amar Chitra Katha', the pocket money they give is measly, you can hurt them and get away with sleeping on their lap. You are the sole custodian of their most dirty secrets, be it a collection of Playboy magazines, imported Cigars to be smoked when Grandma is away worshiping the Gods, and you are only one to witness the sneaky glances exchanged between him and the pretty young wife next door. Your Thatha has Hugh Hefner in his genes, and dil to abhi jawaan hai (the heart is still young). You can blackmail him and still have your cheek pinched with love and affection.

The recent Vodafone ad is proof of this fact. "For those you are young" is the tagline i believe and a proactive Thatha is the protagonist. It is only a matter of time before the teacher spots him as one of the 'walking dead' and gets the child to explain the confusion to the nation, and even bring Arnab Goswami on board to explain this national tragedy. Perhaps asking Modi why his political grandfateher, Advani was absent during important events would be food for thought.

A law may be brought about to ensure millions of Thathas are not killed across thousands of schools scattered across the country.

For now, i have to sign the letter of absence...'Granted leave of three days-Thatha is dead-Again'.