Madras Music Season

I was forced into learning Carnatic music as a child. I think it will be quite safe to assume that most kids are forced into doing various things when they are young in the name of 'Culture'. For me and my sister, it was two sessions of music per week. I was the sincere one. I would practise between classes and try to perfect the high notes. My sister (whose real interest lay in dance) just could not be bothered. She would liberally use the generic terms 'not well' to define her continuous state of disinterest. We had some interesting tutors: some who did not last beyond few sessions, few who always wanted more fees and ONE who stole Reynolds ball point pens from our house (I was an eye witness). However, it all ended rather abruptly when I was 11 and the family couldn't find a suitable substitute to the pen stealer...

My interest in Carnatic music caught on when I spent 5 years of my life in Australia. I had few cds as part of my 'home sick' box and would play them over and over again while studying. I fell in love with Ganesh-Kumaresh, Bombay Jayasri, T.V.Sanakaranarayan and Sanjay Subramanium. Shashank's flute sessions were ideal for mathematics sessions. Everytime I came home for holidays, I would try to get to at least one session of my favourites and soon I had seen Sanjay (if I may call him that) LIVE! I didn't know anything about the music- I just found their voices/instruments soothing.

I am now in Madras after many years for the Music Season. It's an incredible treat! I get to listen to live music just around the corner. Once again, I don't know anything about the music. But I am loving being her and being part of the festival. Today I saw T.M.Krishna live in Ananta PadmanabahaSwamy Kovil Auditorium. It was fantastic! He was fantastic and so were his accompaniments. The only drawback was the insane crowd and the lack of proper seating for most of the two hours. The crowd was a mix of the young and the old (mostly) and NRIs and music teachers. I couldn't help but notice a certain level of pretension among the crowd. I don't mean to be offensive but I found it very amusing. I have noticed in the past week of concerts that there are the 'genuine' listeners and the 'pretentious' listeners. The latter category is the one which starts bobbing their heads and mimicking the thallam even before they are seated in their chairs. They usually fall into my generation of listeners- the ones who probably see Carnatic concerts as 'their dose of elitist culture'. I acknowledge that I may be completely wrong in my assessment but I realize that I better start 'genuinely' learning about this music I am so fond of. Otherwise I may indulge in the overuse of adi thallam- the only one known to me.

My Swades: We, The People Moment

Last night I was continuing my love affair with 29C. The bus was the right quantity of full (or should I say empty)? I was observing the masses around me and going over the rules of the unwritten 'Bus Code' i.e. in the event a particular seat falls vacant the person standing exactly adjacent to that seat has complete claim over it. Of course you can choose to give up that claim to someone more deserving but hey, who thinks like that nowadays?

I had received the right signals from the 'outgoing' passenger and just when I was gearing up to be seated I observed an older woman (lets call her X) to my right. I knew I had to give up my claim. It's that ingrained goodness from the family I have been brought up in. Sigh! So instead I was patting myself on the back and feeling proud of my selflessness when I was pushed onto Woman X by Woman Y ( from left). She pushed, she shoved and she was seated.

Empty seat again but further back. I rushed over and sat down for exactly two minutes only to give it up to another old woman Z. They were out to get me! She offered to hold my bag while I stood their pretending to read my book. Half way home, I finally sat guilt-free. A woman got onto the bus and gave me her child to hold. Woah! How am I supposed to explain to mommy that I am not very child- friendly? They scare me! I had no choice, so I sat there with a bag on one knee and the kid on the other. The little one had special fountain ponytails for the outing and these were permanently in my nostrils. Then it happened that out of body experience that makes you see the humour in it all. But instead I was Shahrukh Khan having one of those ridiculous We, The People Moments.

All India Dog Services

A total of 26 canines from different Dog Squads of Railway Protection are vying for a place in the 5-member squad to represent the Railway Protection Force in the coming weeks. The selection event began with an obedience test followed by explosives and scent detection tests, hurdles and obstacles clearance and searching for clues among a group of people among others- The Hindu.


In a world where competition is a word an infant learns, it's quite amusing that even cute-looking labradors are part of the insane rat race to get a job! I wonder how many hours of sniffing Lassie put in to get the gold medal?

29C

324 sq.kms is India's population density. I wonder how much it would be inside an MTC bus at 8 a.m? The window seat in front of the condutor's has been my favourite haunt for years. Maybe because it is the highest seat in the entire bus or the ease of getting a Rs.4 ticket. Whatever the reason, everyday I am lured to that particular seat and everyday I am partially deaf from his screeching whistle.

So it happens, the daily routine of standing near three 29Cs neatly lined up in Besant Nagar's Bus Terminus. Few school children, many office goers and unemployed me. We look around nervously at any sign of movement. Our eyes shift from the tea stall where the staff are taking a break to the buses themselves. A false alarm! One of the drivers is always changing a sign board: Normal to Express (Rs.6). Momentary panic among the crowd, few venture towards him to ask if the bus plans to leave anytime soon, his nonchalance says it all. So we are all back at our assigned spots. Waiting and watching....

My day is directly influenced by whether or not I get my favourite seat. The days when I spend an extra two minutes eating my toast cost me dearly. I am either left standing or I get the dreaded aisle seat. The latter is worse. In a country with more than a billion people, I can only imagine how precious space is, so if at all you find yourself bending your neck to fetch something from your bag, forget about a straight neck. For the rest of the journey, you are caught in an uncomfortable forward pose with someone's elbow, forearm, hand or bag where your neck is supposed to be.

What fascinates me most are the members of the 'Anti-B*& Strap Prudish Society' (to be PC). This seems to be every other woman traveller on the bus who has taken it upon herself to save her fellow sister from an unruly b*& strap that might just be peeping out of your kurta, t-shirt or blouse. The routine goes something like this: your attention is caught by someone touching your arm, they then take their index finger and tap their right/left shoulder depending on which side the danger is. The appropriate behaviour from your part will be a look of complete horror as you shy away and pull your apparel closer to your body. Or if you are like me- you laugh out loud!

I have tried on occasions to read the newspaper, to hold as many bags as humanely possible (of other people's) and to avoid getting completely deaf. I have also tried to keep my calm when people use me as a table or while dealing with eve teasers. But at the end of the day, I love the empty bus which drops me off outside Besant Nagar's community centre. Worth the Rs.8 roundtrip :)

Welcome Home!

I had an epiphany yesterday. A complete stranger caught up with me to ask if I had just moved to Chennai and when I clarified my residential status, he beamed and said " Welcome home then!"

I hadn't realized this on my own and needed reminding from a stranger. I am BACK home-Madras (Chennai) and it is only just hitting me. After six years of being away and living out of suitcases, and living in interesting share houses, I have finally come back to my home, my family and my friends.

Feels like I have come full circle....

'It was a city of ponds and lakes?'

Mr.Vaidheeswaran's interview on Old Madras in Metro Plus was a real treat to us youngsters. Having been brought up in a very different Madras to the one he describes, I am intrigued to know how the city looked back in the day. I have been a resident of Besant Nagar ever since I came into existence and my life revolves around certain parts of the Elliots Beach, Adyar (on account of my educational institution) and maybe Nungambakkam (once in a while).

My paternal great-grandfather was apparently an influential man and owned a lot of property on C.P.Ramaswamy road- the Rasi building and surroundings to be precise. Born several decades later, I missed out on these old properties and have become accustomed to my maternal side's reliable housing board flats. So Besant Nagar to me became something like Swami's Malgudi.

The first time I heard about Fort St.George (which should have rightfully been in History class) was from a German friend. Embarrassed that a foreigner had to tell me about my own hometown, I ventured to North Madras in 2004 to volunteer in a shelter home for street kids in Tondiarpet. 6D was my vehicle as it wound down Beach road, Madras Port, Fort St.George....till it dropped me off at my desired stop. In fact, I was so excited to have made it through to 6D's last stop at Toll Gate once. I was, however, expecting to see a massive Gate leftover from colonial times but had to be satisfied with the bus stop's signboard.

For my generation, the suburbs of Madras have forever been associated with popular hangout spots. Mylapore-Saravana Bhavan, Nungambakkam-Ispahani Centre, Mount Road-Spencer Plaza and Marina Beach with Citi Centre. While my Patti would describe the Grand Old Music Sabhas in the backstreets of Mylapore, my only reference point is Idlys in Saravana or the Korathi beads I can pick up off the street vendors.

Now that the weather is getting a little bit bearable-I am wondering if I should sign up to volunteer in Anna Nagar so I get to see a little bit more of Pazhaya Madras.

The Curious Case of Monkey-Boy

Indian festivals apart from being noisy and colourful succeed in stripping you off any extra cash you had stashed away under your pillow. The frequent visitors (not including family) make sure that you pay for everything from a clean road to an ironed shirt. I am referring to people who do their collection rounds on a Diwali weekend- from the sweeper lady, to the milk man to the watch man three streets away from your apartment. One such visitor was a young lad in his early twenties dressed as the Mighty Lord Hanuman himself.

It is not uncommon to see people dressed as Gods, singing hymns and asking for money. But it is uncommon to see an old lady telling off a God because he was getting the words of his hymn absolutely wrong. This old lady was my dear old Grandmother. While my Grandfather will have NONE of it when it comes to giving people money for their tuneless songs, my grandmother loves to collect Rs.2 coins just for such occasions. What happened that morning was quite amusing for everyone around except maybe for the Lord himself.

"Gurur Brahma, Gurur Vishnu.............."

A deep voice sung the Gurur Brahma hymn a couple of blocks away. As the voice grew louder and approached our ground-floor apartment, my grandmother's ears perked up as she collected her coin and made for the door. She called out to the the monkey-boy dressed in his finery (from my perch at the window, his costume looked quite impressive). She then asked him to repeat his slokas slowly several times (as if he was on detention) and then proceeded to let him know he had got most of it wrong. The poor lad's painted face turned a deeper shade of pink as he stammered something and ran for his life with his tail between his legs...

Having successfully hurt the Lord's feelings I wondered if he had climbed a tree to sulk for the rest of the afternoon?

Happy Deepavali!