Brain Freeze
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
What Happened EasterDayThis Easter, mom and I decided to do something about us never attending Easter Mass. Now, there's a reason.. it starts at 2 am and stretches till 7:30.. Like our priest complains, EVERYONE turns up for Good Friday and only half turn up for Easter. For them, the Lord is never Risen.
So, we left for Kozencherry to my great aunt's place on Saturday. That evening, I sent everyone "Harpy Yeaster" messages and I got some back asking if I was drunk... Let the truth be out.. NO, but I WAS dead bored!
On Easter Day, we dragged ourselves to the church and I slept through the sermon, ("I am sorry, but there it is...Like it or lump it. Shrutz is like this!") After certain incidents I better not mention, we had the sumptuous Easter spread my Mom was too lazy to make. heh!
After eating all the ice-cream and cake my tummy could stand, putting my feet up on the sofa and watching TV, we left for Thiruvalla and my great-uncle's place. There, I met my 12 year old and 8 year old cousins...
First thing they say on seeing me, "Oh you're so tiny.."
Okay... maybe it wasn't off to an auspicious start. Things were only going to go down. They dragged me into the dining room and then started comparing heights... "Oh I am almost as tall as you are...", "Oh I am upto your eyes"...
Little Shruti wanted to disappear. Then, Sam (younger cousin) wanted to know how old I was.
"20"
"That's 12 years elder than me.. Oh, are you married yet?"
"No!"
"Why not?"
I decided offence was the best sort of defence, "Are you?"
"Don't be foolish, he's only 8." Said his sister, Monica.
I was properly abashed. "Okay, so do you have a girlfriend?"
"Oooh, ooh Akanshaaaa, Sam...!" Monica was getting excited.
Sam came back strongly with "Piyush is your boyfriend. Nyaa nyaa."
"Yuck. Piyush. he's so ugly."
"You're always talking to him. Monica and Piyush..."
"Sam and Akansha..."
And there I was, in the middle of the coffee-toffee argument, like the cat that swallowed the canary that had eaten the cream .....(I LOVE mixed metaphors)
Then, they ganged up on unsuspecting me, "What about you, chechi?"
"Me, poor tiny me? Guys are too scared... " I gave a sheepish grin.
Quick subject change. "Let's play Monopoly, chechi... You're good.."
"Monopoly? It takes like 3 hours..."
Anyway, the kids won out... and I won the game
Middle of conversation!
"Whoa, how many railroads do you have?"
"Fork over 100 $, please.."
"How clever you are."
"Thank you. I try."
"Why did you buy the utility? It's useless..."
"90 dollars..."
"3 hotels on Oriental etc."
That was when I realised I out to have let THEM win it... Ahh well, next time.
This is Tiny saying
So long suckers...
Friday, March 25, 2005
Roger!After a spate of seriousness (and the simple device of pulling out blogs from my computer), I've finally decided to come back... and with a bang.
First of all, I'd like to thank all of you who have voted me into oblivion, (in case you haven't voted, WHAT are you waiting for? The End of Days?) I never realised I was paying so many people... I must be rich. Oh well. I will remember that when my Income Tax statement comes the next time. Ahh. Who am I kidding. Love all you kooky people!
1028 blog views!!!! I feel GREAT!...
Then, today's the one week anniversary of my new computer. It's a great machine. (Any dissenters may contact Idon'tgiveadamnifAMDrocksandthisisaP4@gmail.com ) My modem has been changed, and finally things are stable, relatively. So, right now, I am on a completely different computer AND modem to what I was using for the last blog I wrote. Well, except for my ethernet card, but that doesn't count, does it?
So, this is Shruti signing off
Wednesday, March 23, 2005
Patriotism“Breathes there the man, with soul so dead
Who never to himself, hath said
This is my own, My native Land
......Living shall forfeit fair renown
And, doubly, dying shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung
Unwept, unhonoured and unsung.”
(Patriotism, by Sir Walter Scott)
Patriotism is one of the virtues extolled by politicians all over the world. Apparently, a Patriot (apart from being a missile), in these days of increasingly blinkered nationalism, is a person who believes “My country, always right, never wrong”. There is also an immense attack of what I’d like to call the Frog-in-the-well syndrome.
This is one of Swami Vivekananda’s stories. A frog used to live in a well, which was all that he’d ever seen. It was a good life. He satisfied both his wants of food and shelter. One day, his cousin from a river up north decided to visit the frog. The cousin was describing his life in the big river. The frog couldn’t believe his ears, when he heard what he thought were very tall stories. Finally, he couldn’t stand it anymore. he asked his cousin “This river of yours, how big is it?” so, his cousin replied “It is very large”. The frog took a small jump and asked “Is it as wide as this?”. The cousin replied “It is many more times wider than that.” The frog jumped as far as he could and asked the same question. the cousin persisted in telling him that the river was much wider. The frog gave the cousin a very big concession and decided to ask him if the river as big as his well. The cousin laughed and told him that the river was a million times larger than the tiny space he inhabited. The frog was insulted and said “Nothing is larger than my well. I don’t believe your pack of lies. I don’t think there is world outside that is half as big as where I live in..”
Now, this is a story that a politician would love. He (or she) would argue that the frog in the well was a true patriot. He loved his habitat and was prepared to defend its honour. Of course, the question of dying for his well does not arise, but that would be a mere technicality.
The ordinary person, of course, would detect a massive flaw in this reasoning. The fact that the frog hadn’t seen the rest of the world did not mean that there was nothing in the surroundings that was much bigger than his small well. The frog laboured under the delusion that the entire world revolved around him and his pathetic dwelling place. Unfortunately, in these times, that remains the problem with the vast majority of 6 billion humans walking this planet. The world may have become smaller, boundaries may have been erased in all but the minds of governments, but the mind of the “true patriot” remains closed to the notions of other cultures, other races, other mindsets, opinions and views.
At this juncture, we must pause to analyse and sift the rights from the wrongs. Have you been turning a blind eye when your nation did something detrimental to the cause of world peace? Do you support your “statesmen” in whatever policies they undertake, without reading the finer print or caring to know what other viewpoints are? Are the media that give you the information about the “world beyond the well” biased? Moreover, do you believe every word uttered in them? Do you have nothing but contempt for people who hold viewpoints opposed to your own or which challenge those of the government? If you have answered yes to three or more, you have been stricken by this malaise.
The question begging to be asked is “Is this true blue patriotism after all?”
Love, they say is blind. But, patriotism does not necessarily equate to closing your eyes and learning by rote the official answer to every criticism levelled against you as a nation. Nor does it entail waving the flag around during cricket matches, chanting “We will rock you” on the top of your voices. This does not mean that, as a nation, we must not present a united front and stand behind all the choices that the country makes, but the crux of the whole matter is, how detrimental will it be to the interests of the world? Are these decisions based on objective reasoning, rather than momentary lapses in judgement caused by excessive sentimentality?
The 21st century demands, not archaic devotion to old concepts, but a hope for the new future. It declines to suffer fools refusing to shake off the musty cobwebs of “a glorious past” and making grandiose & shameless plans to bring the country back full circle to the Dark Ages. “No man is an island to himself” and no country can afford to stand alone surrounded by the ocean of adverse world opinion.
A true patriot, then, should be farseeing, without the most common of virtues, viz hindsight. He should be objective and reasonable, willing to lend an ear and open his heart to the opinions of other nationalities, however uncomplimentary and contrary they might be to the beliefs he has held for so long. His eyes should be open to events happening outside his “well”, and his opinions should not be made on a whim, but be back by concrete evidence. Once formed, they should not be swayed by gentle winds of opinion but hold its own against storms of criticisms, unless, of course, those storms do contain a nugget of truth. Above all, he should not be afraid to speak his mind, regardless of consequences.
A true patriot is a citizen of the planet he inhabits, first and foremost. Fly your flag if you must, but wear the badge of your humanity with pride. Nature treats every country with the same respect. It is time that every patriot did the same. The hope of this world is, as Tagore immortalised in Geetanjali:
“Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high
Where knowledge is free
Where the world has not been broken up into fragments
By narrow domestic walls
Where words come out from the depth of truth
Where tireless striving stretches its arms towards perfection
Where the clear stream of reason has not lost its way Into the dreary desert sand of dead habit”
Sunday, March 20, 2005
Neil Armstrong And the Malayali on the moonAnother of the series of old stuff I found on my computer. This was a joke I heard from my cousin and rewrote. Tried sending it to people.... noone read it :)
You might have heard about the man on the moon.. He is supposed to be a myth.. You might believe in him or not.. But that’s beside the point.
You might have all heard about the historic flight to the moon on the Apollo spacecraft when Neil Armstrong and Buzz Aldrin "apparently" landed on the moon...
But this is a conspiracy theory to end ALL conspiracy theories.. The United States Of America has been fooling all of us Mallus till now, as part of a grand design to suppress true history... The first people on the moon weren't "Armstrong and Buzz" it was a Malayali.
YES!! a Mallu is the 'Man on the Moon.' Forget what the history books told you... Here’s the TRUE story............
Apollo 11 landed on the moon and Neil, the villain of the story, with the flag in his hand, stepped onto the soil with the words "A small step for a man".... on his lips, (he had been rehearsing for the big 'night' for a long time aboard the Apollo) when suddenly he heard in the clear stillness of the night two words "CHAYEE, KAAPI”
He was stunned and ran.. err floated (after all there's not much gravity nah?) to where the sound came from... He saw through his fishbowl (ok.. ok the astronaut helmet) a teashop or. in Mallu dialect, a 'chaikada' He was stunned (that’s an understatement to say the very least) He went and sat on the bench and looked despondently at the Mallu and asked " Who/ what are you? Are you from earth? Did Russia send you? How did you reach here?......"
His questions would have gone on but the Mallu was smart he stopped him "Saar plizz don't confuze me onlye! I am a mallaayalli from India saar. Gelf not very good. I am a chaikada owner, a bissiness man. I zimbly come to moon for getting meney. Aliens liking Malayali food you know saar"
But Neil boy was not to be put off like that. He burst into tears (and found out that his oxygen supply was running out by the way) and said "But everyone down there thinks that I am the first man on the moon. The USA depends on me. We have to show the USSR a thing or two, don't we?"
The Malayali was astonishingly well read. He did read the Malayalam Manorama, you know. "Saar we support USSR onlye but if you buy all these things saar you can tell whatever you want to those people down there. Saar my femely is wanting to be having lot meney, you know"
So Neil, after promising to visit out Mallu again, our antihero bought all the 'pazhamporis', 'bondas', 'chais' , 'kaapis' to eat abroad the Apollo with Buzz.. and said his famous line too.. you know what it is.
That was in 1969. Neil went back to good ol earth and was accorded a hero's welcome! He had become the 'Man On the Moon'. Children dreamt about becoming like Neil Armstrong. History books showed him and the flag of US fluttering next to the spacecraft (NOW that's another conspiracy.. we will talk about THAT later).The only people who knew about the "Malayali on the Moon" were Neil & Buzz (who had tummy aches after consuming all those paramporis and bondas) and the mission control at NASA.
After some years had passed by.. Neil decided to go back to the moon (in a secret mission that no other country knew about, of course). He landed on the moon after an uneventful trip and ran back to the old site of the chaikada but didn't find his Mallu friend there. Instead he found :- "BAHADUR SINGH'S DHAABA" written in big letters over a dhaaba. He was as surprised as a goldfish in a bowl (pun totally unintended!). And asked the sardarji who was the proprietor of the shop "Where's what-his-name? The Indian? And his tea shop?"
The Sardarji said unconcernedly "Oye!! Rajendra Krishnan Menon eh? He's not here anymore. Tusi ki chahiye?"
Neil was rapidly losing his temper "I am Neil Armstrong.. He's my friend. Where is he?"
Said the Punju "Oye tusi ho Neil eh? He told me to "re lay" a message to you when you came. He has “re located” to Pluto. There are better business opportunities there.. apparently"
Thus was born the "Man on Pluto" legend. You will be hearing it soon enough. So Mallus, when NASA sends a spacecraft to Pluto (NOT the Viking) and claims to have been the first.. we Mallus at least should know better eh?
***************FLASH: The author of this here story is being sued by NASA, Neil Armstrong's family, the Pentagon, President George W Bush, Bahadur Singh (who claims that he said nothing of that sort), the USA ( which claims that this is a Russian plot to undermine Indo-US relations), our Defence Minister George Fernandes, (who claims that there is a "Foreign Hand" behind all this.. he thinks it is Italian actually) the Pakistani “President” General Pervez Musharraf (who further claims that this is an Indian plot, actually the Man on the Moon was a Paki) .. and various other Americans who are claiming $198,246,950,948,927,659.19707 ( wonder how many light years that is) in damages because they feel that they suffered emotionally due to the "falsehoods concocted here" The trial is set before the UN Court of Justice and might run to a few thousand years more*****************
Thursday, March 17, 2005
Soporific LecturesThis was a poem written for our Genesis (02) versification, when I was a fresher. Again, just found it today...
Hey! So, you are the latest addition to C.E.T,
The college which people talk of admiringly.
“All’s well with the world,” is your initial thought,
“This is what my next four years are about.“
Finally, you enter your class for your first lectures,
A beginner’s guide to the types of structures.
The first fifteen minutes are time well spent,
In getting to know what had last happened.
The next fifteen find your ‘alert’ mind chafing,
Or else, at the teacher your eyes are gaping.
Of the last thirty, it’s better not a word be uttered,
Suffice that every second the clock is stared at.
Alas! This is but the tip of the colossal iceberg,
Hour after hour, it grows worse, like the plague.
First comes the unrelenting tide of Chemistry,
Then your mind grapples with the eternal mystery,
Of how did the power disappear, when it travelled
Through the resistor. (Would it ever be unravelled?)
Twelve strikes. Oh! The Blessed relief of Lunch!
You gobble your food, and relax in your bench.
But, the one-hour seems to take on spectral wings,
Determined to prove impatient even the Sphinx.
One o’clock comes, so does Lecture Number 4
This, you agree, is turning out to be a BORE!
Your stomach is full, your brain quite the contrary
Slowly but steadily, your eyes start to get sleepy.
Your five senses don’t seem to co-operate anymore,
Physics holds less charm than what’s outside the door.
Vaguely, you can see the professor’s mouth moving,
But, unfortunately, can’t stop your mind from roving.
Number 5 sails in, right on time, through the doors
When you were thinking it couldn’t get any worse,
You find out you were abjectly wrong, it just did!
Thermodynamics finally frustrates your valiant bid,
Of stopping the escaping yawns born of boredom.
Because, you yearn to enter Sleep’s soft Kingdom!
One more to go, your fatigued mind reminds you
When Number 6 gives you long assignments to do.
“Due ”, he says “Tomorrow at the very latest!”
All dreams about “early-to-bed” turn to dust.
Breezing through school, I never did know,
The sleepiness that afflicts college life so!
*******************************************
NB: The situation persists... slightly worse, though
Due to my increasingly worsening ADL, I've been unable to post for sometime. The situation has not changed even after they came and fiddled with the computer.... Anyways, here's something I found on my computer. Old story.... New funda!
If I had to chronicle my life from birth to the time I am sitting here talking about what is happening to me, it’d be a yawn fest comprising of nothing but “I got up, did my daily chores, went back to sleep.” Not exactly the stuff of legend, you must agree. My yearning for an adventurous life was only matched by my propensity to obey every single sign for whatever it said. It could be “Do not Walk on Grass” and “Women, do not wear trousers in place of worship” to “Danger 550V”.People tell me that this nature of mine is keeping me from opening up whole new vistas.
Anyway, the last time I heard from a family friend, he had been in the midst of Kashmir and in his own words “I shot two terrorists and got a medal, Ma’am”. Now, why couldn’t I shoot two terrorists and get a medal? Common sense must provide a satisfactory answer, but my dreams were filled with a brave heroine (me, of course) rescuing people from landslides and floods and shooting Bond-worthy villains left, right and centre. The dreams provided a wake up call, weirdly enough. “Get up and go looking for trouble” would be how I would paraphrase what it said, looking back in the cold light of the day, but at the moment, it heralded a whole new way of life for me. I was going to be a REBEL, laughing in the face of authority with all the suavity of a female Don Quixote.
So, I set off into my brave new life, kicking down some pretentious signs on the way, literally walking the fine line. By which, of course, I mean the path I trode over the edge of the not-so-beautifully mowed lawn in the public park. I paused by the side of a dustbin that said “Use me” and nonchalantly dropped a used plastic cup right by its side, along with the tonnes of other cups, plates and multihued plastic bags containing godforsaken garbage. Imagine my consternation, then, when I realised people had already beaten me to throwing their waste just inches outside the dustbins. On that spot, I made a solemn oath that I would find one innovative way to bend the rules that no one had ever before devised.
Thus began my incessant quest. On my yearly walk around our quiet colony, I chanced upon a pristine wall that proclaimed “Stick no bills”. I looked furtively all around, pulled out my purse, took an expired laundry receipt (a BILL, duh!) and stuck it with chewing gum. Feeling like a happy camper, I walked on, thinking “That was simple!”. Unfortunately, I had picked election season. The next time I passed the wall, my bill was nowhere to be seen amidst the garish four toned posters asking people to vote for the least harmful candidate. There was a lot of gnashing of teeth and I steeled myself for a very long ordeal.
Other opportunities of lawlessness presented themselves at the wheel of my car. Waiting at a red light along the main thoroughfare in the city, I was struck anew by the sign (no, not literally) that said “No Horn, No Bright Beam in City Limits”. It being day, I could not disobey the second of the diktats. But, I leaned long and hard on the horn, turning it into a piece fit for Bach, right into the ears of an unsuspecting motorist. As luck would have it, I hadn’t counted on the light changing and an immediate cacophony of sounds arose like the screams of tortured souls in Hell and I momentarily became dazed. Whereupon, glares came my way and realisation dawned that my getaway had to be quick, so down came my foot on the accelerator and I was out in a jiffy (which for your information, is one tenth of a second). Cruising through the roads, my eyes lit up at the speed limit signs, since they seemed awfully low for what I was doing. Looking around, I dismissed the claims of that piece of rebellion as most vehicles were speeding past me like I was stationary. Seeing a “No Parking” sign on the side of the road, I made an illegal U-turn and parked right under it. Looking around, there was no other motorist who had shared in my little bit of mutiny. Heaving a large sigh of relief, I trotted off to the shops nearby. I came back and saw a nice pink ticket waiting for me. It informed me that I was poorer by a thousand quid.
The sad saga continued. Driving privileges were stripped and I was reduced to laying rubber down on footpaths instead. I was also assured by reliable sources, amidst gales of laughter, that they had also resorted to parking in forbidden places when none other were available, and never with such disastrous repercussions.
Browsing through a store, I saw a “If you break me, you pay for me” warning. Even though sorely tempted to attempt the feat, my empty pockets cried out in protest. Squaring my shoulders, I strode off in the direction opposite the tempting notices, ignoring the “Do Not Touch” labels adorning yet other shelves en route.
I had never before realised how many “Trespassers will be prosecuted” (“to the full extent of the law” Optional) festooned the forbidding walls of many public buildings in the city, until I had set out on my search. Now, what the law said about the punishment meted out to people who traipsed through the hallowed (err) premises of, say, The Indian Institute of Higher Secondary Learning for the Cranially Challenged, when clearly they should have sat at home and twiddled their thumbs, I did not know. Well, I was going to find out. Wasting no opportunity to ignore the dire warning, I walked in through a hole in the fence and found myself in a mini-jungle of the kind made famous by Tarzan. I hadn’t taken two steps, before I found out what exactly happened in the aforementioned forest. Delicacy prevents me from elaborating. Needless to say, I made a quick exit, perhaps scarred for life.
I sat in bed glowering over my strange misfortune, when lo and behold! I saw that our neighbours had procured a ferocious Alsatian and posted outside their imposing gates “Beware of Dog”. To my pleasant surprise, people seemed scared of the mutt’s scary visage and actually steered clear of it. Immediately, I had to be contrary. So, one day, I sidled over to their house and started making faces at the canine from the relative safety of being on the right side of the gates, namely out. The dog trotted over to the other side and went through the routine of barking, growling and baring its over large teeth. (Wonder if that’s were they get the word canine from). After it was satisfied that it had fulfilled its duty with respect to the rigmarole it was expected to enact for my benefit, it wagged its tail and woofed with real pleasure. I guess it had seen a kindred spirit. Sighing with dismay, I opened the gate and patted its shaggy head, fending off some licks.
Long story short, I take Prince out on walks now and the only thing you have to beware of as far as he is concerned is getting too close to his tongue. He can give sandpaper a complex. As for me, I have finally taken the hint Fate gave me and definitely decided that the adventurous life is not for me. The windmills are safe from further invasions.
Saturday, March 12, 2005
The Continuing Saga... Of my disconnecting ADL. There's me with a HomeNet 24 hour connection that should be ASHAMED of calling itself broadband, and there's my 3-door neighbour, Fly with a NightBird AND a GPRS connection that is faster than mine in a head-to-head race. (I am eternally jealous... THERE I said it!)
Then, there's the game Age of Empires which he wants to play every night (or day if he had the connection for it) , and there's the disconnection that thwarts his attempts to establish a multiplayer game with 4 people. The game is just so that he could show off "Yo losers, I play AOE better than you" (No offence to us losers, eh?).
I must say, though, the dude is persistent. He kept adding me to the game and I used to get chucked out 5 minutes and reams of instructions later.
Okay, so maybe we were not going down without a fight. After about 2 months of all and sundry bugging me "Shruti, WHEN are you going to call the ADL people up?" ("Tomorrow"), I decided to take matters in my own hands.
After dialing them up at 2 pm, a woman came on the line. My mind momentarily went blank. I haven't yet been able to figure out why.
NB: The sentences I WOULD have liked to say are in italics.
Me: (uncertainly) Uhmm, ADL? I have a complaint.
Lady: Yes ma'am. Please say it.
Me: Your connection sucks. I want DataOne, you bloodsucking leeches, blah blah. My connection keeps flickering after 10 pm.
Lady: (after checking) The computer says you're connected at this moment.
Me: It's NOT after 10 pm right now, what're you a kindergarten kid? Uhm, no. But trust me it does.
Lady: Call me when it does. We'll let the complaint department deal with it then.
Phone got abruptly disconnected with me staring at the receiver guiltily, wondering if I ought to have started off with a musical extravanganza simply entitled : "No Juice For Use."
So, I ruefully concluded I couldn't really "sock it to them". Fly was not happy. He was rapidly losing his chance to make a "gamer out of Shruti". So...
SMSes start flying to and fro. (Dammit dude, all you got to do is scream from your compound loud enough, I can HEAR you!)
SMS1: What's your address? Give it to me. I am going to call them up.
Reply1: MAC id ****, didn't I tell you?
SMS2: HOUSE address.
Reply2: They never ask for it
SMS3: Okay, heads up, I'm going to call them.
Reply3: Best of luck. "sock it to 'em"
*long electronic silence later, phone rings*
Me: Hello? Who's this?
Sheepish v0ice: Fly here. I called them up and gave it to them.
Me: Great. What did they say?
Fly: They said they'll give a complaint, but they asked me if the computer was connected, because it was.
Me: Yeah I was blogging.
Fly: I said that it doesn't matter. By the way, Shrutz, they asked me whose name was it registered in?
Me: (curiously) What'd you say?
Fly: Uhm, George?
Me: Ahh, George and what did they say?
Fly: (small voice) They asked if it was in my wife's name!
I almost burst out laughing, and it gave me something to laugh at (not with) for sometime.
Delude: (opposite to prelude, DUH!) My connection still sucks and I still haven't played AOE fully. Right now, I am having exams. Don't worry, expect a blog everyday!
Wednesday, March 09, 2005
My Experiments with MusicAbout 13 years ago, when I was a mere chit of a 7 year old, my mother decided to enroll me for guitar classes. I was very enthusiastic about the idea, since I didn't know anything about the dreaded word :- PRACTICE.
So, early one July morning, when the dew was settling in the grass and the birds were chirping and most children of my age were screaming at the tops of their voices "I want BREAKFASSSSSSSST.", I was in Michael sir's house, looking up at him from my short perch on the stool.
The sir took one look at me, looked at my mother and commiserated with her, "She's too small, she won't be able to hold the guitar."
Instead, from some cubbyhole in his study, he pulled out a small violin. I was fascinated and stared deep into the F-holes (and no, I am not swearing here!) and barely heard the mumbled, "What're the fees?" and "Bring her here 3 days a week, at 6:30 am, she can go to school from here."
Then, began a 3 month long rollercoaster ride. Every violin-t day, I used to set off for the class, sitting behind my mom on her scooter, holding on for dear life, and sometimes, snoozing. Everyday, I was learning more about the treble clef, quavers, semi-quavers and demi-hemi-semi quavers, whole notes, scales, arpeggios and fingering... Early on, I realised that the "King of Instruments" was not easy to master, namely because your finger HAD to be on the correct spot for the correct note. For a C major scale, for example, you could NOT place your third finger on C# on A, you HAD to move it a trifle onto D natural...
After 3 months, the sir took pity on me and informed my mother that this HAD to stop. Just as my spirits were lifting slightly, he told her that he was going to send his star student to come and teach me at home.
I was introduced to Krishnakumar sir. I have played on many violins since my naive days, but the tone of sir's violin is something I have never heard. It was love at first sight. Its honey colour and its warm tones still wash over me when I think of any western classical music.
Sir was young and idealistic. He thought he could make a good violinist out of me, his first pupil. He tried, REALLY hard. Books were brought and books were discarded. I went from simple major scales to minors, from Hickory Dickory Dock to Traumerie, from the first position to the 4th and meanwhile, from the smallest violin to one of my own.
Meanwhile, Sir's frustration kept building. After hearing a particularly bad wail from me, he taped white stickers so that I knew where to place my fingers. The key words were, "Elbow straight", "Chin up", "Don't droop", "Keep your hand straight" and finally "Don't LOOK." (These are salient features of the WESTERN violin, the Eastern violin is much easier to learn) Everytime I broke these cardinal rules, I earned a rap on my knuckles.
I grew up, loving the instrument, inspite of being the laziest practice-hater around. The day I got my own instrument, I spent one day looking at it and applying rosin lovingly to the bow, gazing with pride at its bridge and plucking at its strings idly. (For afficionados, that's pizzicato)
Sir grew up too, had a wife and kids. Weirdly enough, he named his daughter Shruthi, and soon, that became his threat, "I am going to rename my child if you don't practise. Madichi."
In 7th standard, sir had a brainwave. He enrolled me for Grade 1 exam at ABRSM, (Associated Board of Royal Schools of Music). I still remember that day, at Kottayam.
(Small nervous kid enters room. Big blonde haired man is sitting at the piano and flashes a big smile)
"Hello, Shroo-tee. How are you?"
(mumbling) "I am fine, thank you."
"Are you ready to play your pieces?"
"No, err... yes..."
I went through the pieces, the scales and arpeggios
"Can you play the A major arpeggio?"
I regaled him with a perfect played slurred D-major.
"Thank you. That was very good. Now may I have A-major?"
By now, I was looking at him with a blank face and he must have thought I didn't know what he was talking about. I played the A-major after it somehow registered in my brain.
Somehow, I passed, with merit too, and mustered enough confidence to write Grade 2, which I passed with distinction.
Around that time, we were all called to perform a concert at the local YWCA. The youngsters were sitting on chairs playing Will-'O-The-Wisp with my old teacher conducting. Electricity vanished, we still went on playing. Everyone clapped and our pictures came in the newspaper...!
After Grade 3, when I was in 10th, my mother asked me nicely to stop violin classes since I had studies to concentrate on. I was in 2 minds, but dropped it anyway.
Nowadays, my violin is in a dusty corner of my room. All its strings have broken and the bridge has broken off, but when I am rather depressed, I pluck its last remaining string - the G-string. Kind of symbolic? Nah, I think not.
The aftermath! Josen, Mintu (aka Keshavankutty), Ajeesh (The Dummy), Anand (Sir Bouncealot), Ashok (Computer Phr34k) and Nikhil
The kidnapping that never was...
If you think THIS looks funny, you ought to have seen the other side
Rather tied up in the moment
"Won't you come into my parlour," said the Spy-Darr to the Fly... Vasanthi & C-M living it up....
THIS is Spy News... With Reshmi & Sunoop
Q-A sessions are BAD for your health
This is the way we share the pain....
Tuesday, March 08, 2005
MAULED on stage by the judges.. Note to self: Never stand next to six foot+ person...
That's us after the results were out. From left to right.
Bottom: Prashanth (Potti), Ashok, Rakesh, Reshmi, Divyasree, Vimitha, Me
Top: Sunoop, Josen, Jeryn, Ajeesh, Nikhil!
This is a post exclusively about Media Tycoon and the work we put in it. (As in other competitions jaaye bhaad mein, good or bad for me... The score's better on the GOOD side, by the way!)
I am hearing the hissed questions there!
What IS Media Tycoon? The simple answer? It is a new way that the MBCETians found to torture us poor souls who thought we had a shot at 10,000 bucks.
Long long ago, there was this confused soul who went by the name Shruti and her friend who told her about their college fest. She said they might not be able to make it, because CET had exams. He told her about this competition called Media Tycoon, which asked a group of 20 to create a TV channel, its logo, it's programmes and send an abstract. After which, if selected, the Tycoons had to shoot a 10 minute clip, show a 10 minute skit onstage and answer questions. The little girl was terrified of the work it entailed and told the big ogre that. He encouraged her to tell her classmates about it and dutifully, she did. Along the way, her VCQ partner (now to be called Sir. Bouncelot) realised that they needed 10K worse than anyone else and bugged her into finding people crazy enough to join this grand venture..
Lightbulb moment. She called 5 of her friends from her class and discussed it with 4 others from the other class and then was born: I-SPY- The 24 hour Detective Channel. Then commenced discussion of the abstract to be presented, and then the little girl sent it and thought no more about it than to wonder, "gee how WILL we get time to shoot anything, if we have exams?"
Lady luck was smiling. They got selected. The college was blessed with strikes and a measles-chicken pox epidemic. Her joy knew no bounds and the good news spread like wildfire. "Spread the word, we're going to GO to town with I-Spy."Saturday came and along to a house marched all the soldiers, little knowing the trials and tribulations that lay in store. Like King Arthur's knights arriving to take their seiges around the Round Table, they sat down and 'discussed' far-fetched ideas and programmes.
An example: A phone in show called Neighbourhood Watch. A superhero calls in to talk to the resident detective, from a phone booth, complaining that someone had stole his costume.... Close up of superhero's red face.... pan out (nothing too vulgar... it would be penalised...) I hope you get the idea!
After 4 hours of brainstorming, the half-sleepy combatants decided to retire with as much sanity as they could muster. More tomorrow, fellows!
At TIME class on Sunday, about 8 of the Tycoons got together and talked about programs, vetoed programs and people and FINALLY came up with ideas that some liked.
The next day, the 7 girls met at the confused soul's house to talk about the programs, since she lived nearest the college. Her neighbour and a classmate dropped in and were showed the music and the ideas that accompanied (NOT vice versa)
At 1:30 finally, off the "Trycoon"s set, in order to shoot some scenes in college. But before that could happen, some MORE discussions!
All of them sat in the Panjaarakaadu, yakking about the ideas they'd gathered and ... you guessed it, arguing. The complement of 20 were done, and the confused soul was even more confused. She kept counting and came up to 21...then 19... then 20 again.. "Ahhh! Leave it!!!"
At 3:30, the security had enough and pushed the Trycoons out of the kaadu into the evil world of "THE ROAD" .. There the much- maligned heroes (and heroines) stood, while teachers went down the driveway looking at them with the expression, "Oh so THIS is what you do in your spare time!" All of the m-m h & hs wanted to scream.. "LOOK at the ratio!! Dammit!!"
First scene to be shot, was Saroj Khan (or Rajappan) being slapped by the super-model. It took 10 takes and was HILARIOUS.. It was quite a miracle that he didn't get beaned on his head by the other members. This wonderful scene was followed by others equally wonderful and shooting was done for the day.
The next day dawned bright and sunny and the male members thought that it was a good idea to venture forth and shoot where no man had ever shot before :- (not when every other sane CETian was at home, sleeping) the back of the Indoor Stadium. The female members, meanwhile, were in assorted places, but some were still at the confused soul's place discussing ideas and having no lunch...
At 3:30, they set forth again, into the uncharted territory beside the Men's Hostel to shoot a "real crime scene" (a dramatisation, of course.) They roped in the self-same Security Guard who had shooed them off the premises for uhm... hanging out in the Acacia to act in the video. But NOW, he was an ally and a jolly good actor too! Kudos!
The scene was of two roadside romeos, troubling two girls, getting pickpocketed and in a complete deviation from whatever was happening, a student getting beaten up by 2 goondas. (hmm, Fly, you're a sadist :D *high five*)
That day, confused soul had long discussions which jacked up her phone bill with all the members and started losing her temper... a little bit. Sir Bouncealot felt helpless, what COULD the World do???!!!
Wednesday came to the rescue, the gallant Sir Bouncealot decided to shoot the Sholay- reenactment at a mini woods and the team descended on Vasanthi's house. Confused soul brought her paint and her brushes and painted Fly- now to be called Chelandi Manshan red and black, so that even his parents would not've known it was he. (Dude, it was an IMPROVEMENT!!)
Unfortunately, he not only enjoyed the experience, his need for paint could never be satiated!! The team then tied him to a tree and went for lunch (we wish!), but it was close enough.
The Scene: C-M tied to a tree, other crew members getting turbans and calculating camera angles. After one hour of dilly-dallying, C-M was sweating red (AND STILL ENJOYING IT) and the shot was canned, after which Cameraman Super Josa had fun taking videos of people dancing :(.
After an unfortunate episode with acting, confused soul swore off any more of the same!
Graphical design was on. C-M's house became a hub of activity as our Cameraman and he and confused soul began talking even more... Covers were designed and discarded, posters made, and ideas killed. The other guys went to the Museum to THINK about a script and the rest shot for a ghost house flick.
The next day, Crossroads began and so did the last day of discussion. The team met at C-M's house and Confused Soul had so much running around to do, she became even more confused! The Stage Show still wasn't seeing any progress as at LEAST 10 ideas were vetoed and the script was ONE BLANK PAGE.
Meanwhile, SOME people wanted to play NFS-UG!
Finally, at 5 pm, sound dubbing done, the girls left. The poor guys had MUCH more work ahead of them.
Confused soul sat down before her computer and promised the guys she'd work along with them, but fell asleep at 11:30.
At 12:30 am her phone rang and she woke up, to do some more posters. Kya kare dimaag chal nahin raha! Shamster did a Spy-Darr Man for us and C-S fell asleep at 3:30 am..
After minimum amount of sleep, everyone had other work to do on Friday. The rehearsals were on at No-Kill's house, without a concrete script for the Stage Show yet! Most of the members had other competitions and kept flitting to and fro and back again. C-S had her BM rounds and couldn't sleep and tried to sleep through rehearsals. No go!
At 6:00 pm, everyone showed up, while C-s was running up and down for her physical stress round, wherein she was more soaked than stressed. After a change of clothes, she STILL wasn't fresh! She got the script and the gallant Sir Bouncealot informed the pretty damsel-in-distress that she was in deeper hot water, namely she was team captain!!
And here she was, paper in hand, nothing memorised and with a headache the size of a small country. What could go wrong NOW, right?
WRONG. Oh BOY, are you wrong!
I-Spy was on second. I delivered the introduction to people saying "ahhhh Stop with the English!" (Err, don't look at ME! You hear my Mal and THEN comment!)
The video was good and people liked it, but the worst was yet to come...The stage show S U C K E D... It sucked even more because we knew what other ideas we'd come up with and what we did (News, Weather and Talent
round) came nowhere upto what we wanted it to be.
All of us were dreading the Q & A round; one of the judges was GS Pradeep (of the Ashwamedham fame). I was mentally kicking myself, because I had recommended we spoof his program and they'd said "Too Boring, Shrutz"
First question to me, tired, angry and completely worn out, "Why did you read out from the paper?"
By the time I put words together, someone else had already spoken and the carnage was on. The judges SHREDDED us! There was no hope of winning after that was over.
The conclusion was "Innovative, but badly conceived stage show. We liked the video and expected more!"
Want to hear how bad it was?? After everything, our Saroj Kumar asked the judge "Sir, Shavathe kuthalle", when Santosh Pali said, "Oh, so you ADMIT you're a corpse."
We were all wincing after the exchange and as we got off the stage, we were mentally cursing everyone. Here we were, having done all the work ourselves and feeling very sorry for ourselves and there were the others, having secured professional help. I didn't want to see or hear anything more, but my friends were staying on, so I thought "Ahh. What the heck!?"
I stayed on. All of us had identical glum expressions, when Sam and Sohan trotted up with what they thought were words of condolence! Most CETians came and said "The video was great!"
Of COURSE, it was great.
We'd lost a week's sleep and food and phone bills over it. The other teams had taken the easy way out, taken professional help and made documentaries and interviews. How simple is THAT!
Reshmi came and sat next to me and said ruefully, "We still had fun, didn't we?". Yeah, we did, but the acknowledgement would've been great!
Spirits were plummeting even further when we saw SCT's stage show. The entire college (MBT, I mean) was behind them, especially since they were chanting MB-CET, MB-CET. Some bright sparks from our college decided to take the refrain, -- (deep silence) CET, --CET and when the gore was done, they sang out ABCDEFG....After 4 teams were done, I went and asked the organisers when the results were out. Not that we wanted to know, but we were all there, so why not?
Pradeep got onto stage. Sohan grinned at me and asked me what was to happen if we won. I smiled and said "Pigs will fly.."
Pradeep talked.... AND talked. We had all tuned off and were thinking of creative ways to murder him after intensive torture. Suddenly a junior came running upto me and said, "Congrats"..
"Uhh! Why? Is the first announced yet?"
"Nope."
"So we got third?" Spirits were slightly up.
"Nope"
"Second?" (Oh wow! HOW?)
"Nuh-uh"
"Then?"
"Okay, there are four teams, he's announced 4th, 3rd and 2nd and hasn't called CET yet."
Heartbeats stilled down and I shushed everyone, straining to hear from the backstage. Suddenly the words came "First goes to College of Engineering, Trivandrum."
All of us launched into space, bouncing up and down, screaming and yelling ourselves hoarse. It was not the money, it was the craziness associated that we will remember!
Sohan pulled my arm and asked, "Where are the pigs, Shruti?" I was too hysterical to talk. Jeryn was screaming, (while jumping up and down) "They're all there. You can't see them. It's too dark!! Look up!!"
The team members who had gone back home were called and the news was given. We pulled our logo and took a group photo. It was 11:45 pm and much later than most of us had ever stayed up... Life WAS fair, after all!!
Dedicated to: Those wonderful people who stayed up all night and did all the work. Especially to Josen for being the ace-camera man with the steadiest hands and to Ashok for doing all the work we asked for and more with the graphics. Special thanks to Shamster for doing the web of intrigue and to the Flying Pig for providing the computer and the basement! Also, Anand, here's an aspirin, GO TO SLEEP!!
Rolling credits:
Cast: (in alphabetical order)
Adarsh
Ajeesh
Jeryn
Mintu
Nikhil
Potti
Rakesh
Sunoop
Thoma
Divya N
Divyasree
Nidhi
Redhi
Reshmi
Vimitha
Videography
Josen
Graphics
Ashok
Shruti
Script
Ajeesh
Arjun
Reshmi
Sunoop
Vimitha
Directed by
Anand
Arjun
Produced by
Shruti (!!!) (yeah I didn't know either!!)
Afterthought: I loved every second of it. Loved working with the team. We truly ROCKED!! This is how college ought to be..... Like Sir Bouncealot said, I got to know some people *handshakes*, got to know some people better and hope that we can always have fun when we get together!
Cheers! *sniff*
Saturday, March 05, 2005
Little Updateahhhhhh!!! It's 6:35 am!!
I am alive and well (or as close to it as having sore legs and an aching back will get me) and unlike certain people thought, I DO NOT have either measles or chicken pox or any other dreaded childhood disease..
Will blog later!! and maybe pictures too (err "pics") I have quite a few!!!
A big shoutout to all the people at Crossroads who are unfortunate enough to read my blog.. Love you folks!
Shruti
About This Blog
About Me
Previously, On Brain Freeze
Ice Box
Defrosted
Proxy Wars
Psychos, Unite
BlogSpectacles!
Ice-Cold
This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 2.5 License.
Froze at this page
All thanks to