Revisiting 'Beladingala Baale'

I happened to watch 'Beladingala Baale' ('Lady of the moonlight' in Kannada) last night, a 1995 classic by Sunil Kumar Desai, about the hero – a famous chess player and his emotional liaison with an elusive female caller who claims to be his biggest fan. During the course of their month long interaction, she gives him several hints and clues that are aimed at challenging him to deduce who she is and where she lives thus putting his skills as a 'grandmaster' to test. A very well written story, in my opinion. Something Kannada movies are rarely famous for. As a way to try and capture the essence of the emotional roller coaster the male protagonist goes through, I ended up penning this piece of poetry. I have absolutely no idea if I was successful or not even remotely close, but these were the images that came to me as I tried to get into the hero's shoes.

Ablaze, with the sanctity in your voice effervescent,
Simmers my soul now;Rising each moment
Like a phoenix from the smoldering remains
Of self-pity that is mine. O Lady of the moonlight!
In the bubbling depths of your optimistic timber
Lies awake a sliver of hope, of love, of friendship,
That echoes back to me a mirror so tender
I fear for its death as despair confronts me to slip.
In my mind reside a million puzzles, while I,
The cautious farmer guarding his fruiting crops,
Water them with the words you radiate tonight,
Looking up at you, my moon, my stars, my sight.
Embrace me, love, for I have the game of life to win,
Erase my fears away from coherence, gently,
Caress, with the tenderness in a victorious spin,
The seed of our bond that is yet fragile, deep yet thin.
Bring to me the image so immaculate, of yourself,
Wrapped in the cocoon of an insane man's reveries,
And speak on – spill forth the words that deconstuct me,
For I dread the silence that ensues between your melodies.
Sing to me, love, the song of a precious rose,
That surge through my veins screaming 'Now! Or never!',
Eager, anxious, snaking its way to your eternal prose,
My lady of our moonlight, tonight I am yours forever.

I am amazed how some movies redefine themselves in both context and philosophy when I see them at different points in my life. The last time I remember seeing this movie was about 5, maybe more, years ago. Back then I cannot recall looking at the story as a way to explore platonic relationships by juxtaposing them against a physical framework. Back then, the fact that the hero finds himself in a relationship with this anonymous caller merely based on the powerful auditory element in their emotions, did not seem like a fascinating aspect of being able to find true love. But now that I am married and in a real relationship, this theme suddenly jumped up like a rogue wave smashing itself against a boulder and splashed me all over. There were so many metaphorical references I could find this time that I am now convinced that if I wait a few more years and see 'Beladingala Baale' again, I am sure I will find more relevance in its essence that now might seem rather unlikely. For that, I cannot wait.

Whistles of a lifetime

I remember it like it was just yesterday. As I stepped out of the comfortable shelter of my home in India back in 2000 to explore alien waters, there was no prophet in the world who could have possibly predicted the milestones that’d end up dotting my rather multi-layered life since. As reminders of my beloved roots, I took with me a dozen things – a few Hindi and Kannada audio cassettes (this was an age when a tape based Walkman was still around), good old rasam and sambar powders for the kitchen, a photograph of Lord Balaji and of course, my first Butterfly pressure cooker.

This rather eventful memory came back to me as I read a piece in OPEN recently (‘The Final Whistle’) as to how there is a chance Indians might finally abandon the pressure cooker in due course. With the advent of a wide range of cooking options, I suppose that is still possible. But I just can’t imagine the plateau I belong to – South India – getting rid of this modest whistle blowing miracle for the next century at the least. Given its inherent versatility, I doubt Indian kitchens will ever really call it quits when it comes to this ‘chote kitchen ka bada kamaal’, as it were.

One of the initial memories of using my first cooker was an immense feeling of absolute elation when it went off on that rainy evening in my apartment in Caracas. Yes – I had successfully made a bowl of rice! That I later managed to have it with some chutney powder and oil is another story. It took me almost a month to get my lentils to cook well. Something about the water levels I wasn’t quite sure about. But rice? With my friendly cooker friend it was a non issue. I still remember my neighbor knocking on my door with wide eyes and enquiring if I had set off the fire extinguisher! I had to show her my miracle from India and explain to her that this was how rice was cooked back home. She suggested I use parboiled rice instead which only needed to be boiled and didn’t need equipments that sounded like an army tank to prepare. Nevertheless, she got used to the ‘Pssh..pssh…pssssshhhhhh!’ noise a few days later as she realized I wasn’t going to compromise on how I made my rice. Her parboiled rice didn’t have a face in front of my reliable jasmine rice.

Since then my cooker renewal cycle has been a standard 3 years. Considering the carefree lifestyle of a bachelor, by the time the third year of a cooker’s life came around, it actually did look like something that had been involved in a major war. When I got married last year, the one thing my wife asked me specifically was if the cooker I had was, well, ‘decent enough’ for the two of us. I wasn’t sure what she meant by that then but one look at it when she arrived in Copenhagen, and she shook her head in disapproval. ‘This should be interesting…’ she said examining the colorful exterior of the hero who had the word ‘Prestige’ embossed proudly on his weathered shell. He certainly was prestigious indeed for having prepared wonderful hot rice and vegetables and daal for me on many a sub zero winter night! As the entire city ran for shelter from the heavy snowfall, I’d be sitting cozily in my 5th floor studio apartment watching ‘Malgudi Days’ and enjoying soft tamarind rice with potato onion sambar. Ah! What wonderful moments they were.

But all things do have an expiration date. This summer while vacationing in India, I found myself right in the middle of a pressure cooker shop with my wife. Before I knew it, I had selected a new and obviously larger version with bigger containers and a much steadier grip. On the way out I turned to her and asked ‘We can still use the old one for emergency purposes, right?’ She, having been familiar with my bizarre affection for the old fella, smiled and nodded her head in approval.

So that’s pretty much it. We now make lip smacking dishes with the new fellow who has been quite consistent thus far. But I do occasionally open the kitchen closet and throw a quick glance at my old buddy who saved me with just one whistle on many an occasion. In search for all the larger things in life sometimes we tend to forget the small things that helped us out at critical times. In my life as a self-taught cook, I can never forget the role a cooker has played. For that, I join those who pray it never vanishes from Indian kitchens.

Seasonal Musings

As a nonchalant bachelor I would always wonder why it was that unassuming men – orderly, regular, prompt to be online and most importantly, always in disposal of infinite time given their constant status as ‘Available’ or ‘Busy’ on a dozen messenger windows – would mysteriously recede into abstract oblivion once they got married. For a long time I had blamed it on the much hyped nuance of the seemingly complex formula called ‘married life’ that somehow would make it quite impossible for a man (and a woman!) to be who they were during their pre-marital births. This included being able to spend hours together from work (or home) staying online, spending 2-3 hours at one stretch gossiping about absolutely meaningless stuff or just plain sitting idle as they’d absorb every final atom of whatever it was the Internet and the rest of the world was offering as a bribe.

And then I got married one day.

Now, without being the kind who’d immediately set himself to the defensive mode and start ranting publicly about how it all finally made sense and how it was indeed Herculean for a newly wed husband to stay away for long durations from his equally newly wed missus, let me elaborate my musing. I doubt if it has less to do with the fact that my blogs aren’t as frequent as they used to be and more with the fact that I actually don’t miss blogging so much? Maybe that’s the wrong way to put it. I don’t know. But my days right now are actually filled with things I never thought I’d find myself being a part of. For instance, taking turns in doing the dishes. Being the wayward ‘maverick’ that I was for almost a decade, it was a given that I always was the one to tend to the oily and curry stained china every time I was done heartily gorging in their contents. But now – well, now it is different. We have a routine that we follow to ensure neither of us gets too tired or bored from this rather mundane chore. And then there is the travel. Why on Earth would I ever spend a good couple of hours looking for accommodation and sight seeing tips for Greece! Heck, I was in South America for 7 years and I didn’t even visit Brasil! Given my seriously painful allergy towards traveling alone, I just didn’t feel like going through it at the time. But now, with my girl in my life I find myself transforming into someone who actually wants to travel and not has to. Bizarre. And then there is the shopping. Jolly good shopping! I find myself walking into random stores to see if I can spot something that she will like for the house. Something that would make her smile. Something that would fire a spark in her eye as she’d examine it with a pause and shake her head slowly validating my unplanned expenditure. And all this over a small candle stand? To re-word myself – bizarre.

People might be quick to label this ‘love’ and be done with it. But I wonder if it is more than just that. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that humans, by nature, need associative validation. It’s like a scientist who can spend a decade inventing a miracle drug but would never feel truly complete until someone actually pat him on the back and appreciated his invention. It is in this association that we define our seasons…our moods. It is perhaps in this stereotypical cliché that a newly wed couple, who is always in the ‘honeymoon phase’, actually ends up redefining their entire personality. They end up becoming each other.

The hilarity continues. I find myself calling a raw mango ‘kairi’ instead of ‘maavin kai’ and an onion ‘kaanda’ instead of ‘pyaaz’. I refer to a commotion on the street as ‘locha’ instead of ’jhagda’ and say ‘kaai zaa-la?’ instead of ‘kya hu-aa?’ What is even more interesting is I don’t even notice these things anymore. The same is happening with her too. I have spotted her many a time using my body language to explain something or repeating a song that I might have mindlessly started to hum. I find her calling me ‘ShaKri’ when she is excited and ‘Shashi’ when something serious needs to be addressed. A very interesting pattern starts to emerge with this sort of associative validation, isn’t it? Neither of us knows we are doing it after a while but we know we don’t mind it.

To return to my initial rant about why it is that I feel men and women become less frequent from the cyber space or anywhere else after marriage, it is possibly because they are busy transforming into their spouse. A healthy, much needed and definitely monumental phase of the relationship. And for that, I wouldn’t mind looking over a lot of things – even blogging.

Well, I have to run now. She is making something new out of paalak leaves and I actually am convinced it will be awesome as always considering the aroma that is traveling up to me. Even if I can’t truly share the emotion she has right now to surprise me when I eat it, I can at least join her in the season she is currently in…isn’t it?

Love in the time of Swine Flu

Yes – this is a married man talking here. After three decades and a year, I am finally the proud owner of a glittering golden circle on my right hand’s ring finger. A shine that, despite the lack of the one who lovingly slipped it in place on the 28th of last month, continues to fill me with the same affection I have always seen in the honest depths of her soulful eyes. As I now await the blessed return of the proverbial bride into my nomadic existence overseas, these are the thoughts that buzz around me. And so, as I sit punching in the electronic squares all the while admiring the circle of trust smiling back at me, I find these word patterns taking shape.

The summer of my life’s highlight was peppered with what can only be called a maniacal concoction of the extreme nature. Right from the moment I sat with my father as he drove me home from the airport on the cold 13th morning of last month, it was destined to be unadulterated chaos. Having returned from a fortnight of theories and facts in London, I was eagerly awaiting a much needed break. And yes, there was definitely the promise of one too. But then there is hope, and there is hope’s shadow. As I eagerly look back today after having settled into my residence away from my roots, I find myself wondering where that word – vacation – vanished into! Did it make a brief appearance between the days and fly by unnoticed? Or was my preoccupation with my thoughts so intense that I didn’t even acknowledge its humble presence? I am not sure anymore. But then I cannot rant about the issues I had to face to get things organized for the wedding since these were things that had to be done. And no, I can’t even whine about a very hectic post wedding schedule that involved the welcoming of a new bride into the old household and daily trips to relatives’ places followed by a strong bout of viral fever. No. These were things, I’d like to imagine, that were just meant to be. I was in dire need of some down time after the insanity that had ensued thus far and if letting my body peak at 102 degrees with an inexplicably random bout of fever was the way to go, then so be it. And no – I definitely cannot discount my beloved half for anything. It might as well have been her never dying spirit that runs through me that brought me back to my feet sooner than I’d have normally taken in such instances.

Nevertheless, surrounded by daily tabloid spills of the dreaded Swine Flu and haunted by post viral fever rash, I did manage to limp back to where I belong – my home away from home – today afternoon, albeit solo. Sure, things still aren’t perfect as I now find myself changing skin into the quintessential married bachelor while Jaya awaits her visa papers to be processed next week. But even in this madness there is some relief. Even in this roller coaster ride of a dozen emotions, there is a silent wave of inexorable joy. Despite the month and a fortnight I’ve had, despite the illness, despite the fatigue and definitely despite the joints that still throb from inevitable jetlag, I am smiling as I punch in these words all the time glancing at the golden circle embedded on my hand. It is there, right there, that I find a way to breathe. It is in the pangs of that beautiful feeling that I know, deep inside me, that this day will pass too. It is thus that I convince myself that being high on my beloved’s thoughts can survive anything – even H1N1. And for that, I thank the Almighty on bended knees.

Thank you, Lord.

14 planned days, 4 planned flights and 1 unplanned love story

The rays of a lazy sun filtered through his silent room. He opened his eyes to the noise of a familiar buzz that radiated from his cellular phone lying next to him. He quickly flipped it open and realized she had sent him a message. ‘Her first message for me in India…’ he thought as an unconscious smile escaped his curious lips. He continued reading the contents before pressing ‘Reply’ and punching in his own matrix of quiet alphabet patterns. This was Day 1 at 5:30AM.

The bizarreness of the affair started becoming obvious quite soon. The fact that the two of them had somehow, given the very restrictive framework of an arranged matrimonial alliance, managed to go beyond formalities into a whole new world of trust and friendship was becoming too apparent. Their conversations took various shapes – SMS messages, text chats, voice chats, web-cam chats and of course, telephone calls. While all this was good enough to keep them waiting for the eventual face to face interaction, there was something else to it too – it didn’t seem to matter. His liking for her was seeded in her shockingly pure shades of genuine earthy innocence while her adulation for him stemmed from the creative attempts of sporadic star spangles he had managed to weave around himself over the years. A pair, one might say, truly unique in relation to one another.

After having exchanged over 200 messages, 100 phone calls and several telepathic signals by the end of day 5, there was little else remaining to be said or done. The meeting of the revered elders now seemed like a ritual that needed to be executed. The truth was he had fallen for her the day she had switched on her webcam for the first time and seen directly into his eyes not realizing she had scooped out his heart in one simple glance. She, on the other hand, had found a new lease of humanity in this stranger who, despite being the quintessential paradigm shifting prodigy-like symbol with an ‘NRI’ label attached, still had his feet firmly stuck to his roots regardless of where his life’s branches extended to. A match that was beginning to compliment each other with every interaction. A pair that was now officially in love but with neither the mental setup nor the physical parameters to confess it yet.

Day 6 brought some hopeful indications to that end as he prepared to take flight # 1 out of his city the following day to the place where he was convinced his soul mate stood waiting for him. Having been a lone wanderer for close to a decade, he wasn’t entirely sure what to expect in terms of companionship. One of the consequences of living alone was this – self reliance. An emotion so intense that many people never get married only for fear of ‘losing’ that space of island life. However, what he didn’t know then was that his much appreciated ‘island dwelling’ wasn’t complete without another shadow that could compliment his ragged presence. A fact that would dawn upon him like a thunderbolt on Day 7.

After the initial bugaboos of ‘arranged marriage’ idiosyncrasy, the two finally got some time to be by themselves. They walked around for a couple of hours exchanging pleasantries and trying to connect the dots about each other that had formed in their heads over the weeks. She spent her time narrating stories from her past and showing him the neighborhood, while he reacted with the utmost sense of sincerity and slapped away annoying mosquitoes that had started their rounds at dusk.

The families decided to eat out for the night, so they went to a delicious ethnic joint in the city. Over several steel tumblers of savory curries and endless supplies of interestingly small rotis he never missed an opportunity to look at her. What the 4-5 weeks of nonstop interactions had done was ignited this brazen craving in him to catch her in all her moods – surprised, thoughtful, serious, unattached, sober, mischievous…all of it. And try as he may, given the rather generously joyful occasion that day, he continued to silently etch her face into the interiors of his heart. She continued stealing glances from him and giggling away incessantly at jokes that only the two of them knew about. Over uncertain queries from her confused elders, she continued munching her limited meal as the evening came to a pleasant close.

Day 8 was going to be a big one. Quite possibly the ‘deal maker’ day for the two. Every exchange thus far had basically culminated up to this day that would go on to become one of the biggest milestones in both their lives. Over idle chat and the humdrum of the traffic whizzing by, he suddenly turned to her and asked her if she would marry him. A gasp of genuine surprise escaped her lips as she paused for a second, before continuing with a reasonable ‘Sure!’ and then they sat in silence for a few seconds before breaking into short giggles at how easily they had moved on to the next step. As the day drew to a close, sitting next to the waves that crashed into custom made rocks with subdued fury, they confessed their love for one another. It was a simple affair. No trumpets. No needless exaggerations. No cards. No music. No sonnets. Nothing. Just a quiet look into each other’s eyes and the magical words spilled forth. It was becoming quite apparent that their story wouldn’t be an ordinary one given that the proposal had preceded the confession, when usually it’s the other way around.

He flew out of her city in flight #2 as day 8 ended. It wasn’t easy, as he later realized sipping cold tea on the flight, to walk away from someone who had responded in the affirmative to the two major things in life – love and marriage.

Day 9 and 10 were a blur. More talk. More SMS exchange. More calls and yes, definitely more love. It wasn’t clear to either of them if what they had done was timed properly, but what they definitely knew was this – it was the most beautiful thing they had ever done in all their lives. Hence, the timing aspect of it just didn’t mean much.

Day 11 arrived with another packet of beautiful surprises. She took flight #3 into his city and brought to him the much needed sense of calm he was so desperately seeking. One look into her calm yet sparkly eyes and he knew – he would live out the rest of his days gazing into those pools of everlasting beauty. The elders met at his place under the blistering sun over cups of sugary coffee and equally sweet juice. After a few placid interactions, it was settled. They then shook hands, touched feet and received the blessings of the elders all the while aware that they were already blessed to have each other. She was now officially welcomed to his family.

She flew out of his city in flight #4 at the end of day 11. A capsule in time he so wanted to forget as he helplessly watched her walk away from him. Their eyes met just before she disappeared in an ocean of bags with hands attached to them. It was in those few seconds, that they had a dozen conversations. And that was enough – for now, he thought. As he drove back into his city constantly checking his messages to see if she had sent anything, he was sure that she was doing the same thing. He found himself instinctively letting out a prayer – ‘God…let this be the last time I see her walk away from me…’ and looked away into the dizzyingly maniacal traffic. A unique bond had been created that the event of ‘marriage’ would only solemnize in public since their celebrations of the heart had already begun.

Days 12 and 13 went by with equal temperaments. He would stay up till the wee hours of the morning as she would spend a good 3-4 hours after a 10 hour shift at work talking to him. This love story had to be the shortest and yet the most beautiful in his recollection since what he had known was that he would have to get married some day. But what he didn’t know was that he would fall in love with his future spouse with such intensity even before the families had properly met. A prospect that has him smiling in blissful wonder even today.

Day 14 came. The day when he would leave his city and head back to his second home in the west. He arrived at the airport almost four hours in advance so that he could speak to her contently for as long as he could. Luck, again, was on his side as he found an isolated phone booth and spent 45 minutes speaking to her and wishing her the best on their first Valentine’s Day. After being eyed suspiciously by a waiting co-passenger, he had to hang up, albeit with a very heavy heart.

He flew out at 3:30AM on the 14th day and slept like a baby for five straight hours on the flight. It was only after waking up and heading to the washroom did he realize why it was. He no longer struggled to sleep on long flights since he had now fallen in love with the most beautiful dream.

..ShaKri..

The ‘education’ paradigm

MAITRI AND VIKAS have been together for almost five years now. Maitri works for an ad agency while Vikas is a freelance photographer who has his own studio in the city. After half a decade of closely knit courtship, they finally decided to tie the knot. Despite the fact that they had lived together for almost three years, they felt the need to officially solemnize the relationship with the seal of matrimony. I have also been invited to the festivities and I hope to make it there to wish them both a world of happiness and bliss.

Now, what does Maitri and Vikas have in common? Except the fact that they are seriously mad about each other – nothing. They come from ridiculously different backgrounds. She is the quintessential Gujju (short for Gujrati) girl steeped in various cultural variations of her own roots which include a monthly visit to Swami Narayan temples with her family. He, on the other very distant hand, is an atheist who finds the concept of God and religion a complete hoax. Despite being bred in a fairly orthodox Iyengar family, Vikas found his Almighty in his photographs. He neither worships anyone else nor intends to. Well – maybe with the fair exception of Maitri.

There is one more strand, apart from these concrete platforms these two stand on, that tell them apart – their education. Maitri has a decorated MBA from one of the finest Universities of the country while Vikas never even finished college. My conservatively liberal upbringing let out a spark when this fact breezed by me. As someone who has been fed on a rich diet of the clichéd - ‘Arranged Marriage Good / Love Marriage Bad’ – I could not help but wonder what it would have been like had these two met under different circumstances. For instance, had they interacted with each other through a regular marriage alliance or a matrimonial website? I can wager quite confidently that Maitri would have declined Vikas’ proposal. Reason – he wasn’t educated enough to match her intellectual prowess and hence would harm her family’s sense of pride.

There was something about this possibility that bothered me. Considering that the concept of arranged marriages is most prevalent in countries like India, how much value do the others – read Americans, English, Europeans et al who do not consider the semantics of the other person for love and hopefully more – really give the formal education of their partner? Does it even matter? As I spoke to one of my Italian colleagues, she almost laughed at the question. ‘As long as he is a good man and knows how to treat a woman’ she said with an air of assurance that almost made me blush. I could not help but head back to the hundreds of profiles of prospective brides I had seen in the past few months where a girl with Bachelors in Commerce was looking for a doctor or an M.D or in some cases a PhD holder! I could not quite fathom the logic behind this sense of match making. If one looks at the relationship from a purely financial point of view, then there is some room for the argument that a person with a higher qualification stands a bright chance for a better job – hence translating into better income which then equates itself into wonderful living.

OK.

But does it really mean that a person with a PhD is a better human being than someone with a BCA degree or even just a diploma? Hardly. From experience if there is one thing I have learnt is that the most irrational and outrageous behaviors come from highly qualified individuals. Not to belittle their accomplishments – since I know some wonderful human beings with advanced degrees as well – but their educational milestones are rarely a reflection of their personality. I was reminded of Muniyappa, one of the ground staff who used to work with my father when he was in the Central government. During my three years in Chennai, I had never met a man – apart from my father of course – more affectionate than him. My father used to joke that maybe he was a woman in his past life since there was no other explanation to his deep sense of kindness, gratitude, humbleness and above all - honesty. He was happily married and fathered three wonderful children. He was truly an image of what a human being should believe in and follow as a principle in making the world a better place. As it turned out, Muniyappa had stopped his education after the tenth grade.

There are several such examples where a person with lesser exposure to academia has turned out to be the ideal person one wishes for while someone with illustrative multiple degrees attached to their shoulder turns out to be the biggest imbeciles one could ever meet.

I do not debate the fact that education is definitely a must if a society has to grow and prosper, but my reservation is with gauging a person’s character based on his education. Ideally one would think the two would be directly proportional – but the reality is that they are not. Education is merely one tool that helps bring awareness and knowledge to a person but it is not the only tool. There are so many more parameters that shape an individual’s character. Some of it is experience, some is the hardship one has gone through while others include understanding what love means and how to respect the opposite sex. If people fail in these vital categories, no amount of education helps.

As I get ready to wish Maitri and Vikas on their joyous day, the words of Aristotle ring true – ‘Character is that which reveals moral purpose, exposing the class of things a man chooses and avoids.’ So the next time you meet someone with lesser intellectual milestones than yourself, try not to walk away too soon. You might be about to meet a true gift to mankind or who knows … even a life partner!





..ShaKri..