I sat in Columbia for an hour tonight. At eight pm on a Friday night, a steady stream of humanity trickles out of the buildings and onto the main promenade. Knots of people cluster in front of the library and pretty young things wander by like gusts of fluttering butterflies. The lights in the hall slowly make their presence felt, smoothing over the transition as the earth turns away.
A gibbous moon hangs in the sky, face shadowed behind gauzy painted whorls of clouds. The copper green roofs seem brighter, caught by the westering rays, arrayed across the quadrangle like sentinels on duty. Argus of a hundred eyes could not have more viewpoints than the combined windows of these stoic watchmen. The dark is slowly taking over; crickets set up their chirping in the bushes and a squirrel saunters out to look over its property. Halogen lamps extend their rays like cold stars come near and the golden glow of low wattage lights fills one side. In 25 minutes, the place has not become any less busy. Were all these hundreds hidden away in treasure houses all day?
As the noises of the day die down, a fountain chuckles into life, filling the air with susurrations of splashing water. I get up and join the ebbing tide. Night has fallen.
A gibbous moon hangs in the sky, face shadowed behind gauzy painted whorls of clouds. The copper green roofs seem brighter, caught by the westering rays, arrayed across the quadrangle like sentinels on duty. Argus of a hundred eyes could not have more viewpoints than the combined windows of these stoic watchmen. The dark is slowly taking over; crickets set up their chirping in the bushes and a squirrel saunters out to look over its property. Halogen lamps extend their rays like cold stars come near and the golden glow of low wattage lights fills one side. In 25 minutes, the place has not become any less busy. Were all these hundreds hidden away in treasure houses all day?
As the noises of the day die down, a fountain chuckles into life, filling the air with susurrations of splashing water. I get up and join the ebbing tide. Night has fallen.
The master sat on the mountaintop and told his disciple.
"After much meditation, I desire some chicken and rice from Manhattan's 53rd and 6th street cart vendor." The disciple took his way down the mountain, across the plain and flew to New York City, where he found his master waiting in line in front of him.
The master said,"I got bored after you left."
"After much meditation, I desire some chicken and rice from Manhattan's 53rd and 6th street cart vendor." The disciple took his way down the mountain, across the plain and flew to New York City, where he found his master waiting in line in front of him.
The master said,"I got bored after you left."
The train jolted to the rhythms of unseen tabla players. She opened her lunchbox; mounds of fresh steaming rice packed into blinding steel containers with sambhar and curd.
The creepy man sitting nearby remarked with a leer.
"Coming from native place?"
She replied, "From my husbands."
She cursed herself then for lying, and hated society.
Dinner over; the children awaited their story. She swirled her glass of red wine.
"Midnight, overlooking the Hudson. Car radio playing."
"Si, I told her I dance the bachata!"
He got up from the table.
"Dance!" "Dance!" "Dance!"
The years rolled back as they danced.
"Kekkatadi avaruh, nee annu paraja vakkuh"
"Ai, mi indio lindo"
55 Friday came this Friday in all its multilingual glory.
"Kekkatadi avaruh, nee annu paraja vakkuh" -
Let them hear the words you said then.
"mi indio lindo" - my indian cutie
Manjesh sent me this video that explores the repercussions of outsourcing on India's metropolitan middle class. This link is here because around the 22nd minute, Friedman goes to meet a local RSS leader in Bangalore and we get a glimpse of Seema, my former classmate who sits in on that interview. I'm not quite sure what she is doing there. Since that little tidbit is only of interest to those of us who know Seema, be assured that this video is fascinating without the star power at work.
Keep a look out for the deference shown to Friedman everywhere. While it isn't servile, there still is an element of reserve in everybody's conversations with him, and even though several people complain about respect for elders disappearing, I find it very apparent in all the encounters on tape.
There were interesting parallels betwen the argument made against Valentine's day by the RSS leaders and the ones made by a lot of mallu pentecostals.
Consider a quote from V.A. Gopala. "In India, all our traditions are kept intact because of all the rituals. So even though they leave their parents, they should keep all the family traditions."
There are a few mallus in the video. I picked them out by their names. Interesting moments in the video include a proposal for kama sutra day and some wonderfully ideological arguments on the amount of exposure allowable to villagers. There was a phrase thrown out, "its creating a dependence and creating a kind of vacuum in the natural organic fabric of our societies.", and I couldn't help wondering... how are societies, any of them, naturally organic? Is it the abundance of technology and metal use that makes a society inorganic somehow?
In marked contrast to the attitude adopted by Vimochana was the Shanthi Bhavan school, which encouraged instead exposure to technology and education in the hope that these children could become part of India's future. That right there was a sentence that should be in some indian newspaper. And on that depressing note, I end.
Let me introduce you to www.imaginationcubed.com. Its a great way to collaborate online to share visual ideas. My friend Naomi and I came up with this piece one afternoon as we both tried to keep sleep at bay. We call it "Thoughts in the office" Post modern structural criticism is totally up to you, but do let us know what you think of the tool we used.
Huttidare Kannada Naadalli Huttabeku , Mettidare Kannada Manna Mettabeku, Badukidu Jataka Bandi....
If you had to be born, you should've been born in the land of Kannada, If you must be somewhere, it should be on the soil of the land of Kannada, life is like a bullock cart,...
Listen to the song by selecting the song Huttidare, Kannada Nadu
He was, and he lived and breathed and died in the land of Kannada. He passed away on April 12, 2006(13.45 IST) following a cardiac arrest on Wednesday afternoon in M S Ramaiah hospital, Bangalore.
After which people obligingly burned tires on roads, shut down businesses and generally declared mourning.
Now I'm not what you would call a fan of the man. I roll with Upendra's posse. But even I must stop for a minute and remember the moments of his life. There is the song that changed my whole image of the man, that goes along the lines of "Nan yejmandru..." I heard it only in bits and pieces, sung by Omkar while he was initiating us into the wonderful world of kannada music, but it made an indelible impression on me. Even now, I get the heebiejeebies, mind you, thats the heebiejeebies, remembering "nan yejmandru.....".
The next time I had a chance to get to hear about him was when Veerappan did my sister a favor by kidnapping him for more than 3 months. While Rajkumar might have been famous in Karnataka before that, this was the real showstopper that ensured he made it to the national stage, and all for going Survivor on Veerappan's team. The usual mayhem ensued in Bangalore, and spring break came again for all the kids as schools were closed for two weeks. Meanwhile, kannadigas took out processions and vilified tamilians and lit pyres in the streets with Veerappan effigies.
and that really was all he ever did for me, until I downloaded "Huttidare" While it's nowhere near the quality of "If You Come Today", it shows the pure versatility of the man as he makes an impassioned peal for us to fall in love with Karnataka all over again. Life truly is a bullock cart, so pour some gomuthra out for our beloved annavaru.
here's a video of the man in his prime.
and here are the lyrics
I've found a last interview with the mannina maga for you.
I drank my mocha espresso. She drank her chai latte. We both stole surreptitious glances at the next table.Friday came and went, and I showed up a little late to the party. But this fobby-san brought his kattan kaapi to the mix.
"I think they're a cute couple."
"We'll see in a minute."
When he went to the little boys' room, she hugged herself as a smile escaped.
"Pay up lover boy. She just had a good date."
Your photo, your face, your name. A brief splash of color pasted on the door of the neighborhood blimpie's. I've walked by the store so many times, always stopping at every other store in the strip mall. Never walking in. I'd see the people inside, beautiful young people, who looked like they had no care in the world, eating their sandwiches and drinking their fountain soda. It was a world of laughter, bright joie de vivre spilling from the doors, neighborhood friends gathered at the table.
Today when i walk by, an empty silence. The only illumination a backlight behind the counter, the only color the flowers on the door. Oh Amir Chalabi, my heart breaks for your family. Gathered to mourn your passing, they will tell each other stories of your bright smile and weep. Your mother will never look at another child without remembering you. Your father will look at other men and think of you. Time will bring its cold forgetful comfort, but you have lived, and brightened their days, and their memories. As for me, I only saw an image on a closed door, and the epitaphs your classmates left. A few flowers and scrawled words of comfort for your parents. And it near to broke my heart.
Dear child, I did not know you. I do not know your parents. I do not eat at the restaurant that was closed by your passing. But death has come and gone, and I would that it had not.
Today when i walk by, an empty silence. The only illumination a backlight behind the counter, the only color the flowers on the door. Oh Amir Chalabi, my heart breaks for your family. Gathered to mourn your passing, they will tell each other stories of your bright smile and weep. Your mother will never look at another child without remembering you. Your father will look at other men and think of you. Time will bring its cold forgetful comfort, but you have lived, and brightened their days, and their memories. As for me, I only saw an image on a closed door, and the epitaphs your classmates left. A few flowers and scrawled words of comfort for your parents. And it near to broke my heart.
Dear child, I did not know you. I do not know your parents. I do not eat at the restaurant that was closed by your passing. But death has come and gone, and I would that it had not.
For those of us who like magic a little bigger than tinker bell, a river of gold with garuda headed swans. What secrets might lurk in those dark thickets on the mountainside.
And if you ever want to order from the restaurant, here's the menu.
And if you ever want to order from the restaurant, here's the menu.
The master sat on the mountaintop. The woman waited patiently till the evening meditation was done and drew near. She smiled with longing and whispered,"Do you see me, o man of solitude?" The evening breeze carried his reply to her.
A cat caught a mouse for dinner and asked. "Tell me, would you want to know that I was going to kill you when I caught you or would you rather have death come without warning?" The mouse looked up and said,"Death comes to all of us. If you must, introduce us before we leave." Now you know why cats toy with their prey.
A cat caught a mouse for dinner and asked. "Tell me, would you want to know that I was going to kill you when I caught you or would you rather have death come without warning?" The mouse looked up and said,"Death comes to all of us. If you must, introduce us before we leave." Now you know why cats toy with their prey.
Surreal is an adjective that gets overused in the company I keep. I can't think of a better word to describe my first impressions of Bangalore. I hover at the exit from the airport, looking for a face I recognize, injunctions against thieves and errant taxi drivers and lowlife predators running through my head.
Dare I run that gauntlet of people without a guide? It is not so much the people as the noise level that strikes me as I move closer. The hubbub primes me for a great many people, while my eyes tell me a different story. Thankfully, as I shift my grips on my luggage and peer out into the night from the shelter of the cordoned area, I see a familiar face and relax. My first impression of Bangalore is one I cherish. I walk out into the parking lot, and the quiet descends. At first glance, I can't decide whether everything looks the same or not. The night surrounds us, but bright yellow sodium vapor lamps cast little spills of light in the distance. Why is there a dull patina of dust on the leaves i see?
I recognize all the roads that lead home, but its like a dream. Distances seem to stretch out forever, and then disappear behind me. Occassionally a passing "motorist" drives by and recognition sparks at the shape i see. All the concerns about traffic in Bangalore fade in the wee hours of the morning. We head for the one restaurant that is open at 2.30 in the morning, "Empire" and sit down for some kerala parota and butter paneer. I stick to bottled water and a little of the gravy. I'll take on the microbes a little at a time.
-01.02.06 Sitting at home, wide awake and unable to sleep at 6 in the morning IST. Jake sleeps in the next room. I've tossed and turned, unpacked, walked around the house, taken photos and watched early morning mist across the lane that runs in front of my house. The women draw their rangoli in the street. The milkman drops off his sachets of milk. I stand on the balcony and watch life stir as a cool breeze brings the whiff of another sunny day.
"Why would i touch her titties?" My girl grinned as I turned around. He kept talking. "This fat black woman. I walk by her and she's all I know you tried to touch me. Honey, I'm gay. and trying to listen to Madonna." We play Madonna on our ipod. Anchal whispers,“This little piggy went to..."
Anna's back with her 55 on Sepia Mutiny and I couldn't resist the invitation. Here's my dose of nanofiction to start this weekend off.
Anna's back with her 55 on Sepia Mutiny and I couldn't resist the invitation. Here's my dose of nanofiction to start this weekend off.
“Eda! Are you studying?" His father pops up at odd times, looms menacingly and disappears. Its study vacation and the stakes are high. The cane of justice can descend at any moment if he's not careful. On guard, his eyes drift to the novel open in his lap, "Oh God, one more chapter, and I’ll stop."
Read the rest of the anthology.
St. Germains High School has got to be my favorite school. When I am old and senile, I will still be telling my grandchildren about St. Germains and the education I partook in. I missed the first day of 10th grade. I managed to get typhoid during that summer vacation and it was a while before my parents would let me out of bed. Since the first day of school was always wasted, it was decided that I didn't need to go. So off I went on the second day to school, only to find that I had ended up in 10 A. St. Germains had about hundred and fifty kids in 10th grade that year, and we were divided up into three classrooms. The 10 A class teacher was Mr. Amal Raj, also called Dubba by those in the know. which was pretty much everyone. We had nicknames for every teacher in school, and the good ones usually stuck around for years. Dubba was one of the good ones, and it had been handed down to us through the years along with the fragments of the legend. All i remember is that it had to do with his lunch box, which was this huge steel tiffin box set that he carried in a bag on his classic indian bicycle. The green one with the bent handle bars and the huge seat and steel cargo rack.
me and dubba were not really on the best of terms over an incident that happened at the end of 9th grade. you can imagine my horror when i found out he was my class teacher. the real fault i had with dubba was that he had favorites, and i was definitely not on the list. in fact, i was convinced he hated me. we both had reason... luckily for me, i managed to go home and somehow convince my father i wanted to change classes, and he actually came to school and talked to mr. toppo, the vice principal and it was all done.
In the middle of this eventful first week of school, however, mr. lobo found time to heal me of a persistent cough i had. and very effectively too. its never come back since. mr. lobo was one of the teachers who'd been around for a long time and he taught physics. he was generally looked on as a harmless old man who could be teased easily. word on the classroom aisles was that it wouldn't do to piss him off however. I still remember he used to wear short sleeved shirts which used to generally be white with vertical stripes. And he had a paunch and greyish white hair that he combed to the side and a moustache. He also used to wear grey or dark brown slim boot cut pants and brown loafers and he walked slowly. It would always take him a while to get from the staffroom to the class.
Our classrooms in 10A, 10B, and 10C were in a row on the side of the quadrangle right outside the vice principal's office and below the principal's. It was done so that we would be less tempted to goof off. It worked, because we'd end up being chased inside our classrooms a lot. All three classrooms had really low roofs and the door was towards the back of the class. When you stood in the doorway, you'd see the last rows of benches and tables. We had an aisle in the middle of the classroom and benches and tables in rows all the way to the front of the class where there was a single desk and chair for the teacher and the blackboard. Opposite the door, all across the far wall were set huge square bay windows. The far end was open except for decorative metal grating and these windows could be closed up on the near side with wooden windows that had murky glass panes. We also had a single tubelight set in the ceiling. We used to have a lot of fun taking the little starter out of the tubelight and persuading the teacher there wasn't enough light in the class for us to see anything on the board. The students would sit three to a bench, according to height, and thankfully enough, I'd end up towards the back.
It was my first class with Mr. Lobo, and a first class with a new lecturer is always a time of testing. You always want to see how much you can get away with. In this case, I was sitting near the windows, in the second bench from the back and we were writing down stuff as Mr. Lobo dictated from his notes. During the course of the dictation, he drifted back and sat down on the last bench, near the aisle. I was in the middle of the next bench, with a friend next to me, and we were all bent over writing in our 200 hundred page ruled square notebooks.
All of a sudden, Mr. Lobo coughed. Immediately a smile blossomed on a few faces. There were a few furtive looks. Suddenly, a cough sounded in the back to my right. I waited. There was another cough to the front. Then I coughed. If you thought a yawn was contagious, you have no idea what a teacher's cough can do to a classroom of boys who are just waiting for an opportunity to goof off. Suddenly, it was as if the whole class erupted in a fit of coughing. We heard all kinds of congestion clearing up, from a simple sore throat to a deep hacking cough. In a matter of seconds, it petered out, with the final cough showing up somewhere in front of me. I didnt want it to end just yet. I decided I'd cough again. So i did, only it came out staggered, so it ended up sounding singly in the silence. "ahuh, ahuhh". satisfied, a smile began to make its way to my face.
BAM. Out of nowhere, a hand had come and slapped me across my right cheek. I looked up, in growing horror. Now it was a matter of finding out exactly how bad the punishment was going to be. I look around to hear "SO YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE A FOOL OF ME?" Now was not the time for an answer. I could catch the look of horror on the faces of my classmates and friends. This was new to them too. There was no precedent in our short history together with Mr. Lobo on how to handle this situation. So I did the only sane thing. Kept my mouth shut. "GET OUT. GET OUT OF MY CLASS RIGHT NOW. AND YOU CANT SIT IN MY CLASS TILL YOU BRING YOUR FATHER TO SEE ME"
Getting out took only a manner of seconds, excruciatingly slow though they were. Now it was even more important that I get out of 10 A and into 10C. I knew he taught physics in 10B too. So I went home and told my father again that I needed to get out of 10A because Dubba hated me. By the end of the week, it was done. But they threw me into 10B instead. I kept my mouth shut and my head down and tried to blend into the dirty brown of the desk. It didnt work. Physics class rolled around and he asked me again to bring my father in. So I went home and told him about how the new physics teacher wanted to meet him. My dad happens to have a B.S. in physics. I put the whole spin on it. Nice physics teacher, physics is important, physics is good, i love physics, my teacher wants to meet you. All that. So my dad came to school, and they talked right in front of me. All Mr. Lobo said was," your son is a smart boy, but he needs to pay attention sometimes". Then my dad went home and all was good. I never had a problem with Mr. Lobo again. Needless to say, I was eternally grateful that he did not say a word to my father and he never had a problem with me. And that cough? It never afflicted me in his class again.
In the middle of this eventful first week of school, however, mr. lobo found time to heal me of a persistent cough i had. and very effectively too. its never come back since. mr. lobo was one of the teachers who'd been around for a long time and he taught physics. he was generally looked on as a harmless old man who could be teased easily. word on the classroom aisles was that it wouldn't do to piss him off however. I still remember he used to wear short sleeved shirts which used to generally be white with vertical stripes. And he had a paunch and greyish white hair that he combed to the side and a moustache. He also used to wear grey or dark brown slim boot cut pants and brown loafers and he walked slowly. It would always take him a while to get from the staffroom to the class.
Our classrooms in 10A, 10B, and 10C were in a row on the side of the quadrangle right outside the vice principal's office and below the principal's. It was done so that we would be less tempted to goof off. It worked, because we'd end up being chased inside our classrooms a lot. All three classrooms had really low roofs and the door was towards the back of the class. When you stood in the doorway, you'd see the last rows of benches and tables. We had an aisle in the middle of the classroom and benches and tables in rows all the way to the front of the class where there was a single desk and chair for the teacher and the blackboard. Opposite the door, all across the far wall were set huge square bay windows. The far end was open except for decorative metal grating and these windows could be closed up on the near side with wooden windows that had murky glass panes. We also had a single tubelight set in the ceiling. We used to have a lot of fun taking the little starter out of the tubelight and persuading the teacher there wasn't enough light in the class for us to see anything on the board. The students would sit three to a bench, according to height, and thankfully enough, I'd end up towards the back.
It was my first class with Mr. Lobo, and a first class with a new lecturer is always a time of testing. You always want to see how much you can get away with. In this case, I was sitting near the windows, in the second bench from the back and we were writing down stuff as Mr. Lobo dictated from his notes. During the course of the dictation, he drifted back and sat down on the last bench, near the aisle. I was in the middle of the next bench, with a friend next to me, and we were all bent over writing in our 200 hundred page ruled square notebooks.
All of a sudden, Mr. Lobo coughed. Immediately a smile blossomed on a few faces. There were a few furtive looks. Suddenly, a cough sounded in the back to my right. I waited. There was another cough to the front. Then I coughed. If you thought a yawn was contagious, you have no idea what a teacher's cough can do to a classroom of boys who are just waiting for an opportunity to goof off. Suddenly, it was as if the whole class erupted in a fit of coughing. We heard all kinds of congestion clearing up, from a simple sore throat to a deep hacking cough. In a matter of seconds, it petered out, with the final cough showing up somewhere in front of me. I didnt want it to end just yet. I decided I'd cough again. So i did, only it came out staggered, so it ended up sounding singly in the silence. "ahuh, ahuhh". satisfied, a smile began to make its way to my face.
BAM. Out of nowhere, a hand had come and slapped me across my right cheek. I looked up, in growing horror. Now it was a matter of finding out exactly how bad the punishment was going to be. I look around to hear "SO YOU THINK YOU CAN MAKE A FOOL OF ME?" Now was not the time for an answer. I could catch the look of horror on the faces of my classmates and friends. This was new to them too. There was no precedent in our short history together with Mr. Lobo on how to handle this situation. So I did the only sane thing. Kept my mouth shut. "GET OUT. GET OUT OF MY CLASS RIGHT NOW. AND YOU CANT SIT IN MY CLASS TILL YOU BRING YOUR FATHER TO SEE ME"
Getting out took only a manner of seconds, excruciatingly slow though they were. Now it was even more important that I get out of 10 A and into 10C. I knew he taught physics in 10B too. So I went home and told my father again that I needed to get out of 10A because Dubba hated me. By the end of the week, it was done. But they threw me into 10B instead. I kept my mouth shut and my head down and tried to blend into the dirty brown of the desk. It didnt work. Physics class rolled around and he asked me again to bring my father in. So I went home and told him about how the new physics teacher wanted to meet him. My dad happens to have a B.S. in physics. I put the whole spin on it. Nice physics teacher, physics is important, physics is good, i love physics, my teacher wants to meet you. All that. So my dad came to school, and they talked right in front of me. All Mr. Lobo said was," your son is a smart boy, but he needs to pay attention sometimes". Then my dad went home and all was good. I never had a problem with Mr. Lobo again. Needless to say, I was eternally grateful that he did not say a word to my father and he never had a problem with me. And that cough? It never afflicted me in his class again.
hung out with chetan and praveen on wednesday. we ate thai food and had a hankering for some real indian coffee. hit the madras cafe. even got the steel glass to go with the coffee. after a lot of soul searching, decided it wouldnt be right to order tea too.
the end.
the end.
i was looking for an equivalent in tamil. i figured i'd ask a tamilian friend. it turned out better than i expected. i learned a lot more than i needed. especially since i made up everything about padma lakshmi
[05:51] zimblymallu: what's a word of affection in tamil?
[05:51] zimblymallu: like, say
[05:51] zimblymallu: thankamani?
[05:55] d. f. pandi: lol
[05:55] d. f. pandi: i dont know any such word
[05:56] zimblymallu: thangam - mani
[05:57] zimblymallu: gawd. exploit the language already
[05:57] d. f. pandi: lol. why ?
[05:57] zimblymallu: just for kix
[06:08] d. f. pandi: kixing whom ?
[06:08] zimblymallu: umm. nobody ?
[06:08] d. f. pandi: lol.
[06:08] d. f. pandi: am i being enough of a dip?
[06:09] zimblymallu: not really. but u want to come up with a nice tamilian term of endearment?
[06:09] d. f. pandi: why ?
[06:09] d. f. pandi: which tamil chick are you talking to ?
[06:09] zimblymallu: dude.
[06:10] zimblymallu: why would i be talkin to a tamil chick?
[06:10] zimblymallu: romba nalla pattu
[06:10] zimblymallu: did u see that video ?
[06:10] zimblymallu: mia
[06:17] d. f. pandi: yeah.
[06:17] d. f. pandi: i did
[06:17] d. f. pandi: lol.
[06:17] d. f. pandi: so why is it that you want a tamil endearment
[06:17] d. f. pandi: ?
[06:17] zimblymallu: romba nalla pattu
[06:18] zimblymallu: and i need something after that
[06:18] d. f. pandi: why why why ??
[06:18] d. f. pandi: tell me why ??
[06:18] d. f. pandi: does she look like padma lakshmi
[06:18] d. f. pandi: ??
[06:18] zimblymallu: nooooooooooooooooooooooo
[06:18] zimblymallu: dont tease me with the impossible
[06:19] d. f. pandi: lol.
[06:19] d. f. pandi: but shes one hottie though huh ?
[06:20] zimblymallu: ok. see. lets keep that in our mind
[06:20] zimblymallu: now. im talkin to padma lakshmi here,
[06:20] zimblymallu: and im like, hey my
[06:20] zimblymallu: .... /???/
[06:21] d. f. pandi: nice try
[06:21] d. f. pandi: i want to know why u need
[06:21] d. f. pandi: it in the firwst place..
[06:21] d. f. pandi: muahahaha1!!~!
[06:21] zimblymallu: fine. i met padma lakshmi at the hilton the other day
[06:21] zimblymallu: k.
[06:22] zimblymallu: i was there at this seminar and she happened to be in the lobby, so when i saw this cute indian woman, i walked over and said hi.
[06:22] zimblymallu: do u know about this awesome chicken and rice place thats right outside ur hotel
[06:22] d. f. pandi: and ..?
[06:23] zimblymallu: what and.?
[06:23] d. f. pandi: what happened after that ?
[06:23] zimblymallu: so we talked about how america's cool but not as cool as india
[06:23] zimblymallu: and stood in the line for chicken and rice and she really liked it.
[06:23] zimblymallu: and she's going back soon to shoot some movie, but before she leaves, we're hitting the chicken and rice place again
[06:23] d. f. pandi: and she happens to be tamilian ?
[06:23] zimblymallu: so i need that word
[06:24] d. f. pandi: shoot some movie ?
[06:24] zimblymallu: to throw into the conversation
[06:24] zimblymallu: umm. yeah
[06:24] d. f. pandi: ah, hm. you lucky luck duck (its not really duck, u know that, right...)
[06:24] d. f. pandi: how come u meet all the cuites
[06:24] zimblymallu: can u tell me the freakin word now
[06:24] d. f. pandi: and you just went and spoke to her just like that ?
[06:25] d. f. pandi: lol. hm, you could call her kunju mole ?
[06:25] d. f. pandi: oh damn thats mallu.
[06:25] zimblymallu: not mallu
[06:25] d. f. pandi: call her kanamma ..
[06:25] d. f. pandi: wait .. i'll talk to some proper tamil boys a and come back
[06:25] d. f. pandi: gimme 10
[06:25] zimblymallu: c'mon. that sounds cute? ?
[06:26] d. f. pandi: kanamma is beautiful .. its from this tamil poets poetry .. bharathiar
[06:26] d. f. pandi: or you could go ' paavi ' thats a sinner, the female form of the word ..
[06:27] d. f. pandi: like "adi paavi" we could go for dinner or something
[06:27] zimblymallu: hmmm.
[06:30] zimblymallu: LOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOLOL
[06:30] zimblymallu: are u still around?
[06:32] d. f. pandi: what was LOLLOL ???
[06:32] d. f. pandi: yeah i am
[06:32] d. f. pandi: all wasted bums here ..
[06:32] zimblymallu: oh. well.
[06:33] d. f. pandi: but tell me .. is this woman coming back to blore or something ?
[06:33] zimblymallu: i just made up that story
[06:33] zimblymallu: ahahahaahahahahahahahahahaahahhaa
[06:33] zimblymallu: i am currently rolling on the floor
[06:33] d. f. pandi: and i bought it.
[06:34] d. f. pandi: there isnt going to be any end to this is there ?
i was sitting at work when my phone rang. well, actually, it makes this nice little electronica space music thats never gets in the way of whatever's happening. i take a look and realize its a call from india. i pick up the phone and hear my sister on the line.
"we're lost. we're on dispensary road and we need to get to commercial street. how do i get there."
i'm thinking... dispensary road? i remember the name. then i think. hold on. im sitting here 3000 miles and 3 years away, and she wants me to remember the name of a street? strangely comforting that she thinks i've got perfect recall. but you've got to understand. i dont expect street signs in bangalore. i just know how to get where i have to go. from viveknagar to coxtown to banashankari 2nd stage to cornerhouse. (cornerhouse demands its own location on the map) well, i didnt know where it was. but google comes to the rescue again. i type in dispensary road and find this map. from there it was pretty simple. and that's how i got a box of bhagatram's burfi.
"we're lost. we're on dispensary road and we need to get to commercial street. how do i get there."
i'm thinking... dispensary road? i remember the name. then i think. hold on. im sitting here 3000 miles and 3 years away, and she wants me to remember the name of a street? strangely comforting that she thinks i've got perfect recall. but you've got to understand. i dont expect street signs in bangalore. i just know how to get where i have to go. from viveknagar to coxtown to banashankari 2nd stage to cornerhouse. (cornerhouse demands its own location on the map) well, i didnt know where it was. but google comes to the rescue again. i type in dispensary road and find this map. from there it was pretty simple. and that's how i got a box of bhagatram's burfi.
for the ethics and blogging survey conducted by the Singapore Internet Research Center
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working in collaboration with pooja, we came up with the kannada remix of UB40's "Can't help falling in love with you"
Sing along, lyrics below...
Sing along, lyrics below...
Wise men say, only fools rush in.
punta helthanay, goobe bega odtharay
But I can't help falling in love with you
andhre naanu nin preethialli dhamar agi bidbidthay
Shall I stay? Would it be a sin?
nan idbidla? adhu pappa agatha?
I can't help falling in love with you
naanu nin preethialli dhamar agi bidbidthay
As the river flows gently to the sea
kaveri heriyothara nidanakay samudra athra
Darling so we go, some things were meant to be
darrrrling, nadionna, solpa samaan hagaynay
Take my hand take my whole heart too
nan kay ethko, nan poorthi hridaya thoko
'Cause i can't help falling in love with you
andhre naanu nin preethialli dhamar agi bidbidthay
knocked blindside up on the techno revelry of the past. we rot and roll, pushed out of our shells and wondering at the pristine gore. laid out in morgue fashion, lost in the tepid scrawl of waxy black tar that spills over your furrows of clay.
i wonder at the images filling my head.
the stark black shutter stop click click click and off we go. running at break neck speed down the winds of tomorrow, we slide past grottos that hold secrets we will never grasp. lost amidst the insouciant wraps that clothe this world in green.
i wonder at the images filling my head.
the stark black shutter stop click click click and off we go. running at break neck speed down the winds of tomorrow, we slide past grottos that hold secrets we will never grasp. lost amidst the insouciant wraps that clothe this world in green.
Mallu Vocabulary Lesson 1
aiyo - an expression used to denote shock, horror and emotional or physical pain.
It is often used when something unfortunate happens and can be uttered either by the victim or by witnesses. To add authenticity to your mallu disguise, use aiyo whenever you stub a toe, burn your tongue on some hot coffee or get beat by your parents.
aiyo - an expression used to denote shock, horror and emotional or physical pain.
It is often used when something unfortunate happens and can be uttered either by the victim or by witnesses. To add authenticity to your mallu disguise, use aiyo whenever you stub a toe, burn your tongue on some hot coffee or get beat by your parents.
Transcript
Aiyo - aiyo
Examples
Aiyo kashtam - oh how sad...
aiyo daivame - oh my god
aiyo karthave - o christ...
aiyo njan oru arishta manushen - o wretched man that i am
Repeat after me
Aiyo
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