Tuesday 13 December 2016
Thursday 8 December 2016
Jasoos Kutty’s Theory of Boredom and Demonetisation
Puttu and kadala.
Again.
I don’t know a single person who has got bored of eating puttu for breakfast. But 30 days at a stretch is a bit of a stretch. It is enough to make people think of very drastic measures. Now, if the dinner is fruits and soup, you have had it. You will start dreaming of chicken tandoori, beef fry, and all other sins at odd times. It could even force a nervous breakdown.
“Sara, I admit puttu is my favourite, but the same puttu and kadala for one full month is too much. Can’t you ask the cook to prepare something different. Even bread-omelette will do.”
“Go ask your Modiji. The grocer doesn’t take PayTM-ShayTM or dollar-shollar and I am not wasting precious domestic currency on a packet of bread and a dozen eggs.”
“Now you blame Modi, it is exactly because of assistants like you he had to demonetise all those lakhs of crores of rupees. You good for nothing ~!#%#$^$%.” To make my point I threw the cup of tea on the floor, was just about to throw the puttu and kadala as well, but luckily stopped myself in time. All that yoga-bhoga I do works at times, though I haven’t shed any weight so far. Sara, like me, also has a temper, if I do something like that, she might just stop cooking or worse still, make puttu and kadala for the next one year.
“If the maid doesn’t come, you will sweep the floor today,” Sara picked up the newspaper and started reading.
“See Sara, you don’t get the point. I will explain.”
“What is there to explain?”
“You know why Modi became PM?”
“He was Chief Minister for 15 years and wanted a change. What was there for the taking? The PM’s post.”
“It’s not as easy as that.”
“Of course not. You know of my 11-month undercover operation. I am so bored of it that I just stopped it.”
“What will you do then? Half your money came from that assignment. And my salary.”
“Don’t worry. Since I don’t have a CM’s job on offer, I will go undercover somewhere else. What I am saying is Modi became PM because he was bored being CM and it has nothing to do with ambition. It was the same with Manmohan Singh. He wasn’t doing much and when Sonia offered him the post he just took it. Singh was bored of doing nothing. Boredom is nourishment of ambition.”
“OK. What does that have to do with my cooking?” Sara sometimes amazes me with her stupidity. I have to explain everything to her.
“Just like macro-economics and micro-economics, there is macro-boredom and micro-boredom.”
“And what is that?”
“Micro-boredom has to do with small things in life. Like eating puttu every day. Take Modiji for instance. Every day he eats dhokla, rice, dal, roti and kadak chai. Just imagine doing this every day of the month, every month of the year, every year of the decade. A good aide, or cook in this instance, will make small changes. Make dal tadka instead of dal makhani one day, upma instead of dhokla, vada-sambhar instead of dahi-bhalla.”
“Feeki chai instead of kadak chai.”
“No, no, no. Never. Never touch the chai. The whole day will be ruined if the chai is out of sync, and you don’t want your PM’s chai to be spoilt. It is a bit like the kattan chai I have every morning.”
“OK.”
“Now when the cook fails you, you start thinking. ‘What is the point of life if all I am eating is dhokla and dal-chaval.’ This thought process is a tricky thing. You never know where it takes you. Philosophy, spirituality, you could start thinking about anything.”
“OK.”
“The first two years, the PM was busy with foreign affairs, at the expense of internal affairs, some losers like Rahul say.”
“Oh, please. How can you randomly call people losers?”
“But he did lose an election, Sara. Getting back to the point, after two years, one fine day Modiji gets yet another plate of dhokla and the thought process starts. ‘I have done enough of foreign affairs, more than what Sushmaji has done, it is time I helped out Jaitleyji a little. What kind of a Prime Minister doesn’t help his ministers?’”
“OK.”
“And then he eats the dal-roti, yet again, it is not helping at all. He is encouraged to think further. ‘The GST is done, but it was the brainchild of Atal or Manmohan or whoever, and I am pretty much doing what they did. What is there for me to do?’ Every time he gets the same dhokla and dal-roti, he starts thinking. He is a man who doesn’t settle for the second best, he couldn’t have done nothing less than a surgical strike on the economy.”
At this point, Sara ended the conversation and left the room. She returned after 15 minutes.
“Kutty, here is bread-omelette for you. If you were bored of puttu and kadala, you should have just told me instead of cooking up a story.”
Tuesday 6 December 2016
The evolution of Puratchi Thalaivi into Amma
The year was 1999. Atal Behari Vajpayee had taken office as the Prime Minister of India, on the crutches of J Jayalalithaa and the 18 AIADMK MPs she had at her beck and call. Jayalalithaa was out of power in Tamil Nadu, but now held the plug on the BJP’s second government at the Centre (Vajpayee’s earlier term ended in 13 days). ‘If Jayalalithaa catches a cold in Chennai, Vajpayee sneezes in Delhi’ was the joke of the day, a couple of newspapers even ran headlines to the effect.
Jayalalithaa was flying to Delhi, with a plan in place to raid the national capital, aided and abetted by Subramanian Swamy. Yes, the trip now infamous for the number of suitcases she carried, which were rumoured to have cash, sarees or footwear, depending on who you spoke to.
A friend, whose father was a Tamil Nadu government employee and a big fan of the Puratchi Thalaivi, was entrusted with the task of arranging a fitting welcome for who could be the future PM of the country. He ferried two bus-loads of Tamil migrants from Trilok Puri to the airport, where they greeted their beloved leader with chants of ‘Puratchi Thalaivi Vaazhkaa’.
In return, this friend, fresh out of college, and a member of the AIADMK’s youth wing in the Capital, got an audience with the Empress. He bowed with respect, said some greetings, and Jayalalithaa took a few notes from a tray placed near her and handed them over. The next guy in line was rewarded with a bigger wad of notes, he had fallen at the feet of the Leader. My friend, born and raised in Delhi, had missed the trick.
For Jayalalithaa, that Delhi trip was in vain, from kingmaker she had become a butt of jokes. She pulled down a government, but gained nothing much in the process.
The Jayalalithaa that returned to power was a changed woman. She understood the importance of allies -- used them to win power and threw them under the bus once the elections were over. She ruled her party with an iron hand. She reportedly kept a leash on her trusted friend and aide Sasikala Natarajan, she brooked no hint of criticism, she dropped ministers at the drop of a hat. More importantly, the ornaments were missing, the suitcases were missing, the pomp was missing. She had understood the importance of perception. She was doing penance, so to say, for her sins of the past. The dictator became a practitioner of welfarism, fondly called Ammanomics after the several schemes she floated under the brand Amma.
All of Jayalalithaa’s obituaries in newspapers today talk about her industrial policies, pro-poor freebies, women’s safety, how Tamil Nadu, a big state, has scaled all development indices under her rule. The metamorphosis is complete. Jayalalithaa Jayaram, the Puratchi Thalaivi (the ‘revolutionary leader’), who was held in awe and fear, will be remembered forever as Amma by the people of Tamil Nadu.
(The writer has no expertise in Dravidian politics. He reads newspapers and watches TV news)
Jayalalithaa was flying to Delhi, with a plan in place to raid the national capital, aided and abetted by Subramanian Swamy. Yes, the trip now infamous for the number of suitcases she carried, which were rumoured to have cash, sarees or footwear, depending on who you spoke to.
A friend, whose father was a Tamil Nadu government employee and a big fan of the Puratchi Thalaivi, was entrusted with the task of arranging a fitting welcome for who could be the future PM of the country. He ferried two bus-loads of Tamil migrants from Trilok Puri to the airport, where they greeted their beloved leader with chants of ‘Puratchi Thalaivi Vaazhkaa’.
In return, this friend, fresh out of college, and a member of the AIADMK’s youth wing in the Capital, got an audience with the Empress. He bowed with respect, said some greetings, and Jayalalithaa took a few notes from a tray placed near her and handed them over. The next guy in line was rewarded with a bigger wad of notes, he had fallen at the feet of the Leader. My friend, born and raised in Delhi, had missed the trick.
For Jayalalithaa, that Delhi trip was in vain, from kingmaker she had become a butt of jokes. She pulled down a government, but gained nothing much in the process.
The Jayalalithaa that returned to power was a changed woman. She understood the importance of allies -- used them to win power and threw them under the bus once the elections were over. She ruled her party with an iron hand. She reportedly kept a leash on her trusted friend and aide Sasikala Natarajan, she brooked no hint of criticism, she dropped ministers at the drop of a hat. More importantly, the ornaments were missing, the suitcases were missing, the pomp was missing. She had understood the importance of perception. She was doing penance, so to say, for her sins of the past. The dictator became a practitioner of welfarism, fondly called Ammanomics after the several schemes she floated under the brand Amma.
All of Jayalalithaa’s obituaries in newspapers today talk about her industrial policies, pro-poor freebies, women’s safety, how Tamil Nadu, a big state, has scaled all development indices under her rule. The metamorphosis is complete. Jayalalithaa Jayaram, the Puratchi Thalaivi (the ‘revolutionary leader’), who was held in awe and fear, will be remembered forever as Amma by the people of Tamil Nadu.
(The writer has no expertise in Dravidian politics. He reads newspapers and watches TV news)
Wednesday 23 November 2016
The Auto Driver - A Rum Story
It is 11:30 at night. Roughly around this time CRK downs his 4th large. That is when he enters his zone. Like Rahul Dravid, he would leave every delivery even a fraction outside the offstump, if he were to get a chance. When CRK is in his zone, he starts telling stories, the kind of stuff you won’t hear anywhere else. His exploits in the jungles of Sathyamangalam, or his daring escape from Chambal, how he spent one night next to Priyanka’s room -- that is the closest he could get….
But that 4th large is critical. Everything hinges on that. The trick is in getting him to slow down and force him to savour his drink sip by sip. Don’t let him reach the 8th large, that is when he will start randomly breaking things because India signed the GATT agreement some 20 years ago or VP Singh lost power because Lutyens' Delhi ganged up against him, pretty much like it has ganged up against Prime Minister Narendra Modi and Arnab Goswami, or Deve Gowda cheated Ramakrishna Hegde, aided by Lalu Yadav and other sundry Yadavs, to become the Prime Minister…
CRK has his band of fans, from all age groups. Every night they gather at the temporary shed behind the local theka. Today is no different. Our man is in full flow.
“It happened a few years ago, don’t remember exactly when. A lot of my life is fuzzy,” said CRK, his eager audience anxiously waiting for him change gears. “That is the thing with Old Monk,” he said straying from the subject.
“Did it happen in Delhi?” I tried to bring him back to the present.
“What happened, when?”
“You were telling us a story about something that happened to you at sometime, probably in the past since Time Machine is still not a reality.”
“Do you know where you can find the most honest auto drivers in India?” he asked.
“Kozhikode,” said Sai, who I am not taking the trouble to tell you more about since he and I incidental to the story. We are what you are, the listeners.
CRK thought for a while and continued, “I don’t know where we can find honest auto drivers, but I have had some interesting experiences. One particular incident happened in Kochi, your home Kutty.”
“Shock us.”
“I had finished a bottle or two that night and was looking for more drinks. Should have been midnight or so, people were returning home after the second show. I asked them where I could get a bottle of anything.”
“You should have gone to the Kuzhiyil Bar on M G Road, Sir. Just tap on the shutters, someone will come from the adjoining building and give you whatever you need. Champagne, Scotch, rum, you will get just about anything there,” said Sai.
“Back then I didn’t have friends like you. My friends were all mother******s of the top order, they left me on the road once the drinks were over. They even finished the touchings.”
“My sympathies. Then what, did you get the drinks you were so desperate for?”
“That is when Velu came. He was an auto driver.”
‘Saar, what do you want?’
‘One bottle of rum, can you get it?’
‘You are in Kochi saar, I will get you an AK-47 if you want. I have better stuff than rum. Nalla onnaam tharam patta (first-rate arrack)’
‘Isn’t it banned? Will I lose my eyes or something?’
‘Twenty years experience in the business saar, never got it wrong. But if you don’t want it, I will get you nice brandy.’
‘No. I am game for patta. I trust you with my life, you can’t be any worse than that bastard Rao who sold out our country to the imperialist forces in the West.’
CRK took another sip, “Weren’t we right? Betraying VP Singh was the biggest tragedy that happened to India. We did to VP what we did to Tipu. We are the stupidest people in the world.”
“Sir, did Velu get the പട്ട, അത് പറ, ഇത് ഒരു മാതിരി ബാറിൽ പിടിച്ചിരുത്തി പാലും വെള്ളം തരണ പരിപാടി ആയല്ലോ,” Sai complained.
“He took me in his auto through the bylanes to more bylanes till we reached a ramshackle house, looked almost like a slum. By the way it is a shame you have slums in Kerala.”
“Back to the story, comrade.”
“Velu’s house, I am assuming it was his home, was next to the kaayal (backwaters). He put two chairs in the open. There we sat and drank arrack. A woman, he said it was his wife, brought us meen vattichathu (fish) and beef fry. Just picture it. All that good food, drinks, the boat in the backwaters far away, the breeze, the swaying coconut trees, the moon…”
“Did you get Velu’s number? Where can we find him,” asked Sai.
“Wait the story isn’t over.”
“What more will happen? You must have puked and gone to bed.”
“I don’t remember puking. But Velu was a generous host. He said
‘Saar it is too late for you to go. First bus is at 5 am, you will have to book a room somewhere. Why don’t you spend the night here? We have a spare room.’
‘It will be trouble for you, Velu.’
“Saying this, he took me inside, to a room. Just a bed and a table and nothing else. Or did I see an almirah there? I tried to close the door, but it didn’t have any lock.”
“Oh, the usual stuff, you got robbed,” I said.
“തോക്കിൽ കേറി വെടി വയ്ക്കാതെ സാറേ, he can do better than that,” said Sai.
“The next morning when I woke up I was naked. Sleeping next to me was the woman Velu said was his wife. She was very pretty unlike how I pictured her the previous night, and needless to say she was naked too. And then Velu entered the room, I didn’t know what to say.
‘What happened here, Velu? I don’t remember anything.’
[Silence]
‘I am really sorry. But I don’t think anything happened, I was dead drunk.’
[Silence]
‘Please don’t call the police.’
‘Hahahahaha’, Velu started laughing, ‘Saar, you are very naughty. You could have said this is what you wanted, we could have saved some time.’
‘Come on Velu, what happened?’
‘Whatever happens between a man and woman in a closed room.’
‘Stop this movie dialogue. I wasn’t in a position to do anything. I refuse to believe you.’
‘Enna saare, oru maathiri mayiru varthamaanam. You got what you wanted, now lecturing me.’
‘I don’t believe you, take me to the bus stand now.’
‘I will take you wherever you want to go, but pay up first. She is not in this profession for fun.’
“Velu took all the money I had and dropped me at the bus stop.”
“So, what happened inside the room,” asked Sai.
“I don’t think anything happened.”
“Come on, there must have been some signs. If the kumkum was smudged, it was fraud, they took the idea from films.”
“Nothing much happened there,” said CRK, and started drinking his 6th large very thoughtfully.
“But you sound uncertain,” I said.
****
PS: CRK died yesterday, he had cancer
Tuesday 15 November 2016
Friday 11 November 2016
Saturday 5 November 2016
Tuesday 1 November 2016
Monday 24 October 2016
Thursday 20 October 2016
Wednesday 19 October 2016
Wednesday 12 October 2016
An open letter to Pulimurugan Mohanlal
Dear Lalettan,
Congratulations on your latest hit Pulimurugan. You legion of fans and admirers, which includes me, is still debating if it is a hit, super hit, mega hit, super duper hit. From all accounts it is a mega super duper hit. But does it deserve to be?
The film is 90% Mohanlal, the remaining 10% is shared between the 100 people you thrashed singlehandedly and the few tigers you mercilessly and effortlessly killed.
Yes, many characters come and go, but we wouldn't have missed them if they came and stayed or didn't come at all. For example your neighbour, a sexy and voluptuous woman (the director has made sure every curve is curvier, he didn't want to leave anything to chance) ogles you, ogles you more, and ogles you further more. The amount of screen space and time she got, you, sorry Murugan, should have had at least a one-night stand.
The film, I feel, has come a little too late. It should have hit theatres at least in January, 2014. That is the year a man who accidentally fell into a tiger's enclosure at the Delhi zoo was mauled to death by the big cat. The movie should be made essential viewing for all visitors to zoos. No, not the parts were you killed the tigers as a grown-up, but the beginning, where you killed a tiger as a six- or seven-year-old.
Already Do-It-Yourself illustrations on killing tigers are going viral.
Step 1: Make the tiger chase you, make sure you outrun it
Step 2: Climb a tall tree
Step 3: When the tiger follows you and climbs the tree, you jump from it
Step 4: Now the tiger is busy climbing the tree, but you are on the ground
Step 5: Hurl the spear piercing the tiger's back and sticking it to the tree
If all this fails, you can turn to the age-old tried and tested adavu of poozhikadakan, I am sure no tiger has still learned the kalaripayattu step, the pathinettamathe adavu. If you didn't know any of this, the film would have been over 2 minutes 40 seconds, someone had tweeted.
I also salute the sacrifices you (Murugan) made in raising your brother and funded his MBA, but I have to say this, you did a really bad job of it. Which bloody MBA graduate in this world will believe his friends are transporting tonnes of hash from Idukki forests to find a cure for cancer?! You and he deserved all the troubles you faced afterwards.
You will argue we embraced Narasimham, Aaaraam Thamburan, Raavanaprabhu, Devasuram… Superhuman roles they were, but they were well-made and well-edited with well-mouthed dialogues. Here we get a constipated grunt, which we can't even imitate.
A short story writer has said, or you fans associations claim he said, "Look at Mohanlal, even at this age, the fellow pulls off such stunts." I pretty much agree, "Look at Mohanlal, even at this age the poor fellow has to pull such stunts."
Please don't be offended. As you would say. "ഇതെല്ലാം ഒരു നമ്പർ അല്ലേ, ചുമ്മാ."
Always your fan
Jasoos Narayanan Kutty
Congratulations on your latest hit Pulimurugan. You legion of fans and admirers, which includes me, is still debating if it is a hit, super hit, mega hit, super duper hit. From all accounts it is a mega super duper hit. But does it deserve to be?
The film is 90% Mohanlal, the remaining 10% is shared between the 100 people you thrashed singlehandedly and the few tigers you mercilessly and effortlessly killed.
Yes, many characters come and go, but we wouldn't have missed them if they came and stayed or didn't come at all. For example your neighbour, a sexy and voluptuous woman (the director has made sure every curve is curvier, he didn't want to leave anything to chance) ogles you, ogles you more, and ogles you further more. The amount of screen space and time she got, you, sorry Murugan, should have had at least a one-night stand.
The film, I feel, has come a little too late. It should have hit theatres at least in January, 2014. That is the year a man who accidentally fell into a tiger's enclosure at the Delhi zoo was mauled to death by the big cat. The movie should be made essential viewing for all visitors to zoos. No, not the parts were you killed the tigers as a grown-up, but the beginning, where you killed a tiger as a six- or seven-year-old.
Already Do-It-Yourself illustrations on killing tigers are going viral.
Step 1: Make the tiger chase you, make sure you outrun it
Step 2: Climb a tall tree
Step 3: When the tiger follows you and climbs the tree, you jump from it
Step 4: Now the tiger is busy climbing the tree, but you are on the ground
Step 5: Hurl the spear piercing the tiger's back and sticking it to the tree
If all this fails, you can turn to the age-old tried and tested adavu of poozhikadakan, I am sure no tiger has still learned the kalaripayattu step, the pathinettamathe adavu. If you didn't know any of this, the film would have been over 2 minutes 40 seconds, someone had tweeted.
I also salute the sacrifices you (Murugan) made in raising your brother and funded his MBA, but I have to say this, you did a really bad job of it. Which bloody MBA graduate in this world will believe his friends are transporting tonnes of hash from Idukki forests to find a cure for cancer?! You and he deserved all the troubles you faced afterwards.
You will argue we embraced Narasimham, Aaaraam Thamburan, Raavanaprabhu, Devasuram… Superhuman roles they were, but they were well-made and well-edited with well-mouthed dialogues. Here we get a constipated grunt, which we can't even imitate.
A short story writer has said, or you fans associations claim he said, "Look at Mohanlal, even at this age, the fellow pulls off such stunts." I pretty much agree, "Look at Mohanlal, even at this age the poor fellow has to pull such stunts."
Please don't be offended. As you would say. "ഇതെല്ലാം ഒരു നമ്പർ അല്ലേ, ചുമ്മാ."
Always your fan
Jasoos Narayanan Kutty
Thursday 6 October 2016
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