Dosai Haiku

That dosais are now
More within reach than I dreamed
Of, still shocks me.*

* Written from the perspective of someone who, for five years outside the country, could count in one hand the number of times he could eat dosais in a year. Even though it’s been a year and a half since I moved back to India, I am constantly surprised that this beauteous dish is so much more attainable than it used to be.
Thank you, ID maavu.

Here.

Note: This post was written more from a venting standpoint and was not meant to be patronizing or condescending in any way to anybody. This is purely personal opinion and should be treated as such.

=====

I don’t want to live in a place where you can’t express an opinion against the ruling political party without fearing the inevitable repercussions.

I don’t want to live in a place where you not only get relentlessly trolled for uttering so much as a word for the opposition online, but you also get labeled an anti-national, people call for you to “go back to XYZ”, and there are murder and death threats issued against you, all of which force you to hide behind a veil of anonymity.

I don’t want to live in a place where the society at large is completely fine with bombing an entire nation as retribution for heinous crimes committed by terrorism outfits.

I don’t want to live in a place where the society at large chooses to believe a media that spreads misinformation, rather than search for the truth themselves.

I don’t want to live in a place where political leaders outright reject scientific evidence and choose to believe what they want to believe.

I don’t want to live in a place where you have to look over your shoulder every time you go out with a woman – any woman – and be watchful of the eyes following them wherever they go.

I don’t want to live in a place where I feel powerless to take action against the atrocities I see around me on a daily basis.

….

All the things I’ve said can fit any place on Earth.

… So where do we go from here?

Thank You for the Music

In 2007, I received a scrap from a friend on Orkut containing a link to a Bandcamp page. The page consisted of music from a then relatively unknown band called Blackstratblues. My curiosity was piqued both by the name and by the fact that the cover of their first (and at the time, only) album listed on the page – Nights in Shining Karma – which was basically the South Park avatar of a guitarist. Out of sheer boredom considering that I was 17 and generally didn’t have much of a social life, I listened to the music. And loved it.

I downloaded the entire album straight from Bandcamp (the band was kind enough to provide their music for free in an age where streaming music was unheard of) and uploaded the songs onto my iPod. At the time I was obsessed with sorting my iPod music by song, album, genre, what have you. In the days of Kazaa, most mp3 files downloaded from the Internet had garbled genres among other things. I would spend hours on iTunes, putting off actual work like chores and studying, in renaming the genre, the band name, the year the album was released, …, to ensure it fit with the band’s Wikipedia entry. In hindsight I’m fairly sure I had OCD but that’s a different story.

I had listed a separate genre for Indian rock music, imaginatively titled Indian Rock.
Nights in Shining Karma was listed by Blackstratblues under the genre “Honest, Feel-Good Music” on their Bandcamp page. Upon listening to the music, I didn’t bother correcting it, or them. A year or so later, when I got my first phone, I set Anuva’s Sky as my ringtone. It remained my ringtone for a good four years.

Around the same time last year, I had the pleasure of watching Blackstratblues live. It had been years since I properly listened to anything these guys had put out. Watching them perform was an incredible experience, enhanced all the more so by my history with them. I was 17 all over again, and fell in love all over again.

I watched them again one month later, and they remain the only band for which I have ever paid tickets and done this voluntarily.

To Warren Mendonsa: Thank you for the music. Until we meet again.

Paraak

You know that feeling when you manage to trim off a stray hair that you missed while shaving but which is causing undue stress because you can feel it right on your lip.

It’s the same feeling when you manage to toothpick a piece of food stuck between your teeth out of the way.

Also when you take a leak after an exhausting period of undue stress coupled with prolonged thoughts of wishing your bladder was larger than it is.

And when you ladle concentric circles on your way to making the perfect dosai.

I got that feeling coming out of the theater after watching Petta.

Allow me a moment to unabashedly expound upon my Rajini fanboyism.

There’s no doubt that the man has carved out an entire genre for himself. In Tamil cinema, there are masala films, and then there is a Thalaivar Padam. And Petta was a thoroughly satisfying Thalaivar padam after what seems like ages (Padaiyappa might have been the last)?

Sure, Kaala had its mass moments, but at the end of the day it was a film for which you got the sense that Ranjith was trying to do a course correction from Kabali and make it more about Thalaivar and less about him. It still lacked the fire that the audience was expecting from a Thalaivar padam.

Kabali was a film where Ranjith seemed torn between making a Thalaivar padam vs a Ranjith padam, and it showed. I loved Kabali though among other things, we got to see Rajini in an angle we haven’t seen in a long time. At the end of the day however, it was still a Ranjith film.

I’m not even going to get into 2.0 and Shankar’s excesses (as D magnificently put it as we came out of the theater after having watched this atrocity, Shankar is the personification of an Indian wedding).

Petta on the other hand was a film made by Rajini fans for Rajini fans. It was like watching a Greatest Hits collection of the man’s films (that “Ulle Po” line, gratuitous call backs like singing “Raman aandalum Ravanan aandalum“, etc. etc.). Karthik Subbaraj knew exactly what the audience came to watch and he was ok with taking a back seat in terms of his own directorial style. It was well executed, though I can’t help but wish that the villain packed more of a punch. It did feel like the genius of Nawazuddin Siddiqui as an actor was wasted, not to mention the lack of roles for the female characters in the film. Trisha was in a nothing role, and Simran who?

But I don’t care too much about that. It was wonderful to see Rajini in fine form. Vayasu aanalum, avaroda azhagum style-um korayave illa.

என்ன இர்ருந்தாலும், தலைவர் தலைவர் தான்.

Begin Again

There was an advertisement which frequented television airwaves years ago, I think it was for Castrol or some such engine fluid brand. I’ve always been a fan of the beginning of the jingle for that ad – “Starting problem. Brake problem.” I bring this up because a starting problem is something I constantly face in most, if not all, of the things I do.

I’ve not written in the entire period I’ve been in India. There’s no correlation. It stems from my issues with not being able to find the right moment to write anything. Starting problems.

To put it mildly, there’s been a lot going on.

I moved back to India in July of 2017. I’ve been living in Bangalore for the last year and a half. During this period, I’ve traveled, seen my family far more than I’ve seen in the five years prior (a fact that I took for granted), lost my dog in a most unexpected way, grown professionally , and married a girl I met on Facebook more than three years ago and fell in love with.

I do plan to write more about all this. I plan to discuss various things and issues which I’ve been thinking about. I plan to use this space more as an outlet for my thoughts than anything else. It’s the second day of 2019, and I plan to begin again.

Side note – this has nothing to do with the new year or a resolution of any kind. It’s something I’ve wanted to get back to for a while, and now is as good a time as any.

See you on the other side.

A “Royal Send-off” Indeed

Today, I sipped on a Manhattan, a Bordeaux, and champagne, 30,000 feet up in the air.

Today, I munched on smoked salmon and a lobster cocktail, 30,000 feet up in the air.

Today, I slept on a full size bed, 30,000 feet up in the air.

Today, I got a Bulgari toilet kit. For free. What is this magic?

Salmon, lobster cocktail and capers – appetizers during dinner

Stretching my legs to infinity. Full size bed! On a flight!
French toast for breakfast

Yup. Now this is a life I could get used to.

Flying from Houston to Dubai on Emirates business class was easily the most incredible flight experience I’ve ever had. It helps that I had no idea I was going to fly in such comfort.

Thank god for unexpected upgrades.

Leaving America

August 1, 2012.

I arrived in the United States, wide-eyed and eager.

I entered a world of Fahrenheit’s, soft R’s, MM/DD formats, way too many choices in grocery stores, pounds, miles, gallons, miles per gallon (one of the first things the Indian in me did when I got my car was do a mileage conversion to km/l – 14, thank you very much), and toilet paper.

I hoped to learn new things and meet new people. I hoped to experience a new culture and make new friends. I hoped to get a good job and make money. I hoped to get a visa and settle down.

I’ve done most of those things.

It’s a known fact that the immigration system in the country is screwed up. To place the lives of thousands of potential immigrants who have not only studied here but have also worked and contributed as tax-paying members of society in the hands of a lottery with a grand prize of a work authorization visa, the chances of which are only marginally better than those of one actually winning a million dollar jackpot, is maddening.

I used to argue that the lottery system for picking H1B visas was probably the fairest, because a random number generator would be most unbiased in its selection of hopefuls to give them a chance in making a mark here.

What I said is probably true in terms of bias. The lottery system isn’t fair, however. It places the folks who’ve devoted years to study here in the same basket as those coming from other countries courtesy their companies that apply for visas in the tens of thousands, in effect gaming the system.

It doesn’t make sense. And it’s in need of a major overhaul.

Unfortunately though, that will have to be done without my lawful presence in the country.

July 4, 2017.

Independence Day in the United States.

It also happens to be exactly 3 years to the day that I came to Houston to work with my company. A happy coincidence.

It’s been a good five years in the country. But to quote Robert Plant in Babe I’m Gonna Leave You, “I’ve got to ramble.”

Tomorrow, I leave behind home, family, friends, and familiarity.

Tomorrow, I go back to home, family, friends, and familiarity.

It’s going to be scary. It’s going to be exciting.

It’s going to be worth it.

Goodbye for now, America.

Hello again, India.

La Desagradable Cantina

I book flights based on what’s cheapest and as a result, direct flights are rare events for me. I always figure I would be able to handle the long layovers which I typically go through during such flights on the day of the flight. Inevitably, the consequence is irritation on the day of the flight.

This past Sunday was no exception. I was flying back from East Lansing, after a great time with my mother’s side of the family celebrating the occasion of Jillala (my grandfather)’s 80th birthday. My flight was from Detroit to Houston via Dallas – a much more manageable connection and a far cry from the geographical nightmares I’m more accustomed to (“New York to Houston via Minneapolis?!”). It was a two-hour layover in Dallas with a flight delay extending it to close to three.

I figured I’d get some dinner while I was at it. I looked around for options and ended up going to Cantina Laredo, a Mexican chain – I’ve always been impressed by how the restaurant looks from the outside, there being one close to home, and have wanted to try it for a while.

What followed ended up being one of the most abhorrent meals, Mexican or otherwise, I’ve ever had the misfortune of consuming.

I usually don’t write Yelp reviews but given my experience, I was forced a hard hand. The meal and the delay left me irritated, as is tradition. Also, I wanted to kill time. I’m publishing the review here for posterity’s sake.

I’m not one for writing a Yelp review. I’m also not one for not finishing my meal. Tonight, both those things happened.

Quite possibly the worst Mexican meal I’ve had in the country. I felt like Gordon Ramsay on an episode of Kitchen Nightmares in that all I wanted to do was look across toward a non-existent camera calling attention to all the things that were off in my dish, and then head over to the kitchen to yell at the chef. Couldn’t do that, so this will have to suffice.

I ordered the avocado enchiladas, which consists of two enchiladas in tomatillo sauce, Mexican rice and zucchini.

Let’s start with the positives.

1. There was classic rock playing on the radio.
2. There were some good games being telecast.

Now for the negatives.

1. The salsa that came with the chips was cold, clearly having just come out of the refrigerator.
2. The glass that my water came in was dirty. As was the plate that my dish came in.
3. The tortillas for my enchilada were cold and smelt old.
4. The dish was basically some avocados thrown in flour tortilla and smothered in tomatillo sauce. The waitress said the sauce would be spicy and tasty. Spoiler alert: it was neither of those things. The enchiladas were served over what seemed to be a bed of spinach and uncooked purple cabbage.
5. Everything was sour. So, so sour.
6. The less said about the zucchini, the better. Suffice to say it follows point number 5.
7. It costs an exorbitant $14.50 (including tax).

No idea what this dish is supposed to represent. I sincerely hope nobody looks to this to have a measure of what enchiladas (or avocados) are supposed to taste like.

Tip: Get a burger at McDonald’s. Eat some wings at Wingstop. Munch on a pretzel from Auntie Anne’s.

Just don’t make the same mistake I did and order avocado enchiladas at Cantina Laredo.

I rated the place one star.

It’s been two days. I still cringe thinking about that meal.