Catching up

Alternate title: Eavesdropping is fun

I returned home from work and happened to walk in on a conversation between the missus and the visiting m-i-l over their respective cups of filter coffee. From the names and locations, I gather it was about their friends,acquaintances and relatives from Srirangam, TN. The song Malayoram veesum kaathu was playing mildly in the background. The whole conversation happened, of course, in Tamil. But here is a translation that attempts to retain the flavor.

malayoram veesum kaathu...

Wife: Are you talking about the Narasimhan mama who parts his hair in the middle? (nadu vagudu narasimhan)

M-i-l: amaam, the same person. He insisted that I visit them and took me home. paavam...

W: When I had visited in 2009 with paatti, we'd met Kannan bhattar. He still remembers us and enquired about everyone.

M: mmm...araaro paadinaalum aararo aagadhamma...

W: How is Amudha ma?

M: ul moochu vaanginene...Amudha now runs a shop opposite the temple, selling juice, milk, flowers and thulasi leaves. paavam, she has lost her aambdayan (husband)

W: paavam. What is Sumathi up to?

(Original: Sumathi enna ma pannradhu?)

M: Sumathi has been married off to someone in Uthamarkovil. She even has a kid... malayoram veesum kaathu... Arthi's son has joined engineering.

W: Oh! How is Kamala mami doing?

M: Kamala mami suffers from amnesia. paavam she is like Surya in the movie Ghajini.

(Original: Kamala mamikku amnesia di pavam. Ghajini Surya madhiri irukka.)

W: Is the shop where Rajesh mama used to drink panneer soda still around?

M: Oooh yes, still around. Saw it on my latest trip too. Alas, Dhitti Anjaneyar temple has been relocated...tch

W: Is Paru chithi's friend Vidhya's house still intact?

M: Yes it is. Vidhya is in the US. Her parents are very aged.

Talk then shifts to Mysore.

W: Why did Vasu mama leave Mysore for Srirangam?

M: kuthalathu thenaruvi... Cost of living high di...Srirangam is anyday cheaper. With only his pension, they had to leave. Nurse mami is in the US, visiting her son.

W: What's the news in Prema's household?

M: Sindhu has completed her MBA!

W: Oh...very good!

M: She is in Bangalore now.

W: What does she do?

M: The thing that Miss World and Miss India contestants do...

(Original: adhaan di? indha Miss World Miss India ellam pannuvale?)

W: Modeling?

M: Yes, that is what she does. She has even become Miss. Bangalore.

W: Who, Sindhu? Miss Banagalore? Doesn't she have a rather flat/wooden face? (mara thattu moonjiya irukkume?)

M: No, that's Sandhya. Her elder sister.

W: I'm not convinced. (Calls out my name) Google 'Miss Bangalore Sindhu'...Why did she get into modeling after an MBA? [By this time, I'm sitting with my laptop, typing this up in real time.]

The clock struck 8. The conversation died down, Ilayaraja/SPB/Mohan were dismissed with the click of a remote. Thirumadhi Selvam, a tear jerker soap came on. The m-i-l, who till now sat facing her daughter, turned her chair 180 degrees and faced the screen; their entertainment started while mine ended.

P.S: If you are still reading, Google returned no favorable results for "Sindhu Miss Bangalore". The missus's suspicions were spot on after all.

The Violinist - Part II

Here is part I of this two part series. [I'm not saying you must read it first. But if you did, what follows won't be as big a waste of your time than if you hadn't.]

We knew we were busted as soon as R's summon was read out. A meeting with the director usually meant that something was either very good or very bad. And since R hadn't done anything even vaguely spectacular in his curricular activities, it didn't require too much mental gymnastics to know what was up this time. R stood up deliberately, clicked his pen close and gave us a look. If looks could kill, he could have been charged for mass murder right away.

As he was whisked away, our minds focused on what lay ahead. We had safely ruled out any creative answers from R to defuse the situation and save our lives. You know, something like "I stopped playing since my guru passed away", or perhaps "I only play during the Thyagaraja aradhana in Thiruvaiyyaru" etc. We would have lined up to wash his feet afterwards, I'm sure. Also ruled out was a miracle or a divine intervention during his walk to the office that bestowed on him the skills to perform a stirring rendition of Bach's Chaconne from the second Partita and make the director reach for a tissue. (I looked up "difficult pieces to play on a violin" on the interwebs.) By a method of elimination, aided by our knowledge that coming clean under pressure was R's charcater, we gave ourselves about ten minutes max before he would let the feline life form out of its container. The only question lingering in our mind was whether R took an actual test on a violin. Which, we learned later, wasn't the case.

We had been conservative in our estimate. In 5 minutes, the office lady made her third appearance to be greeted by looks of "What took you so long?" Her missive this time around: round up all the boys in the class, head out to the office. As we approached the said office, R came into sight, as he stood looking folorn in a corner of the passage. An air of heavy silence hung over the place like a blanket as the male half of the class joined him.

Anybody that has watched the Egyptian queen in the opening sequence of the Michael Jackson video Remember the time needs no further introduction to the director. Nobody personified the new rich, the shallow and the bored better than the daughter of the Godfather of engineering education, Jeppiaar. Typical directors would be actively engaged in or directing research, publishing papers, stoking the aspirations of future professionals and may be teaching a final year class or two. None of these for her majesty. Her dad was rich, bad and powerful. And big daddy had given his charming little girl her very own college to run. Unsurprisingly therefore, her list of daily directorial duties involved breakfast, lunch, handling a disciplining session here, presiding over a student humiliation there and slapping an arbitrary fine before driving away in a brand new Merc. Ladies and gentlemen, say hello to Mrs. Sheela BabuManoharan, the Queen Nefertiti of engineering education.

She was quickly brought up to speed on the crime that was committed in section D. In most colleges, this incident wouldn't have registered a blip. Hell, pranks in our high school were more creative and frivolous. But on our college indiscipline scale of 10, our prank ranked a high 8 for its daringness. She gave us a withering look, said nary a word and simply waddled away. This was their classical response: no response. That would keep us guessing as to what lay ahead. After all, isn't the anticipation that is more thrilling than an actual roller coaster ride?

In keeping with standard practice, we were made to stand in front of the office with no chance provided to meet the powers that be to initiate our apology/punishment procedures. I've got no pride: we were beginning to get a lot uneasy. I mean, my high school principal, a strict person with the most authority that I had met till that point, seemed like a loving aunt compared to these guys. Our school principal took the bus to school. These folks drove around in brand new luxury cars. And while the former was an educationalist, these were ex-mafioso posing as businessmen who wouldn't think twice about spoiling someone's academic life. Thoughts of a curtailed undergraduate education did cross our minds. Would only the first 6 months of an engineering program amount to something in the job market?

But after 3 days of the standing out routine, the management somehow got wind of the fact that perhaps we were beginning to "enjoy" this sentence. With no classes, food on time and a bus ride to and from the college this seemed like a vacation rather than a sentence. For a few days, we were like, I don't know, regular college students? We were then barred from taking the bus which hurt as it meant taking public transport from what was essentially middle of nowhere in pre-real-estate-boom Chennai. But still, it was not too unbearable. If these moves were meant to break us down, they ranked somewhere between "useless" and "counter-productive" and we seemed to show very little by way of repentance with time passing.

Then one fine morning, out of the blue, Queen Sheela initiated the trial. She was flanked by the principal Mrs. Jolly sycophant Abraham and the HOD of Mechanical Engg Mr. Yes-man Jose, who I suspect held secret aspirations of toppling the former and hence made regular appearances at these trials.

Sheela: You must be ashamed.

Jolly: Oh yes, ashamed.

Jose: Ashamed you must be.

Sheela: You are not students.

Jolly: No. Not at all.

Jose: Rowdies are what you are.

Sheela: Even I have children.

Jolly: But they are well behaved.

Jose: Hey Jolly, you stole my response!

Just as things were flowing smoothly towards the regulation apology letter before being allowed to resume classes, Sheela's detective skills were stirred.

Sheela: Who shouted out R's name?

Jolly and Jose: Yes, yes who did?

*crickets chirping*

Multiple rounds of persistent questioning yielded nothing more than incoherent murmurs. Stunned by the resistance that was being put up, shotgun justice was dispensed. Our academic records were pulled out. The top ranker, Daniel George, was threatened with dire consequences unless he identified the culprits. Instead of mumbling his ignorance and falling silent, he launched into an expansive lecture of how if he pointed at someone, that someone would in turn point at a third guy and that it would be a never ending game. He earned an arbitrary yet well deserved steep fine. But more importantly,he made it clear for the rest of us that academic performance was one thing and street smartness was quite another. You don't teach the nuances of money making to Suresh Kalmadi!

Every one of us was asked to pay some arbitrary fine. Keeping those mercs running ain't cheap. The apology letter was asked for and filed. It touched upon the usual topics of realization, discipline and repentance with promises of good behavior in the times to come. Upon Jose's recommendation, for good measure, the usual suspects were also asked to bring their parents. And they did what was the right thing to do: hire parents from Kodambakkam rather than bring the original ones. We even made a few last minute changes in assigning parents so as to not get caught in a back-to-back scandal. One dad-on-hire even went to the extent of slapping his "son" in front of the director, asking him to behave well. He earned his keep.

Jose and Jolly Abraham then sermonized us on morals, student ethics and college discipline, trying to out do each other in impressing Sheela. While her ego was sufficiently massaged by all of this, she never quite got to know just who it was that proposed R's name.

(Original image is from here. Excuse my poor MS Paint skills.)

As for R, he earned some interesting nick names and became the butt of quite a few jokes that involved either a violin or music in general. This incident never did any harm to our friendship. If anything, we became even better friends.

Oh, and the orchestra that year was short of a violinist. Apparently, the closest that they ever came to finding one was R himself.

The Violinist - Part I

Early this morning (or was it last night?), my faithful dream machine beamed up a scene where I'm back in college and applying for a week's leave. What for? I don't know/remember. But what is clear is that I have a heavy sense of foreboding as I submit the letter with much apprehension and anxiety to the big boss of the institution himself. As if I were committing a sin. But I can easily rationalize the dream given the notoriety that my alma mater has earned for itself concerning issues of student discipline. Here is a related entry, if you really should know. Anyways, as I woke up, this blast from the past dream opened up the floodgates to memories from the four years that I spent pursuing a degree in engineering. And thus inspired me to weave a post from a college anecdote.

This was an incident that happened in my first year (freshman class). The college day function, an event that had as much potential for fun as a dentist appointment, was around and preparations were afoot in right earnest. A bit about the way this was held in our college wouldn't be out of place here. I'm sure you have, at some point in time, attended a birthday party of a one-year old. The one where all the arrangements are made by the parents: they decide the guests, the menu, the theme and they decide when the party begins and ends. All that the toddler is required to do, as he is carried in arms to the table, is to look pretty and try to blow out the solitary candle. Well, our college day festivities had the feel of one such party where we, the students, were the toddlers, while the staff and management played the role of strict parents. Any chance for the students to either exhibit or acquire organizational skills were clinically nipped in the bud and then stomped over for good measure. All that the student body had to do was show up, behave well and put on an impression of having been entertained and everybody went home happy. [Atfer 4 years of this routine, a lot of us were well prepared to take on real life where an impression of being happy was called upon more often than the annual affair at college.]

The festivities would have an unmistakable Talibanesque flavor with clearly demarcated events for the two genders. Each side of the male-female divide would come up with a perfunctory dance performance, a clumsy fashion show and the regulation skit peppered with insipid jokes. Not to mention the inevitable "Modern Ramayana" or "Modern Mahabharatha" set to the latest songs that got thrown into the mix. But the one event that stood out was the musical extravaganza where each batch contributed to the cacophony. [In keeping with the rules we were operating under, I can't remember of any duets being performed as that would require a male student to share the dais with a girl student.] This event also saw the odd member or two of the teaching staff put their vocal skills to use for something other than peddling engineering concepts. Usually with varying degrees of success. Participation from other colleges was deemed illegal and any notions vaguely resembling fun and frolic were deemed blasphemous. In short, we were the Afghanistan of engineering colleges.

Since we were in the first year, nobody quite knew what our individual musical abilities were, and the parents, err, the management were scouting for students gifted with the ability to play various instruments. We were informed that most performers had been identified and that the first year orchestra only required the services of a single violinist to be deemed complete. Which was why a lady from the office entered our class that fateful day, paper and pen in hand, looking to hunt down that elusive violinist among the studious pursuers of academic excellence.

This was a few months into the year and clear groups had already been formed based on mutual interests (cricket), abilities (cricket) and we were a bunch of guys that stuck around, collaborating over many assignments, class tests and other academic misadventures. Besides the many hours of playing cricket under the sun, that is. We were in our teens, brimming with creative energy to be squandered on anything that held the faintest promise of fun or adventure. So it came to pass that we proposed, rather loudly, the name of a friend from this group, R, for the vacancy of the violinist. For some reason, the rest of the class that had been silent till that moment, somehow sniffed out his hidden musical abilities and soon his name was being cried out by a vocal group. The guy looked up in genuine surprise and started to protest but the rest of us were loud enough to convince the office lady that she had discovered a second L Subramaniam in I year, section D.

It must be added, for the benefit of the innocent readers, that we were fully aware that he was as accomplished a violinist as Pratibha Patil is a president. For non-Indian readers (just play along, will you?), he was not a violinist even by the widest stretch of imagination. The guy was a fine chap alright: he was a good friend, one could count on him to knock up a few quick runs in a tight run chase, was always up for some fun, and didn't earn the displeasure of the rest of us with a startling display of academic brilliance. Ever. But truth be told, he couldn't play the violin to save his life. On a good day his musical knowledge would have perhaps allowed him, at the most, to identify the cello as a XXL violin. Not his fault entirely, mind you. Here is a thousand words on his abilities:

(The image is from here where there are a few more funny cartoons and a couple of violinist jokes to boot, if you are interested.)

I don't know what held R back from making it clear to the lady that he had no appreciable skills in the fine art of playing a violin. Or handle any object with the potential to put forth a musical note for that matter. Perhaps he had noticed that the otherwise indifferent girls in the room were now paying attention to the musician in the class. Or perhaps he was hesitant to rise and announce aloud that he was violin-challenged in a class with a significant number of members of the opposite sex. [He had perhaps worked out the "I-chose-not-to-play" defense in his mind already, if at all questioned by a girl later.] Or maybe he simply got carried away by the moment while his name was being cried out aloud. Whatever the reason, and if memory serves, he stopped his protests, flashed a bright smile, waved his hand at the office lady who was watching the proceedings with marked indifference, and sat down as she pencilled in his name with an air of finality. Whether he had intended to catch a hold of her later after class and clarify the whole thing is one for conjecture.

From years of watching Discovery Channel, you're familiar with the routine of capturing specimens of rare and endangered species for relocation to safe enclosures for study and protection, right? I'm talking about that kakhi clad white guy, chest deep in a murky river somwehere in Borneo trying to capture a python that looks like a freight train or the one sawing off the horn of a sedated, endangered rhino in Botswana to implant a transponder (and you are trying not to gag on the heavenly sambhar sadham that you are savoring). Well, since Albert Einstein, I suspect that violinists with more than a passing interest in science/engineering have found a spot on the endangered species list. So much so that, whenever one is spotted, immediate capture and scrutiny by the authorities follows. I can offer no other explanation for the office lady's reappearance in less than five minutes since the commotion from her first had died down, with a message that the director of the college wanted to meet R.

Soon with the rest...

No headscarf, Obama may skip Golden Temple visit

No headscarf, Obama may skip Golden Temple visit

This line caught my eye: "Indian officials were informally told that Obama wearing a headscarf to visit the Golden Temple may convey an image of him appearing to be a Muslim. This is one misinterpretation Obama’s advisors did not want at any cost, given the political sensitivities over this issue in the US."

A pleasant change from our homegrown politicians with "secular" leanings scrambling for a skull cap to sip porridge during Ramzan's rearranged mealtimes.

Also, compare against the Group of Morons (GoM) that wanted to have some Islam during the CWG ceremonies.

The great CWG Delhi 2010 caption contest

A picture is worth a thousand words. OK, maybe not all of them. But this one could definitely yield a few captions at least. I'm listing the ones that sprang to my mind, do contribute yours in the comments. The 3 best ones will win a $125 first-aid kit, a $80 roll of tissue paper and a $61 soap dispenser.

1. "Look ma! No shame!"
2. "Corruption? Where?"
3. Introducing the $ 200 eye covers for a good night's sleep
4. Sniff! Kalmadi demonstrates how to find your way around in the CWG village at night
5. "Dreaming about the Olympics"
6. An austere Kalmadi's idea for a simple "closing ceremony"

The picture is from here where excerpts from the maestro's interview are available.

Hey Laxman!

Watching Laxman's knock (As in refreshing cricinfo, cricbuzz and towards the end, rediff websites on two different browsers. While at work.) was almost like watching Nero fiddling while Rome burned. Except, this time Nero played Amruthavarshini and doused the flames.

P.S1: "Very Very Special" sounded OK in 2001. Never since. Repeating it, you sound very very stupid. I'm not even going to get into "Laxman rekha" territory.

P.S2: Thanks to every journalist doctor that has provided a clean chit for test cricket's health.

P.S3: I borrowed the title from someone on facebook who had, in turn, borrowed it from someone else on twitter.

Endhiran

Endhiran takes Tamil cinema where it has never been before. Shankar has dared to tread on grounds that have thus far been considered exclusively Hollywood territory. The subject, the story and narration have been handled well given that robotics isn't what you expect to be classified as entertainment in Indian movies. With the kind of team that has been assembled, Shankar ensures that when you walk out of the theater, you would have experienced a technically brilliant show that is thoroughly professional - definitely a first in Indian movies. The movie also shines just enough light on the potentials of humanoids and even touches upon the ethics involved thereof, without getting too technical. We will miss you Sujatha, the CTO of Tamil cinema! And finally, it does not get preachy as Shankar's movies traditionally do, avoiding the 'a social issue - a vigilante - societal change' path. Kudos to Shankar. And finally, Rajinikanth sizzles in 2 of the three roles - Chitti and Chitti gone wild. A R Rahman's music somehow fails to register. Yet again.

--------------------------------------------

Nearly 24 hrs after watching the movie, the one question that keeps coming up in my mind is, did it really require Rajinikanth?

Shankar has come up with a plot that requires extensive graphics and animations to wow the audience. Doing justice to capture this kind of a story called for a huge budget. Make no mistake, this is big. Even by Shankar's standards. But quite frankly, Indian audiences will not be wow-ed by graphics alone anymore. Yes, we grew up on a staple diet of Ramanand Sagar/B R Chopra's interpretations of the nagasthras and brahmasthras on Sunday mornings. But post Jurassic Park, when extinct reptiles were resuscitated on screen, the jaw doesn't drop as it used to for good graphics. The director and producer were compelled to rope in enormous star power and pursue aggressive marketing to recover the kind of money that was sunk in. So, strictly from a business stand point, this movie demanded riding piggy back on brand Rajini to make it financially viable. Which also explains casting Aishwarya Rai for an eye candy role that anybody could have played. [Not to be misunderstood as a compliment for her histrionic capabilities.] Or the elaborate and extensive music launch and trailer release, for that matter.

At the same time, the subject is completely new and alien to Tamil cinema. While it is a bold and welcome step in a different direction with the potential to take Indian movie making to a higher technical plane, Rajini as a robotics/artificial intelligence expert turns out to be somewhat less than convincing. Dot. Shankar and K. Maran spread jamakalams, laid out banana leaves and sprinkled water. And then served gourmet pizza and perfectly done pasta. While the guests would have been justified in expecting a 3 course South Indian meal, complete with vadai, payasam and appalam.

I like the man as the next guy. But Rajini has a certain image and charm that have been cultivated over the years. And these made him the super star that he is today. So when a Rajini movie gets announced, certain minimum expectations are rightly set amidst the fan base. But casting the man in roles that take him away from his image for purely business reasons, in my opinion, is not justified. Would you watch a game of ice hockey even if Sachin Tendulkar played forward? Perhaps Vikram would have been a better choice; sufficient yet convincing. Reminds me of a Dilbert comic strip.

Debates apart, it will now be established that Tamil cinema has the clout to afford the best movie technicians and still make money. Take that Karan Johar, SRK and the rest of the Khan gang! Yay! But personally I'd prefer a "typical" Rajini movie and get my CG/FX fix from some Hollywood flick.

The wedding video

In the whole Indian marriage set up, the single most wasteful expenditure must easily be the money coughed up for getting the whole thing captured on tape or DVD. But sadly, together with the loud light music troupe and carved vegetables, the videographers complete the three most integral components of any wedding happening right now in India. Besides saving the memories for purposes of unleashing upon unsuspecting guests at a later date, the lensmen serve two other critical objectives: trip every well dressed lady with their criss-crossing cables and block everyone's view of the ongoing ceremony. As a result, the couple enter wedlock, blissfully unaware of the pandemonium breaking out just beyond the human wall of the cameramen and their crew (the lightmen who ensure that the dais is always a pleasant 45 deg C and the cable guys who, unsurprisingly, are exponents of the fine art of bamboo dancing). As the bride and the groom take their first steps in matrimonial union and as their parents heave a sigh of relief and perhaps wipe that tear of joy, gold laden ladies go down in a cloud of fine kanjeevaram and perfume and the thathas and paattis and the aged clansmen (who would have held the wedding couple in their arms when they bore a striking resemblance to a footlong Subway sandwich on parmesan oregano) feebly hurl their share of the akshadai in the general direction of the trouser seats of the camera crew hoping fervently that at least their blessings are potent enough to penetrate the wall.

For a while, the viedogprahers' domination over any and all domestic functions starting from a kaadhu kuthal to the wedding was complete. But with camcorders coming within the expanding reach of the middle class, the smaller functions have been liberated from their grip. People woke up to the reality that jerky zooms and spooky lighting notwithstanding, that otherwise useless cousin/friend can capture it for free. Why pay Vel Videos a small fortune? But when it comes to the big daddy of all functions, the wedding, the professional camera guys still call the shots around the hall. In true Seinfeld style, if aliens were watching a wedding ceremony, they will have enough reason to conclude that the cameramen are the highest life forms on earth - they are the closest to the action, they create a powerful glow, occupy the best seats in the house. And, to remove any doubt, the guests throw flower petals at their rear ends.

The wedding memories, burned into 2 sets of DVDs, are relived exactly once: to verify that the special effects requested for are in place before settling the cameraman's bills. I'm talking about the bride's pancaked face coming bouncing in from the top right of the screen or the groom's image spinning at 4200 rpm and coming to rest in a heap at the bride's feet to the accompaniment of the hottest item number from the latest release. Once verified, they are promptly archived in the shelves marked "Ewww...never again." (As I type this, the fruitless search to locate our missing wedding DVD is now over an year old.)

On a related note, and I know this is going to make me sound ancient, the advent of the camera phones has led to every one in possession of one whipping it out to capture everything from the swami porappadu from the local temple to his friend's daughter's first sneeze. Nobody seems interested in experiencing any unfolding event with their own eyes and enjoy it anymore. Hands that once instinctively tapped the cheeks when they saw a swami porappaadu now reach for the pocket instead, to fish out that Nokia or Sony Ericsson. The motive is simple. If it is worth seeing, it is worth blocking the next person's view and recording. Any event has to be first captured rather than be experienced. And with the satisfaction that they have it stored as a bunch of bytes, go about ignoring it.

Against this backdrop, the program namma veettu kalyanam on Vijay TV seems to bluntly suggest that the creative juices, and I'm using this term very loosely, have run dry. When you are harvesting wedding videos for anything outside of the realms of "America's Funniest Videos", the programming head honchos might as well say, "Guys, this is it. We, as a team, admit that we have lost it. We've officially hit rock bottom and can't get any lower in trying to fill 30 minutes of air time."

For the uninitiated, this program chronicles celebrity weddings with the aid of their wedding videos and ample insight provided by the principal participants of the said wedding. Celebrities of "I've been in the audience for a reality show once in 2006" fame and insight as in regurgitating the minutiae of their wedding arrangements.

As a sidenote, Vijay TV can be charged with grooming the most "celebrities on tap" via the reality/talent show participant --> winner --> compere --> own show --> celebrity grind. Or the much quicker I'm a washed up movie star --> TV stardom is my entitlement regimen. I'm looking at you Radhika, Kushboo and Anu Hasan. But back to the story.

Mr and Mrs. Have beens sit down to walk us through their wedding. Of particular interest is when they throw light on the many and unique difficulties that they had faced en route to the altar.

- We had planned for 900 guests and 1300 turned up. But the chef somehow scrambled to fix dinner for everyone.

- He had chosen a mauve shirt that didn't complement my beige saree and we had to rush to change his shirt the night before. It got us all tensed up...

- Star X was away in shooting and could not attend. We were devastated. But he called up to wish us afterwards.

And with the inevitable inter-caste/religious marriages, the whole "I wasn't familiar with their customs" routine gets played out. "I'm a Nattukottai Chetty with just a faint suggestion of Nadar while he is an orthodox Syrian Christian with 2 tbsp of Jat somewhere in the lineage and we got married in a rundown synagogue...." OK, may be not that exotic but you get the general drift.

The next time this show comes on, I'm going to hunt for my own wedding DVD.

Performance rating

Mahathi: நீங்க பாடினதுல அங்கஅங்க சின்ன சின்ன mistakes இருக்கு. Correct பண்ணிக்கணம். மத்தபடி OK. [A few minor mistakes need to be rectified. Overall you did fine]

Contestant: Yes ma'am

Mahathi: So நான் உங்களுக்கு...(a yellow lamp glows) [I'll give you a yellow.]

Specificity seems to be the middle name of this straight shooting nightingale. Making money shouldn't be this simple. Sadly, it seems so.

Image is from here.

An interesting offer

Just so that we are clear, this ad was for the furniture from Picket and Rail.