public service announcement

to all folks who live, work or who are fated to be in the vicinity of San Jose, Cupertino area for the next couple of days. The warning is for the below outlined specific denizens:

The non-desis.

Specially the non-desis that are non-telugus.

Specially more so for the non-telugus who don’t care for dancing. Indian dance.

Or any subsets of the above, either by union or intersection. Outliers need to be even more careful.

What’s happening there?

Kuchipudi is happening.

Yeah, as in the Kuchipudi, the dance of Andhra. Tons of kuchipudi dancers are descending on the area.

The organizers searched high and low for a venue. They looked all over from touristy Niagara to misty Seattle, to the picturesque New England to the sunny Florida, they even debated on the Texan ranches to the dry Detroit. It was either too hot, too non-andhra-ish, scarce desi restaurants, and then they did a per sq foot count. Figured why not take the state’s dance to its adopted state outside of India.

California of course!

So, what should you be on the lookout for?

• While you are peacefully cruising along the sunny roads, not only would you see another telugu next to you at the signal as it is wont, but chances of seeing a completely bedecked dancer doing a “thaka diku thomthaka dina” across the crossing is very high.
• You may suddenly also feel the ground shaking below you. Fret not. It is not a tremor. It is the forces of 200 or so dancers stamping their feet to the beats of Jatheeswaram together. A guiness record in the making I hear.
• Consistent jingling for the 3 days. Tinnitus it is not. The bells around the dancers feet would jingle to various beats as various workshops are filled to the brim.
• Sudden increase in female population, dressed to the teeth in silks, stage makeup and paper flowers each having their own accents, texan drawl, the Yankee, the southern accent and more.
• An occasional middle-aged and elderly man in the midst of all these cackling women.
• Yells of “akka” , “mastergaru” , “aunty” filling the air.
• More specifically one may hear in passing dialogs like: “emito, pataakaniki tripatakaniki theda teleedu, veellandaru yakhanga thillanalu chesestunnaru. En chestam mastergaru?” or “aramandi edey, neeku savalaksha saarlu cheppanu, nuvvekkada vintavu, na paruvu teestunnavu kadey” or “emiti, ee pantu ee shirtu vesukuni bayataki velalla? na bonda, suitu bootu, cha, en chandalam idi! Chi chi, America America antoo chankalu guddu kuntoo egabadi ekkesanu flightu, chastunnananuko.” or “inka nayam, aa Udipi vadi punyama antu, rendu idli mukkalu mana mohana padesadu, lekapote, endi poyina bread mukkalu kukkaki padesinattu, mana mohana padesaru ee hotel vaallu” or “Taalam tapputondamma, manasu drishti jathi lo pettu. Aa dikkulanni ee item ayyina taruvata choosuko, aapute, nee meeda vottu” etc etc. (Sorry non-telugus, translating those would just kill it all.)

Jokes apart, there’s a huge Kuchipudi convention happening at the Flint Center off the Stevens Creek Blvd in Cupertino, organized by the Silicon Andhra and it would be an experience of a lifetime. Big names in teh field, reputed dancers, established teachers, performers, my own Mastergaru, the troupe, and various kuchipudi students, teachers and institutions across United States are congregating there since Friday for the weekend. For a dancer, this would be an amazing experience, to see them all together on stage. Thinking about it gives me goosebumps. (Not linking, as I don’t want to get backtracked, but google away if interested)

I physically will be here at home, but my mind would be wandering around the area. Somehow, Cupertino and I are jinxed.

 

tag 14 - you want more?

A Muser tagged me. Again! Looks like I am her favorite person to tag as I must promptly be doing her tags under the pretext of not having blog material, but see the secret is tags are easy material.

I could very well write about the really intense heat that had us stifling, gasping like fish in a dried pond, and about the fact that I roasted myself in a silk sari sitting in a sweltering noisy auditorium, surrounded by disrespectful, loud, impolite desi janta, and about how some idiot brat pulled the fire alarm and made us evacuate and stand for 35 minutes in the 105 weather with 90% humidity until my $40 smooth haircut turned worse than what I’d look if I had a bunch of crazed kittens were let loose on me.

I can also write about how I made a 5 quart bowl of sambar for another annual day event Sunday where again little girls are let loose with absolutely no respect or regard or consideration for folks watching or filming the performances. Seriously, what is with kids these days? More so, what’s wrong with parents, especially moms? No, am serious, some of the women behave like it isn’t their kid at all, while the dad at least pretends to discipline the kid! What’s wrong with the lady who sat next to me allowing her toe-stamping daughter to toe-stamp me every single time - after 6 I lost track - by walking in and out of her seat, while my munchkin sat still enjoying the dances. No, am not saying mine’s the best, but she sure made me proud behaving as I had told her. After awhile I just about had it with this kid and told the mom to hold onto her, and it really wasn’t acceptable to keep doing this. She looked reasonably upset. I pushed past her and occupied her hsuband’s seat while the man took off elsewhere. Now the daughter could toe-stamp her mom for all I care.

I could also write about how the noble king did a valiant attempt at MCing the show. No, he did fine. Except when he started speaking in a language no one could understand. It was cute and novel and the point he was trying to make sailed through just fine within minutes of the evening. Then every few items later, just as a apprentice magician would pull rabbits out of a seemingly innocuous black hat, or even better yet, how the dwindling woebegone sad performances have halftime shows that no one understands or gets or cares to understand or get, he’d have a 2-3 folks dialoging away. Sure, I understood, and so did the husband, but I wasn’t quite sure what the purpose of it all was. Coz, if folks laughed politely, it was more so coz of the gist of what happened over the span of 3 minutes, more than the word comprehension. The guy’s passion is praiseworthy, but as I tried telling him, unless channeled and channeled with the right force and direction, efforts are wasted. Then again, maybe he knows something I don’t.

Oh yes, I swore am never participating in the annual event again, coz if there was an award for the most ridiculously organised evening, the place would have snapped it up without a blink. The height of it all was when dutiful male volunteers stood outside the cafeteria like bouncers outside bars (not that an average desi man could ever pass off as a bouncer unless I was a frail midget, which am not) and ensured that only children according to age, baby children with moms and then moms were allowed to step inside and make a meal out of two dishes. Men were made to stand outside, and were to be allowed inside only after the “the fairer sex” and children were done filling their sacks. This happened as a sudden dawning when some men as a natural line went on ahead anyways. My already frayed patience was torn to shatters after 15 minutes of this circus and I went up to the self-crowned chief volunteer and asked him why men were’nt allowed in?

To which, with a sheepish grin he replied “I don’t make the rules ma’am, let the kids and women eat first!”

Excuse me but which era are we living in? For a second I thought perhaps we were re-enacting the scene of the sinking of the Titanic! I made my displeasure known, and am quite sure I’ve been nicked a few not-so-pleasant monikers. O well.

I also think heat and temperature smokes the Ms. Hyde in me out.

Phew! ..and there’s still so much more to tell! All this happened the weekend of 7th. In a striking contrast June 13-14 was plain awesome. More on that later.

Where were we? O the tag. Yes, here we go. Sorry about the digression Muser, but certainly I needed to provide some entertainment via the sorry social life I lead or this tag would just put folks to death. I mean, what more could I pull up from within I wonder..

***

I am: a rainbow.
I think: in bright bold colors.
I know: there exist different shades of one color.
I want: to be painted in all.
I have: been lucky to be washed by many.
I wish: I could touch more of those illlusionary hues.
I hate: not being able to explain to others the colors I see.
I miss: the innocence of pink.
I fear: an achromate.
I feel: fresh blue droplets around me.
I hear: the sneaky wisps of gray waiting to crown me.
I smell: the crisp tartness of tangerine closing in on me.
I crave: the fresh taste of spring green.
I search: for yellow sunflowers/ dandelions everywhere.
I wonder: if all can experience the clarity of clear.
I regret: gray once pulled me down more than it should have.
I love: black and white and everything in between.
I ache: to feel red.
I care: for every bit of the spectrum.
I am not: an achromate.
I believe: we should move towards “going green”.
I dance: like a sundrop in June.
I sing: when am washed in azure.
I cry: when I see crimson in big fat drops.
I don’t always: like white.
I fight: for black.
I write: in the color of my mood.
I win: in shades of royal purple.
I lose: in shades of earthy brown.
I never: can imagine gray in my closet.
I always: buy more white.
I confuse: folks. Their perceptions of me change colors constantly.
I listen: to my passionate ruby-red heart more times than my clear mind.
I can usually be found: dreaming in pastels and red in turn.
I am scared: of washing the orange away.
I need: my white space around me.
I am happy about: the hues am made of.

***

The tag shall henceforth be passed on to

Kiddo, BPSK (anyone know where he is?), Amrita, Pavan (Another one MIA for awhile!) and booboosmamma

 

munchies

Over the last week Ive discovered that the munchkin can yield a pencil like a natural. She draws perfect round golgoppa type circles, and keys in laddoo shaped eyes with perfect sticks for eyelashes. For the most part the pictures either are me or her sister, and she even shapes in the daughter’s rectangular glasses.

Today while I was hammering away a comment somewhere, munchkin droned on like a bee:
“I want to draw mommy, gimme paper and pen.”
“Ok, here’s a paper” *handing her a one-sided sheet, did I tell you I hate wasting papers?*
“Not this one, I want a new one.”
“fine, here’s a book, and here’s a pencil”
“MOM!”
“what?”
“I said, I want pen, not pencil”

Long story short, she finally started work on the sheet with a pencil that looked like a pen; and unlike how you, me and mere mortals draw, with the sheet laying flat on the floor with us bending all over it and smudging every little mark, she stands facing the wall, and with a serious concentrated pursed lip and scribbles away. The sheet’s laying flat against the wall, and the pencil’s moving with ferocious speeds. I think to myself, if not anything she’d make a good elementary school teacher!

I get back to emails. I am hardly done with one, when she flashes the paper brilliantly under my nose. This is what she drew.

I thought the expression was priceless, and continuing to flatter myself said:
“Nice picture munchkin, so my eyes look that big?”
“Mommy, those are my eyes.” *in a solemn patient tone*
“oh, okay. You are smiling?”
She nods.
“What are those sticks on either side of your face?”
“They are my hands.”

*okayyy, this is what happens when too many people pinch little girls cheeks. The girls imagine hands sprouting out of them*

“so whats all these long lines on either side of you?”
“That’s my longggggg Ju” *ju is short for juttu, which means “hair” in telugu*

..and that’s when I felt a little pang for snipping her hair off. *sigh. Curse the damn job, the drive and me leaving before she wakes up*

“but you don’t have long Ju right?”
“but I want me to have long ju, just like Ariel and Cinderella. Don’t cut my hair ever ever ever again ok, or I won’t be your friend?”
“Okay, I promise I won’t” Laughing, I kiss her on her upper lip.
“Mommy, are you being a boy?!”

?! *argh*

 

discordant

I drive 23 miles one way to work. After the fair amount of hints blatant and otherwise this fact isn’t hush anymore. So, to keep my mind from working overdrive, I listen to music, just like any of us who go on long drives. The various options I have are:

Desi Bollywood Music

Not-so desi music

MSS and the likes

FM radio

News

I tried books on tape but soon realized I preferred to read them. One can hardly focus on the story never mind the words. Then there was this incident when I drove off the road in boredom, but that’s another blog post for later.

Coming back to music, I am in a fortunate place where, without me asking I tend to find songs in my inbox. Of course I send requests out too occasionally and folks are real nice to me. Gone are the days when I go searching for music. The zeal to go search, download, fight pop-ups and create logins has died a silent slow death over the months. I originally had an Ipod. The husband in a rare bout of indulgent cozy love, got me one. For quite some time I didnt believe that I was the recipient and I eyed it a few days cautiousness mingled with suspicion as one eyes a mirage, or even a lottery ticket. The excitement on owning one yet not wanting to burst into happiness in case you jinx it.

I have a feeling I eyed it too long. Coz, one day it really did disappear.

On seeing my puzzled face, the daughter said “hey, you didn’t load a single song in it! Couldn’t let that go to waste now can I?” So, the iTunes got downloaded and songs kept flying in. In a 70’s black n white movie style flashback I remembered my mom’s expression of distaste when she heard any BoneyM or ABBA music. “Ghosts” she’d scream “It’s devil’s music. How can that even be qualified as music? Listen to Balamurali, Ghantasala, how about SPB. All that convent education, and we get such side-effects! I told your father to send you to nice Hindu Sarada Vidyalaya, but would he listen, noooo, he wanted to make Britishers out of you both sending you to the convent school, and now I have to hear such torture.”

Ultimately, I am told, we all turn into our moms.

I don’t get what they listen to despite my keen monitoring on what they download and makes its way into their heads and they in turn scoff at what we hear. The relief is that it is equal opportunity. I roll my eyes at their music and they shrink their noses at mine.

So, with the now elusive iPod confiscated by the tween, I was relegated to listening to music the good old way. On those bright shiny discs that Best Buy still sells. So I’d burn the CD’s with various music pieces, and tuck them away into the car’s originally 5-slot-but-yet-only-3-of-them-play music system, and spend my time on the road. Since I don’t qualify for the most organized person on earth, occasionally I tend to get repeats and random collection. Hindi, Telugu, Tamil get mixed, and these days with ARR’s foray into the languages, it’s perfectly alright for me to hear Guru’s one song in Hindi and then Telugu (though in this movie, hindi rocks personally) and Gajini’s song is heard in telugu and tamil. Kuchipudi dance items and English however I have maintained separately, and it seemed the natural thing to do. So yes, its a fine smorgasbord if you will. In fact, I like it that way, being pleasantly surprised when the system’s on random works wonders keeping you awake in the wee hours.

I recently discovered that pleasantly surprised and rudely shocked are on either side of a very thin line. Mainly drawn by the one who plays a pivotal role in deciding the order of songs.

Ever so often my CD’s shrink in number. One day the CD pack is brimming with 20 shiny discs and the next week, it’s down to a paltry 2. Apparently, they make good play things for the munchkin, son uses them as instant frizbee while he waits for the school bus, the daughter uses them as tracing mechanisms and the husband just throws them out once he sees a miniscule scratch on them, or if they get in his way, anywhere.

As a result, burning music onto brand new CD’s is like a constant almost-therapeutic action every few days. One rushed morning, on realizing I would have to listen to the silence or the voices in my head - either of which didn’t sound tremendously beneficial to my already fragile state of mind, I figured in the time it took for me to shower and get dressed, 2 discs could be burnt. Since moms love to totally send the underlings scurrying as assistants for any kind of job however small it may be, I asked the daughter if she could slip the discs in while she chewed on her cereal. She nodded. I showed her the 2 separate playlists and ran.

We drive off with at least 1 fresh new set of songs. She says “Yes, ma’am, the Jodha thingy and the cuckoo ones too!”. Feeling happy I’d have some ARR for company, I slide it in and as “Azeem O-Shaan” picks up, grin broadly as I hear a soft voice sing along with the tape. I pull into the kiss n ride line at her school and the track changes.

HUH? What the hey!?!

Did the CD change? No, we still on the same one. Track no. 2 is THIS?

Daughter “What? You asked me to burn them right?”

Me: “Yes, I did, but.. . Okay, what’s track 3? “

Daughter: “See, nice nice music again, just for you. Actually it’s for me, but never mind that.”

Me: “This is insane girl!”

Daughter: “haha. Mom, I am the only one who drives with you. It isn’t fair asking me to listen to your cuckoo songs continuously. So, yea. Ok, bye”

She hops off, leaving me to stare at the back of her swishing pony tail and wonder at the incredulous ways a tween’s brain can and will work.

So you ask on the songs and the order? It goes like this.

Track 1: Azeem O Shaan

Track 2: If I were a flower growing wild and free - Juno

Track 3: In Lamhon ki daaman

Track 4: Layla - Eric Clapton

Track 5: Jashn-e-bahara

Track 6: Anyone else but you - Juno

..and so on.

Imagine relishing and savoring the last nuances of tangy Bhel, and a delicious idli lump soaked in a combination of sambar and coconut chutney is thrust down your throat, while you are still licking your lips on that leftover sev tucked between the spaces between your teeth?

 

manisharma concert

Warning: Doses of telugu words, lyrics and references may follow.

A friend called early afternoon and asked if I wanted to go for Manisharma’s concert in the area. Since we had decided to really do nothing much this long weekend except clean up and catch up on stuff, I was hugely tempted to go. Struck a deal with the husband that he could go watch Indiana Jones on Monday if I were allowed to scurry off with my friends, and off I went.

This friend’s house is 2 minutes away from the high school where the concert was to happen, and so we were to meet there ahead of time and drive up together. Two other ladies were joining us too. All gathered on time and just as we were leaving the phone rang. This friend’s colleague called to ask if it was okay if Mani Sharma and troupe could come over straight from the airport and freshen up before they head over to the concert place.

Okay!

For a few minutes the world and the friend froze. Then orders started flying around. One raided the refrigerator to see if something could be salvaged, one tidied the newspapers and magazine pile in the living room. Guest room was dusted up and down and fresh towels brought out. One of the ladies is a good cook and she whipped up a ravva kesari loaded with some hearty ghee and tea was kept boiling on the stove. Watermelon was scooped into tiny balls and bowls were filled.

Frankly, I was secretly glad that unexpected company was showing up at her place than mine!

Fast forward 45 minutes.

No calls. No cars. No Mani Sharma.

Impatiently I started wondering if we’d be left with neither the tickets to the show nor our very personal pre-show backstage passes. After a few calls back and forth, we were sufficiently annoyed and we left for the venue. Met the colleague and he sheepishly told us that they dropped out of coming over as they were running late already. Sure of course!

The concert. One word: Wonderful.

It was an engaging troupe, of 4 male singers, 3 women and about 5-6 musicians.

As each were introduced I recognized a couple from TANA of last summer, but when the MC announced Zee Saregama followed by “Hemachandra” I fainted. I think I screamed loud. Very loud. Folks turned around and thought I was having a stroke or something. My friends on either side laughed hard seeing my face and expression. In any case, I had no idea the guy was gonna show up. So seeing him there was just a lovely surprise and an awesome “screaming” happy experience. When he started singing, that was taking happy to another level. yes, yes, happy place and all that.

Mani Sharma himself never really spoke, but his presence was what tied the whole piece together. All singers, musicians, and he shared a wonderful rapport on stage and the mood was fun. Lots of smiles, nods, grins and nods, Hemachandra and Mallikarjun (he dances and acts like Chranjeevi and has a melodius voice) along with K Muralidhara (who sang “ammaye sannaga” from Khushi) had a wonderful chemistry and understanding between them. Taking turns amusing and engaging the audience. Hemachandra of course was exuding his boyish charm, jumping up and down with the music and working the crowd as much as he could.

As a performer, I speak from experience when I say, the biggest accolade and enthusiasm and happiness comes not just from the aplause at the end of the show, but when you see the faces and body movements that speak volumes on how much joy you bring to the audience. Pretty much like the icing. So, I believe to stand on the stage and not let your music or voice not sway the audience or parts of it into claps, or up on the feet or just happy nods is a little disconcerting and to a newbie discouraging.

All such notions ought to be discarded when it comes to desi audiences. Especially the southern audiences. I was getting a trifle amused and annoyed seeing folks just sit there glued to the chairs with as serious expressions as watching CNN live report on some tragedy somewhere. I understand different folks have different ways of enjoying different genres of music, but this was pure Tollywood, full of beat, rhythm and joie de vivre.

Hemachandra and the rest persisted, and after the first break, people melted just a teeny bit. The break had reversegear Guruswamy do his bit. The guy was super hilarious, sang songs is his smooth voice not only the original way, but he’d also do a parody on the tunes, and his signature reversing of the words keeping thesame tune. He even challenged to be given a song from the audience, and he would flip it right back and sing away. Quite innovative, creative and requiring a special talent I must say. Enjoyable telengana jokes followed. Telengana and Hyderabadi telugu as a default cracks me up completely, and the scenarios he kept rattling were even wonderful.

Malavika sang Thaye Yashoda from Morning raaga and she got a standing ovation. Amazing strength and confidence her voice carried. Vijayalakshmi is an entertainer and a strong singer, very comfortable on stage and dances with grace and style.

We at home, had followed Hemachandra’s climb all the way on Zee TV two years ago, and are in awe of the guy’s voice, power and the range he is able to easily scale. His Nahin Samne on the show was his best ever. There was something very sweet and adorable about how he conducted himself, apart from the fact that there was that invisible Telugu pride bonding. :) So, to see home in flesh was a feeling as am sure many fans can relate to. One of my friends who has two sons in college and had never heard this guy before was so floored that she ran up to him, yanked him down, did a drishti with a $20 bill and gave it to him. Was funny, and in a way shows how much a person’s talent can move and bring on strong feelings.

Here’s a review of his performance last year in Chicago.

As a reflection: It’s so easy to to be completely bowled over with someone just based on art form, a facet of what they are. (so much of bollywood’s based on such a theme..)

Hemachandra was sufficiently bullied, embarrassed and applauded throughout. I even contemplated on shouting “we love you” and then sorta simmered down (unfortunate for me) as I was being ribbed happily by the ladies around me. After the show, we scurried backstage and were thrown into a photos ession with Mani Sharma. I was still searching for Hemachandra though, and just as the cameras clicked, he stepped out from the door behind and I yanked him into the group. Boy! Couldn’t believe I actually did something like that! :)

He good-naturedly stepped in, and so there’s a snap of me between the director and him, and as soon as the snap was done, I completely ignored the director (I realized that later and feel a lil weird!) and started rattling off to Hemachandra about his Zee performances and how much we enjoyed his voice. Bla bla. He was such a sweet kid, and posed nicely for bunches of snaps that everyone wanted. Here’s one. The splash of red on his left is me! hehe

No surprise when I happily teased him on how he must be wondering “damn, where are the girls, and why are there so many aunties around me?!” and he on cue showed shock and laughed good-humoredly and said “oh no, nothing like that, thank you very much. This is an honor.” One of my friends asked for his email and he actually grew serious and looked down at my bag hoping to see me flash out a pen and paper to jot it down! Down to earth and not chokingly modest and sweet like how the ones are shown on TV. Falling at feet and doing saadar pranams etc. And o, I discovered that he and Karunya are cousins?! Nice!

Drove home at 11.50 pm feeling very giddy, and throat hoarse from all the shouting and cheeks hurting from all the grinning. Unexpected and fabulous. Just what I needed. (Okay, I think I’ve a major crush on him, but he IS cute, not my fault!)

My brother-in-law tells me that over 700 tickets have been sold for this Sunday in Boston. A 3 hour show full of entertainment, that even a $50 towards this fund-raising event would be a steal.

 

it is what it is

The flower invites the butterfly with no-mind;
The butterfly visits the flower with no-mind.
The flower opens, the butterfly comes;
The butterfly comes, the flower opens.
I don’t know others,
Others don’t know me.
By not-knowing we follow nature’s course.

- Dewdrops on a Lotus Leaf (Translated by John Stevens)