Chez Moi

Yesterday, P and I decided to go to the next town to visit his cousin so he can have a play date with some family. His dad was at work and P was quite puzzled by the fact that his pater was away working and not having off-days and play dates like him. When we saw more than usual number of cars parked in the nearby streets, he was prompted to remark ‘lots of daddies are at home today, mummy.’

I said ‘yeah, possibly.’

He carried on, ‘but my daddy has to go to office. To earn money so we can have mumm-mumm (food)’.

Me (absently): Uh-uh.

P: Then we will have loads of mumm-mumm and we can give some to Paris.

Me (startled): What? Paris? Why?

P: Yeah. If we give them some proper mumm-mumm, they can stop eating froggie legs.

No, this is not the sequel to the much-acclaimed Driving Miss Daisy. This, my dear Chennaivasis, is the story of the battle we wage every day – on our roads. I am not talking only about their condition. I am, of course, talking about our road sense – or lack of it.

Though our country can never ever say with pride that its citizens are good drivers, I think gradually the standard has degenerated into absolutely appalling levels that these days it is a wonder if you can set foot outside home and come back unscathed. A casual bang to the side of your vehicle, courtesy a whizzing scooter is the norm.

While driving, we are supposed to look out for each other. Bah humbug, say the drivers. It is one mad dash to get from one point to another. To quote a popular holiday website, the traffic lights in India resemble the start of a grand prix race, with each vehicle vying for pole position. If only our roads were as good as the ones in Monaco! No wonder there is an increase in the number of people interested in becoming Formula 1 drivers. After all, they get practice every day!

One can’t put all the blame on Chennai drivers alone. The roads play a major role in this mess. And a right mess would describe the city roads perfectly. Huge craters in the middle and massive trenches along the sides are so yesterday. The latest accessories to the Chennai road are iron girders – and lots of them! Thick, long iron girders are plunged in the middle of the road, with the trench being strategically placed to make it unfit for traffic to pass in either direction. Add the monsoon (Thank you, Lord Varuna, for your bounty!) and you have one big water feature.

Of course, the usual adornments such as the Veeranam pipe, smaller pipes, random wires and posts, vast quantities of dug-up mud, chunks of tar road and the ever popular garbage sundries all make our road a thing of beauty indeed! One wonders what must go through the minds of the Onyx workers each night, as they toil to clean these excuse of our roads.

I guess therein lies the problem – the Onyx cleaners do their bit while we are sleeping. Come morning, we see the clean roads and our hands just itch to start throwing things! We do have to give something for the poor guys to clean every night, don’t we? We don’t want to deprive them of their likelihood!

You know something? I have always wondered at the volume of mud that lies surrounding the road trench. Even after they are covered, there is still a 2 feet surplus sitting all around it, making it a mini hillock. What puzzles me is that 2 feet surplus. Where did it come from? I mean, it was dug out of the same place and the lovely corporation guys have put it all back in, haven’t they? So where did the extra bit come from, the bit that sits atop like a crown on the head? Did they dig somewhere else to get that bit? Is there an unidentified crater somewhere that has contributed to this trench?

Ok, now I am digressing.

We have identified the problems – bad roads, worse drivers. So, let us all take a moment and think. Road users – we have to stop battling one another. We all have to get from Point A to Point B. There is no point in going like a bat out of hell, only to be caught at the next signal. We might as well go slower – and safer.

Do move to Sholavaram if the spirit moves you. Bullock cart men, please exercise your pets when the city has gone to sleep.

Meanwhile, corporation Annas, please don’t wait till the roadways department lays the road to start digging. Feel free to get in there, be first! And can the wizard who sunk in 8 feet of iron girder into the middle of T Nagar’s Dr Nair Road please put up his hand and explain the mystery behind it?

Brothers and sisters of Onyx, in addition to night shift, please do work on occasional day shifts too. Then you can actually catch us red-handed, making a missile of a banana peel and missing the bin by a mile.

Lastly, can somebody please stop all the timer clocks at the signals? Even Michael Schumacher doesn’t race everyday!

[First published under 'Desi Diaries' at ChennaiOnline on Nov 9, 2004.]

Quiet giggles in a corner
Shared jokes
Laughter and Yeats over a samosa
Bust-ups and making up
Those were the days when anything went

Angry words soon forgotten
Insults that never stuck
Fights and arguments the norm
But the feelings remained the same

Time passed
People changed
With it, the nature of friendship

Words became barbs
Looks did kill
Patience and love, non-existant.
This isn’t friendship
This isn’t relationship
This
is nothing.

And so,
here we are today,
asking
what price friendship?

Before I proceed any further, I would like to clarify that I am not desperate or anything so wierdos and wackos out there, walk away now!

Let me explain the title: Most Wanted. I should actually expand it to ‘Most Wanted: A friend’, preferabl a gal pal. Why am I doing a chum version of shaadi.com? A long and relentless search for one, that’s what.

You need a mate to hang out with, just to chill, right? Well, that’s where I am drawing a blank. The ones I bump into are all okay at the outset but a little bit of digging turns up some majorly iffy characterstics.

So what the hell sort of a friend am I looking for then? Well, for starters, one that is fun. Who likes movies, music, the theatre, is a mild foodie but not a big glutton, has a healthy sense if not wicked sense of humour, loves reading, knows that blogging has nothing to do with clogged drains, doesn’t think having a glass of Archers will make me Mata Hari’s evil twin and most of all, this is v important, doesn’t confuse being the good wife to being fused at the hip with the spouse. Oh, let’s not forget, it would help if the said person was in the rough vicinity so real hanging out can happen!

This is my biggest problem. I do go out with S and our little one but at the same time, I would love to go out with a friend too, you know. But the proper shaadi-shudh desi womenfolk seem to think that once you are married, thou shalt not set foot beyond the line drawn by the hubby. That drives me nuts. And I get looked at like I am a harlot for putting such thoughts into their heads. *sigh*

You would think, in this day and age, it would be easy to find some like-minded people. Natch! And the only like minded folks I know are either spread far and wide or are virtual. I know, I know. *sigh*

I rather feel like Siddharth and co in Shankar’s Boys, belting out enakkoru girlfriend venumada all over Chennai, as I sit typing this post. I know how you feel, Sid ole boy! Though not for the same reasons, mind you. (Lest the parents fear I am coming out of the closet in a rather roundabout fashion!)

So what say?

Once upon a time, there lived this little boy called, let’s say, P. One day, P went on a play date to his best friend, K’s house, which was a good distance away. He reached there alright and played till sun down. Then, K’s mum said ’snack time’ and gave the boys some yummy thingummies to eat. P, who’d never tasted something like that before, stuffed his face and asked K’s mum for its name, so he can ask his mum to make it for him.

K’s mum replied: ‘it’s called kozhukattai, P’.

Soon after, it was time for him to leave. He asked the aunty for the name again and to make sure he did not forget it, he kept repeating it to himself. ‘Kozhukattai, kozhukattai’ mumbled he as he walked back home. On his way, there was a short ditch and the man walking ahead of him took it at a running leap, exclaiming ‘athiri bacha’. P too copied him, with the requisite ‘athiri bacha’.

On he continued with his mumbling: ‘athiri bacha, athiri bacha’ and reached home soon.

The minute his mum opened the door, he went, ‘ma pls make me athiri bacha. K’s mum made it and it was real yummy’.

And she went ‘athiri bacha? what is it?’
He replied ‘athiri bacha, i want athiri bacha’ and started whining.
After a few more mins of this, she lost it and said ‘I shall give you athiri bacha’ and gave him a smackeroo right on his cheeks.

P started wailing and by dinner time, sported two huge swollen cheeks. His dad looked at his swollen face and went ‘look at the poor child’s face, kozhukattai maadiri veengi pochu’ and P shouted ‘kozhukattai, kozhukattai that was what K’s mum made yayy’.

His mum laughed and cried and went ‘oh u poor mutt, I shall make u loads of kozhukattai’.

That, is the story of athiri bacha.