Arbitrary Obsessions. Cities. History. Music. Feminism. Maami-isms. Patterns. Halwa. Identities. Free Verse. The Internets.
What a wonderful way to kill time. Found this lovely blog called Advertising for Love via Marginal Revolution.
Incredible stuff. Yes, why indeed do people send out missives to others when the chance of being read is so low?
Posted on March 19th, 2010 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Random Links | 4 Comments »
I have a mixed relationship with cooking. On some days, I feel like embarking on something adventurous, and on other days, I can’t be bothered with it and I’d rather eat raw carrots. I think some of my cooking sensibility comes from just having observed the women in my family. What goes together, what doesn’t and the like.
I had a sudden desire to eat thenkuzhal today. I’ve seen my mother make it a million times. Back in the day when eating something fried wasn’t quite the sin it has become now. Think my mother made a full spectrum of things and was quite sane in her advice – eat everything in moderation. As a 19 year old, I ignored it, and binged on fried fiends, but I find my own cooking quite reflective of her style. Minimum oil, most things slightly steamed, no overkill with every damn spice in the shelf, never really over-cooked and everyday meals that don’t involve back-breaking effort (mostly).
So anyhow, back to the sins of thenkuzhal. While poking my nose about online I discovered this wonderful maama-maami combo who make these wonderful videos from their kitchen in Srirangam. There’s something about their unassuming style of conversation (all in Tamil), their utensils, the arranged chaos that screams home to me.
For instance take a look at this – one of the videos for making Morkozhambu.
The videos aren’t edited or jazzy. You never quite see their faces, just maami’s busy (and magically effortless) hands, and her responses to maama’s various doubts and questions. Thanks maama-maami – you made someone very happy today.
Posted on March 17th, 2010 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Food and Gastronomy, India | 11 Comments »
While in India, I had the pleasure of watching at least three films in a theatre. The experience isn’t vastly different from watching it in London, to be honest. Same level of enthu in the crowd, and similar levels of cynicism. Though the amount of noise in the theatre is spectacular. People constantly chattering on their phones, to the person sitting next to them and the like. In London, I feel alright asking people to shut up, but in Gurgaon, I am half scared that the person in question will crack my skull open with their fist.
One of the films I managed to catch was Vinnaithaandi Varuvaaya. I’ll be honest, when I walked out of the theatre, I was tired, a bit annoyed and just wanted to go home and sleep. Some of it has to do with the fact that the film started at about 10 45 PM, and by the time it ended I wanted to curl up in the nearest cosy corner and sleep forever.
But thinking about it now, it was a beautiful film in parts. It’s lyrical, soft, with genuinely funny moments. The story is jagged, with no smooth edges – but you don’t mind that – in fact, the film makes sense only because it never quite feels like a love story. There are barely any characters in the film other than the two main people, but they are so well etched that it doesn’t matter.
Suffice to say – it’s the story of a torrid relationship between a man (Simbu) and a woman (Trisha). Funnily enough, Trisha’s character works well because it is seen only through Simbu’s eyes. That is, there are no scenes when he’s not present, or does not have some way of knowing what happened. It’s a more mature way of dealing with multiple narratives, making it obvious that this is only one person’s view of the relationship.
You see Trisha (who is perhaps the individual who brings in confusion into the relationship) as a person who has her reasons for doing things, even if the reasons are not made apparent. She doesn’t feel like a black and white character, you feel a certain ambiguous empathy for her. Simbu on the other hand – may have finally learned not to overact in every scene. He’s fleetingly naive, optimistic but easily heartbroken.
By the way, isn’t it delightful when the heroine in a Tamil film isn’t a goddamn college student of some sort?
The last forty five minutes of the film drag on rather endlessly. It gets interesting for thirty seconds, but by then the dialogues are so long, you just want them to shut up. I don’t have an issue with films that move forward largely through dialogue, but unless they are well written, and don’t become monologues it doesn’t hold my interest.
Despite that though, it’s a lovely film with fantastic music. One of the best numbers is Aaromale.
PS – On that note, while there’s the whole film within a film angle, not much is made of it, and it’s not really used till the very end of the film.
Posted on March 5th, 2010 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Music, Film and Art | 8 Comments »
Am a prize idiot. When I booked tickets way back in November, I assumed ten days off. Booked return on the 1st of March. Realised a month back that 1st was Holi. Idiot.
That picture is from early mid-90s. I am not in it. Possibly somewhere in the periphery plotting world domination. But I loved Holi. Till the boys got hormonal. But I still like it. The sheer madness of it. Colours, mud, slush, what’s not to like. The last rowdy Holi I played was on the TISS campus, where it got very very muddy.
Anyhow, am sure you get enough of the happy Holi type songs. You know – bhang infused joyous declarations of love and revelry. Here’s a more melancholy one.
An utter favourite, and such a lovely thought – Who do I play Holi with, having been left alone by my beloved? Yes, very cheesy and dramatic, but gives you some deep sighs.
Posted on February 28th, 2010 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Music, Film and Art | 8 Comments »
Could you love the sea if you weren’t introduced to it at a very young age? For instance, do you have to introduce dogs at a young age, when they are still wobbly kneed puppies to salt water? Is it then that they begin chasing the waves? Running into froth and diving for pebbles?
I went to my usual haunts in Bombay (or Mumbai – I really don’t give a damn what it is called anymore), and realized that most of them were actually rather close to the shore. Like this one small cafe near Bandra, where you nearly feel the dirty sea spray on your face. And when you lick your lips, you’re no longer sure if it’s the salt of the sea, the piss of a million people drained into the sea or your own sweat.
Is it something in your blood that craves the salty smell of sea soaked air? In Madras, the salt mingles with stale jasmine and fish. In Mumbai, it’s fish and stale shit. Either way, salt conquers all and invades your clothes and the crevices under your nails.
In strange ways, the seaside is democratic. Which is why perhaps I do find Madras and Bombay rather similar. You sit by the beach, all of you equals in some respect. Some driven off the sand more willingly by the cops than others. Some more respectable. But in the end, it costs very little to sit by the sea. Usually the mild cost of a pack of peanuts or something equally trivial.
Posted on February 27th, 2010 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Cities, Self | 5 Comments »
Sometimes you land up at a place that used to hold a lot of awe for you. Like United Coffee House. I couldn’t really afford their prices as a student, but would try and get there anyway. And so it is that when I am in Delhi, I somehow or the other find an excuse to go there.
Perhaps some places are better if they don’t move with time. UCH is a bit timeless that way. On an average you will struggle to see anyone under the age of 35 there. (Yes, I am 28, but I possibly look 35 anyway – and plus have always had a mildly ancient soul). The trendy crowd doesn’t really stick around in Connaught Place these days, having migrated en masse to the glitzy malls.
It’s the kind of place that works exceptionally well in the hot summers. The insides are a few shades darker and the air conditioner appears to provide that slightly sleep hum. The chaos of CP, right outside appears to melt into little puddles at the door.
I am still in awe of this place. The innocence of it so appealing that the kitsch stops being kitschy. It’s for these mildly unapparent reasons I love Delhi. In the winters, it alternates between being a moody cat that finds the insides of your bag appealing, and a bored dog – only interested in getting some sun. Either way, you need to flirt with the city to get it to like you. And we Delhi women like to flirt. It all works out.
PS – The food is not amazing. Just about above-average. But that never seems to matter.
Posted on February 25th, 2010 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Cities, Food and Gastronomy | 6 Comments »
In Delhi. Yay! Weather is lovely, have had two wholesome meals and one plate of Golgappa already. Have already started shopping and felt its consequent fatigue. All in a few jetlagged hours.
In Mumbai for a few days next week, part of a last minute change in plans. Some people to meet, and some places to revisit. All very exciting. I’ll go eat some more to keep my excitement in control. Okay?
Meanwhile I’ll go catch up on sleep. I had a woman sat next to me on the flight talk to me about her persistent urinary tract infection for 2 hours, after which she spoke about her four grown, well-settled children for another 3 hours.
I must have the face of a sucker.
Posted on February 19th, 2010 by Neha Viswanathan
Filed under: Self | 4 Comments »
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