Subtle Subramanian - Final Installation

Hi. Here it is. The super-long final installation. I considered splitting this up, but just couldn't find a spot where I could. If you haven't read the previous installations, or have forgotten them, you can do so here. It isn't necessary, but history has shown that it helps ;)

***

"Good afternoon, Mr. Vinod. How may I help you?"
"Yeah. Um, I need to untune all business news channels."
"Sir?"
"I don't want any of the business news channels."
"Sir, um, you can change your plan to..."
"Dude, I don't want to change any plans. I'll lose some other channels that I want. I just want to untune the business channels."
"Sir, I'm sorry, we cant offer you a service without the business channels. You will have to pay for them."
"Dude, I'll pay for the business channels. But I don't want them on my TV."
"Sir, maybe you can not view those channels."
"Mister, I don't want even the names of those channels to appear on my TV."
Sarvesh, who had been working at the call centre for three months, was inquisitive by nature, "Mr. Vinod, have you lost on the markets?"
"No..." Vinod reflected for a second and said, "Actually, you could say that!"
"Sir, the markets are like that. You win some, you lose some."
"Dude, with all due respect, I don't want random gyaan from a Tata Sky customer care guy."
"Mr. Vinod, I'm sorry to inform you that untuning is not possible in Tata Sky. Is there any other service that I may be of, Mr. Vinod?"
"If you could stop being this polite, it may be of great service."
"Sir, please, we're only trying to help."
"You've just lost yourself a customer."
"Have a nice day, sir."

Vinod was amazed by the practiced politeness. He was also irritated by it. How could the voice maintain that fake niceness even when the voice at the other end was being downright rude? How could the voice tell him to have a nice day, when it was clear that there was no way he was going to? Wait a second, was that an actual person, or was it a computer? Perhaps the standard messages are saved on a computer and played back. Anyway, Vinod stayed true to his word. He got a local cable operator, and untuned all business channels manually.

He had to show more signs of disappointment. He took to alcohol with a vengeance. Given his capacity, vengeance wasn't very expensive monetarily, but was expensive otherwise. First, he was at this club where people danced, and this night was particularly couply. He looked around to see everyone in love, and everyone being loved back. He buried himself in more alcohol. A few days later, some neighbour wrote to the building society, 'He is drunk each night and is coming to my house asking for lemon and sugar to make lime juice to finish his vodka. He is also telling me that my wife and someone from her workplace are having an affair because all women are having affairs in their office.' Vinod was asked to leave the building. His desperate pleas were shown the finger, literally. His landlady, the anonymous voice-on-the-phone, asked him to come over to her place for dinner. Vinod was stunned. As it turned out, she had another flat just above the one she was staying in, but it was twice as expensive. She had a solution for that too. She knew a girl who was willing to share the flat with someone agreeable. A meeting of the two was arranged.

"Hi. I'm Teena."
"That's your name?"
"Unofficially, yes."
"What are you, a struggling porn star?"
"No. I'm Sardarni."
"Hardcore."
"I'll ignore that. My real name is..."
"Gurinder?"
"Jaspinder."
"Hi. I'm Vinod. I'm awfully rude."
"The lady told me you have a slight drinking problem."
"Very slight."
"I think we'll get along fine! I too have a very slight drinking problem"
"I have one issue, though."
"What?"
"Nothing can ever happen between us."
"You're awfully subtle, aren't you?"
"Subtle Subramanian, that's me," Vinod said, beaming.
"Oh, I have one issue too."
"What?"
"I'm Teena with two 'e's. Not Tina with an 'i'."
"T-E-E-N-A. Ok. Can I crack a really bad joke about your name?"
"Go ahead."
"So, you're a kind of battery!"
"Battery?"
"Teen-a, triple-a, AAA..."
"We will definitely get along fine!"
"One more issue - no Tata Sky or Dish TV or any other set top box. Only the local cable guy."
"Why?"
"Irrelevant. I am going to untune some channels, and we leave it at that. You don't invest in the markets, do you?"
"No."
"Then fine."
"Fine!"
"Oh, last issue."
"What?"
"My mum doesn't know I'm living with a girl, or that I lost my earlier flat due to drinking issues."
"Yeah, I don't envisage speaking to your mum anyway."

Vinod found out soon that the landlady, anonymous and unfriendly as she was, knew a fair bit about his life, and had passed on all the information to Teena with two 'e's.

"So, that newsreader dumped you for that other guy on the news..."
"Actually, we weren't going out. She had this other boyfriend - a complete asshole."
"All other boyfriends are complete assholes."
"This was one particularly complete. Anyway, she used to hang out with me much more, and I, well, I liked her. I was just waiting for her to break up with that guy, because, you know, he was, um, a complete asshole. And then, I was away for four days. When I came back, she'd dumped this complete asshole for another complete asshole."
"The other guy on the news?"
"Yeah. Also a complete asshole."
"Particularly complete?"
"Even more particularly complete than the previous guy."
"So, you got drunk and made phone calls professing love and all that?"
"No. I just got drunk and troubled people around me. I was very sober around her."
"Fascinating story."
"I know. One day, some jobless dude will write the whole thing!"
"And some other jobless dude will make a movie."
"No. No movie. There isn't enough masala for that!"
"Are you over her now?"
"No!"
"But you're drinking a lot less."
"Oh, I don't enjoy drinking. I was doing that whole act to be depressed. Plus, she was the only friend I had in Bombay. So, I was slightly upset."
"You don't talk to each other now."
"We do. Its just that every time I look at her, these vague concepts of trust and justice keep running through my head. I cant handle it. So, I don't really talk to her much."
"You know what you should do - you should talk to all your ex-girlfriends and tell them that you love them. It helps."
"Rubbish."
I'm telling you. I do that all the time."
"Yeah?"
"Ok, there are only two of them."
"Call the first one. And put it on speaker."

Vinod called. A guy picked up the phone.
"Hello?"
"Um, hi. Um, Gul around?"
"Yeah. One sec. Who is this?"
"Vinod."
"Oh. You're the ex, eh?"
"Yeah."
"Gul! Call for you."

Teena asked, "Her name's Gul? I thought you were a good South Indian boy with good South Indian girlfriends."

"Vinod!" Gul said.
"Hi. I hear you call yourself Mira these days?"
"Yeah. People in Madras don't understand Gul. And in my line of business, that's an important part of my existence."
"I also hear you did an item number?"
"Yeah. A very sexy one. With Vijay."
"I saw it. Too sexy."
"And a couple of ads."
"I saw one of those also."
"Don't ask me about them!"
"Hehe. So, are you a Mira with an 'i' or a Meera with two 'e's?"
"With an 'i'."
"You'll never succeed in Madras."
"Why?"
"They don't understand economy of spelling. Actually, you should just stick to Gul. I mean, if they can recognise Simran, Devayani and Nayantara as legitimate names, they can understand Gul also."
"In everyday life, its a pain, I'm telling you. Every mami asks me, 'Gul-aa? What sort of a name is that?! Short for Gulabi-aa?' Once I replied with 'No. Short for Gajalakshmi.' That mami, lives downstairs, still calls me Gaja."
"Oh, by the way, who's the guy who picked up the phone? New boyfriend-aa?"
"No. Just a friend of sorts. He's a writer - writes a fairly popular series on bytheway.in."
"'The Pujari's Son'?"
"Yeah! You read that? I'm impressed. Maybe I shouldn't have dumped you at all."
"Honestly, I don't read that. I find it boring. But there are these two chicks in the office raving about it all the time. Anyway, the purpose of this phone call is to tell you that I love you."
There was deafening silence for a couple of seconds. Then there was a click, followed by beeping.

Teena with two 'e's was laughing like a villain in a devotional serial.
"Bitch! I cant believe I did that for your entertainment!" Vinod looked at Teena laughing away, and realised that she was pretty in her own way. He got up, walked towards her and sat next to her with lustful eyes. She got up and walked to the kitchen to make tea. The moment had passed. Vinod realised he was being stupid and desperate. Yet, in some way, life felt better.
***

Sen and Lila's marriage announcement was an event amongst the entire investor community. It wasn't meant to be, but the channel took advantage of their relationship to boost TRPs. Sen regretted for the rest of his life that the decision to get married was made on the twelfth of February, because on the fourteenth, the channel had heart-shaped balloons all over the set on the Breakfast Show, and announced their romance before and after each commercial break with cute footage of the two talking off the sets. Given their producer's weird brand of humour, 'Video Killed the Radio Star' played in the background. Both Sen and Lila were visibly flushed, and Sen even once refused to stop talking to allow the commercial break to come. The producer screamed through their ear-pieces, "Break time, suckers! Stop talking!!" Finally, he cut Sen mid-sentence, and played the clip twice in revenge before going into the break.

That evening, Lila called Vinod. "What are you doing on Saturday?"
"Nothing."
"Come home for dinner?"
"Sen's also there?"
"No. Just me. You've never been to my place, and I'm going to leave it after marriage. So, I just thought you could come over and see it."
"Sure."

Vinod reached her place early on Saturday. As usual. The door was locked, and a sign said, "Vin, if you're early, just wait outside. I'm going to be late."
Vinod sat at the door and contemplated life. He was living with a woman he would have been in love with if he weren't already in love with someone else. And he'd been in love with this someone else for too long after she had become unattainable - four months, after all, was a long time. And now, the whole deal was sealed. She was marrying the other guy.
His Inner Voice said, "Dude, I've been telling you for ages. Just ask her out. I mean, today, you have nothing to lose. Just do it."
"I cant."
"Fucker, this is just like that Veena you have at home and lug around each time you move. You're never going to play it, but you refuse to sell it!"
"Lets see how things go."
"Fuckin' loser."
"Fuck you."

Just then, Lila arrived. She opened the door and let him in. Vinod saw the dreaded poster on the wall.

"That's the singer who was close to Fidel Castro," she said pointing to the poster that had 'Revolucion' emblazoned across it, and laughed almost endlessly.
"Okay, fine. I'm ignorant. You've said that a million times in a million different ways." Vinod declared indignantly.
"I can understand ignorance, but thinking that Che Guevara was a singer close to Castro..."
"Tell me, why would rock music loving, weed smoking, youth in India who haven't lifted a finger for any cause have posters and T-shirts of a revolutionary in South America? I think I'm entitled to assume that he was a rock star."
***

Vinod had no idea where this bus was going. But he needed the time to think about what had happened, and he needed a place where no one would bother him. The events of the last six months had left him feeling like a character from The Bold and the Beautiful, only that he was neither bold nor beautiful. Maybe some jobless guy would actually sit and write his story, and other jobless people would read. He then contemplated writing an autobiography. Or a self-help book, "The Nine Spiritual Laws of Knowing Hot Women, But Not Being Able To Do Them". What he failed to comprehend most was Lila's latest move. She'd given him reasons for why she did took that step, but they failed to make any sense. Teena was away travelling in Vietnam and Cambodia, leaving him with no one to discuss his predicament with.

There were three people in a seat meant for two already. A fourth man came and asked, "Saar, ad-jesht?" Vinod made space for him. It was amazing how if you indulged in a little ad-jeshting, there was space for everyone. Why didn't Lila understand that? Two people got off at the next stop, and eight others entered the bus that looked like a stampede on wheels. An express bus overtook the ordinary one. The contrast was stark - you could see the windows on the side not facing you! Two bucks more, and Madrasis refused to take the express! Vinod got off at the next stop and took an express bus that was going to some place on the East Coast Road. Vinod remembered how Lila was surprised that Madras should have an East Coast Road given that it had no West Coast. "All coastal roads are technically East Coast Roads!" she'd said. This was on that night on Marina Beach. The night before she left him.

In a flash of inspiration, Vinod knew exactly what he had to do. He got off at the next stop, somewhere on the East Coast Road and made a phone call.

"Hello," the voice on the other end said.
"Hello aunty, Vinod here. Subramanian. Upstairs..."
"Oh! Hi! Long time!"
"Aunty, you have KC's number?"
***

He nearly kissed her when a tut-tutting mama walked past. The moment was gone. He had to work up courage and romance all over again. She made the job easy by looking into his eyes lasciviously. He moved again, but a group of kids screamed and ran into the water. He thought one of them said, "Anne! Full heat-aa? Control, control!" She rolled her eyes and stared into the sea again.

KC, observing from a distance, guessed that these two were college students who were hoping the Thiruvanmiyur beach would be slightly quieter and more private. Soon, their horniness would lead them to save up for a room.

Just then, Vinod landed up. He had a speech ready for the occasion. Only, when he saw KC, he couldn't deliver it.

"Hi!" she said.
"Hi. What's up?"
She stared at him blankly. "You didn't ask me to come urgently all the way from Mylapore to ask me what was up, did you?"
"No. I have important matters to discuss."
"Are you going to ask me out?"
"No. Why would you think that?"
"Valentine's was just eight months ago!"
"Do I look like the Valentine's type guy?"
"Duh! Obviously!"
"Ok. No. This is something else."
"About that newsreader?"
"How does everyone know?! I mean, the channel website only has discussion groups about her and the other newsreader, right?"
"Yeah. But The last time I saw you, almost two years ago at Mondy's, you were seeing her. And you do tend to obsess about women for a long time..."
"Don't say that, please."
"You liked me from the ninth standard till you started going to college."
"Tenth standard."
"Anyway, what about her? She's marrying the other guy, and you're depressed."
"Pretty much, yeah."
"So, when did the break-up happen?"
"Long story. See, when you saw us two years ago, and she said that she was my girlfriend, well, she wasn't. And then, she started seeing that guy. Then, they decided to get married. Then, I swooped in. She dumped him. I started going out with her!"
"Woah! When was this?!"
"Two days after Valentine's!"
"See! You are the Valentine's type guy."
***

Vinod got up in the morning and found Lila in his arms. He could hardly believe the events of the previous night. He wanted to send a mass message to the world telling them what happened. He turned his phone on. Almost as soon as it caught network, eleven messages arrived. All from the same number - Sen. All with the same message, "Bastard!"

Later in the day, when he checked his mail, there was an email from Sen along similar lines.

Bastard,
What the fuck are you doing with my girl?
I've been nice to you all these days only because you were her friend. Personally, I think you're not only a two-timing, dim-witted, boring, opinion-less, characterless loser, but also a dirty, ugly, long-nosed, french-bearded, alcoholic excuse for a software engineer. I have a list of people I think of to feel better about my existence, and you top that list. In fact, there is nobody else on that list. Oh wait, Amar Singh may figure once in a while.

This will not last. Fucker, she deserves better than some choot who doesn't even know if Enola was really gay. I'd be surprised if you even understood what that meant. I'll save you the trouble of googling it - click here.

Fuck you once again,
Sen.

In a friendly green, at the end of the mail, his signature screamed:

Save a Tree! Please do not print this email/ attachments unless you really need to.

Vinod printed nine copies of the email. Life was looking up already.
***

"Yeah. Then, we were going out. She moved into my place, because Teena moved to the US."
"Teena?"
"Another long story. Irrelevant. I was staying with this girl, Teena, who moved out."
"So, your place was like this proper sex pad, eh? One chick leaves, another comes."
"No, it was more like the headquarters of Alcoholics Anonymous. Anyway, to continue with the story, Lila and I came to Madras. We took a couple of weeks off, and spent them here. She'd never seen Madras before, so I was showing her around. Yesterday, we were supposed to leave for Bombay. She left, and I stayed back."
"Why?"
***

Vinod's lasting image of Madras was of driving up the bridge to catch a proper glimpse of Central Station. He had vivid early memories of seeing that clock tower with his grandfather sitting by him declaring, "Station vandaachu!" in his usual jolly tone. It was a sight that was often associated with a mix of nostalgia and relief. Nostalgia because he'd remember all the previous holidays in Madras, and relief because he'd be back to playing cricket in familiar gullies. The ones where he played in had the strangest rules - you could be out if the ball hit the tree and a player caught it on the rebound!

This time, there was more nostalgia, and more recent nostalgia - for the expression on Lila's face when she first tasted authentic ghee uthappam, for the conversation she had with his grandfather on love and marriage, for the time they spent walking aimlessly up and down Pondy Bazaar, for the last night on Marina Beach.

When they settled themselves in their First AC cubicle, Lila said, "Listen, we need to talk."
"Talk!"
"No, this is like a more serious version of the talk."
"Yeah, tell me."
"Ok. I think we should end this."
Vinod stared at her blankly.
"Ok," she tried again, "Its tough, but we just have to. I can explain it to you, but you'll never understand the reason."
"Its because I'm stupid and ignorant, right? I can change. I can read World War books and find out if Enola was really gay."
"Its not because you're stupid..."
"Then because my face is to one side. I told you, I'll get plastic surgery done!"
"No, its not that either. You wont understand. You're better off not knowing."
"I have to know!!"
"Ok. Here goes. I haven't practiced this speech, so excuse me if it doesn't come out clearly. Basically, I think you like me too much. Wait. Before you react, let me explain further. Thing is, in a relationship, the guy and the girl need to like each other equally, or at least as close to equally as they can be. You like me too much."
"How is that an issue?!"
"See, it makes me feel guilty each time, when I see you like me this much. Because I cant like you back as much."
"I'm fine with that!"
"But I'm not."

Vinod got off at the next station to buy water, and did get back on. Lila stared at him out of the window, and his knees felt weak. He sat on the platform and watched the back of the train till it disappeared.
***

"Fuck!" KC said.
"I must have said that a thousand times in the last few hours."

They stared at the sea for a long time in silence before Vinod asked, "So, what's up with you?"
"I'm moving to the US - got into University there."
"Excited?"
"Yeah, and nervous."
"That happens, I guess."
"You know, the biggest dilemma I'm in right now is that I cant even tell you the usual things like, 'These things happen,' or 'Everyone has their problems,' because yours is more than a problem!"
"But its true. These things happen. Everyone does have their own problems."
***

A third girl dumped Sharma in two years, and this one did it one week after marriage. Out of frustration, he called a call girl over to his place. She was hotter than he'd expected her to be - his expectations weren't very high after all the Hindi movies he'd seen. She settled herself on his sofa as the bell rang. He opened the door to see his wife, in tears. She just about said sorry when she noticed the call girl in neglige on his sofa.

She stormed out, Sharma ran in pursuit, but tripped down the stairs and fractured his leg. To top it all, his only source of entertainment at home, his DVD player, stopped working.
***

Nestle's new head undertook fresh penance for a new baby. Sen's face couldn't remain on the box for more than twenty six years!
***

Akshay stared at the image of Asterix in love on the last page of Asterix the Legionary for a really long time. Panacea reminded him of the girl he gave a lift to two years ago. He wondered if she'd found her Tragicomix. He remembered all those days when he took a taxi to work hoping she'd be waiting on that kerb again. Meanwhile, his wife hollered away in the background - something about him having forgotten to switch the geyser off.
***

"She doesn't take this lift during my shift anymore," the liftman said.
"I know! I think we should make a petition to get her back on the Breakfast Show! I mean my health is just going for a toss - I haven't had breakfast in months!"
"Boss, I'm glad," Ravi said, "I was getting sick of anchoring re-runs of old stories night after night! At least, on the Breakfast Show, there's something new each morning!"
***

Vinod's landlady in Madras passed away after prolonged sickness. Her husband was forced to move to the US at the age of seventy-eight to live with his son. He sold his house in Adyar to some builders who took two months to convert it into posh apartments. Amongst his belongings he insisted on taking to the US were a folding easy-chair and a steel coffee filter.
***

Adarsh read the letter that came along with the DVD:

Hi,
Found this in my son's stuff. Our story, really...
Your Saali,
Neeta

Adarsh got off the taxi, and paid the driver while still staring at the letter. An earnest looking young man with a ridiculous curl on his forehead got in almost immediately. It was when the taxi sped away that he realised that he'd left the DVD behind.
***

Raju Bhai walked into Mondegar alone for the first time in two years. The table next to him had a large group of regulars - a college gang that almost lived there. There was more noise from that table than usual. Raju didn't know that they had just finished college. As the third beer made its way down his system, the images that were haunting him grew clearer - images of narrow gullies with open sewers, a chase involving two men in lungis and muftied policemen, bullets flying in both directions. The most powerful of those images was that of Ganesh getting shot - thrice - leaving his T-shirt more maroon than white. Soon, another image flashed before him - of the two of them sitting at the corner table, talking in hushed tones and erupting into volcanoes of laughter.
***

Lila reached Bombay and saw a familiar face at the Railway Station. It was her schoolteacher - the one who had said those prophetic, immortal words, "You chose the wrong prince, dear." She was excited to see Lila, and said, "I always knew you'd make it big!" A man looking worried caught up with the teacher and told Lila suddenly, "I'm sorry. My mother's forgetting everything these days. Talks a lot of trash. I'm sorry if she bothered you."
"No, she remembered me. I was her student in school!"
Suddenly, the lady said, "Yes. I taught you African history, didn't I?"
***

"Lets go?" KC asked.
"Nah, go ahead. I need some time to myself."

It was fairly late at night. High tide pushed Vinod back more into land. He found a high rock and settled himself on it. As dawn approached, Vinod sat alone on the beach watching old mamas and mamis in sweaters, monkey caps and mufflers. It must have been twenty-three degrees at least, but in Madras, given its usual weather, this was peak winter. He allowed himself a little smile. The waves hit the shore listlessly, almost as if they were bored of doing the same thing for centuries. Or maybe there was a hint of sadness in their behaviour.

He stared at them until a little drop of salty water was waiting to break free from his eyes and run down his cheek. He held it back, got up, and drove away into the city as dawn eased into a bright morning.
***

The End!

Kai, this was written for you!

I'd also like to thank my two favourite storytellers - RK Narayan and Woody Allen. 

Providing Apt Support

I know Subtle Subramanian's waiting to be finished. I finished it a while ago, actually. Anyway, this is something I wrote on the train yesterday.
***

Anna was surprisingly tense. He'd given at least fifty concerts before, including ones that were far more important than this one, but he was edgy all morning. He tuned and re-tuned his mridangam every fifteen minutes until even he couldn't tell the difference between the sound before and after the tuning. He then took to ironing his veshti with a vengeance. The dhobi had done a stellar job, but Anna wasn't satisfied. He chose a kurta on the previous day - something he'd never done before - but that morning, he decided to fish another one out. This one was crumpled. So, it was taken to the dhobi again and ironed under the Anna's personal supervision.

"Is your girlfriend coming to the kacheri?" Appa asked tactlessly. Anna answered with a scowl. Then, he purposefully walked out of the house, returned in two minutes, unearthed his first mridangam book and read some very fundamental rhythms with nervous concentration.

I sat quietly with the newspaper through all the drama - the Sunday Crossword in the Hindu was always hard. Suddenly Anna asked me, "Are you coming to the kacheri?"
"Who're you playing for?"
"Avi."
"Oh. Is he good?"
"Yeah. Why do you ask?"
"No, you seem nervous..."
"I-I-I... I'm not nervous!"
"No, the thing is, you're revising some basics and all. I just thought you were playing for someone big."
"I always revise!"

That was a lie, but there was no use in pointing it out to him in this mood. I turned back to my crossword. I hate it when the Sunday Crossword requires you to know the names of port towns to the east of Essex. Or wait, maybe "east" was "e" and Essex was... Curious and Curiouser. I stared on.

Lunch was served. Anna ate nothing. Appa and I had a cursory discussion on clues in the crossword. Amma, who just returned from her sister's house gave us a detailed report on our cousin's lives. One hadn't done well in his exams, a cause for worry for everyone, and the other had rejected the fourth "boy" who came to see her.

Amma suddenly asked Anna, "This Avi is a nice boy, no?"
Anna distractedly said, "Yeah."
"What gotram?"
"Ma, I'm not his horoscoper!"
"Is that even a word?" I asked.
"Poor Chores are future-tellers!" Appa declared.
I laughed.
Anna muttered something and left the table. Amma was about to get up to console him, when Appa said, "Leave him alone."
Lunch resumed. "Poor chores! Too much, Pa!" Appa's speed with anagrams always amazed me.
"Dai, forty years of solving the crossword makes one very sharp!"

Just then, Anna stormed into the dining room, picked up his bike keys that he'd left on the table, and charged out purposefully. "Where are you going?" Amma asked.
"Need to buy some stuff."
"What?"
"Hair gel."
"What?!" I asked.
He didn't answer.
"There's coconut oil in my cupboard. Use that," Appa said, and added softly,"Gel spoils your hair."
"Leave him alone," said Amma this time.
The sound of the door banging was following by the roar of Anna's bike.

The three of us settled down into a bad afternoon movie on Sun TV. Appa and Amma dozed off as the first dream sequence, consisting of extras in embarrassing costumes and the hero and heroine in equally garish, but contrasting clothes declared love to each other for this life and all their reincarnations. I wondered what would happen if, in the next life, one was born to a descendant of Osama, and the other to a descendant of Obama.

Soon, sleep overtook my senses, and I had a strange dream of a wrestling match between Osama and Obama with Anna in a veshti as the referee. As the wrestling intensified, and Osama stood on the rope to jump on Obama, a loud bell rang around the stadium, and a voice spoke through the microphone, "Uncle! Saar, Harish, Saar!"

I woke up. Appa was already walking towards the door. The urgency in the voice calling him was apparent. I joined him at the door. Senthil, the local barber, spoke very fast, "Arjun was turning into the main road, and he skid and fell. I was going on my moped, and I took him on it to the hospital. His phone wasn't working, so I came here."
"Is he okay?" Appa asked.
"They've asked him to get an x-ray of his arm."

Appa and I rushed to the hospital to find Anna's chosen kurta soaked in blood and wet mud from the recent rains. But his arm was the cause for worry, the doctor told us. It was a fracture.

Anna's first reaction was, "Fracture-aa? Six weeks-aa? Today's kacheri?"
"Kuttan will play," Appa said, pointing to me.
"No."
"Why not?"
"He's... He's not good enough. No offence, Kuttan."
I hadn't taken any offence. I was used to being treated like a back-up option.
"Avi isn't that good. He can make do with Kuttan."
"No. Let me call Sir. He'll suggest someone else."

Sir suggested my name, and the matter was settled.

There was something dubious about Anna's behaviour. I had played in quite a few concerts myself, and although I didn't have Anna's wisdom, inventiveness or promise, I was steady. While reviewers showered praises on Anna and his 'impeccable control and understanding of laya aspects' or his 'spectacular thani', they reduced me to a mere reference, 'S.H. Anil on the mridangam provided apt support'. There was, therefore, no reason for Anna to get all nervous about the concert. I provided apt support.

Anna called me towards him and whispered in my ear, "No naughtiness. Play the way you play usually, and come back home."
"What?"
"No. No mischief."
"Ok da. Whatever."

Amidst all the drama, I reached the concert slightly late. The others were already on stage setting up by then. I settled myself on the right of Avi, in the customary spot for the mridangist. Avi whispered to me, "Dai, I'm nervous."
"Chill, da. You've done this before."
"Big crowd, da. Usually there's only Amma in the front row putting talam, and few relatives here and there."
"Don't worry. You'll do fine. We are here to support you." Just as I said that last line, I glanced at my co-supporter - the violinist. This violinist, a young girl from Bangalore, was a Goddess. She was the sort that every Carnatic musician dreamt of - slim, classical features, bottu, flowers adorning long hair, silk sari and ethereal grace. If she was a decent musician in addition, there was nothing more one wanted from life. I now understood what Anna was going through earlier in the day, and guessed what he might be going through now. Poor Anna, on painkillers, with his hand in a cast. Here, my life was playing out in slow-motion, like in the movies.

Avi started with the majestic varnam in Kambhoji. His rendition, though, was anything but majestic. He was nervous from the first note, and kept looking towards me for support. I kept the steady stream of fours going, not experimenting too much with the rhythm, especially with Avi looking like he'd just eaten his angavastram by mistake. As he doubled the tempo, he completely lost track of the song.

But he was seasoned enough to know what to do in these circumstances. He coughed, and started drinking water. The violinist looked at me and winked. It was our time in the sun, as life went into slow-motion mode again. We launched into the anupallavi, since the pallavi was suitably wrecked. I knew a couple of rhythm tricks to play here, and was about to execute them when I heard Anna's voice in my ear warning me against naughtiness. She didn't hold back though. There were a few touches whose deftness was masterly. They were always followed by a magical smile.

When Avi joined in for the second half of the varnam, he was rendered useless to the proceedings. True, the audience still listened to him. But the two of us were on a trip of our own, exchanging more than the occasional glance and smile as we led Avi though the swarams. The applause at the end was slightly unenthusiastic, but it didn't matter to me. Her eyes flirted in my direction before turning to Avi for the start of the next song.

Avi started an alaapana. Five seconds into it, I concluded he was singing Aarabhi. I set about watching her follow him through the aalapana. Five phrases into the aalapana, her left eyebrow rose in suspicion. Was he singing Devagandhari? Two seconds later, there was a definite touch of Aarabhi again. And back to Devagandhari, and back and forth and back and forth till she decided to stop following him. He turned towards her nervously, as a phrase typical of Shaama escaped his mouth. The audience watched in collective horror. Avi might have cried, but controlled emotions and finished his unsure aalapana.

It was her turn to play now. But she didn't know what raagam to play. Her eyes asked me if I knew the answer. "Aarabhi," I mouthed. Her eyes asked me why I thought so. I just nodded my head, as if I was sure. Truth be told, I wanted to hear Aarabhi. She played an Aarabhi, and I shook my head more vigorously than required, and Avi, hoping he'd win some audience back, nodded his head vigorously too. Her aalapana was followed by an applause that sounded thankful - she had, after all, cleared the audience's doubt.

Suddenly, Avi asked her sheepishly, "Shall I just get up and go? The two of you play. I attempted Devagandhari, actually."
"Dude, chillax. Just sing something in Aarabhi now," she replied.
I wondered if that was the first time that the words 'dude' and 'chillax' were used on the Carnatic concert stage.

Anna walked in with his cast, and settled in the third row, keeping a watchful eye on me.

The dubious Aarabhi was followed by an equally dubious Varaali, a trepidatious Mukhari, and a fast-paced Nalinakanti that defied all definitions of the raagam. Throughout, I kept myself under control, playing steadily as ever. Anna wouldn't like it if I engaged in 'mischief'. Especially with her around. Avi then proceeded to ask in Kamaach, "Brochevaarevarura?" I was sure it couldn't be anyone listening to the question. When I thought of this and grinned, she grinned too, almost as if she had heard the joke. It was time for me to give Anna's warning the royal ditch - I had to show her my prowess, lest she thinks I'm just an apt, unimaginative mridangist.

I unleashed all my mathematics on the crowd in the solo. I even surprised myself with my competence. I had something more than encouraging reviews to play for! Something in me had mellowed down, though. I tended to play big-hitting solos in the past, producing loud volumes to get claps, and hopefully the adjective 'enthusiastic' instead of 'apt' in the reports. On that day, I played with more poise, mirroring her approach to the violin. The audience decided to make up for the lack of thunderous mridangam with their applause.

Backstage, as we were leaving, she said, "Hey. 'Twas great fun! Its funny - people told me you were a really serious person."
"Ha, that's my brother! He fractured his hand this afternoon. I was the last-minute replacement."
"Oh. Nice meeting you," she said, walking away.
I gathered the courage to ask her, "What are you doing tomorrow evening?"
"Nothing," she said.
"Lets go eat some... dosas?"
She laughed and said, "I'd prefer Murugan Idli."

In the background, Anna muttered away, "What mukthaayam did you play, rascal?"

Subtle Subramanian - Part V

Here it is. Part V. By my calculations, the penultimate part. The last one will be real long. For the first four parts, click here. I tried making a "Story so far" section, but it didn't work out too well.
***

"No cell phones."
"Dai, Amma will call."
"Fuck you. I know who will call. That's why I said no cell phones. This is a guys only deal. Where boys celebrate their manhood!"
"Didn't we do enough of that in Engineering college?" Vinod waited for an answer, but didn't get one. Mayur was adamant. He tried reiterating the same point, "Dai, Amma'll actually call."
"Call your 'Amma' and tell her now that you're not going to have a cell phone for a few days. And stop calling her Amma, Oedipus!"
"Dai, I'm serious. It is my Amma..."
"You come without the phone, or you don't come at all."

Vinod actually called his Amma. "Ma, I'm going to this place near Bombay where my college friend has a beach house. Apparently, there's no network there."
Quickly, before he switched his phone off, he sent a message to Lila, 'no phone for three days... mail me if anything... no net also... but i ll try findin a net cafe...'

Switching off the cell phones was an elaborate routine. Seven men, two married, two committed, two who liked to think they were 'players' and Vinod stood in a circle. On Mayur's command, they all turned it off in unison. Then, just so that they didn't cheat, they were asked to put them in a little box which would be left behind in Bombay. Vinod hoped this wasn't a sign of things to come. He wasn't afraid or uncomfortable with his manhood - he was uncomfortable with his other friends' manhoods. They confused manhood with machismo. How manly you are only depended on how many chicks you leched at, what your alcoholic 'capacity' was, how many push-ups you could do, how fast you drove from Madras to Pondicherry, how many times you watched 'Die Hard', and the extent of your knowledge of where to get free porn on the internet.

As they were leaving the house to get into the car, Vinod heard a snippet of a conversation that nearly confirmed his fears.

"Dude, is the plural of manhood menhood?"
"Man, who'd know!"
"Good one! Haha! Subbu, did you get it? 'Man-who'd'!"

But snippets of conversation at the beach house were even more manly.

"Dude, of course I watched the T20 World Cup for the cricket! Who cares about the cheerleaders?"
"Yeah. I mean, we all watch Test Cricket even without cheerleaders."
"But I see nothing wrong with them."
"Or with Mandira Bedi."
"Dude, of course! Mandira... Remember what she wore at the start of the India-Pak game in the 2003 World Cup?"
"No. You sent me a message saying 'Mandira super-hot today...' and by the time I ran to the TV room, they'd covered her up!"
Vinod looked around the room to see misty eyes recollect the 2003 World Cup and Mandira's spag-blouses. He needed another drink desperately.

"Dude, marriage sucks. I haven't watched porn in ages!"
"Oh, that reminds me - I got some stunning porn with European chicks."
"Ooh, that's hot!"
Vinod had a doubt, "How do you know they're European? They could be any white chick..."
"Dude, the passion, the feel - they're definitely European."
"But how does it make a difference?"
"How does what make a difference?"
"Whether they're European or not? The end effect is the same."
"You wont know, da. You have real chicks to do now."
"Who?!"
"That chick on TV - stock market - breakfast show - you're doing her, aren't you? She's having bogus breakfast on the show, and our Subbu for dinner."
"No!"
"What? You're just friends?" Mayur asked sarcastically.
"Yeah. We are. In fact, she's got a boyfriend. Dude, you remember Sharma who lived in Tarnaka?"
"She's going out with Sharma?!"
"Yeah."
"Why? What's this guy like?" asked another.
Vinod thought for a second before he said, "Think of a really serious and boring guy."
"Arun Lal."
"Perfect! This guy is a young Arun Lal who doesn't even play cricket."
"So, what are you in this equation?"
"I'm just a friend."
"Gay!" two of them muttered in unison.
"But you like her?"
"No... I mean, not romantically."
"Gay!"
"So, she's like your sister."
"No da. Just a friend."
"Gay!"
"But don't you at least want to do her?"
"No da. I don't think of her that way."
"Gay!"
"Explain yourself."
"See, there are women you want to do," Vinod elucidated, "Those are the Mallika Sherawat types - you just want to get into their pants. And then there's the second sort - the ones you love..."
"Gay!"
"Let him finish."
"Haan, the ones you love. If they love you back, then you get into their pants, but that's not the main attraction or the headlining band, its only a opening act, no pun intended. And then there's the third sort, whom you just like."
"And this one's the second sort?"
"Third."
"Bulla!"
"I'm serious."
"But she's hot. For me, she's the first sort."
"Yeah, dude. I've started having breakfast only to see her on the breakfast show. And she tempts people with the stock recommendations she makes."
"That'd make for a great study - how her recommendations affect stock prices. I mean, a fair share of investors watch her."
"I don't think it'd make any difference."
"Why?"
"See, people never understand what she's talking about - they're too enamoured by what she looks like."
Mayur got up, and staggered and fell again. "Oh, dude... You realise how drunk you are only when you get up to go to the loo!"
Vinod said, "Here," offering to help Mayur up. He got Mayur on his feet, but only momentarily. Both of them collapsed in a heap, and were on top of each other.
"Gay!"
"Subbu, I'm the first sort-aa?" Mayur asked.
"Fuck you... Get me another drink!"

Vinod got very drunk before he teetered to the balcony facing the sea and declared, "Lila! I admit! You're the second sort! Second Sort! Second Sort!"
His friends joined in the chant, "Second Sort! Second Sort! Second Sort..." The sea chanted with them in the same rhythm as the waves lashed against the rocks just as they'd been doing since they could remember their existence.
***

"Sen?" Lila asked, as the two left the studio after the Breakfast Show.
"Yeah?"
"Listen, I have these two tickets to this concert by this band..."
"What kind of music?"
"Rock-n-roll."
"Nah. Not interested. But, what happened to your boyfriend?"
"Um, well, we broke up... Two days ago."
"Oh, I'm-I'm sorry."
"I'm not. I'm glad! Anyway, I'll just tell this friend of mine that I don't feel up to coming for her show."
"Her show?"
"Yeah. This friend of mine called Shweta is the lead singer."
"Oh, then I'm game."
"Female lead singers are a turn on, eh?"
"No. There's this theory amongst us guys that every Shweta in the world is hot."
"I know a non-hot Shweta."
"So do I, but the exception proves the rule. See, in life how one uses this theory is, suppose one was blind dating, and had a choice between meeting a Shweta and say, a Shruti, go for the Shweta. Or if you heard that a friend of yours is bringing his cousin Shweta along for a movie, go for the movie, even if you have that second coffee date with the mildly attractive Sahana."
"Lila's a fairly hot name also."
"Hmmm. The only other one I know was my English teacher in school called Leelavathi. So, I don't think I have the relevant sample size to make a fair comment."
"So, you'll come for the concert?"
"Yeah."
***

Vinod signed into his mail account to find, amongst many advertisements asking him offering him a larger member for very low prices, two mails from Lila. The first one had no subject. The other one said, "NEWS!" Vinod opened the one without the subject.

Vin,
Hi. I'm hoping you're at a cyber place near your beach house... Really need to talk to you. I dumped Sharma. Feeling really low, although I shouldn't be. I mean, he's such a jerk. Need someone around... Call as soon as you see this mail.

Love, Lila.

Vinod picked up his phone to call her, when he realised that he should read the other mail.

Vin,
Lots of things happened suddenly. Sen, who reads the news with me (youve met him a couple of times) asked me out. We went for this concert and he dropped me home in a taxi... he asked me out in front of the bewildered taxi driver... i thought about it overnight and said yes this evening...

come back fast... lots to catch up on.

Love, Lila
***

Ramesh got the feeling that God believed in compensation after all. He attended this discourse on philosophical issues where the Swamiji said that for everything in this world, there is an opposite, a mirror, light dispels darkness, but only until it lasts, the wave rises, but falls again, night comes, only to be followed by day, and so on and so forth. When his latest passengers got into the taxi, he finally understood what the Swamiji meant. His wife had thwarted his plans of catching Chak De! India in the theatre with a grim reminder of the fact that the show meant that they would have to skip dinner for a couple of days. His frustration showed in his driving as he cursed each person on the road until it turned into a game of sorts - he was inventing new and innovative curses for each person. Halfway through the night, he realised that he'd been driving with the handbrake on all the while. He cursed every part of his taxi. Yet, he was compensated. An angel was sitting in his taxi. Plus, she was sitting in that exact spot from where he could see her in the mirror. The boy with her was a minor bother, but he could deal with his face in the mirror once in a while. When they reached her place, the boy got off and almost immediately started talking.

"Lila, I've tried to tell you this today evening in so many ways at so many different points in time. But words fail me. Its ironic that for someone whose job is talking, I cant convey something to another person. I'm just at a loss for words. Uh, actually, um, I guess that's a stupid thing to say, considering I've been talking all evening... To get to the point, I-I-I love you." Ramesh glared at them now, "I've liked you for ever. I know this is a bad time for you, but I-I-I cant hold these thoughts within me for longer. If I do, they'll just erupt and I'll kiss you on the Breakfast Show or something. In more precise words, will you go out with me?"

Lila was speechless. She said, "Ok. That's the first time a guy's given me an asking-out speech."

There was a long pause, during which the taxi driver looked anxiously at Lila. It was obvious that he was on Sen's side. Sen looked like he was waiting for an approaching meteor to land on his head. Lila was somewhere between shock and amazement. None of them had expected this, least of all the taxi driver.

After an eternity, Lila managed to blurt out, "Um, ok, I need some time... I'll tell you."
"Say yes, mey-dam," the taxi driver butted in.
"Bhai-saab, please. Aap beech mein..." Sen started
"Chill. This is quite an event in his life also." Lila said.
"Ok. Think about it then," Sen said, with the words coming out all together.
"Y-Y-Yeah. I-I'll see you tomorrow then."
"Its a Saturday. No Breakfast Show."
"Oh, yeah. Monday..."
"Monday."
"Goodnight, then."
"Goodnight..."

Both of them made half-attempts towards a hug, and pulled out. And then, Lila said, "What the fuck! Just hug me." When they did, Sen felt a little tear on his neck and melted in its warmth.
***

She said yes?! And now she wanted to catch up?! Vinod stared at his screen in disbelief. He was away discussing the finer aspects of European porn when his lady was stolen from under his nose. His Inner Voice told him that it was time for drastic action.
"You also ask her out. I mean, if she can suddenly say yes to that guy, she can say no to him, and yes to you also."
"If I hadn't listened to you last time, I'd've never known her. And I wouldn't be feeling this bad about life today. So, fuck off."
Vinod realised much later that his Inner Voice, as always, was right.
***
Thodarum. (No, dear North Indians, I am not asking for a little alcohol!)

Subcultures and Whores

Today, we have our first real guest blogger. You might remember Xebo from some time ago, who embarrassed me with scathing questions. But this one's a real guy. And a real funny guy. Presenting (drum roll, bated breath, etc.) the man who could have been Retd. General Manager, Canara Bank, Palakkad Branch, but decided to become an expert on Marginal Utility, the man with more than just a working knowledge of Greek and Latin, the wone and wonly, the unstoppable, the leader of leaders, the king of kings, the devourer of poppadums, the downer of beers, the irresistible (okay, I'm running out of breath), JAGANNATH IYER!

Jokes apart, Jag Iyer ("Iyer: not caste, but class", "The Higher you go, the Iyer you become") is deliriously funny - both when he doesn't intend to be, and when he intends to be. This conversation on Gtalk with him meets the high standards of humour and analytical thinking that he's set for himself:

(Oh, the conversation has been modified and edited for family audiences)

6:09 PM Jagannath: I think, looking back at it, that law school was all about creating these exclusivity clubs

me: X was a club of his own, really ;)

6:10 PM Jagannath: even thinking about such "issues" and theorizing them was a subculture, come to think of it ;)

The S subculture

With the likes of K and T adding their twopence worth

me: The Obscure Debating Rules Experts Subculture!

6:12 PM Intellectual Property Whores was the most pissing off subculture!

Jagannath: Hahahaha yeah---IP Whores

KAT was the most tolerable of the IP whores

because he was into a lot of other things

W was a big scamster and an IP whore

6:13 PM But the most pissing off are people like K---who became IP whores to suck up to other IP whores!!

me: Hahaha. Y's superciliousness on IP matters really pisses me off!

6:14 PM Jagannath: Y thinking he's an IP God and a capital markets stud are offshoots of X's most lasting contribution to law school subcultures

6:15 PM X was the inventor of the "I-suck-at-everything-so-I-will-pretend-to-be-cool-by-being the-master-of-the-obscure" subculture

6:16 PM me: Hahahaha

Jagannath: Since no one in our class was really an IP whore, and Y doesn't mix with the IP whores, he was safe if he was an IP whore Mastery of the obscure has two forms----

6:17 PM the more pure form is practiced by X, which is to pick up genuinely obscure things and whore them

6:18 PM the bastardized, and riskier form, is practiced by Y---where he relies not so much on true obscurity but rather unverifiability---when there is no one else to challenge your mastery

In other words, andhon mein kana raja, or in the land of the blind the one-eyed man is king

The payoffs are commensurate

6:19 PM Y a higher payoff since the "IP stud" or "capital markets stud" is a more valuable tag than "Monty Python trivia stud"

me: Hahahaha

6:20 PM Jagannath: On the other hand, Y is also exposed to the shaft a lot more than X, who stays cocooned in his absurdist paradise

6:21 PM You know what, this conversation, suitably edited for names, could a funny one on your blog.

me: I am speechless, Iyer. That is the most comprehensive exposition on the matter!

Hahahaha

Jagannath: Hahaha

me: I'll put it up...

Guest blogger!

Jagannath: Killer

6:22 PM You had a guest blogger before, didn't you?

Or was it you in disguise?

me: It was me in disguise!

Ok da. I've got to cut. Important business.

6:23 PM More details next time we converse!

Jagannath: Chall

*chal

see you later

6:24 PM have fun!

Ciao

I am speechless! He just seems to pluck words out of thin air and weave them into intricate ideas of whoring and bastardisation! Jag Iyer, take a bow.

Beautiful Tamil Son

So, I've been obsessed with this song from Azhagiya Tamizh Magan for quite some time now. The obsession sort of died down, but Akanksha (see photo: where she poses with the loot from her latest poaching activities.) sort of revived it by telling me that she'd been in love with the song too. Since then, for three days now, I've been listening to the song in every spare second of the day. Its been wonderful. Really. Tamil songs, especially the folksy variety, have such a catchy groove about them. Even the infamous Manmadha Raasa or the title track of Madurey make you want to dance! (And while we're discussing songs that make one want to dance, let us not forget the tantalising Ponmagal Vandaal re-sequencing by Rahman from ATM again!)

But there is another song in the movie that requires special attention. The operative lyrics of the song, irresistible and unparalleled in Tamil cinema are:

Nee Marilyn Monroe Cloning aa…
Illai Jennifer Lopez in scanning aa…
One Day mattum girlfriend aggeh Varriya…

Heyy Rock n Roll il Killadi…
Rap Song Arinen munnodi…
Saturday night party ke pogallam varriya…
Hey Saturday night party ke pogallam varriya…

Hey Baby enn album nee…
Hey Baby unn DJ naan…
Oru Murai Iru Murai Palla Murrai
Ketridum Sangitham…

This is mankind's greatest achievement in poetry since the Second World War. Especially the line, "Illai Jennifer Lopez in scanning aa…" - what a concept! (They could've picked someone better than Jennifer Lopez, given that the first line is about Monroe. Ingrid Bergman, perhaps. Or the little-known Martha Vickers.)

I wait now for Rahman's next Tamil album. His Hindi stuff somehow never has the same effect.

The Higher Moral Ground

Sambit Bal, in a meandering piece on the injustice done to Cricinfo and other cricket websites by the IPL makes some very valid points. The most insightful paragraph of the piece is this:

"It has been argued that what we do conflict with the IPL's commercial interests. In other words, as long as we are around, as long as cricket fans see us as the most comprehensive and credible source for news, views and scores for cricket, the BCCI's ambitions for its own website are unlikely to be fulfilled. They are missing something important here: Independence and credibility are vital ingredients for any media organisation. A cricket board can not be expected to rise above its own interests."

And it is followed immediately by another very valid statement:

"Of course, we have commercial interests."

Immediately after, he takes off on a tripe trip:

"To us, covering cricket is much more than a business, it's an obligation to the game and to the millions of readers who rely on us. We cover cricket in Kenya and Bermuda; and in India, we go considerable lengths to cover domestic cricket, that impoverished and uncared-for cousin, with no expectation of returns other than the satisfaction of having served cricket. This, of course, might be beyond the comprehension of those who cannot see the game beyond the rights it offers."

Agreed. Cricinfo does cover lots of cricket that the world largely doesn't care about. And it does a great job of this coverage, given the resources. But it did under-cover the IPL's 'uncared-for-cousin' - the ICL. Not once, and I stress, not once did I see ICL live scores on the front page. And trust me, I check the website very often - it is my homepage on one browser. Reports of the ICL games are largely factual, often written by ambiguous "Cricinfo staff", and there is hardly an opinion on any of the cricket played. Contrary to popular belief, the cricket isn't sub-standard, and the crowds, at the Lal Bahadur Stadium in Hyderabad at least, were quite substantial. People with tickets were sent away from the final.

Compare this with the IPL coverage by the same website - for instance, today, there was an article on Robin Uthappa, and whether he is worth the money they paid for him. Why isn't there a piece on Rayudu's batting? He's arguably a better player, and his technique and shot-selection are definitely worth giving more attention to than Uthappa's.

In the recently concluded ICL World Series, a very interesting innovation was used - the batsman was allowed to refer three decisions to the TV umpire. Guess what, the innovation worked - everyone involved was happier than they otherwise were. The umpires liked the fact that someone was auditing their decisions, it put them under less pressure. The players liked it because there was some way of keeping a check on errors of judgment. Cricinfo, which I'm sure would have flooded the cyber-world with articles, quotes, opinions and lists if such an innovation was made in the IPL, remained silent, except for a couple of references here and there.

Cricinfo is a wonderful and comprehensive website. Many fans, fanatics and addicts swear by it, and owe their better understanding and knowledge of the game to it. Many others have settled arguments based on material from the website - especially using Statsguru. Is Laxman a better player abroad? Is Sachin a better player in the first innings? Is Mervyn Dillon really the world's best bowler? Who was Syd Barnes? Was Bill O'Reilly better? How did the Don score all those runs? We've always turned to Cricinfo for all this and more. We know that when Sambit Bal writes that they have a commitment towards cricket and cricket fans, he means it. But this charge, of not giving the ICL its due, I'm sure, he will plead guilty to.

To conclude, he writes, in reference to the IPL:

"We will try to bring you every game with the same rigour and depth you have come to expect from us."

Frankly, expected more rigour and depth in your ICL coverage.

Subtle Subramanian - Part IV

Lila always thought of Cafe Mondegar in Colaba as the closest that a place would come to Rick's in Casablanca. Time seemed to slow down when you entered - the world was a happier place. The little cartoons on the wall, the music that was neither excessively happy or too mellow, the beer that had a self-assured bitterness and the food that skimmed the boundaries of inventiveness without ever overstepping them attracted an exciting, diverse crowd.

Vinod, upholding family values and traditions, reached obscenely early. He settled down on a table from where he could see the road, so that he could look nervously at each arriving taxi. All kinds of people arrived. A foreigner couple got off first, but they'd integrated so well with the atmosphere around them, that the term 'foreigner' was a misnomer. An NRI with his forced casualness and Bisleri bottle looked more foreign than them. They were followed by two guys wearing more gold on them than there was in the whole of Jodha Akbar, with 'cooling'-glasses and two of their shirt buttons undone - they must've been extras on one of Ran Gopal Varma's gangster movies. A young couple, the girl in school uniform, walked in after that, followed almost immediately by two fairly large groups of noisy college students. Vinod guessed these were from 'degree' colleges - there were too many women for them to be engineering students.

One mug of beer disappeared, and made way for the second.

The two men from the Ram Gopal Varma gangster films played their roles to perfection - they spoke in hushed tones and occasionally erupted into volcanoes of laughter. The college students were playing some form of truth and dare, Vinod surmised. Nothing else could explain one girl biting another girl's ear followed by ooh-ing and excitement. The young couple disappeared into the room inside, but Vinod, from experience made fairly accurate guesses of what they were up to. The foreigners were having a very intense discussion.

A third glass of beer appeared. It was seven. Lila and Sharma would arrive soon. Just then, another guy entered - he looked very much like a baby who'd never grown up. When Vinod saw this guy, he felt an inexplicable urge to punch him in the face. The baby-faced guy scanned the area for a while, and then went to the room inside, and came out again, and left. In fifteen minutes, he came back, repeated his routine and left.

They were very late. At least by Vinod's standards.
***

"Do you remember the first time we had a real conversation?"
"At Mondy's?" she asked.
"Yeah."
"Was that really a conversation?"
"Yeah, you're right, we were both too drunk to make any sense."
"Man, that was nearly two years ago. I cant imagine that we'd've ever had such a major romance!"
"Why? I saw the signs on that day itself," Vinod insisted.
"What rot! You behaved like an idiot."
***

Vinod had now gone over the instructions from his Inner Voice at least a hundred times. Do not crack jokes. You don't have a sense of humour. Do not adjust your hair the first time you see her. Do not stare. Do not tell her about your dream of owning a pet snake. Do not tell her about the next-door-newly-divorced aunty you used to dream about when you were fourteen. Do not tell her that she's beautiful. Most importantly, do not get drunk.

The fifth beer made its appearance, as the baby-faced man walked in and out again. Just as he left, a taxi stopped at the entrance, and preceded by a lit cigarette, Lila got out.
***

"When you saw me, you had this ridiculous expression on your face - your nervous smile - the one where you look like you have bubonic plague."
"I was going for my calm and composed expression."
"But you were burning from the inside."
"I didn't know whether to laugh or cry at my fate."
"Why?"
"I assumed Sharma was late, and so I thought I had ten minutes or so with you alone - now that's a plus, definitely. But, I could have made a complete dolt of myself in those ten minutes..."
"Which you did."
"No!"
"Yes. I remember you said something like, 'I didn't think you could look prettier in real life than on TV.'"
"No!"
"Yes. And when I didn't look too comfortable with the comment, you said, 'Excuse me for discrepancies. I'm drunk.'"
***

"Discrepancies?"
"Determinants... De... What's that word? Demystification. Demur. What is that word?"
"What word?"
"Oh, forget it. I'm just drunk. Where's Sherman?"
"He just called me to tell me that he isn't coming."
"Yeah! Wo-w-wonderful!"
"Excuse me?"
"Uh, um, y-y-eah, um, I'm just drunk!" Vinod realised that his greatest fears were coming true. He looked like a drunk womaniser. Just then the baby-faced guy walked in again.
"That guy's been coming in, looking around and leaving every ten minutes for about an hour now."
"Who?" When she turned around and saw Sen, she hid her face.
***

"I still cant believe Sen did what he did!"
"What'd he do?"
"You know, he overheard me talk on the phone to Sharma, which is why he landed up at Mondy's."
"What?!"
***

Sen combed his hair for the thirty-third time, adjusted the curl in front to fall perfectly on his forehead, a la Razor Ramon on the WWF trump cards, and walked to his cupboard to fetch the deodorant. It was an important enough day for the Bvlgari perfume he had stacked away at the back of his cupboard, behind the clothes, along with the Dunhills he got from London.

He didn't want to risk the loss of his curl in a train ride, and decided to taxi it to Colaba. Someone had left a DVD on the back seat of the taxi. Sen picked it up and read, "Jab Ghar Pe Ho Saali, To Pura Saal Diwali". Hindi soft-porn! Sen had never seen DVDs of these films before! He asked the driver, "Yeh aapki hai?" The driver replied in the negative. Sen took the DVD out of its cover and put it in his pocket.

When he entered Mondy's, he saw a girl bite another's ear. The table erupted with hooting, laughter and applause. Just behind them, there were the customary foreigners, and to their right, the long haired man, who was either a musician or a photographer, and the two guys from a more high end version of Rangeela. Just beside the entrance though, at the table, this nervous guy sat - Sen was overwhelmed by an urge to hit the guy, although he didn't understand why. Maybe she was sitting in the room inside, Sen thought. When he entered that room, there was another case of ear-biting - a girl wearing a school uniform bit the ear of the boy sitting next to her. Sen wondered if it was Mike Tyson's birthday.

Assuming she was late, Sen left. He came back in fifteen minutes and re-scanned the area. Nothing had changed. Sen left. He came back a third time. Nothing changed. And a fourth time. And a fifth.
***

"That guy's really weird," said Vinod.
"I know."
"You know?"
"I met him this morning."
"Oh. But you know, he's walked in and walked out at least four times now. I think he's looking for someone."
"Goodness!"

Suddenly, a voice behind them said, "Hey!" and the source of the voice, the baby-faced man said, "Lila!"
"S-s-sen? Suri? Right?"
"Right! What a coincidence meeting you here!" said Sen in his most fake voice. It was like watching Salman Khan act.
"Dude, you've walked in and out, and in and out, and now you make this whole song-and-dance about bumping into her. We're not stupid, you know," said Vinod.
"Don't mind him. He's drunk," said Lila.
"That's right, I am."
"But he's a violent chap, is Vinod - my boyfriend," she declared.
"Boyfriend?" asked Vinod.
"He's really drunk!"
***

"My god, he really looked heartbroken when I told him you were my boyfriend!"
"You have no idea what I was going through!"
She laughed. Vinod laughed with her. Suddenly she said, "Man, we're drunk. That wasn't even funny."
"Yeah. But what he did after that to change topic was funny."
***

"Have you ever watched Hindi soft porn?" Sen asked.
"Some stuff used to come on Zee Cinema after midnight. And there was some really," Lila commented. Vinod and Sen were stunned. "So, you've watched Hindi soft porn?" Sen managed to stutter. "Yeah - I was writing a paper on 'Pornographic Depiction of Women: A Sociological Analysis of Art, Titillation and the Freedom of Expression'. So, I watched some of what I was to study."
"Is the paper remotely as erotic as it sounds?" asked Vinod, "Oh man, I'm drunk!" he added.
"Actually, I never finished it," Lila replied, as three beers made their way to the table.
"Lets down this stuff," she said. The beer went down parched gullets eagerly. Immediately, another round was asked for and downed. "Now tell me, why did you bring up Hindi soft porn?"
***

"Man, that DVD he showed us!"
"'Ghar pe saali, karo diwali'!"
"Something like that." More laughter. "God, we're drunk! That wasn't even funny."
***

"You bought this DVD?" asked Vinod.
"No, I found it in the taxi."
"What?!" asked Lila.
"Yeah. It was on the back seat."
"And you pocketed it," said Lila.
"Of course."
"And you weren't even drunk!" said Vinod.
***

"And then KC walked in! God!" said Vinod.
***

"God! KC!"
Lila wondered if Vinod used 'God' as a replacement for 'fuck', as a pretty girl turned towards their table.
***

"It was like the new and improved KC - she was still short, but she was prettier, had nicer hair, and wore very interesting clothes."
"Very interesting clothes."
***

"Subbu!" she exclaimed.
Vinod's face adopted the bubonic plague expression again.
"Hi! You're looking prettier than ever!"
"Subtle Subbu, eh? As always!"
"Drunk Subbu! God, I'm so drunk!"
KC looked at the table behind her, and whispered to Vinod, "Cute!"
"I know," Vinod whispered back loudly.
"You swing both ways, eh?"
"Eh?"
"I said the guy was cute."
"Oh... Well, he's the source of much misery now."
"Aww, shyadaap. He looks like such a kid!"

Even in his drunken state, Vinod assessed the situation perfectly. On the one hand was Lila, whom everyone seemed to love, and on the other hand was KC, the girl he once liked, way back in 1993, when they watched Mahabharat on TV on Sunday mornings - it was nostalgia, a rekindling of unrequited love. Vinod had to make a choice, between wistfulness and hopefulness, between love and remembrance, between childlike innocence and war-hardened-maturity, between a woman he will never get and a woman he never got.
***

"I could've made my exit, stage right, at that point - I could have walked away with KC to wherever she was going. I didn't know either of you at all. But I didn't. I thought there was more to transpire between us. This sudden feeling that one gets, especially when one is drunk - a feeling of anticipation, excitement..."
"...drunkenness. You're rambling. Get to the point."
"The point. The point is, I'm a little drunk!"
***

"Guys, this is KC. My cousin lived in the same apartments as her when I was a little kid. I used to go there in the holidays."
"And that's funny because, usually I know all kinds of people through my cousins!" KC added. Both Vinod and KC laughed.
Neither Sen nor Lila understood the convoluted way in which these two were friends, or what the joke was, or even why they were subjected to a random bombardment of fundae on unknown people, but nodded politely anyway. And then Vinod proceeded, "This is Lila, my..."
"Girlfriend," she said.
Vinod took some time to understand why she said that. "And this is another close friend..." Vinod had forgotten the name. "Dude, your name is?" he asked Sen in a loud whisper.
"Sen," he announced to KC, "This guy's drunk - this is the first time we're meeting each other. I don't even know his name."
"Vinod, meet Sen. Sen, meet Vinod," Lila said.
KC didn't know how to react. But before she could, Vinod said, "Listen, I need to discuss important matters with these two close friends. Gimme your number, I'll call you."
KC left wondering if Vinod was in the drug business and if these were his clients.
***

"You never called her, did you?"
"You know what she did? She told my cousin, who told my brother, who told my dad that I was in the drug business!"
"What?!"
"Yeah. But apparently, that was all a misunderstanding... I should call her then. Tomorrow. Definitely."
***

"So, that's your ex-girlfriend?" Lila asked.
"Nah. I liked her, and made it quite obvious to her, but she acted as if she never realised."
"So, have you had girlfriends before Lila?" Sen asked.
"Yeah. Two. One was a dancer in the movies - an extra of sorts. Apparently, she's getting a big role in a big movie shortly. The other lasted for four days."
"Why?"
"On the fourth day, I realised that she wasn't as smart as I thought she was, and she realised that I wasn't as cool as I thought she was. So, it ended."
"What about you?" Sen asked Lila.
"Why should I answer that question?"
"To foster the spirit of honesty and openness that prevails at this table."
"Okay. We're talking only boyfriends right, not, um, ah..."
"...romps? No." Vinod said.
"Romps?! Where are you from?"
"Hyderabad Public School," Vinod said.
"But yeah - excluding romps, and Sharma, only two of any consequence," she said, glancing furtively at Vinod. She didn't offer any more details, and she wasn't asked for any either.
"You?" Vinod asked Sen.
"Three. But all inconsequential. The first one was in the sixth standard. I still remember her fondly. The second one was in college - she was lovely, but there was this other guy whom I didn't really account for. And then there was this girl who turned out to be a guy."
Vinod and Lila had no intelligent response to that pronouncement. Sen, gulped down the beer and left without a word.

"Okay. Get me another beer," Lila said after a long silence.
***

Sen was devastated. Not only did Lila have a boyfriend, the guy was an alcoholic who couldn't hold his drink. He was boring, characterless, and didn't use conditioner. Compared to Sen's smartness, the curl that fell on his forehead, his biting sense of humour, his acute knowledge of the futures and options, this boyfriend of hers was most unlikable. Yet, she liked him, and not Sen. Sen took a taxi to Marine Drive and sat on the parapet, staring into the stinky Arabian Sea - the Sea that he couldn't see in the dark, only hear. The sea that roared like it hadn't in years, much like Sen's heart.
***

"Man, we got so drunk after he left!"
"As drunk as we are right now."
And they laughed again. Vinod was about to say something, when Lila stopped him with her hand on his lips. "Don't say it."
***

"Lets go have some Lard!" Vinod said.
"Some what?"
"Lard. Fruits Lard."
She looked at him blankly.
"Ok, there's this guy next to Gateway whose gaadi has the 'F-R-U-I-T-S L-A-R-D' written on it."
"What is that?"
"Pronounce it quickly."
"Fruitslard. Oh, fruitslard!"
And she laughed ceaselessly until they reached Gateway and finished their Lard. Suddenly she said, "Lard of the Flies!" and chortled even more. Vinod didn't get the joke, but laughed anyway.

They sat on the parapet, facing the sea.
***

She moved towards him and rested her head on his shoulders.
"This is exactly how you sat at Gateway that day. Your head on my shoulders, and your arms around me." He paused, and after much thought, as if he was choosing each word carefully, he said, "Often the proximity one remembers the most, and most fondly, is a hug. I had you there, Lila, in my arms, and I felt like the world around me had become irrelevant. Nothing mattered more to me than the hug. And I wanted that moment to last forever, that was exactly where and how I wanted to be for the rest of my life."
"Those are the worst lines a guy has ever said to me!"
But neither of them laughed. They remained in that hug, on Marina Beach in Madras this time, with the police, moral or otherwise, lurking around. They were in each others arms, as drunk as they were the previous time, and even more in love than they used to be.