We like our curves flat, please!

‘I am done playing rock, paper, scissors with Dee; sick of cooking and cleaning. The office is where I belong, man”, ranted my niece, for the Nth time.

It turned out that what she really missed most was shopping – real and online. And no, online ordering of vegetables and groceries does not count.

“Why don’t you browse H&M and Nykaa online? You can even fill the cart. Just skip the last step”, her husband suggested, his little consultancy mind gleeful at the thought of all the saved pennies. Clearly someone doesn’t believe in retail therapy!

“Why don’t you play book cricket since you miss IPL so much?”, she shot back, flouncing out of the room.

I watched this and so did all the other family members on our weekly zoom call. Splendid repartee, I must say. Hubs and I must step our game up. 

While all of us returned to our routine after the call concluded I wondered where people would head first once lockdown was lifted – malls, beauty parlours or their workplaces?

I decided to find out for myself. I worked on a google form and circulated it to my friends and family.

“Can’t wait to pick up a saree for Veeru’s wedding, so guess it would be the mall”, my friend said referring to her daughter’s best friend’s brother’s summer wedding planned in Punjab. She went on to elaborate on her shopping plan, the comments section of the form obviously not enough while I seriously wondered whether she would even be able to make it to the wedding, 

“It would have to be Radha’s” said my friend in Bangalore referring to her salon. Her hair needing colour so urgently, it was practically an emergency. 

“It would be to my temple” said my mother-in-law who missed her frequent visits to her chosen place of worship. Highly addictive stuff, this opium of the people. 

“My office is falling apart”, said my workaholic sister for whom work is worship.

“To the shelter”, bellowed my daughter who thought dogs were god’s gift to mankind. Her current logic for a dog was that if lockdown continued, at least she would have an  excuse to head out with her pet.

“Straight to the TV – India and South Africa play a match in October. What a fixture!”, my sports fanatic of a husband enthused. 

The way different people were reacting to this pandemic and the resulting lockdown made a very interesting subject to study as well. I decided to do a light hearted comparison between groups of people, some iconic cartoon characters and well known mythological figures. I came up with five classifications.

The day begins with some geniuses bombarding WhatsApp groups with frequency tables, histograms, pie charts, and other assorted representations of data on corona virus.  Like Professor Cuthbert Calculus, these people too are hard of hearing and unluckily do not hear others muttering about information overload and WhatsApp university. They are obsessed with this miserable, misguided and murderous molecule of mildew..pink profiteering parasite, quivering ectoplasm. They claim that they are watching for the curve to flatten! A watched curve never flattens, right? 

There are also people who, much like the Nickelodeon cartoon character Oswald, are cheerful and optimistic in the face of this pandemic. People might be testing positive all around them but this group would remain unflappable. They clap merrily, light lamps with almost indecent enthusiasm and warble merrily. 

“End of the road..nothing much to do..and no hope of things getting better…”, said Eeyore famously and many would agree with him. These are the ones who locked themselves up long before lockdown officially began. They get along very well with this next group of people.

Then we have the types that sent early messages about how it was actually rasam that was protecting Indians in China from contracting the virus. This group is working on corona-resisting remedies much like Getafix’s strength-enhancing magic potions. The most crazy mix of herbs, spices and (cow)excreta are touted to be cure for corona and the news is then spread around with total conviction.

There are those who have gone into hibernation – no stress taken, no advice given, no interaction with the outside world. They take take full advantage of the lockdown by simply vegetating – no WFH and no house help duties either. These Kumbhkarans wouldn’t mind an indefinite extension of lockdown. 

I’m not sure which category I fall into but definitely not the last. Right now, I have a bigger problem – my front yard. If I had had time to prepare, I would have turned my Amaltas tree into a bonsai. Those of you who have been following my musings would be familiar with my notorious Amaltas tree which goes rogue every spring. For a short but miserable two weeks, it cheekily sheds millions of leaves just after the area has been cleared! The only saving grace is that my whiny neighbour (sworn Amaltas hater and also botanical copycat) is locked down in Australia and is thankfully unaware of the state of affairs back home. Meanwhile we watch the curve.

 

(Surender Gnanaolivu is a store designer, retail photographer and an illustrator)

 

Going Viral

 

“Where are the audience?”, I asked the organiser, also simultaneously wondering if the audience is singular or plural. Certainly singular where classical concerts are concerned.

“They must be tuning in as we speak.”, answered the organiser.

Did I detect a hint of guilt in his voice?

“What do you mean by tuning in? Am I to perform for the empty chairs? It’s so disheartening”, I said.

This is what the legendary Kishori ji would have said, I thought. But then she wouldn’t have had this problem ever in her career.

“Don’t worry ma’am, we are webcasting the whole show and there are hundreds who will tune in.”
Yeah, sure!

I decided to throw a tantrum and flounced out with my accompanists in tow. I left without performing, forfeiting my appearance fee … wait a minute … I was not being paid anything, remember. I would have received a shawl, a male shawl, had I performed.

Why this Kolaveri di, you ask? I may not be an icon, but I too have my standards.
Imagine this for a minute. What would Ariana Grande have done if the organiser had with great grandiose presented her with a male shawl at the end of her rocking show and nothing else? He’d be lucky if she just gave him a fake smile and said thank you, next. On the other hand, Justin Beiber wouldn’t even deserve getting a shawl, male or female. One can’t forget his show in Mumbai where he lip synced all the way much to the disgust of his fans. We classical musicians would never do that, never.

“Views?”
“How many views do you have on your youtube upload?”, asked yet another organiser, repeating the question as if he was talking to an idiot.

Truth be told, I was buying some time to answer this one. Should I fib or stick to the facts?

“Twelve hundred when I last counted. Believe me, it multiplies exponentially every day”, I added desperately.
“Come to me when it reaches a million”, he said dismissively.

What was I thinking? That my song would spread faster and as much as the Corona virus?

Anyway, isn’t getting an audience the job of the organiser? How does, for example, a Beyonce show get a crowd of million fans screaming and throwing their most prized possession onto the stage? The only things I have been thrown at are wah-wahs and that too by the poor accompanist who took it upon himself to build some excitement. Sometimes I wish I had a family of established musicians to back me. I would have cheerily waved the flag of nepotism instead I choose to be an outlier who is waiting to be recognised for her genius.

How taxing!

Recently there was a cut in GST on sanitary pads, and that caught my interest. Even after a fair amount of research on the subject of GST my understanding of it remains about as clear as mud. In the world of art, the Mona Lisa is the most discussed work because of the subject’s mysterious smile. So is the case with GST. It’s an enigma wrapped in a riddle.

I thought it might be interesting to illustrate some real life experiences of the domino  effects of GST.

Recently in a restaurant:

Seriously, have the prices of sanitary pads fallen that much?

Or look at fruit vendors. Mine actually thought artificially ripening was a value addition and made no bones about it.

Even your dog is not exempt. GST taxes even poor Buddy.

Everyone wants a cut in GST. If it’s a good idea on sanitary pads, why not on batting pads? They also bleed……..bleed blue.

 

The term GST has worked its way into common parlance to such an extent that no one, from a common vegetable seller to the Big Man upstairs is spared.

Please share your GST experiences here. I would be happy to illustrate and publish them.

 

 

 

What’s your fitness style?

I have always been a yoga person but at my daughter’s insistence (who can be over-bearing) I decided to try out a crossfit program conducted in the neighbourhood.

“You have not managed to lose your jelly belly in all these years of doing yoga, mom. Why don’t you try Bootcamp Blue?”, she argued, referring to the above mentioned fitness program.

And that was that. Next morning at 5.15 am I found myself amongst a group of twenty fanatics doing crazy numbers of squats and burpees at breakneck speed. I really hope my yoga guru doesn’t come to know.

This post is dedicated to all the people who exercise to keep fit.

Are you the type who does 50 squats if you are asked to do 10? Or are you the one who cheats while the trainer is looking at your neighbour?

An over zealous gym buff ? One who does 100 squats where normal people struggle to do 20?

Absent minded yogi? Instructions don’t matter.

Fitness for likes? Just quickly get through the routine so that you can post pictures of your sweaty, well-worked out body to your friends and admirers.

Gym hopper? There are those that are compulsive gym hoppers and change their exercise routines at the drop of a hat.

Fitness nerd? And there are those that want to be armed with Mfit Hons. – an Honours program in fitness, of course!

 

So who are you?

 

You Are Your Job – Part 2

A while back, I did a post on how one’s chosen profession shapes one as a person. Here’s part two on the same subject.

Bowled over by cricket

It’s just fermented grape juice, for God’s sake. Wine tasters do take their jobs seriously.

Once a thief, always a thief.

 Right brained all the way.

Taste bhi health bhi? Not possible.

Ramatoons turns two today. Thank you to everyone who follows my blog. Your support is what keeps me going!

Would like to hear more from you.

 

Of Concerts,Tiffin and Taal

“There’s no way I’ll stay in Delhi during the Chennai music season”, announced my mom, a retired classical musician and an ardent rasika.

“But Ma, there are classical concerts here in Delhi too”, I said.

“It’s not the same, Rama. The songs by our composers are something else. Also, there is no taal in your Hindustani music but in Carnatic the taal system is so complex.”

“Wait a minute, of course there are taals in Hindustani music”, I said taken aback.

“But then the audience doesn’t join in the way Carnatic rasikas do”, she said with a lot of pride as if that decided the Carnatic vs Hindustani debate.

I thought about what she said about Carnatic rasikas and taal. The audience calls the shots, really.

While there is only one conductor in a symphony…

…there are many in a Carnatic music concert.

“Also, the tiffin in the sabhas is the only reason your Appa accompanies me. Do they serve tiffin here?”, she asked, knowing the answer fully well.

Ragam, tanam, pallavi (a.k.a RTP) the central piece in any Carnatic concert takes on a whole new meaning.

“Of course upcoming artists are struggling. No one wants to hear them until they become M.S Subbalakshmi”, said Amma sagely.

That struck a chord in me. It was the same for Hindustani  music concerts.

“Also, why are there so few child prodigies in your Hindustani?” she asked.

Why indeed? I leave you with that question.

 

Please tune in for my next post.

 

 

 

‘C’ for College

 

Eighteen is a landmark year. It means that one can vote, marry, drive et al. School is over, college beckons. Here’s a brief comparison between school life and college life.

Many weight-watching young adults are stressed by what is called Freshman Fifteen.

The ideological choices you will have to make.

On the brighter side: a transformation from ugly duckling to swan.

Assignments are not a problem anymore…

School life was better, if only for the sole reason that you didn’t have to refer to zillions of books to write a 300 word essay.

 

Btw, I am happy to share with you the good news that this blog has made it to the top 4o cartoon blogs awarded by Feedspot on the web

http://blog.feedspot.com/cartoon_blogs/

Thank you all for visiting my blog posts.

 

A Toast To Teachers

“What was the name of your first teacher?” asked my computer. Yes, I had forgotten my password yet again but the memory of my first teacher was etched in my mind. And that got me thinking. Teachers are SO memorable. Some are disciplinarian, others inspirational but all life-changing in one way or another.

Who can forget the Math teacher who was unusually relaxed about noise and chatter in class, but still managed to get work done.

 

Or indeed the one teacher who you wanted to impress but never could. The right answer was always on the tip of your tongue and alas remained there. Instead smart-alecky Vighnesh always got it right.

 

My brother chose Chemistry as his major, much to the family’s mystification. As it turned out, the teacher was a stunner. Needless to say the classes were combustible but did not yield much, inevitably precipitating a career crisis. My brother switched to programming  later, but insists that his lessons in chemistry helped!

Professor Patel found an ingenious method of keeping us focused in class. The forecast for his class was always ominous with a chance of precipitation. His words were always accompanied with a healthy dose of spittle. The only upside, I suppose, is that we could never fall asleep in his classes.

 

And saving the best for last, there would be that one teacher who would be so passionate about their subject, that some of that enthusiasm would rub off on you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

You are your job

“But you came twenty minutes late, ma’am”,  said the doctor’s assistant to a woman who attempted to barge into Dr. Nandini’s clinic, despite being tardy.

“You were given an appointment of 11:45, ma’am”,  the assistant continued trying to make a strong case.

“I left home at 11:45”, announced the lady haughtily.

As it turned out, she was an Income Tax commissioner and was known to Dr. Nandini. Of course, she was called in immediately.

Despite what psychologist would have you believe, YOU ARE YOUR JOB. Your chosen profession and the skills learnt along the way transform your personality.

An avid golfer who eats, breathes and sleeps golf.

A wife who is also probably a management consultant by profession.

Once an accountant, always an accountant.

 

What would you expect from a dreamy artist?

 

 

Bankers……no offense.

 

 

I would love to hear your thoughts on this, positive or otherwise. Let me know if you’d like your line of work to be featured in the next post. Do keep writing in!

 

 

 

The Admission Tamasha: Part 2

This is what happens if you ask your D.U admission obsessed dad for his opinion on fashion.

If you thought that only kids and parents were preoccupied, you thought wrong.

Maybe the waiter did not get a seat in any college. After all, there are very few available.

I, for one, am waiting for all the admission tamasha to end and for the college session to begin. This professor agrees.

Things were so much easier in our times.