How gorgeous is this? Photography has truly become egalitarian! I am no hot-shot camera person. A simple phone camera at the right time and right place works magic… No. I haven’t touched it up. All naturel. (And also a lot late….photos taken end September, 2011)
This gallery contains 37 photos.
Halloween is up next in the Celebrations Calendar. Many in Singapore are already in deep depression as the Zoo cancelled the annual haunted night festivities and instead, opted for unscary (bo-o-oring) Deepavali to celebrate. To these never-say-die fans and eternal … Continue reading
This gallery contains 12 photos.
My lovely neighbour, N, invited me for a ladies’ lunch, theme Bollywood. We had to dress up as our favourite female star for the event. For the next few weeks the prospect of the lunch buzzed like a mildly annoying … Continue reading
The Indian festive season kicks in around August and stays on till November (when we respectfully make way for Christmas.)
Shops in Little India do brisk business selling sweets/pretty paperweights, pens, tiny idols, elephants (ad infinitum and nauseum)/betel leaves/minuscule packets of haldi and kumkum/coconuts and oranges/gift bags/lamps/flowers and many other accessories which the demanding Hindu deities specify for their celebrations.
Among the many little businesses which benefit from this season, one really calls the shots. The saree blouse tailoring shop. Loads of lovely ladies line up in Little India to get measured for the perfect blouse*.
*(In case you are wondering what the fuss is all about, please read - http://www.utsavfashion.com/saree/designerblouse.htm to get updated)
When my little group of friends discovered that I was short of blouses for the Season, they reacted in horror and looked at each other in disbelief. Efficient R, rubbed her hands and marched me off in goose step to the….Blouse Nazi.
The Blouse Nazi, is not your ordinary seamstress. For her, designing and creating saree blouses is a calling. A Divine Art. If anyone has watched the “Soup Nazi” in Seinfeld (see episode here – http://youtu.be/M2lfZg-apSA), you would recognize her as the titular character.
As she puts it – “My customers don’t choose me. I choose them.” (Poor AB, a non favorite gets second-hand treatment. Her blouses get delayed inexplicably and her designs compromised. No eye contact is given or received. AB can only approach her through R- a class favorite)
An appointment with her is set up well in advance. It helps to have a customer referral. In my case, R (as you know by now) is a Chosen One, so the appointment was given instantly. “See you tomorrow at 1 pm exactly”
R was tense as we met for blouse material buying. After checking her watch for the 5th time in 10 minutes, she gave the signal to leave. Meeting someone we knew on the way was a contingency we did not plan for. We ran the last 100 meters to the shop.
She was waiting with a measuring tape. Introductions were made and I was sized up – not just with the tape.
After a quick round of fitting, I was informed that my blouses would be ready in 3 weeks. A deadline which changed to 5 days on intervention by R and some hamming by me (eyes wide in shock, pale, blood draining from face). A receipt with date and time of collection was handed over. I was to call/text her 24 hours before collection so arrangements could be made to keep the goods ready.
Unfortunately, 24 hours before my deadline, I was in Yangon with no mobile connection. My last day in Yangon was spent worrying if the BN would excommunicate me.
Almost did. The next day, I sent three text messages, explaining in long-winded sentences why I could not tell her in time. No responses. A phone call. I was told tersely that, now, I could collect the blouses only 4 days later. Some tears and beseeching (and shameless bandying of R’s name) and a time was given for the next day – at precisely 3 pm.
5 minutes to 3 and I was there. BN’s kindly (but powerless) assistant asked me what time I was given. I told her, she looked at the clock and said “Wait for 5 minutes, ma”. At 3’0′clock, She emerged and announced my name “Are you there?”. I was standing just 2 feet away, so I doubt she could have missed me, but I reacted like a good school girl does to her battle-axe of a teacher, raised my hand and said “Here!”
My blouses did not resemble any of the demure designs I had suggested (merely suggested, one does not insist). They plunged, hugged and revealed. One even had a ‘sweetheart’ design. (UGH).
When I meekly pointed out that they looked different, I was told – and I repeat verbatim “I got bored with those round neck and square necks. You try this now. I want to mess with your head. Change ideas”. OK, I said as I paid up, lavished praise, smiled and giggled sycophantically and hysterically till she looked at the clock pointedly.
I walked into the afternoon Singapore shower with 5 blouses (1 sweetheart design) and a feeling of joy. The Blouse Nazi likes me!
This blog was not meant to accommodate my larger than small thoughts on life. But this is not an ordinary day. Today Steve Jobs died.
A little bit of Jobs will live on in every Apple product and Pixar production to see light.
I type this from my iPhone using a WordPress app, while doing a mindless chore. That’s how radically Mr. Jobs has changed my world – by changing the way I do the little stuff in my life. And making it so much better.
Steve Jobs, shine on forever.
.
Next weekend, I will spend in Yangon, at a friend’s place. I have always felt an invisible thread of connection with Myanmar, and am so excited to visit.
I’ve tried to list this attachment in a very business-like way – A List. (And if you are wondering about the title – Mylapore, in Chennai is where I grew up and where many of my ‘reasons’ took root.)
My List of ’5 Reasons why I want to visit Myanmar’:
1. My great-grandfather and his sons took their amateur drama troupe to perform in Rangoon*. He was a retired civil servant, music lover and philanthropist who experiencing an epiphany – meeting Swami Vivekananda. After this, he dedicated his life, resources and energy towards funding and sustaining a students home/ college (Ramakrishna Mission) in Madras*. The trip to Burma* was, yes, another fundraiser. I have never met the man in question, nor have I done anything worthy to match his nobility. But at least, I’m visiting a land he went to, and where none of his great/grandchildren have ever been to. Hopefully, with some investigative work, I can find the venue where they performed.
2. Mrs. Moses, my class 5 teacher who was a refugee from Burma in Madras . Recently displaced, she wanted a job for her son. When she found out that Appa was setting up a business (no idea how that!) she launched herself on me (nicely. Not in an awful way) and gracefully asked for a meeting with him. I did that, but never found out what happened afterward and neither did my dad enlighten me. To me she was ‘foreign’ and exotic as she came from Burma. But also so familiar – she was, after all an ethnic Indian.
3. Perumal, our gardener in Mylapore. My heart would bleed for that old man, as I saw him wheezily and feebly work at the dusty plants in our backyard. My Patti was quick to burst my balloon of pity. Apparently, he wasn’t old (he looked 70 to me). He was sniffing because he was high on some weed. He was 40 and a childhood of drugs in Burma (oh wait! I think Malaya – not sure, but never mind that!) had resulted in accelerated aging.
4. The Glass Palace by Amitav Ghosh. Loved that book. Deeply moving. Myanmar has been on top of my “Some day, I should visit” list after reading it. Yet to read “Saving Fish From Drowning”. I love Amy Tan, so I’m surprised I haven’t read it.
5. Aung San Suu Kyii. A big hero from my schooldays. We loved her, her grace and her quiet courage. Being in the same city as her, is reason enough for a visit.
And then of course, there is the prospect of Burmese food. Experienced in San Francisco, Hong Kong and Singapore. Can’t wait to try the real stuff in Myanmar.
And as a post script – Who from my (and older) generations in India, can think of Myanmar and NOT think of this charming song? ‘Mere Piya Gaye Rangoon’ from Patanga (1949)
“Mere piya, ho mere piya gaye Rangoon
Kiya hai wahaan se teliphoon
Tumhari yaad sataati hai, jiya men aag
lagaati hai”
(ALERT! DANGER! There is a cheesy cheap remixed HORRIBLE version of this song sung by some woman called Shaswati. AVOID!)
Mingalar par, Myanmar! Can’t wait to visit you!
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(* – I have contextually used the colonial names of Yangon, Myanmar and Chennai…because…in the ’70s and ’80s, that’s how we knew these places. Also that’s how the people I have referred to, knew them)
In my dreams, I rest.
(Slow gentle music. Lullaby. Adagio)
My bed is made up of me.
I lounge and eat ‘after 8s’ before I shut eyes.
I’m smiling in the dream
No mundane matters worry my pillows
No wet wipes for a runny nose
My son, my little one, snuggles close
The skies are calm – maybe a light pleasant rain
Will make my coziness more appealing
But in my other life, this wakeful one
I stay tired. And eternally desiring sleep.
And NOW…
(Change tempo to allegro, the music changes. It’s rock)
I’m heading
To my bedding
I’m as sleepy as Khumbakarna
And Rip Van Winkle
And a baby at 11 am.
A bear in winter
My head is nodding
My eyes with heavy lidding
My back is sore
I think I’m going to snore
With open eyes
I don’t look nice (or sound nice)
On the couch I lie, helpless am I
Like a newborn with it’s mum
Like an old person without…
Like Sita in the woods
Like Snow White after the apple
Like Sleeping Beauty before her Prince
I
Lie. Awake.
Too involved to move to bed…
But in my dreams it’s so easy.
zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz….
(Music ends. Track over. Silence of the bees)
