IMPROVE OR IMPROVISE?

I was channel surfing  (between two muscular men slugging it out on the red clay of Roland Garros and some pretty young things, and quite a few ugly ones, trying to sing) when I heard a pretty aspirant to the title promise to " improvise" the next time she came before the judges. I was confused. Surely she meant that she would do better the next time around. And then again, did she? Leaving the muscular men to their own gladiatorial confrontation, I tuned in to the singing sensation. Apparently the judges felt that she was  making some elementary errors. Which comment brought on the above promise. She evidently meant to say "improve" but felt  that it was far cooler and hep to say "improvise".

Her predicament, I can confirm, is not a rare one. It is much more common than is supposed. Even in adult circles. Especially in corporate circles.  I have witnessed this "improve - Improvise" confusion amongst corporate high-fliers who shall remain  nameless. There appears to be a feeling that "improve" is ancient and  somehow needs to be replaced with a more modern-sounding equivalent, "improvise".  Why improve when you can improvise?

This reminds me of  a time long ago in London when I had taken an English colleague for lunch at a Brick Lane Bangla Deshi (Indian) restaurant. The Dockland area then was in the early stages of redevelopment and was still free of the monstrous gherkin which later became a landmark. The area was run down,  houses in bad repair and the aroma of food items frying in mustard oil filled the air in the streets. My friend Paul swore he never imagined mutton could be made to taste so good. Tucking in to the Brick Lane delicacies, I happened to overhear a conversation between two Bangladeshi gents. One of them was writing a letter and wanted to spell the word "appropriate". He was asking his companion if the word had three P's or four. The second gent, after ascertaining the purpose and content of the letter - a job application - opined that while he was nearly sure that there were only three P's, given the importance of the letter, four would be better.(To be really effective this story must be narrated in the best East Bengali English accent).

The reason "improve" metamorphoses into "improvise" seems similar. If it is an important discussion, lecture, or presentation, make it "improvise" rather than the staid old "improve". For one thing the former has "ise" at the end, clearly a sign of action; a sign of something being done to something or someone and Corporate endeavour is all about doing things to people and things.  It is active and corporate life is all about action and dynamism. The older verb sounds passive, old, and reeks of musty old libraries and conjures images of letting things happen rather than doing things.

For a while I deluded myself that the users of the modern version really meant to improvise, to find an unconventional solution to the problem at hand, make do with the limited resources and still achieve something those resources were considered inadequate for - what we in India loosely term "Jugaad".

When I realised that  the malapropism was precisely that and nothing more,  that there was no great intent to make some fundamental and meaningful changes to our world,  and that it was a poor and vain attempt to impress with empty sounds, the scales fell off my eyes.

That pretty girl on the telly might still make us happy for a few moments with a well-sung melody, but the Corporate improvisers will continue making empty noises.

DRIVING DAISIES

Many women drive in Chennai. In Madras, though, few women did; the "posh" ones being the exception.This is not a cheap joke on women "driving their men nuts" or anything like that. This is about driving per se, plain and simple. Since many women of Chennai are named after flowers of one kind or another (Poongothai, Malar, Malarkodi, Malliga, Mallika, Malarvizhi, Thamarai, Thamaraikkodi, Jasmine, etc etc) , I felt that "daisy" is a close English approximation (Daffodil is not as pithy as Daisy). Hence the title. But make no mistake, notwithstanding their floral names, the Chennai women are no wilting lilies. They are sturdy. I was about to stay  "sturdy as stout Cortez" but held myself back realizing the potential for being misunderstood on the "stout" bit; besides, I am not sure if indeed Cortez was stout, Keat's characterization being derived from second or even third hand information on the girth of the said senor Cortez.

 Back to the floral femmes of Chennai and their driving habits.

The addition of self starters to scooters single-handedly put Chennai women on wheels, more so than any other single factor; even more than all the other factors combined. How so? The act of kicking the beast to life was (and still is) not considered a "womanly" thing to do. So when a button could do the job, women were freed from a major cultural restraint holding them back from riding scooters. Sitting astride on a motorcycle is not only even more unladylike, but even more difficult to do especially when clad in a sari. So scooters became the preferred ride and self starters gave them wings.

Chennai women haven't looked back since. Or looked left; nor to the right. A quick disclaimer is necessary here: I am not a misogynist, nor against women driving. I quite like women and believe they should not be confined to their kitchen as is widely believed. I am just observing a fact of life as I see it; namely, that women driving two wheelers hardly ever look left or right. The Chennai man is worse, carrying on conversations on  a tiny mobile phone held between a tilted head and a shoulder while threading his motorbike at great speed through the thick traffic with nary a care for his own safety nor that of  other road-users. I suppose they (the Chennai women, that is) are merely treading the path well-worn by their menfolk for whom they have considerable respect. The culture demands they show respect for their menfolk and follow the latter's dictates, desires and norms. This is ensured in many different ways. This is a subject for an entire blog or two by itself and I shall attempt it one day.

Sacrifice of one's own life for their menfolk and family is a trait firmly ingrained in the Chennai woman and reinforced ever so often through the popular lores, TV shows, and novels. Sacrifice (even of one's health) is considered not a noble act, but a required one that is quite normal. So it is not surprising that the Chennai woman cares not for herself  while driving. She looks ahead, picks a spot and goes for it. They believe that the menfolk would  take care not to hurt them. An admirable faith in their men. Somewhat misplaced  to my  eye as yet unaccustomed to Chennai ways. They slice, they dice and then they slice and dice some more; not in their kitchens, but in the traffic. Vegetarians, they may be, but they are not afraid to play chicken on the streets. Locking eyes with men is not considered very virtuous in local custom but that is not applicable to the Chennai woman on wheels. They look straight through you and are not deterred by something so simple as a car in between them and their objective. I am sure they don't see anything between themselves and their objectives - an amazing singularity of purpose.

I am not sure if anyone has systematically studied the social impact of greater mobility enjoyed by women in Chennai. But I am sure that this mobility hasn't made their menfolk very happy, judging by some of the stories I have narrated in other posts and by the warnings from various "caste-group leaders"  against marrying outside their own castes.

As for me, I say more (horse) power to the Women of Chennai and look forward to seeing "biker chicks" on Chennai streets. Alas, I cannot join them as I have been restrained by my daughter from getting astride a bike again. I shall have to be content with admiring them from the relative safety of  my car; perhaps with a wave and a smile.

HOW TO MAKE A TV SERIAL

Simple really, if you were Ekta Kapoor. Why anyone would want to be Ekta Kapoor is another matter. Far be it from me to be catty, but would you want to be her? Despite her successes on the small screen? You would think the poor girl can afford a stable of the finest dentists and trainers.  But it seems that she can't (or won't?). In her defence it must be recognized that she had a jumping jackass for a father. If my father was having a career jumping around in tight white drainpipe trousers when I was growing up, I would have become a mass murderer. Ekta is no mkass murderer, I'll grant you, despite the mind-numbingly inane drivel she dishes out on the small screen. Which is better depends on whether you like your people physically dead or merely brain dead.
 Leaving Ekta to her own devices, lets address the question at hand: how to make TV serials. Not the high-brow stuff from BBC nor the investigative ones by Panorama which shut down banks and make dictators quake in their highly-polished boots; but simple ones in Hindi. Some might say that all Hindi serials are simple, in the Shakespearian sense, but that is stating the obvious.
Why would anyone want to make Hindi TV serials? A fair question especially if you have seen any. The prospect of making oodles of money is as good as any. Despite all that has been said about money, the way it is made, how it corrupts people etc, I would any day settle for more of it than less. Even if I had to make Hindi serials to accomplish that objective.
OK, now that we've gotten out of the way Ekta Kapoor (and her jumping jackass father), money, and the philosophical reasons for making TV serials, we can get on with the ingredients. Like we need eggs (and parsley, chopped onions, mushrooms, cheese) to make omelets there are certain essential ingredients we need for making Hindi serials. Like some Indian mothers and mothers-in-law. These should preferably be in ghungat, widowed young, extremely domineering and ready to shed a tear or two to bend the son's ears. Ah yes, with the cunning of Machiavelli, wily as a fox and ruthless as Hitler, all rolled into one. Sort of Sonia Gandhi on steroids.
Then you need some menfolk. Sons: Effete, stupid, sucklings and wholely without any redeeming features. That is if you don't consider well-shaven chests as redeeming. Metrosexuals on opioids. Fathers and Grandfathers galore: misogynistic widowers in ridiculous stick-on hair on scalp and upper lips. The types who believe that women's place is in the kitchen and a daughter in law is merely a “maid with benefits”. The latter should have attractive names like Rollei (as in the now defunct German camera), be sati-Savitris and entirely without any attractiveness. In short well-accomplished bur asexual domestic maids. Despite their nicknames they are neither toasty nor do they simmer. They are far from hot. They also address their boyfriends / husbands as Mr.so-and-so or Dr so-and-so. If a martian were watch an Indian TV serial he could be excused for thinking that human relationships are based on sense of duty where affection and attraction have no role to play.
Then you need some assorted royal families, complete with Maharanis, Yuvrajs and Yuvranis. Never mind that Indira Gandhi abolished them over 40 years ago; somebody forgot to tell the producers and the audience. The list cannot be complete without mentioning the expressions on the faces of the princesses which is best described as one of surprise occasioned by ingress of unpleasant objects in unmentionable places. They all call each other Maharaj-ji or Maharaniji- or Princess-ji or whatever-ji and have great big dinners wearing funny outfits in great big gilded halls. Oh, by the way, no matter how middle-class the family is with howsoever many mouths to feed, they all must live in great big houses. With interiors by a deranged designer (or a Gujju, which is the same thing).
Put all these ingredients in whacking a great box and give it a great big shake and pick your combination or permutation.
Add some accidents, hospitals, grievous injuries treated with bits of BandAid and hideous knock-off of western musical themes and voila! You have been transformed into Ekta Kapoor .

I don't blame you if you don't want to be so transformed.

INLAWS & OUTLAWS

Some daughters are in.
Others are out. Especially the variety that marries your son.
In that sense they are like Quarks: some are Up, Top and Charming, the others Down, Bottom and Strange.
Just so we are clear, the latter are also called Daughters-in-Law presumably to soften / blur the fact that they are considered outlaws.

The TV channels do a roaring line in Mum-in-Law  and Daughter-outlaw spats. While multitasking with a multitude of electronic devices (mobile, iPad and surfing on a laptop) I keep a sharp ear open for the inlaw-outlaw spats; and there's plenty. Surf any domestic channel and you will find it hard to avoid. This used to be the staple of Bollywood movies too, but ever since they discovered colour film, skimpy clothes and Swiss locales, they have moved on.

The outlaws are outlaws by birth. Not for us the new-fangled theories on nurture Vs nature. By not being born in a family you become an outlaw in that family, if you are a girl. Our girls are well mannered, well brought up, accomplished and full of social graces, lively, dont talk too much nor too little, etc etc. All round good eggs, if you dont mind a non-vegetarian analogy. Outlaws on the other hand are the antithesis of all of the above. By definition.

There is a saying in Tamil that if an outlaw breaks a utensil, it is considered made of bronze (presumably when this originated bronze was the most expensive metal known to them) and if it was was broken by the inlaw it is a mere clay pot. An outlaw can't win.Again by definition

In the TV versions, the inlaws are stately matrons impeccably coiffed and made up with row upon row of pearls and gold around their necks. Somewhat broad of beam too, to use a shipping analogy. They dont so much as walk as float while making an appearance. If only they were less substantial I would have said they waft in. They only come in one version: strong willed and steely eyed; eagle eyed for the errors, omissions and misdemeanors of the outlaws.

An outlaw cannot win, by definition. If the son of the family is thin, she doesnt feed him enough. If he is obese, she feeds him too much. If she makes him work out, the dear darling is being made to sweat it out; if she doesn't, she doesn't care for him. Is she tames his wild bachelor ways, he is henpecked; if she doesn't, she is herself wild. An outlaw has to learn to cook but not nearly as well as her inlaw; god help her if she attempts to go one better. You see, the inlaw's view of the son hasn't grown up with the latter: a son is one that needs to be kept happy at both ends. Since he has stopped wearing diapers (never mind that many don't start wearing the pants even after they get married) the only thing accessible to the inlaw is the inlet. An outlaw must never compete with the inlaw for access to this.

An outlaw has to survive in a hostile ecosystem consisting of different female members of the inlaw family. The latter are capable of what Einstein described as "spooky action at a distance"; so splitsville is no use, even assuming that one succeeds in beating a separate path. The men usually are mute spectators and prefer to let the females enjoy their little games. So the outlaw has no option but to focus on her own little darling and hope that when he grows up she can have  her day. Do unto other what was done unto you, etc.  And thus the cycle repeats itself.

When the outlaw happens to be your own, her inlaws become the outlaws.

THE SIMPLE LIFE

We live The Simple Life in Chennai.

Living The Simple Life involves repeatedly professing that one lives the simple life and that one does not need or want anything that ordinary mortals (translation: you and me) cannot do without. It involves proclaiming that one is used to the hard life and is ready to live it again if called upon to do so.

Don't get me wrong; to be an adherent of the Simple Life you do not have to give up anything; you just have to profess to be prepared to, if so required. The acceptance of the daily bounties of life is merely to please someone else: mother, father, family, wife, children et al. You must at all times appear not to want anything for yourself and must constantly beat yourself up with hardships and self-denial. Don't worry, you wont really have to live the life of a monk - someone will always persuade you to partake of the good life and you will do so to please them!


The concept involves abnegating the material as well as accepting it; acceptance not just of the greater cosmic inevitability, but of material things - the latter mainly and only to please the offerer. It might seem oxymoronic that you reject and accept at the same time. That is the beauty of this concept. You negate your need for something but accept that thing in order to please someone. Brilliant, isn't it? You can have what you want but just make a song and dance about how you can live without it and how you are accepting it merely not to offend anyone.

Lets start with the very purpose of life according to the votaries of The Simple Life.We must live this life lest we offend someone who put us here in the first place. We have no desire to live, but since we have been placed here for reasons unknown by powers unknown, we must not upset those powers. Our continued existence must never be confused with a positive desire to live or even to merely exist. We live so that our parents, wives, children and friends don't need to grieve (there are those who make their near ones grieve every moment of their existence, but they are exceptions). We must act as if we don't owe anyone anything but we must make everybody feel they owe us something.

I am here to please my Maker, I go to school to please my parents, I strive for good grades to uphold the honour of my family and school, I get married to please my parents, then I live for my children, after which I renounce everything for a better afterlife ( which is apparently the only instance of my wanting anything for my own sake).

In the TSL scheme of things, one does not express a preference for any item of food or even to eat: one merely eats in order not to displease the one who cooked. The usual refrain is, "not that I want this or that, I eat whatever is placed in front of me in order not to upset the cook ".

It all starts harmlessly enough with an inability or unwillingness even to make a choice, express a preference in food, an item of clothing, or even to say he or she needs anything. In all fairness the females of the species have no problem in expressing what they prefer; the problem is that not only they tell you what they want done, but leave you in no doubt as to how they want it done. It is the male of the species who show preference for TSL. Does it sound like a positive preference for something? Then I must be wrong. There is nothing positive about it. TSL is built on an strenuous avoidance of expression of a preference for anything. Is it negative then? It is certainly not positive. I am inclined to be very charitable today and say that it is neutral.

The votaries of TSL appear as though strenuously denying accepting anything; while being served food it looks as if they are fighting it. Eating is something they do in order to avoid wastage of food which is bound to follow the act of not eating... An extra helping is justified as saving someone else from having to eat leftovers the next day...so on and so forth.

They touch material objects as if they were red-hot or is about to bite them back. They don't consciously go to a place; they merely drop in on something / or someone on their way to some other place. Don't embarrass me by asking if that act of going some place else isn't itself an act of wanting (to do) something. I still haven't got this fully worked out. One day I will. For the nonce the reader has to be content with my empirical observations. They will accept a ride in your car if you are very insistent and that too only because not accepting your offer will offend you.They are quite prepared to walk miles, mind you, but accept a ride in your car lest you will drive alone; Or to help you use the Bus Lane which otherwise you may not be entitled to.

The cornerstone of the TSL is relentlessly professing detachment from all things material. In practice it is like what was said about Mahatma Gandhi - that it cost others a great deal to keep him in poverty.

It takes a lot of effort to help someone  live the Simple Life.

TENDULKAR'S MONKEY II

The monkey is off........

THE WORM TURNS........

Let me start with an apology for a mistake the readers might make in equating worms with young women who are the subject of this post. The link is clearly not mine nor the error, but still the apology is worth making for its in a good cause, namely, today's young women.

The proverbial turning of the worm is supposed to denote a victim giving up his victimhood and successfully turning on his tormentor. Or, as in this case, her tormentor.
What brought on this inquiry into victims, worms, women and tormentors? Simply put, some recent stories of matrimonial match-making in my extended family.

Recently an uncle of mine was very upset with his cousin's daughter for embarrassing the family (and no doubt him personally). He was trying to get the girl - the girls' parents actually - interested in his wife's cousin's son. For those unfamiliar with this format of matrimonial alliances, let me briefly add that in this part of the world, marriages are arranged between two families with the bride and the groom constituting two necessary but not sufficient components. If they are happy, it's considered a bonus. Their happiness is not, in the crude American neologism, a "deal-breaker". It was assumed that with the efflux of time (a phrase we love in these parts) the two would find a satisfactory working arrangement somewhere between physical war on the one side and happiness on the other. In my younger days when  my thoughts were quicker and my tongue was a swashbuckling and somewhat irresponsible organ, I would have - actually was known to have - described such alliances as driven purely by the economic considerations with one side aspiring to greater wealth and the other needing to find a match for a fast-depreciating asset. With age has come certain circumspection and amusement has replaced anger. Enough said about me.

The young lady in question was allowed to meet the eligible young man who, as already noted, was the said uncle's wife's cousin's son. My uncle in a way was the meat in the sandwich and was caught in the middle. His stakes were very high indeed. The young lady met the young man suitably supervised. Not in Chennai the Victorian-style chaperoned meeting for the lads and the lasses with the chaperon trailing discreetly behind, within eyesight but out of earshot..

She reportedly took the lead in what my uncle described as an "inquisition". Considering that the current day Chennai boys of certain social stratum are best described as "duhs", I was not surprised that it was so. She proceeded to ask him about his career, future prospects, pay ("gross as well as net", my uncle recalled with indignation)  etc. Then he was queried on his "liabiliies"  which my uncle felt was very forward and very impertinent. He is a product of the times and mores in which the women were supposed to concern themselves with making and raising babies and the men took care of everything else. Then came the clincher which blew my uncle off. Even at this distance in time he is barely able to contain himself, thinking about it.

The girl asked the boy  if  he would come into the marriage with "any baggage", a line of inquiry which even in retrospect has my uncle seeing red and seething with unspeakable anger. "The audacity of it" he exclaims while narrating the story. For a while I wondered if I should let him know that being a modern girl she could have been inquiring after his "package" which she would have to live with the rest of her life.Wiser counsel prevailed and I resisted the urge. He would have burst an aneurysm. Needless to add that the boy's family didn't take kindly to being considered "baggage" and the talks broke down.

Another recent story involves the parents of the boy going to meet the girl. The plan was that if they approved of her, then a "skype meeting" would be  arranged. It amazes me how a traditional ritual is being modernized in its structure but not intent. This process known traditionally as "seeing the girl" involves the boys family visiting the girl's home where she would have to serve refreshments (expected to be made by her own hand, but much cheating has been known in this aspect), speak when spoken to, pay her respects by genuflecting before the boy's family, sing a song or two (classical - Bollywood a definite no-no) and may be even do a step or two of dance where such proficiency has been claimed by her family. In other words a thoroughly humiliating experience for the girl (to briefly slide back into my youthful ways of describing it) while the boy's side took it all in to the accompaniment of sweets, savouries and coffee.

This story has a happier ending - at least in my opinion. But I am in a minority of one. The boy's father for one was totally aghast. When the boy's family walked in, the girl was reportedly seated one leg crossed over the other (a cardinal sin and sign of utter and unspeakable disrespect in these parts), and in deep conversation on her cell-phone. Much to the annoyance of the visitors she failed to get up. She also failed to genuflect before them. She continued her phone conversation, after waving a "Hi" somewhat airily  in their direction. That the visitors were offended is putting it mildly. Saner counsel prevailed and she quietly withdrew deeper into her home with her phone leaving her parents with the by-now-impossible task of carrying on a conversation with the visitors.

See what I mean by worms turning? de Beauvoir, Friedan, Steinem, Greer, Firestone, Millet, et al may have written tomes on women freeing themselves from the men-allotted historical roles. But here in Chennai we see them actually doing it.

And I am loving it  (despite having have a son who is yet to marry)