Tessie

It always takes loss to make me write.

Now, we've always lived in houses where I could not have a pet. I love dogs and for as long as I have remembered, wanted a dog of my own. Since it was near impossible for me to have one, I settled for the next best thing - "adopting" my chiti-chitapa's pet as my own.

Tessie - what a cute little 45-day-old furball she was when they brought her home 10 years ago. With her long furry snout, intelligent brown eyes, perky ears and long pink tongue, she stole my heart. Barely two days later, we were off as a family to Munnar; of course we could not leave the puppy behind, so she joined us in the bus.

Over the years, every time I went to chiti’s house, Tessie had a special affectionate bark for me. Everyone would know it was me who walked in just from hearing the tone of her bark. It made me feel so special! We rolled and wrestled, played fetch and run and I loved stalking with her. Seems silly now, but it was fun, and I don’t regret a moment of it.

Tessie would get upset if I went to play with her after visiting any of my friends who have dogs or cats at home. She would sniff around and stalk off with her bushy tail shaking in a huff. I could almost see a disapproving look on her face. She sure knew how to make me feel guilty.

As a teenager, all the “angst” one can feel can sound pretty stupid (as it probably was) to the best of friends. I’d talk for hours on end to Tessie. Patiently, she’d sit at my feet or lick my face as I poured out my imaginary woes to her. If she could have spoken English, she might have said, “Shut up and get a life.”

As it was, Tessie spoke volumes in the way she could gauge people’s moods and try to behave accordingly. Extremely smart, she would obey anything we said immediately. She also loved walking over people’s feet and as my cousin Sharon will bear testimony, loved licking a person’s face till they woke up.

For all her strength and size, Tessie was a very gentle animal. Children could jump on her, pull her ears and tail, drag her around by the collar – she would not even growl or bare her teeth. The most she would do is shake them off and run away. Such an angel.

Even while she started losing her strength, she remained fiercely independent. Painfully, she would drag herself up the stairs before we could walk down to give her food. After Batty arrived on the scene, Tessie let her know who the boss was! They did become friends eventually, and I am sure Batty too misses her.

The last time I saw Tessie, I almost left without saying bye to her. If I walked out the gate without yelling “Byeeeee Tessie-girl” and giving her a pat on the head or cuddling her (much to my mother’s annoyance), she would get this sad look and psych me with those big doleful eyes. Talk about a puppy dog look: she had it perfected. This time was the same – even though I did not know it was the last time, I went back in, patted her head, kissed her nose and said bye.

When I cry at her loss, and forgive me the cliché, it is for a faithful friend. The thought that I will never hear Tessie bark for me, or see her gambol around my legs…

I like to think there’s a doggie heaven where the wind blows gently through her furry back and where there is plenty of lush grass for her to run through and a never-ending supply of big juicy bones for her to gnaw on and friends who love her as much as I do.

Miss you Tessie-girl.

New-ness

I wanted to do a New Year post. Then I got lazy and there was a bunch of other things and I do not know why on earth I am apologizing to myself for being a pro procrastinator. Anyway. I'm here now.

The new year: I cannot call it good. I cannot call it bad. But everything has been new.

I started a new job. Not what one may call a dream job (and believe me, people have called it anything BUT that), but it's one tailor-made for me. It involves social media and the Internet - two of my three great loves (the third one being books, and Josh if you're reading this, you are in a different category love). It's my dream job. I enjoy it. I revel in it. So yeah.

That's the good part.

I lost a friend. I shall not dwell on that.

That's the bad part.

Otherwise life has been so-so.

A new place, new people, new routines, new habits.

A new dimension to relationships.

The past month has been filled with new-ness.

I wonder how many more new things I will learn this year. 

How to drive.

A ten-step guide on how to drive alone in traffic for the very first time.


Step 1:

Strike ill-advised deal with father, stating that you will be allowed to drive his car if you go for refresher driving classes

Step 2:

Start going for said driving classes. Enjoy yourself.

Step 3: 

Immediately start pestering father for a chance to drive his car. (Rope in mother for extra persuasion power). Continue till father gives in and gives late night driving lesson. Get hopes up as you successfully drive parents home for the first time. Experience immense pride and happiness at accomplishment.

Step 4: 

Go for a couple more classes. Gain more confidence to drive in traffic.  Beg driving instructor to allow you to practise driving at school time in Kilpauk and Purasaiwalkam.

Step 5: 

While headed out with father alone in car, start a row with him and throw a fit about how he should let you practise in a real car and not just keep talking about it. This will ensure that he gets out and leaves you with car (keys included).

Step 6: 

Call father multiple times. If that fails, call mother and ask what to do. By this time, father would have told mother that you can get the car to where she is by any means necessary.

Step 7: 

Accept challenge. Slip into drivers seat, start car and commence driving.

Step 8: 

Take a right turn, slightly scratching side of another car that is turning into the same street. Have such a look of fear on face that the other driver kindly lets you off the hook.

Step 9: 

Reverse the car (for the first time ever) with help of people around. 

Step 10: 

Grit teeth, straighten out the car and reach destination, reversing multiple times in a struggle to take a single u-turn. Park car and hand over keys with glint of triumph in eyes.

That is all.

Family

So I was checking my Facebook... Ok I was wasting time on Facebook when I should have been sleeping.. And I came across this:

"Copy and paste this as your status and tag the letters given below and tag the first person which comes in the option when you type that letter. NO CHEATING!"

And these were my results.

(TAG C) My best friend - Sjv Chelliah (Mama)
(TAG V) My hottest friend - Vinitha Visuvasam (Cousin/BFF)
(TAG R) Someone meaningful Roshan James (Cousin)
(TAG N) Someone i will never forget - Nikhat Jahan (BFF)
(TAG k) I admire you- Katherine Samuel (Cousin)
(TAG A) My most dashing friend - Aishwarya Ashok ("Mommy")
(TAG P) My sexiest friend- Usha Paul (Perima)
(TAG S) You mean a lot to me - Sharon Sangeetha Samuel (Cousin)

Two conclusions:

Yes, I have a lot of BFFs, and I see nothing wrong with it.

I have a LOT of family on my FB friend's list.

That is all.

Chasing cars... err... Camels...

This is a slightly modified version of what I wrote for the paper. The person behind the scenes is my dad, who drove me to all these places without salichifying,  and we had fun in the process too!

At 6AM on Friday morning, an open ground at MR Nagar off Pulianthope High Road bears all the signs of being a cattle market – the sound and smell of sheep, men and women haggling with the traders and vehicles waiting to take away the animal.

The sheep are coded using colour powder according to the trader; some are pink, some green, and some multicoloured. They bleat loudly as their traders entice potential customers to check out the animals. “We have the best among the lot here,” claims one man, pointing to a herd of about 50 sheep covered in pink powder.

With Bakrid around the corner, over 20 individual traders from Cuddapah in Andhra Pradesh have brought their sheep for the Chennai market, and are doing brisk business, to say the least. As interested Muslims examine the sheep to get the healthiest ones, the traders run their sales pitch. They are unwilling to reduce the price evn by a few hundred rupees. Hard headed fellows.

Rajesh, one of the traders, says, “Apart from transport, we also have to pay for our food, stay and the helpers. Under those circumstances, the price is reasonable. We barely make Rs 1000 on each animal. This is the last day for us to sell the animals. By afternoon tomorrow the sacrifices should be over, so we will leave tonight or early tomorrow.”

Meanwhile in a small street off Broadway, a few camels chew the cud lazily as they sit next to a mosque in Mannadi. They have been brought down from Rajasthan especially for Bakrid by several groups of people. While the price of an entire camel can be prohibitive for most families, they have the option of sharing it with other families.

Dastagir, who is one of the many people who organise to procure the animals, explains how the sacrifice works in case of a camel, saying, “When the qurbani is done, the names of the seven families will be recited. That is what we mean by splitting the cost. After that, the meat is also divided equally among the families.” Each camel costs Rs 35,000 to Rs 40,000, he says, adding that once an approximate number of people who will purchase a share are known, the camels are brought by walk from the north.

The state vice president of the Jananayaga Muslim Munnetra Kazhagam (JMMK), Dastagir says that they do not do this for the money. “We are doing this to help our fellow-Muslims. Not everyone can manage this, and since we have the means to do so, we take care of the arrangements. It is not about profit,” he says.

The other option for sacrifice is cows, and these sell for about Rs 1300 a share. Mehrunisa, a housewife, says that the tradition differs for each family. “The animal chosen for qurbani depends on each family’s preference. As long as our sacrifice is healthy and up to the standards, we do not mind anything,” she says with a smile.

Obnoxious

I like Alecia Moore. Also known as P!nk. She has a way of singing what I feel.

Listening to "Please don't leave me" and I hear the lines:

"How did I become so obnoxious?
What is it about you that makes me act like this?"

What makes me that way when it comes to certain people? Keeping it all in a little box at the back of my mind works for a while. But that box has a short fuse attached to it. Spark it off and BOOM. I barely know what hits me.

Till then I am calm, collected and rational. Once that goes, so does all reasonable thought.

Time for some anger management?

May be I just need to get out. 

My Madras

I have friends from all over the country, and they all have their own opinions of the city I was "born and brought up in", to use common parlance.

With no plans whatsoever to move from here, I am happy to be in my little corner of the world, despite what I keep hearing about needing to expand my horizons and stuff like that.

I like this horizon.

It's safe. It's pretty.

It has a beach where I can see an actual horizon.Where I have watched a pink sun rising on a Saturday morning, and a bright red moon rise out of the sea on a breezy night. Where I have built sand castles. Where I have eaten fried fish and prawn, molaga bajji, Pupil burgers and Nutella pancakes. Where I've been caught in a rainstorm, almost Mills and Boon style.

I've been here all of 22 (okay fine, almost 23) years. Now, I'm reading a book by an author who has made this city his home for the past decade. Tamarind City by Bishwanath Ghosh. And boy, is he making me feel guilty for not exploring my city more!

It's not that I don't know Madras. I prefer the name Madras. After all, I was born there. Chennai came into being only in 1997. Yes, yes, I know Chennapatnam and all. But this is what I like.

Anyway. I know pretty much any place in the city, I can find my way anywhere. No problems.

I get by with a little help from my friends, of course. Helmet on, Google Maps calibrated, and I'm off. I get lost, no problem. Help comes from the nearest auto stand: "Anna, indha address enga irukku? Thank you anna!" My mother finds it amusing, but that simple appeal to the 'sister sentiment' so glorified in the Tamil movies can work wonders.

Reading about all the illustrious people and the buildings that make up my home town makes me want to delve into it's history more. Note to self: go on next tour of North Madras, the place where my father will not allow me to venture alone on a two-wheeler.

That being said, it always makes me sad to see an old house being broken down; the thinnai where several generations might have sat on being reduced to rubble. And the thing is, no one really cares. The fact that the house has a story built into every brick and terracotta tile is romantic nonsense; the only thing that has value is the prime piece of property.

One thing I have noticed is that people in Madras don't really give credit to what the British did for us as a city. Yes, they took over our entire country starting from here. But that doesn't mean it isn't part of our heritage. I do not buy the drivel that if it's colonial, it's bad and deserves to be broken down. Hello, where is our Secretariat housed?  It's who we are, like it or not. And we have to celebrate that heritage, be it buildings, parks, statues, whatever.

We are traditional, no doubt about it. But that does not necessarily connect with love for our heritage. Madras week is a good way of bringing this emotion about in the people's minds, and it seems to be having some sort of effect. Here's hoping things get better.

And what is my city? My city will always be the Madras with narrow lanes in Sowcarpet, swanky houses in Besant Nagar, and the traffic filled Mount Road with brick-red buildings standing a stone's throw away from Express Avenue.