So who am I now?

Dumb friend in School: "So you are a South Indian? How come? You are fair and tall unlike the rest of them."

Me: Duhh.....

That my friends, was one of my first brushes with typical North Indian arrogance.

So, we all know how kids in the north are rarely taught geography, especially the South Indian context of it. So, their mothers or teachers or whoever is responsible for their stunted Geo knowledge let them safely assume that

1. Below the Vindhyas, India is one massive state called Madras.

2. All the people down there are called Madrasis.

3. All they eat is rice (with their hands, licking each finger as they do it ;)), sambar and rasam. On special days, they manage vadai or dosai (pronounced annoyingly as dosa with a D like as in "Don't")

4. They are short and dark-skinned. Well not Sridevi or Hema Malini or Rekha or Jayaprada or Vyjayantimala. Just the rest who didn't make it to Bollywood.

5. They have to say "Aiyyo" atleast once in every 5 minutes.

Thanks to increasing knowledge dissemination and proliferation of the student community across NIT's and IIT's and BITS, there are minor change in view-points...

1. So Tams are the guys who study a lot. RG even more. Become scientists and go into research. Worship Rajnikanth (thanks to Sivaji:The Boss, they know the Tam guy pretty well now)

2. Mallus are the guys who eat beef and manage to down enormous quantities of alcohol. (I can't say my Mallu brethren have helped dispel that particular rumour.) Also, Mallus are the ones you'll find as nurses in hospitals and who own most of the tea-stalls in the world. (refer pic above!)

3. Gults are the ones who score top board marks and get into every damn IIT and BITS possible.

4. And then there are Kannadigas... who I guess have Bangalore.(isn't that where all that software shit happens?)

Anyways, slotting of people is something I've always been amused by and always subjected to...

In school in Bombay, my dumb Catholic friends thought I was Punjabi (refer tall, fair comment's inference from above) while the fact that I spoke decent English was reason enough for most of my dumb non-Catholic friends to assume that I must be Anglo-Indian...

The Tams think I must be a Palakkad Iyer because I can speak Tamil and look the "chamathu" part...

The Mallus think I must be one of those "Snob Mallus" who speak only Hindi because they've

been up north too long...

The Family (especially Ottapalam Valliammai) thinks I am a "Hindi-kaaran" as my Mom will always be a "Hindi-kaari" (due to her long Rajasthan stint). Forget the fact that even if she writes prose in Malayalam, she'll still be a "Hindi-kaari" who managed to learn Malayalam thanks to their conscientious efforts...

Then there are those who think I am Gujarathi; courtesy the gold chain.

I get Bengali sometimes (I have no retort, no explanation for that one) or Maharashtrian (because of the Bombay connection; although I must admit given recent events, most outsiders would be forgiven if they assumed only Maharashtrians were allowed in Bom....err Mumbai).

The most incredible one I've got is Parsi. (I must admit I kinda enjoyed that one:))

The latest is "Fraud-Mallu"; courtesy my friends at Bangalore and the fact that I've never stayed in Kerala...

The last one I got was at the college office last week in Bangalore "Malayalee annale? Kanda manasilavum" (translated as "Malayalee right? I could say that from the face"). Maybe the Mallu blood is finally getting thicker...( I say, it all started with the drinking ;) )

*Hindi-kaaran/kaari = Hindi speaking guy/girl

*Valliammai = Grand Aunt

This post is not meant to hurt anyone's sentiments. If you've been hurt, there's really not much I can do...

So what is it that you're writing?

My mom keeps noticing me typing away random stuff on the laptop. Initially, she thought I was studying something for the Best Consulting Group. And then, the interrogation ensued....

Q.1. So what are you writing?
A. Nothing. (The typical defensive child-like "Don't encroach into my independence" answer)

Q.2. You can't be doing nothing. What is it?
A. Well....just jotting down stuff, you know. (still evasive, if you notice)

Q.3. Oh....for your internship?
A. Nooo.... why would I write stuff down for my internship?

Q.4. Then what is it? (now I know where I get that inquisitive nose from ;))
A. Oh was just putting down memories.... you know about college, friends and stuff!

Q.5. (More a look, than a question) Ohhhh..... (In my mom's ideal world, only kids with problems put stuff down. Mrs. N's R, Mrs. I's V and Dombivili Valliamma's P never "write" down stuff. They just talk to their Mom's. So, now she is convinced its another of the bad habits I've picked up at Bangalore. :) )

Q.6. So, can I read it? (just what I was dreading)
A. No Maaa.... Its my personal stuff.

Q.7. (more an accusation than a question) YOU HAVE CHANGED. YOU WEREN"T LIKE THIS BEFORE (ok, maybe not this accusatory, but you get the hint right?) What do you mean personal? There is nothing to hide between a son and a mother. (in this context, let me inform the reader that my Mom believes that in her ideal world, the son has no clue about girls, porn, booze, smoke, night-outs et all)
A. Just because Trivandrum Valliamma's son discusses the color of his stools with his Mom, doesn't mean I shouldn't have my own personal world. (ok, I said nothing of that sort. I mumbled something to that effect)

Q.8. Will you show them to your wife? (Ah, the Indian Mom's Brahmastra! Did I mention my Mom was part of the CBI earlier?)
A. Maybe. There are some things I can only share with my wife. So, YES, I may.(For all you know, I had no intentions to do so. I may not share them with anyone. But better make things clear from the beginning!)

Q.8. Well, (having realized that certain battles can't be won), you can keep them with you and show the safe ones to me. Its not as if you are Mahatma Gandhi or Shah Rukh Khan; that you have an exciting life to put on paper! Anyways, I know everything there is to know.
A. And with that, the battle was lost. The war was won. :)

*Valliamma = Aunt
*Brahmastra = Ancient Indian weapon of the Gods

p.s : I love my mom. And I sincerely hope none of you (non-existent readers) hates me enough to let her know her son blogs! And most of this is fictional. Except the CBI part. I think it was RAW. ;)

Vrooom....

Screech....the brakes came to a halt and my mom looked as if she had just been brought back to life! My dad was in visible pain but he managed to camouflage it well enough (like how you manage that "I'm fine, I haven't swallowed the fish bone!" look)...

If you are imagining painful agonizing situations, you couldn't be more mistaken....well I'm sure my mom gladly would put down on paper that she had never been in a more dangerous situation, all that was happening was me practising driving on the family car! And all my patience and fortitude being tested to stay calm and focused amidst the panic....

I dont know why i decided to start with this post but considering I've resumed my driving classes with Ranaji (my dad's company driver cum watchman)... I thought what better time to put down my classic memories!

After much prodding at home (read: peer pressure), I finally joined Ruby Driving Classes. The name itself should have deterred me, but my optimism and drive literally took me for one-"a drive" that is...

Paan-stained Pandeyji had the car in his control. That clearly meant the car moved and stopped as per his choice, while I just played around with the gears.

My only takeaway from the course was ABC, which he taught me on the first day: Accelerator-Brake-Clutch! (sometimes I still get confused how it works: ABC from the left or ABC from the right?... what don't judge me! I'm just a li'l slow sometimes). And then thats it! Pandeyji expected me to start driving like Schumacher... well he would have been happy with a few ordinary mortal efforts also! But when nothing worked, he decided I was just good enough to fetch gutkha! Serves that bastard right..... I bet he doesn't know gutkha causes cancer!;)

Meanwhile thanks to Mumbai's amazingly efficient RTO, I managed to get a license after a small drive, most of which was manoeuvred by Pandeyji :)

On the drive back, I was happy I got my license. But Pandeyji got into one of his moods and decided to lecture me on sex-starved Aunties in Bombay. If you are wondering where that came from, imagine my surprise :o. Pandeyji must have decided if the 6 footer squirming next to him isn't good enough for driving, there must be something he can "drive" well, eh? But I didn't wanna let him know I was a "paavam" "chamathu" South Indian boy who had no intention to approach the above mentioned ladies for a "test drive", so I let him play along!!!

As you must have inferred by now, all the lame attempts finally got to me and I decided I was done. NO MORE DRIVING! aaah well....in any case, I've always loved the luxury of having a driver take me around.

That just led to uncomfortable conversations about my driving skills or the lack of it. So, my mom's friends (some of them who were just waiting for an opportunity to belittle her goody-two-shoes son) had a good time bragging about their offspring (who I believe started driving after thet graduated from bicycles) while my dad's friends simply sympathised(read: look at that retard, he can't drive???). I still cant figure out what's worse :( ;)

That more or less sealed my driving fortunes. I quietly slipped into oblivion into the back seat, silently envying all the good drivers around me! But my forthcoming internship put things in a new perspective..... Imagine Best Consulting Group asking me to park the car and me making that face (the one I have during Financial Accounting class. Atleast I can always claim I love Marketing in class; what do I say here? I prefer BEST buses?) So, I took things into fifth gear and got Ranaji to give me lessons.

Ranaji is also kinda funny. But he never gave me the ABC lesson (I had already figured it out prior to his handing the car keys over to me hehe;)) He is good and patient and I finally seem to be getting the hang of it. I have already bumped the car once. But it is my sincere belief that "never bumped, never learnt". :) Ranaji has promised to keep it our own secret. So, whether or not, I manage to drive well, one thing I've definitely managed: overcome my fear! And for that.... I say drive along :)