[Background: This is based on a true story in the southern state of Tamil Nadu, India where a yesteryear, hugely popular film-star,  M G Ramachandran (MGR) started a political party, the ‘All India Anna Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (AIADMK)’ – with ‘Two Leaves’, as a Party symbol – breaking away from the parent ,’Dravida Munnetra Kazhagam (DMK)’ headed by M Karunanithi – which has the ‘Rising Sun’ as its symbol. On coming to power, MGR ruled as Chief Minister for over a decade until his death, at age 71, due to illness, while in harness. His heroine of many Tamil films, Miss Jayalalithaa, was brought into the AIADMK as Propaganda Secretary and later took over as Party Head and became Chief Minister, as well, until her death at age 68, a few days ago, on 5^th December 2016, again in harness. While Karunanithi could never get near Chief Ministership in MGR’s lifetime of heading the AIADMK, he could squeeze into power during Jayalalithaa’s stints as Chief Minister, until her metamorphosis as “Amma” – when she went on to win and stay in power in consecutive terms. While MGR was married but had no children, and Amma stayed single, Karunanithi had three wives – now two, one having died – and six children. Though always wheel-chair bound he has scored well on the health front, and is still active in politics as the head of the DMK, at the age of 92. He has seen six Chief Ministers die during his lifetime and hopes to become Chief Minister, yet again! The DMK & the AIADMK are bitter rivals, constantly at other’s throats and endlessly playing the ‘Tom & Jerry’ game!].

While we watched the iron-lady of Tamil Nadu rust away despite her steel mettle, we cannot help make the comparison with a nearby well-dhothied, almost bald, yellow-shawled, iron-man, living in the neighbourhood, who may just about have the last laugh, yet! He has outlived ‘two dead leaves’ and in grand style, mind you: with more than a couple of wives, lots of family – to draw support and be wheeled about – and a never-day-die attitude, despite numerous defeats in battle. If the Hero was a boxing, stick & sword-wielding fighting one in the movies, he failed to overcome the villainous ill-health and fell prey. His Heroine and protégé followed in similar footsteps, ‘covering-up’, hiding the poor health and again failing to get the better of it, despite the support of the Gods of Apollo. Didn’t someone say, that the only thing you have true, and can control, is your mind & body? (That’s written in the script of our lives). Why then, with all the iron & steel at their command, co-mingled with self-confidence, grit and tenacity, the Hero & Heroine couldn’t win the health-war? Is it because they are just leaves – which have to wilt & fall? (Re-growth is an option – not in this lifetime). Meanwhile, the Sun is out scorching the country side and the neighbourhood iron-man, once a movie script writer, barring a rouge allergy – now & then- has kept his cool, kept his ever growing family, KEPT HIS HEALTH, and the shine is definitely a bright YELLOW, almost red (& black) on the horizon! Colours & Wives work wonders, I guess? Tomorrow is another day!

[Prologue: I first wrote ‘The Smoking Ladies of Delhi’ in the year 2008, when I was in the ‘elite’ Project Management Team in-charge of developing and modernising New Delhi’s bursting-at-the seams Indira Gandhi International (IGI) Airport Terminal-2: well before the now spanking Terminal-3 fully grew-up; and while Domestic Terminal-1 was simultaneously getting an alphabetical make-over: Terminal IA, IB IC, ID, and the kind!

The recent Delhi air pollution stories brought back a pack-full of memories and rushed me to smoke out this article, light it up and post it here]

Ever since I started working at New Delhi’s IGI Airport Terminal-2, in December 2008, I had never seen so much smoke exhaust itself from a Lady. Literally. I am a strict non-smoker – not even the passive kind, and was dumbstruck on seeing so many women smoking. The fairer sex is indeed awfully liberated in New Delhi! When did you last see a Sheila Dixit (she was the then Chief Minister of New Delhi) or a Sonia Gandhi (she was actually running the Manmohan Singh Government from behind a smoke-screen, they said!) smoke? Ever?

There was this, cannot-miss-daily-sight of a large impressively clad Lady, cat-walking and sashaying back & forth, like a tigress caught in a circus cage, outside the Air-India ‘mishandled’ Baggage Office, cigarette in hand, as a ‘light-house’ would show: she looked stylish with a Stacy London dress sense, shoulder length cascading silky hair, probably handling all of Air-India’s ‘miss-delivered’ baggage with smoking ease. One of the key targets in renovating the Airport being to kick-out Airlines Offices occupying precious Passenger space, I ran into her many smoke rings while making mischievous plans to throw out her smoke & Baggage – to a new location outside the main Terminal. Never mind her smoking-hot killer looks!

Next to this ‘constantly hot’ Lady was the Jet Airways Crew & Ticketing office: two to tango? Pretty-Young Things with new golden overcoats, butterfly in and out. Often, I could see a beautiful Air-Hostess (must be), probably on a quick ‘smoking date’ with another male Crew Attendant (must be) outside their Office, Guess, there are no-smoking signs inside! The heavy make-up on an already naturally beautiful face, held sprightly on a svelte hourglass figure, did not match the ugly cigarette in her slender well-manicured fingers. May be, she should switch over to Virginia Slims! Gosh! I do know a few Cigarette brand names myself!

I run away from these smoke-generators only to crash into more smoke. This time, it was ‘from foreign terminal sources’ – an International Airline had just offloaded its crew and the short-skirted blonde beauties are waiting for the ground transport to take them to their Hotel. They were all hidden in tall self-made clouds of smoke-which beautifully dissolves into the troublesome IGI Airport November fog.

By this time I had become tired and headed home to Gurgaon, hounded by the smell of the seemingly omnipresent cigarette smoke. Thank Almighty God, my wife does not smoke!

I start the next day by driving down, early in the morning, to the Airport, from Gurgaon, on the newly laid flyover filled expressway. It’s a wonderful drive, except that there is this particular Maruthi Esteem, which competes for space in my lane, driven by a smart Lady (must be) with a Catherine Zeta-Jones black mane (that’s the best I could see from behind) and sculptured hands circumnavigating the steering wheel, but with a menacing cigarette in hand! Wow! Beauty just flew out of the window and rose up in the Sky!

Meanwhile, it was not uncommon, in Gurgaon, to see Ladies jostling for space with the Gentlemen, near the local road-side Tea-shop – off the great high-rise buildings – glass tea cup in one hand and the great cigarette in another – both spewing their kind of vapour or smoke, which quietly rises high, and effortlessly mingles with the already heavily polluted air!

In the small Towns and Villages, back home in the South of India, I’ve seen an occasional old woman smoke a ‘beedi’ holding it briefly between beetel-nut stained, almost falling teeth, but the North of India, was a revelation.

Am I becoming ‘lady cigarette smoke’ sensitive? Only time will tell. Let the smoke ring on! God bless the Smoking Ladies!

[Epilogue: We completed the renovation of Terminal-2 in a record 18 months and the Smoking Ladies were an inspiration in getting the air-balance calculations technically right (I’m an Engineer, remember) for the Smoking Rooms we had built inside the newly developed Terminal. There wasn’t a Smoking Room before and I’m sure ‘The Smoking Ladies of Delhi’ would appreciate the space!]

In the weeks preceding the past few weeks, we in India were bombarded with Surgical Strikes, and later we married it to Talaq-Talaq-Talaq. These two words invaded our minds (our word power improved by three milestones) and occupied precious space – notwithstanding any border security posts, or the daily TV serials.

Well… lots of fireworks happening before Diwali, after ISRO stopped surgically launching rockets & satellites, for a well-deserved (and well advised) rest! If the Indian Government said Talaq-Talaq-Talaq to terrorism from across the Pakistan Border, the Samajwadi Party, in the northern State of Uttar Pradesh (UP) got fired-up and kept shooting the word, in as many rounds. Mulayam Singh could have used his wrestling skills better to pin his son onto the UP ground mat; instead he went to battle on a falling-apart bi-cycle. Could have asked Olympian Sakshi Malik for some tips, at least to win Bronze – Gold being ruled out (hanging on a second family neck)!

Meanwhile, the steel nerves of the Tata’s cracked, they too heard the sound of money in their Bank Accounts; the polished brand losing some shine; and suddenly & mysteriously said Talaq-Talaq-Talaq to its young Chairman, who I think was doing a fairly good job of re-building the Tata Empire – without his famed father’s help! Talk of Corporate governance, values and principles in the grand old Bombay House? My! I’m sure many of us in the Corporate World of India, can empathise with the sacked, now ex-Chairman of Tata, having been in similar situations – no explanation, no packing, no good-byes – just plain simple ta-ta!  Move over Hollywood, our own Indian feudal Terminator is back, to guard the family jewels!  The Tata’s have become the new Reliance, while Reliance is only getting bigger and better, being at being truly Reliance – brutally commercial, bhai!

At this rate, Atal Behari Vajpayee may say Talaq-Talaq-Talaq to PM Modi and get back to business dragging along a Hospital. Infosys Narayana Murthy did it, but was ‘soft enough’ to hand-over once again. The DMK Party Chief in the Southern State of Tamil Nadu is wiser, is tied to his chair, moves with it and may wheel & ‘stretch’ it to occupy the Chief Minister’s chair, once the sling finds its mark. He whispers to the horse that his ‘sun son’ will take over, while other Families, in the background, are listening-in. Watch this space!

Honesty, and bluntness in calling a spade a spade, as a religion, has just been Talaq-ed! Indian Corporates have the best Vision and Mission Statements, framed beautifully on a polished wood-panelled background, in the Board Room – and that’s where it stays hanging for dear life. Meanwhile, it’s riot on the streets and execution (of Statements) is buried deep underground, beneath an iron-ore mine!

Having a cracking Diwali: it’s always bursting – fireworks & crackers in India. Watch the Skyline! Lights, Camera, Action!

It has been more than a year since I relocated from Chennai, to the small City of Salem in Tamil Nadu, which is near my native Sembiyanoor Village, Bommidi, Dharmapuri District. I settled here, after having ‘lived well and in style’ in Puerto-Rico (USA) and the big cities of Hyderabad, Bengaluru, Mumbai and Gurgaon/ Delhi – prior to the Chennai stop-over. Luckily, I had squirrelled away my earnings sufficiently enough to buy a brick & mortar house in Salem – for commercial gain – never once imagining that I would ‘settle down’ (that’s a much used word in these parts) with my life’s inventory and spread myself vertically in the second floor two-bedroom Flat. The Apartment holding the Flat, is located in quite a serious, law conscious neighbourhood: near the Collector’s Bungalow, beyond the District Courts and Central Prison, on the road to the nearby Shevaroys Hill-Station of Yercaud, which does message me some cool evening breezes and offer Technicolor sunrises! It’s not a Flat any longer: it’s now a place called Home!

Salem derives its name from the fact that it is surrounded by, or among, Hills on all four sides. It is said to be the birthplace of the ancient Tamil Poetess Avvaiyar: maybe, I should search for any roots to a possible poetic ancestor? Salem is also the home of the once famous, now defunct, Modern Theatres, where many a Kollywood Tamil movie was successfully shot: especially the James Bond and gun slinging Western kind. There is even a River called Thirumanimuthaar naughtily flowing through Salem, which is now one great open sewer stream!

While studying in boarding School, at Yercaud, I had to find base at Salem to climb the hills, kissing the twenty hair-pin bend ghat road – there being no other approach, at that time. Salem is well-connected to most parts of Tamil Nadu, and the Country as well!

I found that Salem was still stuck in the small city syndrome, refusing to grow-up: narrow roads – barring a few broad-way ones; open sewers; a congested people-infected-lake-turned-into Bus-Stand; a busy Railway Station; dingy superbug infested Hospitals; Less-than-5-star Hotels & Boarding Houses, a choked 1^st & 2^nd Agraharam, Bazaar prime shopping area; railway crossings with hardly any flyovers; cattle grazing or sleeping on the roads; and, the typical Indian traffic crawling slowly on all four legs. People seemed to be everywhere, collecting and shipping off bits & pieces, like an army of ants, except that there was no sense of orderliness. On the positive side, there is a half-hearted waste collection system in place with ever overflowing green garbage bins, and stiff ‘keep Salem clean – this is your City’ hoardings, and a work-in-progress underground sewerage system! Cheers! This sure is some sign of future greatness?

I’m no Town planner or City designer, but I believe that a City is primarily meant for people, to move around effortlessly ‘on their legs’, without obstruction; and, clever infrastructure – in every dimension – to complement the walking. How do you modernise Salem? I shall start with one skeleton solution and pad it up with a few more to give it some flesh and muscle. This one thing that could bring about remarkable change, is to build PAVEMENTS, pedestrian walkways – like crazy – all over Salem, wherever you can, and especially on the streets where there is scope for people to hustle & bustle. We must construct large pavements to guard both sides of the street and squeeze the automobiles giving them just the tiniest possible space to ply in single file, or at best, in a two-way drive. A great City should encourage people to walk: it would keep them fighting fit!

There isn’t one decent pavement – except maybe around the Collector’s Office – to speak about, and the few ‘attempted sidewalks’ you can find have been hacked either by animals or temporary pavement Vendors and permanent Dwellers, or simply made unusable with earth and dirt dumping.

Now, the padding: Parking space is hard to come by and the traffic Police have brilliantly put up ‘No-Parking’ Boards (typically, 50m either way) on almost every area, where you wish, you could naturally park. Let me give you an example: Whenever I come over to shop in the Agraharam Bazaar, near the Old Bus-Stand, I park my car in the Corporation Paid Parking, in front of the Fort Temple, on the banks of the River Thirumanimuthaar – perhaps the most noisome region of Salem – where you can experience the heavenly sounds of just about everybody either “passing the one’s or exiting the two’s, aiyho! (it has been added to the Oxford English Dictionary). A holy collection, I swear! I then walk to the Bazaar, through the Town Police Station, the front of which, if sufficiently policed, can serve as a clever parking area (with free security by and of the Police); we can also build a futuristic vertical! Further, we should provide well-marked and controlled small distributed parking spaces for the two and four wheelers, wherever there is space, to fit them without mowing down the walking pedestrian.

The next is the flesh & muscle, actually a bundle of three applications to keep the pavement concept alive. First, cleanliness – with garbage bins placed at vantage points and collection religiously monitored. Second, superb public transport – Buses best suited at this stage, stopping & starting in clock-wise precision, only at pre-determined Stops and with fully closed doors  – to feed the shopping and commercial business areas with the public transport Terminus’s of the Bus-stand(s), Town Railway Station and City Railway Station. The objective should be to discourage private vehicle movement. Thirdly, efficient & handsome policing, with the citizen made to mindfully respect every signal and zebra line, without honking, and prevent the pavements from being occupied by stationary men and hard-to-move beasts. Without strict discipline, even the best-laid plans may go awry and the Police should be called to duty on enforcing this one, with a stinging whip!

We should be able to beautifully thread the leg-walking with the wheeled public transport system to get to anywhere in the busiest part of the City! Modern theatrics can come alive again to make Salem a smart City!

Footnote: The picture at the head of this essay shows the busy 1^st Agraharam Shopping area, hobbled with Street Vendors occupying nearly 50% of a seemingly broad street. They should all be sent packing for illegal-occupation of the tax-payer’s territory!

Noise, sourced from automobile honking, and the Loudspeaker menace emanating from the ‘Houses of Religion’, are my other favourites topics, which need to be vanquished, if not throttled to make Salem peaceful. Then, there is the need of the city oxygen-generators of parks and greenery; and, maybe a statue of poetess Avvaiyar, along with some artistic ones thrown in, to beautify the City. I shall visit this in another essay! Meanwhile, let’s pave the way for a modern Salem!

[Prologue: This is a recount of the School Reunion of Montfort Anglo-Indian High School, Yercaud (a full-time Boarding School, run by the Christian Montfort Brothers of St.Gabriel, nestled in beautiful Shevaroy Hills, near Salem, in Tamil Nadu State, India) when Boys-now Men, who passed out in two Batches: 1978 growing into the 1980 Batch- with some new boys joining in 1978 – return for a first ever three-day long get-together, called the ‘Golden Rendezvous’, at the place where it all started.

I first wrote this in the year 2002, in two-part emails, posting in the Yahoo Groups Montfort Class of 78&80, which ‘groups’ to this day!  We planned to re-group in 2010, but it happened only this year, 2016 along with the Centenary Celebrations of Montfort School. Read on…]

The ‘Golden Rendezvous’ of July 2002 was truly golden. Like trees turn to lignite to coal to diamond over millions of years, that’s where we are all heading! The guys have been piling up expletives like ‘one big hangover’, ‘great fun’ etc. I would, like King Cole sang long ago, simply say, ‘UNFORGETTABLE’.

For guys who missed out the unforgettable, here is an attempt to recreate that magic of the ‘Wonder Years’ of the Montfort Class of 1978 & 1980, at Yercaud, in the Summer of the year 2002.

Yercaud was mesmerising when it welcomed us warmly, with an all-embracing white blanket; most of us did not expect Yercaud to be so cold, after all these years! The evergreen Padma Stores Owner knew better, and the Class trooped to Padma to inspect his Spring – Winter collection’. He even had ‘models’ and bared all! Some sales, I guess!

The Class of 78&80 registrations at Sterling Resort, Yercaud, brought the potbellies and receding hairlines together, the beautiful wives and naughty kids, coyly looking at ‘their master creations’ from behind…with pride! The nick-names were all dug out and thrown around, but some like ‘crotch’ (Satyanarayana) faced sudden death (respecting the wife’s sentiments). Others like ‘homo’ (D. Mohan) ‘machaan’ (R. Manoharan) and ‘Chew’ (Ramesh Babu) scored, won great applause and would perhaps live to see 2010. ‘Are-you fame’ Rajkumar topped the hairline charts, came clean on top with LOC borders, followed by Chew – watch this space, needs a wife shine! Ponni (Pon Rathnam) offered stiff competition, showed great promise! Potbellies? Ponni was unbeatable in this area and had the biggest of them all!

Small & short Sabu Ganesan showed that he is made of real big stuff (which we never seemed to notice at School, or did we?) when he displayed his ‘one-shot’ triplets!!! Two daughters and a son! He appeared with a ‘bushed’ down Bin Laden beard! His wife helps him tear down tower teeth in Dubai. Watch out for the Sabu’s they are armed-to-the-teeth with genuine Indian made (population) exploding ‘trishul’ missiles! He is our ‘Top-Gun’.

Muscleman ‘Blunder’ (V.Suresh) came, stripped off his great muscle (Arnie stole them for Terminator-3?). He was one guy who was a pale imitation (physically) of his former self: otherwise, he ‘looked great’. Remember, I was his side-kick, trying to add muscle to my all-bone figure!

That evening, the arranged interaction with the Leaving Batch of Montfort, showed that that Montfort boys are still girl-starved. Montfort was gradually going co-ed, and the boys were concerned (actually thrilled) about the ‘purity levels’. Sudharkar preached IBM (he is being paid well). Rajiv spoke about ‘virtue & labour’ and Venkatachalam about ‘education’ (he is a University Chancellor!). I had to intervene to steer the interaction back to the girls (the tradition continues – old boys too are girl-starved?) and told them that the girls in Montfort would ultimately help them ‘become men’ sooner (The boys-being well read, gleefully applauded).

The informal dinner at Sekar’s Estate, saw the Class of 78&80 unplugging in MTV style. This created the perfect ambience for greater things to come! Non-smokers & Non-boozers emerged from the unbelievable (past) shadows to ‘down the spirits of Scotland & Ireland’. The wives too warmed-up, and the kids filled in the gaps with game & dance! Lala (Ravichandran) put up a ‘spirited’ show and showed the world he could also dance!

The show-piece and most unforgettable was the Reception the Class of 78&80 received at the Assembly of Montfort School, the next day. This was a master-piece painted by Principal ‘Fuse’. It was as if a doting mother had come out in all her splendour to welcome her long gone sons. The entire school had uniformed and assembled to sing hosannas to one of the best batches ever – they said so (a gathering of Chancellors, Vice-Chancellors, Scientists, Lawyers, Doctors Engineers & Businessmen…said Fuse). Ponni fulfilled his long-time ambition of addressing the school Assembly – a wonderful speech in ‘chaste English’. Joseph Kodianthara too addressed and enthralled with plain lawyer stuff (no wonder he is a damn good lawyer). This was followed by a ‘Fuse-guided-tour’ of the school, for the wives & kids. Daddy sat here…’slept there’ – the wives could be heard ‘explaining’ to the kids! With the hunger thus generated, we all explored the culinary delights of the school kitchen: a Buffet which served almost everything except ‘humming-bird tongues’.

After a splendid 1^st Day at School, we had to recoup at Sterling Resorts for a while. Later, guys like Rajiv, Lala & Selvi had the right buoyancy to lap in the swimming pool while the Class of 78&80 cricket team warmed up under ‘Casku’ Ashok Rajan Thomas to ‘world-cup’ the School Team (we ‘fixed-up’ with Azhar & Sangeeta at their new Gymn at Hyderabad on the work-out regime, what is their mobile number?) We batted first and walloped about 125 runs in ten overs. Indrajit (karuppi / blackie) was the scorer. Gee… he is a wiz at mathematics! ‘Casku junior’ was voted the best cheerleader-he swore it was impossible for his Dad to get out – the senior lived up to that! Sudharkar ‘moused the ball’ well, Rajiv tried in vain to knock his wife, Shalini, off the boundary wall…almost did it once! The school team did not get to bat as they were ‘Fused-off the field’- study time, said the boss! Casku swore he smelt bowling talent and even offered bowling tips. Meanwhile, we won effortlessly. “Match-Fixed” screamed the bookies! Oh Azhar!

The kids, then played football with the fathers: Shyam with his ‘walrus moustache’ as cross-hair aim ‘pele-d’ the ball-he is a natural ball player: guys would recall that he was a great Table Tennis Champ at School-imagine him seeing ping-pong balls the size of footballs!

We waited to hear the school siren yell the end of the day/school study hours, to treat the boys to a spectacular fireworks display on First Field, touched-off by Veera-led experts – ‘dil maange’ more, the boys demanded! Rajiv finally remembered his cricket and managed to edge a ‘sparkling-fire googly’ to an unsuspecting Shalini-almost burnt her for ‘Delhi dowry’ but we (like the heroes in the movies) saved her-reality bites! The white blanket mist-of my 1^st day recount – came alive again and we could not ‘maange more’ honour the pepsi slogan!

15 years (remember, I was a ‘SHY girl’ for three) of counting the ‘PWD holes’ on the Yercaud roads helped, as I led a Class of ‘blind guys’ back to Sterling Resorts, with my ‘eyes wide shut’: the mist was so awfully thick that one could barely see beyond the car bonnet!

We then ‘helped our wives get dressed’ for the formal dinner at Sterling! ‘Chew’ displayed ‘great shine’ as the master of ceremonies with his elegant wit & timed repartee. Lord-of-the-rings (Bro. Lawrence) gave us mind-boggling statistics of our excellent record at School (did we do all that?). Muruga-of-the-cows (Bro. Joseph) could not keep his strict bearing any longer and ‘cowed’ down, spreading the ‘milk of goodness’ all over! Principal Fuse spoke again-bored us to death this time, well almost! Then it was a return to ‘the spirits of Scotland & Ireland’. The kids and wives ‘V channeled’ on the dance floor…into the night. Tunku’s wife was a ‘High-Court hit’ so were Sampath’s sweet-sixteen daughter and Ponni’s going-on-fourteen son (they made a ‘sound of music’ pair – sorry he’s not seventeen!) and the Sabu trishul-missile-launched triplets! Meanwhile, many sneaked out…visited haunted houses, probably saw ghosts…and they have their own stories to tell! Go get them from the horses’ mouth!

We woke up the next day (3^rd Day) to Picnic at Fir Tree Estate-some walked their legs, others their cars! This spot is on the way to Aeroplane-Stream and belongs to an Uncle of R.M Narayanan, who has a daughter studying in a Business School and has high hopes of becoming the first Class 78&80 ‘official’ grandfather, but only after good old Appuswamy. Incidentally Appuswamy appeared during the cricket match, the day before: Appu left after Class VIII and married the very next year – I remember he had the nerve to send us a wedding photo! In that part of the country, near Salem, where he lives they call him “Vairamudi Gounder” (the Landlord with diamond hair). He left the same day and we could not get to pluck any ‘diamonds’ off him! Appu has ‘grandfathered’ many grandchildren (he is ‘western cool’ and quick on the draw).

The food and ‘spirits’ were simply outstanding at the picnic and throughout the re-union. For the first time in my life I noticed, I had a growing soon-to-be-pot-belly! At last, I had something before me! Can’t wait to ‘explode’ in 2010?

Suddenly it was all over….and the goodbyes began. We recorded on video and still photograph, gave our best smiles-showed ‘wonderfully polished’ teeth, standing among the potbellies, receding hairlines, beautiful wives and kids-who looked liked mom plus dad (I swear!) and sang…must we now part for ever…

Must we?

[Epilogue: The entire show was beautifully threaded by Venkat, Tunku & others of the Organizing Committee. The best part of the re-union was the ease with which we could connect with one another – a smile, a simple nod of the head, a tooth here (sometimes toothless!) a ‘Hi’ there was all that was needed to get a conversation going. We just talked and laughed as if we had known and been together all along…amazing! If we had kept all this among ourselves, there would have been no beauty to show off…many a flower is born to blush unseen and waste its fragrance on the desert sand…(Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard – Thomas Gray, Class X, I think!) Now, the wives and kids, by participating have become a part of the Class of 78&80 and have witnessed the beauty of Re-Union. They will help us keep these precious memories and thoughts alive…and that’s how we keep ‘evolving’ (please do ‘grow’ grandchildren and bring them along in 2010 Ha!)]

It’s the Wedding Season again in this part of Southern India and the Wedding Invitations come in a flood, draped in various outfits and mesmerising Spring-Summer collections: from midget-Small, through the normal –Medium & Large to the epic Encyclopedia ones – Extra Large, Double & Triple Extra Large! Each Invitation tells a story and provides a sumptuous meal for thought.

For starters, many do not seem to know the difference between ‘Wedding and Marriage’. Often they invite us to ‘take part in the marriage’ and most do the job by ‘soliciting’. The English language has become so common that it is not uncommon to ‘marry its misuse’.

A Wedding is a Ceremony, a Function, an Event, where a Man and a Woman (or, as things have now evolved – between any two persons) get married with all kinds of chants, hymns, blessings being thrown on the young (maybe old too) couple, hoping that they catch them all and stay married (to each other), and live happily together, hopefully for the rest of their lives. We invite family and friends to attend the Wedding Ceremony, and partake as witnesses (for legal purposes and future boundary issues) or as participants in the joyful celebrations. Once the Wedding event is over, the invitees ‘consciously uncouple’ from the Wedding so that the just married couple can get along with the more serious business of ‘executing the marriage’ or, if they cannot, at short notice (sometimes it happens within minutes – like a famous Virgin would sing to you!) they divorce, and may get married again in another Wedding Ceremony. Got it? Of course, the Wedding bells ring-in on property and inheritance and intends to put a cap on them for future claims – cash or estate!

Now let’s move ahead to the wording of the Wedding Invitation itself. I find it awfully hard to accept the word “solicit” (typically an Invitation would begin with, I solicit your esteemed presence…) find an honourable place in a Wedding Invitation, given the history of the word “solicit”. It might now be quite normal to use the word more generically – in an ever changing world; but if you dig the history of the word “solicit” you find that it is typically applied to Prostitutes earnestly requesting sex-work; gathered in the heart of the City or in the dark by-lanes of a Town or in the arteries of a Village; they tout for business, make sexual advances to secure business in sex. Wow! Would you solicit people to attend a Wedding? What business are you in?

A Wedding Invitation – I would not invite anybody to my marriage (that’s confidential) – being formal, should it not be in the third person? It is the one occasion in your life where you treat yourself  as a Queen/Princess or King/Prince? Hence, you would say, His Royal Highness invites so and so…rather, Mrs and Mr Kumar invite you to the Wedding of their Daughter/Son… We would expect guests to attend the Wedding, eat, drink, dance, make merry and leave – and not stay back to ‘participate in the process of marriage’, would you? It’s not difficult to visualise the consequences!

So much for the titles, lets move over to the sub-titles. It’s almost mandatory to pout the educational qualifications of the Bride & Groom and where they are employed. I saw an invitation where – thank the Printer – the degree / educational qualification of the Bride & Groom was not mentioned, but that of the brother of the bride was boldly indicated (almost with a shout) that too with an unfinished stroke over the Post Graduation. Is this an advertisement, rather ‘soliciting’ a partner – next in line? Then, there are others where a long list of who’s who in the Country (sorry, Family) is listed, as special invitees, along with wives, children (they are called fancy names in the vernacular, such as ‘kutties’ – kids); maybe someone will add their pet dog and cat too! The worst is, if you invite a Political Biggie to head the Wedding; then it’s all banners and party festoons, and colours and designations… you will have to hunt with marriage dogs for the Bride & Groom in the Invitation!

Why cannot we simply keep the Invitation simple and formal – talking about the couple and their parents (or the inner circle) – nobody else, and how, and where the Celebrations are being held (and whether to bring small or large presents). Does it ever matter! There was one Invitation which came in the form of a ‘Large’ gold spangled Booklet (cost would have sufficed for a quick honeymoon trip in the nearest Hill Station) where there was never one mention of a phone number one could call up to RSVP! Well they were a highly placed Business Group, high also in Society and perhaps they though that including a phone number would be equal to soliciting? (Business, or otherwise!).

Lets invite guests to the Wedding Ceremony and allow the couple to keep the marriage between themselves! Mind the Invitation!

[Prologue: I wrote this hilarious Essay in 2008, after I moved to Delhi in 2006, at a time ‘road-rage’ was fashionable  on the Delhi roads, and when you could get shot for daring to challenge someone messing with the traffic rules! Perhaps, it’s still about the same!]

I’ve always been fascinated by Cowboys, Red-Indians (and John Wayne movies) and the wild-wild West. I never realised how much of an Urban Cowboy I had become living on the wild-wild Delhi ‘trail.’

I drifted in from yonder Southern state of Tamil Nadu and speak with a cool ‘idli-sambhar’ drawl. I wear two ‘temper guns’ slung low on the waist, the butts smooth with constant use. I had almost become a domesticated guy before riding, into Delhi, many years ago, when a certain Delhi Lieutenant  / Sheriff made me realise that without an ID, I have no identity and live in a lawless Country. For months, I laid sprawled on the sidewalks and then one day, I bought myself a 45 Horse Hyundai at the Double ‘H’ Ranch – a mix of Korean & Indian stock, said the Dealer – and rode into Town!

I ride furiously, the spur always drawing blood. I ferociously guard the trail and shoot down anyone crossing my path, both guns blazing. I am a name to reckon with in these parts and they call me SUDDEN. At the cross-roads, I ride like hell fearing a ‘Red Indian’ ambush but slow-down on seeing Orange and stop on seeing Green. I feed my Horse speed-grass with energy boosters, at the local filling station and saddle him up myself!

I met a sullen beauty with raven black hair (cascading to her waist – I wished it did!) and we bought ourselves a place at the edge of the Delhi creek, near the Yamuna-Grande River, overlooking the Double ‘H’ Ranch, and called it the Double ‘M’ Ranch. We raised a single kid who grew into an Urban Cowboy as well, but drove Colts like we did ’em grown up Stallions! We often meet-up over mug coffee at the Home camp-fire place, ‘herding cow stories’. He affectionately calls me ‘Dad’, tosses over an iPhone and sleeps in the saddle – but watches my back!

I’ve never been bushwhacked and live to tell my tale.

Indian Independence Days are becoming mighty routine with the Government wearing colourful turbans and ‘Talking Loud’ from the ramparts of the Red Fort in a ‘strange language’ – that many of us think we understand. We then digress to the life of the Father of the Nation; debate about Gandhi & Bose (who did a better job in getting us our Independence: the one with the Stick or the one with the Gun?), and go home to watch the mother of all TV Shows: the Tamil style debates, ‘Patti-Mandrams’ do roaring business on such occasions. Along the way, we buy and wave the tri-colour or glue it to the ‘podium’ of our cars, where it stays!

I’m a wee bit cynical at the moment, seeing the disastrous performance of India at the Rio Olympics. One little girl, Dipa Karmakar showed us – in a brief ‘Produnova’ vaulting moment – that we are actually made of mind-boggling stuff deep inside, but refuse to flex that muscle & use intrinsic yoga powers for snake-charming our way to a ton of medals! Remember, we once won an uninterrupted string of Gold Medals in Hockey (…they came, like Wordsworthian daffodils, in a never ending stream) – stick-to-stick and then… one fine Olympic Summer, we got beaten blue, black & brown, by the biggest stick, ever. No looking back!

Time to readjust our cross-hairs, focus and set ourselves a ‘modest’ goal of winning not less than 20 Medals (any metal) in the 2020 Tokyo Olympics. Let’s do it!

Over the past weeks I watched with glee, the passing of India’s path-breaking Goods & Services Tax (GST), but was disappointed that the “Ammadified” Men-in-white of the AIADMK (a Regional Political Party of Tamil Nadu, headed by a Leader who calls herself Amma – mother ) chose to stage a walk-out of Parliament – while every other Party voted, ‘Yes’. Walking-out is now a full–time job of the Tamil Nadu Politician: the DMK (the Opposition party in TN) is always doing it in Chennai; and with the Zika Virus having infested the AIADMK with the deadly walking-out disease – they are doing the same in Delhi. Right now, the Vesthi’s & Lungi’s are down. But, may be a time would come when they would lift it, fold it neatly half-way, show their stripes (shoot-the-cat: translate to Tamil, literally), and stage a cat-walk out! You never know! The DMK Opposition Leader should have stuck to his colorful pants (& shirts) –perhaps borrowed a sun-striped suit & boot from the Honorable PM of India.

Meanwhile, at the Rio Olympics, India has outsourced all Medal Winning to a certain Mr. Phelps (spotted with ancient Chinese pain killing bubbles on his Herculean shoulders) – we gotta check out his genes: maybe there is an Indian hiding somewhere! By the time India wins a medal, Rahul Gandhi may grow a very long white beard and PM Modi may switch to a clean-shaven look! We hope that they, and we, get meaningful insights by then!

The ‘Discovery of India‘ is happening again, and Indian Parliamentarians have finally discovered that POK is an integral part of J&K and India! Wow! Wonder, what the PO is doing in K? Should not we take back what is rightfully ours? Send Rajinikanth to sing in Kashmir…MGR’s did not work! Someone is already shooting Kabali-2? Or, why not ‘Kashmir Beautiful Kashmir’

There’s a lot happening in India! Some things happen only in India!