Over Scene

Yes. You will understand the title only if you know Tamil, I am afraid. Don't ask why. The expression, though English in script and vocabulary, is essentially Tamilian in its usage and character. It refers to anyone or anything that assumes a sense of superiority. Often, without grounds.

Moving on, I have recently been reading a lot of celebrity blogs(mostly singers) and almost all of them talk about how they are living in an ethically disappointing world and how they struggle with being celebrities in an unkind and unjust society that is ready to spread gossip about them. And then, they go on to talk about how THEY will never compromise on their values and how they will keep persevering and so on. One person (I won't mention name and all pah!), even goes on to indicate that s/he is one of the few people with values/ethics/morals and that s/he will remain so forever even if s/he has to fight the world!

To them or he/r, I would like to say this: "Over Scene!".

What do ethics/morals/values mean in today's world? Aren't they highly relative, not to mention subjective and culture-specific? Morals are in place so that they can help an individual live by the rules of a society and therefore help him/her fit into it better. Of course, it helps him/her to be nice to the society and thereby contribute to it, so that successive generations can live better and be happier. Period. That is all.

How can anyone think of themselves as totally and completely ethical! That is just Over Scene. Okay. I live by the rules my parents laid out for me. And I am working by the rules my company has laid out for me. What if my father says one thing, my mother says another and my grandparents say something. Who do I listen to? Don't I then, make an informed choice as to what I want to follow? Then, isn't there a wide gap between two people who think they are ethical? All of us think we are sufficiently morally and ethically sound! Who thinks otherwise?! Nobody.

Honestly, accusing the society of being unethical is just unacceptable. It is incorrect and conceited of  you to say "Oh God! I live in a world where nobody has any principles! I am alone in my fight against immorality." A celebrity at that. We all know how much self respect and morality you need to give up on the way to becoming one. Just saying. It is only a matter of perception and upbringing. It varies from one family to another. One culture to another. One country to another. Especially in the 21st century, morality is a highly relative concept that is quite open to change. Having three wives in the Middle East is not immoral. Imagine the same scenario at an agrahaaram in Kumbakonam or Srirangam. That's all! When morality itself is such a fluid concept, you simply cannot put down the society or other people for being immoral. Because YOU define what is moral for you. Imposing it on the society is just Over Scene.

Really, I would like to know who draws the line between morality and immorality. If you happen to know, I would like to have a word or two with her. I am so SURE it is a 'her'. 

What I See

• A middle-aged couple holding hands, waiting for a bus at the bus stop. They are blind. Lost in their wonderful world of overwhelming sounds, smells and companionship.

• A forgotten dhargah. A misfit in the busy, dusty Bangalorean landscape, it stands for everything the city does not. Peace. Divinity. Death. It must have been significant once and probably still is, to a group of people, but mostly it just looks like it does not belong. The pir in the main tomb that is covered with a shabby green silky cloth probably watches buses roll by all day long, wondering where everyone was off to, when he was right there, ready to bless anyone who cared to look. I take off my earphones and tip my head down.

• At 7:45 p.m, a badly dressed man on an old, noisy motorcycle zooms towards a lady walking on the footpath, screaming at her. The people who are walking with her, turn towards the seemingly drunk man, wondering how they should protect her. He comes closer, stops, bends down and picks up her fallen handbag, wordlessly hands it back to her, and zooms past, leaving behind a stunned and wiser crowd of judgmental people. Including me.

Gurukulam Part 3

Picking up where I left:

So, Aishwarya and I began going to music classes thrice a week after school. Towards the end of the last bell at three thirty, I used to get a sinking feeling in my stomach, on imagining sitting through an hour of music class, which would sometimes extend to two/three hours depending on Aunty’s mood.

This sinking feeling would turn to plain dread when our auto turned around the corner of the Aavin store where we would buy flavoured milk, as instructed by our mothers. Writing this brings back vivid images of the Aavin booth, our school uniforms and the smell of dirty canvas shoes, the flavoured milk with its horribly artificial flavour that was firmly passed off as “Chocolate flavour” by the Aavin people and of Bril ink that permanently stained our fingers and faces.

The “Padmanabha nagar” board would set our hearts racing. I do not know why we were terrorised by the thought of music classes. It is not like Aunty tortured us or anything! In fact, she used to give us hot, yummy snacks before instructing us to “turn on the shruthi box”. Whenever she said this, it automatically meant the following:

1. There will be no more mundane discussions.
2. Only the highest quality music will prevail for the next one hour or so.

The process of “unlearning” was focussed on, as Aunty believed that once that was done, we were clay in her hands.

But we were still quite abysmal. Aunty had extremely sensitive ears and we could see that each note sung off tune would cause her nothing less than pain. She would then, no longer remain the sweet and easy going person that she was. We have cried so many many times within those four walls. She would later joke about it to new students - “Ganga, Yamuna, Saraswathi ellam odirku indha veetila” (“this house has seen some major rivers”).

This went on for a while; the tears, bad music ( from our side ) and fear.

We didn’t entirely fail as students though. We genuinely wanted to learn and were excited about new exercises. She once told us that for the building to be strong, the foundation must be strong too! So, for another two or three months, we were to sing only “Sa”, a hundred and eight times everyday. In order to keep count, she suggested getting a tulsi mala, which would be blessed by her.

 My! It was such a novelty. The tulsi mala, to us, symbolised the beginning of new and exciting things. We would flaunt it happily and dramatically shut ourselves up in our rooms, singing “Sa”, a hundred and eight times, pretending to be saint-singers, like Meera. Of course, the Sa would come out all shaky and off tune but we felt good and important nevertheless. :)

For two weeks anyway. After that, the mala would be found under the bed, on the TV, near the phone… well… in places where holy and blessed malas shouldn’t be found. Till date, that has been the only problem with my musical journey. An absolute lack of will power and commitment.

The innocent and total surrender to the teacher and her instructions would wear off and lethargy and “rational thinking” would kick in. This is a horrible situation I tell you. Questions that have no business popping into your head, pop into your head!

Why must I do this? Isn't it a bit silly?

 I mean, nobody ELSE does such things.

Is she just pulling my leg?

You simply cannot be and do all that. Rational thinking is a big no-no as far as musical education is concerned. As Aunty used to stress on the “Jumping Into The Well If Told To” philosophy. In the Gurukul system, one must have absolute faith in the Guru, so much so that if the teacher was to tell the student to jump into a well, he must be ready to. Such was the level of faith required out of the student, in the teacher, and the system.

I was only nine years old, and Aishwarya, twelve.

We would be told to do something which we would start out to do with utmost sincerity, only to be pulled back by something or the other, to a state of indifference and lethargy.

We never really understood that the knowledge our teacher was willing to give us was precious. Supreme even. All we had to do was, receive. Receive with humility, and a sense of wonderment that that kind of knowledge deserved.

to be continued…

Gurukulam Part 2

The open grill gate led to the living room that further led to the single bedroom and a kitchen to the right. It was a comfortable, airy, sun-lit house. A middle aged woman with closely cropped hair emerged from the kitchen. Her complexion was on the darker side, but her features were, well, royal.

“Vaango, vaango” (come, come), she said brightly.

“Sorry, naan romba kevalama irukken ininki'”(sorry I look terrible today), she added, not in the least bit self conscious.

“Paravale paravale”(that is okay, that is okay), said my thaata, unconvincingly.

She sank into a comfortable armchair with big, boldly coloured flowers. She then wordlessly switched on the shruthi box and set it to ‘A’ or six.

“Sit”, she said, to us.

We dutifully sat on the floor.

“Sing”.

I panicked.

Aishwarya cleared her throat authoritatively and started singing the customary “Sa Pa Sa”, as taught by Karpagam maami.

Coming to think of it, the whole purpose of this exercise was defeated when Karpagam maami sang “Sa Pa Sa”. For those of you who are not familiar with Indian classical music, every singer sings the notes Sa, Pa and Sa before he/she starts singing anything else. The exercise is supposed to help the singer tune his/her system to the prevailing sruthi or pitch. But it didn’t help maami much, I’m sorry to say, because she managed to sing Sa Pa Sa resolutely off tune every single time.

Needless to say, we followed her. Rather, Aishu followed her and I followed Aishu.

Aunty winced.

“Sruthi”, she said, gesturing towards the blameless sruthi box.

Aishu stared at the box and pretended to listen and infer something deep from it. And started
again. I followed.

We belted out “Naan oru vilayatu bommaya” ( Am I a doll?) with just a touch of over enthusiasm.

That was one of the four songs we sang wherever we went. There was never an occasion when we weren’t expected to perform to large groups of eager, music- starved maamis and maamas.

Aishu and I were so disturbingly sure of our talent that we never needed to be told more than once to sing. The syllable “paa..” (paadu, is the tamil word for “sing”) was enough for Aishu to clear her throat and sing “Sa Pa Sa”.. and for me to follow suit.

Aunty listened expressionless throughout.

We finished the song, the climax of the song being the repetition of the word “bommaya” (meaning.. doll? the question mark intended) thrice with gusto, leaving the listeners to reflect on the philosophical implication of the words (there wasn’t one!).

Aunty said, “Very good”. Aishwarya and I exchanged smug smiles.

“But..”, she said.

“We need to start from scratch”.

We were still reeling under the shock of it when she added, “My style is.. different. So, you will be re-learning the basics. I’m sorry to disappoint you. You seem very.. erm… advanced in your lessons and may want to progress further”. (We later learnt that, it was unadulterated sarcasm)

Aishu nodded miserably. I followed.

“Well.. we’ll start off with sarali varuse (the absolute basics)”, she said.

She then looked at my mother and said, “Naalaiku nalla naal..kootindu vaango.. pakalam” (tomorrow is an auspicious day… bring them.. lets see).

We all smiled politely and left.

The issue of “fees” never came up. It is supposed to be rude to discuss money as far as holy things like music education is concerned.


to be continued….

Gurukulam Part 1

I was exactly six years old when I started learning music.


Karpagam maami used to come home about twice a week and my cousin Aishwarya and I used to spread a paai(straw mat) and wait for her arrival with an emotion that was roughly this: dread.

Yes. We totally loathed those classes; I more than Aishu, because she was the teacher’s pet and had a powerful voice that made mine sound like a whimper, that is, if I managed to make any sound of significance at all.

It was entirely my music-crazy grandmother’s idea. One lazy afternoon when I was quietly playing with my toys, blissfully unaware of my grandmother’s rather ambitious thoughts of making me a “great carnatic musician”, she asked me to name the raaga of the song that was playing on TV. Just to get out of the difficult situation I was put in, I named the only raaga I could remember at that point. Kalyaani. Who would have imagined that the theory of probability was only a theory and that Murphy’s law is an actual law?? I was right.

That fateful answer triggered a lot of events. One of them being Karpagam maami and her classes. The other of course, is what happens in every respectable brahmin household. Bragging. My paati, bless her soul, told all our relatives and a few who weren’t, about how I have the clear markings of a genius. Coming to think of it, this should have been an embarrassing thing, but it wasn’t. I genuinely enjoyed all the undeserved attention.

Consequentially, there was a lot of pressure on me to live upto the expectations of my paati. She was the one who was more enthusiastic than we were about music classes. She would always sit with us and nod in approval/disapproval and sometimes offer suggestions to maami on what to teach us. And I would struggle to be heard. I had a very thin voice, that thankfully became more powerful as I grew older.

Well, after one year, Karpagam maami stopped taking classes. I forget why, but she did. Meanwhile, my paati passed away.

Her encouragement/support/inspiration never did.

Aishwarya and I started showing signs of interest of our own, something that took even us by surprise. My grandfather used to frequent concerts and knew many people as a result. Padmasini aunty was one of them. Thaatha described her as a “friend who is a music teacher”. He said, “She also dabbles in research and things like that.. I can take you to her if you want”.

to be continued..

Immortality

Today is a sad day for the creative fraternity. Pt. Bhimsen Joshi, may he rest in peace, the man who gave new life to Kirana Gharana, who was considered by many as God, who was so lost in the world of perfect musical notes that he wandered endlessly (both physically and musically), whose childlike humility and pure genius took him to the very pinnacle of the classical music pyramid, passed away today.

It is very surprising how these things happen but this morning, when I was travelling to work by bus, I was listening to a bhajan sung by him. It is one of my favourite bhajans but it had been nearly a year since I had listened to it. I felt like listening to it today, of all the days, and yet again admired his intuitive presentation of it.

While having breakfast at work, the news of Bhimsen Joshi's death flashed across the TV screen. I was not exactly sad. Because to me, he has always lived only in his music. Music, that was ceaselessly available to me. Music, that was probably distributed cautiously but lovingly to his students and those who were willing and able to receive even the tiniest portion of his incomprehensibly complex creativity and intuition.

Pt. Bhimsen Joshi, at a very young age was captivated by Ustad Abdul Kharim Khan's gramophone recording of Raga Jhinjoti, that he heard in a nearby tea shop. He was determined to learn from him and took a train that was headed towards North India. He was penniless. And yet he went. He begged for food and sang songs for fellow passengers. After that, he learnt from various maestros but was never satisfied. He strove to evolve his own style of singing and was open to new ideas from other gharanas.

Once, at Harballabh festival, when Rais Khan was performing, a very drunk Bhimsen Joshi made an entry through the backstage, behind Rais Khan. The crowd went mad for "Panditji". A delighted Panditji waved at the crowd. Poor Rais Khan thought that he had managed to please the very critical music connoisseurs at Harballabh and acknowledged the crowd's appreciation by bowing to them. The authorities managed to lead Panditji away from the stage, but he re-entered to give Darshan to the other side of the audience and at this point, one of Rais Khan's sitar strings snapped. While he was repairing his instrument, the crowd roared, at the sight of Panditji. This time Rais Khan knew that something was wrong and said to the crowd in pure urdu that he wanted to share his god-given music with the people of Harballabh but would leave if they wanted him to. Crowd was still screaming for Panditji who stood grinning, literally behind Rais Khan's back. Rais Khan felt offended and left the stage. By that time "We want Panditji.." chant was everywhere and the authorities wrote Bhimsen Joshi's name on the black board, indicating that the crowd needn't fear. Panditji would be performing soon.

Bhimsen Joshi, dressed splendidly and wrapped in a silk shawl, sat on stage. Drunk. But the time for passing judgements was long gone. All that mattered to the crowd was that Panditji, their God, was going to honour their request and Sing. :) Panditji started off with his famous pose, where he bends down with his arms spread out, to find "Sa". The crowd waited with bated breath, but Panditji never resurfaced. After a very long time, he got up, sang a fast composition, usually reserved for the end of the concert and left. The crowd pleaded with him to sing atleast one khayal. And he replied, with genuine shock, "What?! Where were you? Did you not listen to the Mal Kauns I sang for two hours?".

The man will live. Through his musicand his many many fans/devotees. But I wish, rather selfishly, that I imbibe his spirit and passion.

Wini

The Ideal Concert

This kutcheri season, I have been listening to some new singers, some new raagas and some very new styles of Carnatic music itself. However, to the disappointment of the Hindustani enthusiast in me, there have not been too many non-carnatic concerts in the city. I have been told that there aren't many hindustani fans in Chennai but I beg to differ. Hindustani is slowly but surely making its way into the hearts of Chennaiites. After all, who can resist the charm of absolute tunefulness, characteristic of Hindustani music! By this, I do not mean that Carnatic music is tuneless. That would just be blasphemy, after yesterday's brilliant "Ranjani-Gayathri" concert. :)

I am just saying that in Hindusthani music, it is simply unforgivable to start G in the place of R even if it does, in certain cases, enhance the beauty of the raaga. The rules are more stringent when it comes to placement of notes. Any student will tell you that their first exercise was to sing just Sa for six months. No Vara Veena, no Mohana Varnam, just Sa. This is probably why Hindusthani singers simply cannot sing in tune if there is a slight pitch variation in the tanpura.

I distinctly remember a particularly enchanting concert by Begum Parween Sultana, in Chennai (German Hall?), that my aunt took me to, around five years ago. She was in her element that day. Her Sindhubhairavi aalap (Bhavani Dayani) was so spontaneous and so beautiful that the entire hall responded in unison to the intricacies of it. There were collective gasps and "wah wah"s and "kya baat hai" s  in the auditorium. It felt like a community bonding ritual, which in some sense it probably was!

I usually find the "kalpanaa swarams" sung by Carnatic musicians practiced and mechanical. Almost never is there any kalpanaa involved and if you have heard one you have heard them all. There are exceptions of course. Bombay Jayashree has given some fantastic concerts and so have Ranjani and Gayathri (though they sing together, I like Ranjani better). To me, a great concert is defined by the spontaneity of the singer. A Hindustani musician always respects the mood of the audience and none including the musician will know how the concert is going to shape up, until the very end of it. This is a very enjoyable quality in a Hindustani concert. This is what makes it worthwhile to skip prerecorded tracks and go to concerts instead. A Carnatic concert is more rigidly structured. There is usually not much room for audience opinion or reaction. Irrespective of whether the audience is "tch-tch-ing" appreciatively or it predominantly consists of individuals trying to yawn politely, the singer with simply plough through the Thyagaraja Kriti with his eyes closed, saving him the pain of having to look at the said politely yawning individuals AND giving him a look of spiritual ecstasy.

I have always found the quality of a concert to be directly proportional to the quality of the audience. Crying babies, ringing cell phones, loud people really do put off any decent singer. Imagine a loud Suprabatham ring tone in 6 when the singer is struggling to stretch out a tuneful Sa in 5! The violator of the kutcheri code of conduct then proceeds to answer the call and "whisper" a not-so-hurried "I'm in a concert.. naan apram phone pannata?! okay?! Amma appa va ellam ketadha sollu. Rajesh enna panran? Nadakaraana?". I swear this happened. There is always better conduct in a Hindustani concert. People dress with more care, make sure they acknowledge all the elderly people in the crowd by touching their feet or by indicating a "pranaam". The musician himself is quite vocal in his appreciation of the accompanying artists, which is sadly missing in Carnatic concerts these days. Parween Sultana especially, smiles beautifully and nods in appreciation of the person playing the harmonium whenever he tries something new or pulls off a rather neat sangathi. Very endearing. Also, needless to say, this brings out the best in everyone including the rasikas who are generously complimented by the artist during intervals. More importantly, respectful silence is maintained. Also, before performing certain songs, the artist talks about his guru in poetic urdu. Though I fail to understand certain words, they sound so beautiful and you can tell that he has a great deal of respect for his guru and  pride in thegharana he comes from. I think, it is for this experience that I crave Hindustani concerts.

The audience is expected to have a lot of patience. Most aalaps go on for 45 minutes and khayals and dhrupads in Vilambit taal  proceed at a snail's pace and could be heavy for the average rasika. But, like Sheila Dhar (a famous singer and connoisseur of Hindustani music) says in her book "Raaga n Josh" , "Wait. It will happen". Once, during Vishwamohan Bhatt's concert in Chennai, he and his son were playing a rather fast tune and his string snapped. After a while his son's strings snapped too. They unhurriedly repaired their strings while the audience maintained pin-drop silence. It took them nearly half an hour to finish up but the audience waited. I was happy. It is just embarrassing when great artists have to perform to impatient audience.

Begum Parween Sultana said over and over again that she loves the knowledgeable Chennai crowd. When she sang her famous "Mein to Leeno", a Meera Bhajan, the crowd ooh-ed and aah-ed, especially when she hit the odd or minor notes in the predominantly major composition. She took the opportunity to play around the minor notes, to the great joy of the audience. It was a treat. I am sure everyone went home happy that evening!

Rambling

I have been suffering from a long and painful period of writer's block. I said to myself that I should not let this dreadful disease take over and decided to write about the first thing that came to my mind.


a. Placements (Happening in my college right now. They come with a truck, load 1500 ppl in it, and drive away. No. Really.)
b. Music. (Music what? Dunno)
c. Single room (because I'm living in one. Come on Ashwini. There has got to be something better that you can write about. Surely. You needn't be funny. You needn't be your usual interesting self(! :P). Write about something! Anything.. but not about your single ROOM!)
                                                                  
                                                                             ****


Been watching a lot of TED talks recently. The problem with these talks is that, on the one hand, they inspire you so much that you want to be them, do what they are doing, and think what they are thinking. On the flip side, you know you can't. But it is painfully disappointing to realise that; because for twenty whole minutes while watching the video, you feel like you can be them. You most whole heartedly believe it.

Just like the Disney movies that tell little girls that they are all princesses in their own way.

Yeah right.

Tell that to a girl living in Mumbai's slums or the ones that have been sold into prostitution. Disney movies, I tell you, are so misleading. Believing is good. Fantasy is good too. But too much of it disconnects you from the realities of life. Just like any good romantic movie would.

How many of us are still waiting for our Leopolds to travel into the future and sweep us off our feet, after watching Hugh Jackman and Meg Ryan in the movie, Kate & Leopold? The worst part is that we somehow BELIEVE that people are entitled to such flawless lives and flawless relationships. We deserve them. We deserve a Hugh Jackman. Are We Meg Ryans? Who cares? Our Leopolds must love us the way we are because thats what the Leopold in our minds do.

Why don't movies show us the sacrifices to be made in friendships and romantic relationships?! Why do they almost always end with "Happily Ever After"? With a white car driving away, with the happy bride and the gorgeous groom! What happens when their Reid & Taylor/ Armani suits fray or they get too big to fit into them? When the bride's white dress goes out of fashion? When it has been many many years since all their wedding presents broke?!

Is there any love left? I genuinely wonder about all this when I attend weddings. I know that most of us (girls) dream about our wedding, but it stops there. The wedding day. With the beautiful clothes and jewelery, the handsome, seemingly perfect groom, being doted on by friends and family, all the glittering presents, etc. I hardly think about life beyond that day. My career after that, yes. My weight after that, yes(with a lot of worry!). But never my actual LIFE after that, if you know what I mean. And mostly, my husband disappears from my mental visions of marriage after the beautiful, glittering wedding and it is just me and my big successful career (is it even healthy??!)! ;) The effect that these Disney movies, romantic fiction (Danielle Steel, anyone?) and rom-com movies have on us is massive. We are simply unable to picture a less-than-perfect (real) guy. Are we perfect? Of course not, but that hardly matters for, the perfect guy must be perfect enough to accept our imperfections right? So OBVIOUSLY, at one point of time, there is a reality check in every girl's life where the perfect Disney images in her mind vanishes, just like that tooth fairy and Santa did, when she was little.

Movie makers: Make realistic movies with realistic average looking people with average heights and average intelligence. Here's why. Hugh Jackman married a woman 16 years older than him and Meg Ryan is divorced.

I am not judging.

It is time these movie makers realised the impact of visual media. With the 3D experience, it has just become stronger. They have a responsibility towards the society. They cannot show violence and dangerous heroics in a good light. They should not show wife-beating as a daily activity allowed by social norms! (Tamil movies. They are the reason behind violent male chauvinism in the tamilian society.) They should not show India as an impoverished, corrupt country because they must realise that Bollywood has a global audience. Similarly, perfect marriages, perfect relationships, perfect colleges and schools where students with perfect skin and hair are allowed to wear skimpy uniforms and bunk classes simply MUST NOT be shown. To those directors: Please come to Tamil Nadu and take a tour of our most popular schools and colleges will you?!

Movies promote the culture of  remaining frozen in time and perfection. Result? Plastic surgery and divorce. Especially in the west where there is a huge Hollywood influence. But it is slowly creeping into India too. Bollywood is no better when it comes to promoting good things like a healthy body image!

These are the things that really need to be censored. Don't you think so?!

Bottom line: Writer's block-> Goodbye! :)

Sinfully Sandy's

The sad part about being in Chennai is that there is just one Mcdonald's and ,no Starbucks or Dunkin' Donuts. On the bright side, we have Sandy's Chocolate Laboratory. The seat of innovation, when it comes to absolutely sinful desserts.


It is very surprising that many Chennaiites don't really know about the place because it is so small that it consists of just one table. Yes. One big oak table. Sandy's Chocolate Laboratory sits on an unnoticeable part of Greenways Road. They do not advertise either. This is probably why not many people go there but, this is also why those of us who do, like it so much!


Apart from the exotic range of desserts (mainly chocolate based ones), the primary appeal lies in the way they are served. In beakers ,test tubes and decanters! :) Hence the term "laboratory"! The first time I went there with my friends, I was pleasantly surprised by the ambiance. It was simple yet classy. Highly suitable for casual chats and informal "long-time-no-see" kind of meetings. Only two waiters were in sight, one of whom might have actually been the owner, one never knows!

If two different groups want to sit at the table, they'll just have to sit a few seats apart. No other go. There are chocolate mousses and brownies with a variety of toppings ranging from cream and fruits to chocolate chip cookies. Powdered chocolate chip cookies is always served with the main dessert. So is, for reasons beyond my understanding, chocolate milk! My friend ordered chocolate fondue with fruits and he got a beaker of molten chocolate on a Bunsen burner and another beaker full of fruits. The idea is to dip the fruits in the chocolate. I got a beaker full of traditional chocolate brownie with hot chocolate sauce and ice cream. It was very hard to eat all of it by myself, though it was undoubtedly the best brownie I had ever tasted!


What I DIDN'T like about SCL was the unprofessionalism, if there is such a word ( if there isn't then there should! ) . It is the kind of place that can unscrupulously serve dark chocolate if it runs out of milk chocolate. And all chocolate lovers know what a big deal that is! The other thing is the sheer unaffordability of the desserts. One tiny glass of spiced, molten chocolate (called xocolate) costs around 200 Rs.!


But hell! It is chocolate! And there are people who would give an arm and a leg for a taste of some the finest  desserts in India. If you are one of them then Sandy's Chocolate Laboratory is definitely your haven!:)

They are fake tears Ashwini!

Watched Devdas for the 28th time today (no I'm not counting!). Cried again!! What is it about Shah Rukh Khan that makes people cry?I mean, if you listen to just his dialogues, they'll sound downright corny. In fact, these days when I listen to SRK talk, I am only reminded of a tamil mimicry artist who does a brilliant imitation of him. Even as a forlorn, alcohol- downing , aristocratic bengali lover, he sounds corny!

Yet... and yet.. he made me cry again for a stupid romantic scene where an overdone Aishwarya Rai touches his feet dramatically after her wedding(to someone else!) ceremony. SRK gives her a kankan and the two of them laugh and cry at the same time. It is all very heart breaking! And then, he takes her by the hand and leads her to the palanquin, the haunting voice of Kavitha Subrahmaniam and Birju Maharaj's "Hamesha Tumko Chaha" don't help the situation. Just when you thought you would get through the movie without shedding a tear (atleast this once), SRK simply HAS to carry her palanquin with a look of "silent strength" these bollywood actors have mastered over the decades.

That was when the dam broke!