Return of the Prodigal Son

Older, hopefully wiser. We return to create prose.  Aye!

The Extra Large (XL) superbowl

I just finished watching the 40th Superbowl. Sadly the team I was rooting for, the Seattle Seahawks, lost 21-10 to the Steelers. Good match though.
I was introduced to American football (and the Superbowl) two years ago while on a project in Minneapolis. Being confined to my hotel room by -25 degrees Fahrenheit temperatures I couldn't avoid the event. Being an Indian I was initially repulsed by the seemingly mindless wrestling match the game seemed to be. The only redeeming part about the whole show, it appeared, was Janet Jackson's exhibition. Although I would have sincerely preferred Jennifer Lopez.
But over the last few months I have made some effort to understand the game and actually find it a bit interesting. I was struck by how much more of a marketing event the superbowl is, rather than a sporting event. There is a huge 3 hour pre-game TV orgy with every has-been, will-be, never-ever-will-be celebrity tries to get a looksee. Apparently 95 mn people tune in. There is also some kind of award to the best new TV advertisement aired during the spectacle.
The half-time show is another huge source of entertainment or so the NFL would have us believe. While this time the Rolling Stones did a creditable job (old rubber lips is apparently 62 yrs old!) it was definitely flat like most American beer.
An interesting effect I have seen is that many Indian males who have been in the US for some time, become ardent fans of the game. They mug up all the statistics and names of the players and teams and have positively vociferous opinions. Throw in a dash of beer/birra and the voluble desi takes over, embarrassing all and sundry. All good fun!
The cheerleaders were easy on the eye after watching 300 pound ugly males charging around in tighsuits. That's another area I am mystified about. Do these cheerleader girls get paid for prancing around in skimpy outfits. Isn't it, err.., slightly demeaning to be a cheerleader? Have feminists ever attacked this aspect of American Culture? Or am I tilting at imaginary windmills? Perhaps there is more than meets the eye.

Kite flying in Bombay in the eighties

The eighties, as you may be aware of, were all about tight trousers and flower-print midis. Fortunately as a child I would wear shorts and was spared the sperm-count-decreasing testicle crushers. In such amazing times I learnt the fine art of kite flying by observing the zhoppadpattiwallahs of Bombay.

The basics
The way to black-belt status in kite flying is to learn the basics well. The three main action words in any kite flyers arsenal were: titchki, ghaseetna (or the more cavalier ghasatna), and dheel dena. There is no good English translation for these words and indeed, there should be none. However for the sake of completion twitch, pull rapidly and give slack, respectively, should be close enough.
So you tie the string (maanja) to a kite in an triangular affair sometimes called the kanni. The length of two sides of a kanni could be changed to affect the behaviour of the kite subtly. Unequal lengths were used by advanced kite flyers to get highly unstable (and therefore challenging) flight paths.

Maanja
The string would be wound on a wooden reel called a phirkee. Typically there would be softer white thread (sometimes erroneously called sutli) which being cheaper could be bought in great lengths easily for a rupee or so. Around 20 to 30 % of the string starting from the kite onwards would be the actual maanja. This was tough string dipped in a mixture of colour and glass powder. (A bandaid around my flying finger is a happy memory from those days).
Maanja was of two main types: regular and baarikh (thin). The baarikh maanja was a bitch to handle and could often snap in your hand. But it usually won kite duels.

Patang
The standard Indian kite was a very efficient and versatile flying object. Made of one or more sections of crepe paper stuck on two bamboo slivers giving a rectangular structure with thin threads along the margins, the kite or patang was extremely light and very responsive. An inverted triangular tail gave stability. (The wimps would attach a long paper tail which would so highly stabilise the kite so as to make it aerodynamically unchallenging)

Take-off and flight plans
Take off in the presence of a decent wind required a series of titchkis, ghaseet-ing and dheel-deing. It required some time before one could master the sequence which depended on the wind conditions, local topography and was usually considered a stochastic process with strong Markovian properties.
Once a decent length of string had been unwound so that the kite had reached an altitude of at least 50-75 feet, one would consider that life was in order. A casual glance to make sure no tirangas (tri-coloured kites) or dabbhus (larger and heavier 1 rupee buggers) were lurking in the sun one could indulge in ghaseet-ing for the pure heck of it. If the wind was strong enough the kite made an aggressive rustling sound as one swung it from one end to the other. Strong and rapid ghaseet-ers often could rip the kite in mid-air. A truly commendable feat.

The final two major aspects of kite flying in Bombay are: penchs and catching the gool kites.
Pench
Pench or the more ghettoised term pechh, referred to kite duels (sometimes involving 3 or 4 kites). The victor of a duel was not necessarily the one with the best or sharpest maanja. Duels required knowing what tactic to use with which type of maanja. The usual received wisdom from veterans was baarikh requires copious dheel-deing while regular involves very rapid ghaseeting. However kite weight sometimes played a factor. (The dabbhus could sometimes win by just staying put, the bastards!).

Gool
Running after the gool kite required alert brains, strong legs, a good sense of local wind conditions and high-jumping abilities. "gool gaay poche" was the traditional guttural war cry uttered by duel victors or kite catchers on espying a cut kite. (Of course the original phrase has been modified here, but the sound remains an atavistic call). I have often run kilometers after tantalising high-altitude gool kites. The dangling maanja was the object of all the runners' attention. A first-come-first-served protocol ensured that arguments about ownership were swiftly dealt with. The crowd of runners would dispense instant justice when required. A very gentlemanly sport, in short.

Very high altitude gool kites invoked hyperbolic statements such as "yeh saala jaayega pune!", (or Chembur as the case may be) uttered with a grim face. All agreed about such proclamations. Only fools disputed the secret lives of patangs. I added my own masala to such grave events by thinking about such far-off lands. Mysterious, unyielding, out-of-reach. Something which spurred my adult interest in travelling.

All the stalwarts of kite flying would agree: if you havent flown a kite you havent experienced life.

Miscellany
Some common phrases to be used in kite flying, as the situation demanded (while locked in mortal combat with the enemy):
1. "Ghaseet teri jaath ki baida maaru!"
2. "Aye vinchu! kaapun taak tila. Aie jh*****iya!"
3. "Saala bhardol mein gaya re. Lagta hai black baarikh use kar raha tha woh"
4. "Abbe, pechh laga math. Woh hulcut double kanni baandha hai.. %^(#$$#$%%!!"

The AYBABTU song

All right. Some trawling and i found me this gem of a link. Remember to turn up the volume and grab a beer (preferably dunkel weiss)! Skoal!
All your base are belong to us

A study in scarlet

The first Sherlock Holmes story, " A study in scarlet" came out in the 1880's. To this day the character remains undying. Jeremy Brett's potrayal of the Detective is peerless. Indeed Brett's other sterling work in theatre, television and cinema are largely ignored. The interesting bit about Holmes is that it consumed both his creator and his potrayer. Both were spectacularly successful when it came to their intersection with the character. Both were desperate to escape the clutches of this very success.
Holmes' aloofness, addiction to cocaine, and misogynity was a stroke of genius by Doyle.
Would Holmes have been as seductive if he was a married man, or spoke nineteen-to-the-dozen, or (god forbid!) Gay. (Yes, yes. I know he was chummy with Watson but....). Or what if he was a vegan and cared about his chakras. A politically correct Holmes.
The unattainable, the mysterious, the square peg seems to be of universal interest. That is quite surprising given that society, in general, is quite unforgiving to those living on the fringes. Racism, casteism, homophobia etc. demonstrate our desire to form groups, fit in and shun outsiders. A romantic explanation asserting the inherently unexplainable human nature is usually tossed here. "Yas. Y'see Gawd almighty works in mysterious ways. Ours not to reason why".
But a biological explanation has its merits. Sure, retain the romantic notions. But retain the possibility that man is an animal. Temper thy deeds with this amalgamation.

Perhaps Tennyson said it best:
Who trusted God was love indeed
And love Creation's final law --
Tho' Nature, red in tooth and claw
With ravine, shrieked against his creed

On naming my blog

Like others who have trod this path before, I was confronted by the issue of christening my blog.A 'cool' name seemed de riguer, from what I saw of other blogs. There are hard acts to follow. Verily. But I gave it the old college try. A half-hour's strenous exertions only resulted in me finishing a box of tomato khari biscuits and superlative names such as "Vada-pav with the plebes", "Masala in the misal" and "Manohar kahaniyan"! Surely I could come up with something uber-cool. But 'twas not to be. 'Twas not even brillig.
The title "All your base are belong to us" (to be sung in a robotic voice with funky digital beats) was borrowed from an old Japanese video game which suffered from an atrocious translation into English. It is part of internet folklore and endearingly inane. Plagiarism, then, came to my rescue as it has many a time during my education.