Irudhi Suttru. I am knocked out.

When our superstars and divas are keeping the till at plastic surgeons’ clinking with their anti-aging treatments, Botox shots and such, there are the Ajit Kumars , Vijay Sethupathis and Madhavans who show the world that it’s not just wine that gets better with age. Coach Prabhu is middle aged, divorced, hot headed and he thrashes people verbally and physically. He sleeps around with married women. Here is Maddy in a very different avatar. He swears but his pronunciation is perfect. When Madhi calls him ‘kezhavaa’, he doesn’t flinch. And I go to Wikipedia: Madhavan is 45 years old. And I am 30 years old. When did this happen?!

The star of the film is Ritika Singh. Undoubtedly! She plays the part North Indian, North Madras fishmonger, Mohammad Ali fan to the hilt. Did you notice that she wears no makeup? In most part of the movie, she wears what is expected out of someone like her. She wears a chunky, random metal chain held together by a safety pin. The boxer sisters share a pair of shoes. And her single handed push up set knocked me out. Now, THAT is a heroine. She can punch, box and act! I think I am in love with her. And I am motivated to learn that elusive push up. 

It’s not just Madhi who makes the mistake of falling in love with the ruffian Prabhu. The female audience falls for him unanimously, hook, line and sinker. Once again, after Alai Payuthey. After a decade and a half. Oh, those boxer arms, the solo bike trip from Hissar to Chennai, the aviators, the acchu pizhai illaadha pronunciation, the way he says, ‘composite bow’ ( Don’t ask me why I chose this). I think this post should revive the #ChennaiFloods hashtag! 

Does Santosh Narayan have it in him to be the next big thing in Tamil film music? Possibly. His choice of singers amazes me. Gaana Bala rendered awesome jazz in Pizza. And here’s a wonderful new voice singing, ‘Aye Sandaikkara’. 

So, what did I like in this movie?
Madhi, in all her fervour, wears a saree and ‘dresses up’, chases Prabhu with meen kozhambu and says, ‘Master, I love you, Master’. He brushes her aside saying, ‘I am old enough to be your father’. How many Indian actors have the courage to say that on screen today? I liked it that the movie does not end with a romantic angle to this beautiful mentor and protégé relationship. Much is left to the viewer’s discretion. That’s a wonderful deviation from Tamil masala.
It’s a movie for little girls who have great dreams.
Proselytization is portrayed funnily enough. 

Maddy, you are back. The sharp tongued, beer guzzling boxing coach who turns all suave in a suit. You are quite the package.

Gethu. No, don't ask me why I chose to watch it in the first place.

Maybe Udhayanidhi Stalin woke up one fine day and discussed something like this with the rest of the team:
Hey, let's make a movie with Amy Jackson. Oh, and wait, I want Hollywood elements: Snipers, espionage, martial art fight sequences. Throw in the beautiful Nilgiris and some Appa sentiment.

But Tamil Cinema ke pass only Amma hai!
Tamil la ippo en family ku pudikkaadha orae vaarthai, Amma!
Right, let's shoot song sequences with Amy Jackson first.
Kadhai enna, Sir? Adha appram paarthukkalaam..
Amy is white.
It's OK, make her wear pottu and salwar kameez. Bingo, she becomes Iyengar. A kleptomaniac Iyengar, mindddd it.
Amy. Songs. Done. What next? Forget her.
Wait, we need Hollywood elements. Isn't that what I said, initially?
OK, get fancy guns and a guy who looks lithe enough to handle them. He's our antagonist.
Adhellaam sari, kadhai enna?
Adhu thaanaa build aagum.
What do we do with the blue eyed, left handed (Yes, the suspect has to be left handed to be distinguished from the rest) antagonist character we have built?
Give him guns.
What does he do with the guns?
Oh, let's make him kill random people.

Wait, where's the hero amongst all this?
Oh, adhu naan daan illa? I am romancing with Amy.
Please, KADHAI...
OK, Amy! Off you go.
Music. Music.. How can I forget that? Get Harris Jeyaraj to copy, paste some stuff. Paste the songs somewhere in between.
Hey, I have to incorporate some really nice cinema techniques I have seen in western movies that IMDB suggested: Use a mirror to show a murder shot. Focus on the hole a sniper carves out of a glass window. Intimidate, just intimidate and do nothing more to the sishter character. (I half expected her to lash out at the pockmark faced villain all by herself: After all, she is a PE teacher's daughter and looked all hot under the collar).
Done.
Kadhai, please!! the audience are getting disoriented.
Oh, we let go of Amy too soon. We must have made a romantic comedy drama like we generally do.
Sari, wrap up. You save the important-to-the-country guy. But wait, how's your dad's misfortune related to this mess? Hmmmm, adhaavadhu.. adhu epdinaa.. adhu vandhu.. actually, basically, technically, virtually, chemically, cinematically.. sathyamaa enakku therila, ehdaavadhu kadhai neengale sollikkonga saaar! Amy shorts pottuttu kulir la dance aadaraanga, naa poi paakkaraen...

Thani Oruvan

It was a time when Mysore Sandal and Pears were considered ‘premium’. Maruti 800 was the car we aspired to own. And that’s when Arvind Swamy wooed us amidst all the ‘pudhu vellai mazhai’. Overnight, he was the man women fancied. Premium, with a capital P. Mouna Raagam’s Karthik was displaced, like yesterday’s leftover rasa vandi. The man was all class. His voice was smooth and sharp, at the same time. Like the fictional but unforgettable Hattori Hanzo sword. His Tamil pronunciation was right. He spoke English with finesse. No one cared if he could flex his muscles or flaunt a six pack.

And then, he left. But every film of his was cherishable. We never stopped admiring him. Never was he forgotten. Remote controls paused when the random 24 hour music channel played Kaadhal Rojave… Engae nee engae.

I don’t watch many movies. I watch maaaaybe 2 movies a year. On a good year, that is. And recently, I vowed to change that. So, I caught Thani Oruvan recently. And I fell for Arvind Swamy hook, line and sinker. I focussed on little else.

The film joins a long list of ‘could have beens’. The story is awesome. Awesome, not just for a Tamil movie, as people tend to say when they describe Thani Oruvan. It doesn’t look plagiarised. A brilliant antagonist who doesn’t like getting his hands dirty is something we rarely see in Tamil Cinema. The last time I liked the antagonist in a Tamil film was in Udhiri Pookkal.

A classy man on screen is awesome. We have seen the Sanjay Ramaswamys. A classy man with a past in Chennai slums, a scientist who understands the intricacies of local politics and power struggles is beyond awesome. Arvind Swamy as Siddharth Abhimanyu doesn’t throw his shirt off and get into fist fights. He doesn’t dance to masala numbers with his girlfriend. He spends his time in a lab! And gets people assassinated with the press of a few cellphone buttons. I decided to like the movie in the first ten minutes, when a young Palani (yet to become the Joker of his Gotham) discusses political leverage and loopholes in juvenile delinquency laws.  

The intelligently woven story makes up for the goofs- the protagonist dabbles with vigilante justice before becoming an IPS officer. The firang lady who’s thrown a stunning welcome is referred with her first name alone. Ravi struggles to pronounce names right. Jayam Ravi’s Mithran is revered a tad too much by his batch mates. And worst of all, in this day when women’s emancipation is to be handled responsibly, the director falls into Tamil masala formula. It irks us when Mahima(Nayantara) clears her civil service examinations and then gives it up because of love gone sour. Enna kodumai? Formula wise, Nayantara in uniform would have been a stunner, Raja! And don’t even get me started on the ‘righteous’ hero doling out advice to the female lead on kulchur.

Tamil Cinema is stuck on their women and men playing hard to get. Thani Oruvan is no exception. And Mithran ‘realising’ his love for Mahima is baseless. Nevertheless, the film redeems itself with Mithran professing his love with a whiteboard and marker. Oh yes, it’s a Tamil padam and it’s an unwritten rule that the scene has to be followed by a song set in scenic tropical islands with fluttering duppatas.

Jayam Ravi is almost alright, for the role. He’s no Anbuselvan IPS. Mithran, the cop who knows it all and does everything right has the voice of a cornered mouse. Recently, I watched one of Ajit’s initial attempts at acting- Aval Varuvaala. I guess the movie was a hit because of Simran’s hotness factor. ( Remember the racy number ‘Jannal veccha jacket podavaa’?). Anyhow, Ajit’s voice back then is weird. Reminds you of castrated choir boys. Fast forward to Yennai Arindhaal: Satyadev IPS is the whole package. His voice is perfect for the role he essays. In stark contrast is the voice of Arvind Swamy. You actually sit up and take notice when he utters words and phrases like ‘Imbecile’, ‘Love at first sight, kill at first betrayal’. The man’s Tamil uccharippu is a major turn on! 

You could argue that the ‘hero’ himself gets only secondary screen presence and that it is only natural that his sidekicks get less than that. But why get a bunch of hotter-than-Ravi dudes like Ganesh Venkatraman and waste them?

Another gem in the movie is Thambi Ramaiah who plays the Siddharth Abhimanyu’s Supandi-ish father.  Overall, I am happy I watched the movie. And would love to watch it again. Minus the lame punch dialogues like, ‘un edhiri yaar endru sol, nee yaar endru solgiraen’, Mithran’s righteous-snob dialogues, the film would have been much, much better. And the script strays far from reality when it shows IPS officers taking a personal interest in felling individuals. Vigilante justice sheathed in uniform?

What stays in my mind, long after watching the movie is Arvind Swamy going to the CM and turning the tables with an Ennamma ippadi pannreengalae maa. Splendid! 

Flirting with the fulcrum of sanity

Digging into posts from the past. This is from early 2009.

A day of melancholy. Rather, a day of ‘wanting’ to stick to melancholy, while life spirals out beyond grasp. And the reigns that control its centripetal velocity are not in familiar realms.
Listening to Uravugal Thodarkadhai back to back. Again and again. ‘Ini ellaam sugame’ keeps ringing in my mind. And for some strange reason, I seem to need the assurance. Reassurance. I keep pressing the play-again button. Whether it really is ‘Ini Ellaam Sugame’, I don’t know. Don’t have a clue about it. Of course, the Goat born in the fag-end of December does not believe in fairy tale endings.

I’m moving away from the past with a pace that startles me. There are no sketches and route maps to future. I have no visions about future. And the present is spent in strange motley of emotions. Strangely, I am associating myself more with Vaanathi than with Poonkuzhali. A transition that strangely offers no qualms, no identity crises. Contention?

Kalyani or Kaikeyi?
All I need, is a premature short-term first installment of second childishness. And a weekend trip. An hour long foot massage with some Senchurutti or Neelambari playing on the iPod. N no. of laps in a pool, until I tire out completely, tire so much that it requires too much of an effort to think. All ye, grey cells, you find your way to the arms of Morpheus.

I’m least alarmed, but would this steadfast sanity drive me insane? Worth a thought.   Clarity that glares back at me. Doesn’t intimidate me, though. I don’t refuse to take questions, it is just that it’s insane to expect an answer. Moving, moving... Light-years ahead of the previous fuel stop. I stopped keeping track of the map, nor do I care to look at the speedometer. Vedhanthamaa Siddhaanthamaa...

Whatever it is that I am taking, with reckless abandon, neither is it getting me on a high, nor is it making me sleep. And the glass gets more potent with every successive round. Yet, my fingers hold the stem steadier than before.

A palpable mirage?

OK Kan Mani.

Mani is back on track. Pun intended. I guess there is someone who loves trains than does Sheldon Cooper.

I admit that I found the initial animated game sequence a little bleh. But the film redeems itself after the initial hiccough. So does the director after two back to back flops where no one understood what he tried doing.

Dulquer Salman is hot. He is all set to become to the Madhavan of this generation.  I know I sound like Shobha De gushing over Raghuram Rajan. So, pardon all the joll. He’s slick, suave and his almost-non-existent-but-definitely-there Malayalam accented Tamil is sexy. Reminds me of Mamooty in Mounam Sammadham. He is not larger than life like most mainstream heroes today. No six pack! He looks real in his Jockey tracks or boxers. Forget that he’s the son of a rich and well educated hero of the yesteryears. Forget that he’s from Sishya, that elitist school in Chennai where kids flaunt their BMWs more than they do, their grades. Dulquer manages to fit in as the middle class West Mambalam lad whose nationalised bank employee family had to run from pillar to post to get him into PSBB. Strikes an AR Rahman chord with the PSBB reference.

Droolquer.



Nithya Menen is what Indian cinema needs. She’s not the size zero lass who shakes a leg and smiles here and there. She looks like she eats more than lettuce leaves and celery stalks. We have seen that Mani has always chosen women with personality. Nithya reminds you of Revathi from Mouna Raagam and Shalini from Alai Payuthey. Her clothes are vintage Mani Ratnam. Earthy and Indian handloom chic.  Nalini Sriram again? Silver earrings, buttoned and asymmetric skirts, a riot of Indian colours, fabrics and craft processes…  feast for the eyes! The uber expensive luxury bag (Louis Vuitton?)Tara’s mum presents Tara screams the difference between mom and daughter. Old money, Coimbatore, Gounder, Mill owner, private jet, Race Course Road Residence, board meetings versus the artistically inclined, free willed architect who wants to live life in her own terms. Mumbai is just the right setting for that. Gateway to freedom from nosy parents!

As I mentioned earlier, I thought the movie was going to suck, thanks to the animation sequence and Dulquer Salman’s crazy I-want-visibility-with-the-boss scene. Seriously? Sounded like he was high on pot. Now, when I think of that particular scene, I am reminded of veteran Nagesh, playing the raconteur, in Kadhalikka Neramillai where he thrills Balaiah and the audience with his thriller story.  I mean, DS is no Nagesh but the scene reminded me of KN. A colleague of mine has to jump in and steal every show with long lectures on stuff he had just chanced upon on the internet. He does nothing, but talks in every meeting and makes sure the boss notices him. I repeat, he does nothing and but goes places in the organization. Yes, we all hate him. Adhi reminded me of that kiss ass colleague.

I understand drunk one night stands in movies. I understand passion that stems from days of togetherness. But I fail to understand it when Tara and Adhi hop into bed after half a dozen scenes. Am I just too old to understand this? But I guess it makes sense in some warped world; they admit it is a relationship without strings and perhaps that is how it is. And ohh, it is surprising and very unreal to find that an Ahmedabad lodge that looks dingy from the outside houses an architectural marvel of a room inside. The swing, the poster bed, the detailed partition… ITC Grand Chola doesn’t have such rooms, I bet.

I don’t like Bombay. There, I said it. I find it dirty, congested and too full of people and matchbox sized apartments with peeling layers of paint. Balconies become bedrooms and bedrooms become full-fledged apartments. But the Bombay shown in OKK seems nice. Adhi and Tara take you to old Bombay haunts in their very Chennai Royal Enfield.

I know most people have said this. And I have to say Amen. Prakashraj and Leela Samson steal the show from Dulquer and Nithya. Leela Samson, Y U NO play more movie roles? I fell in love with the couple the moment I saw her call her husband, ‘Ganapathi’. She looks very convincing as the Carnatic musician in Bombay. Clad in Ikat blouses and sarees, she makes a statement. And I loved it that Mani has portrayed Ganapathy making rasam and ‘manning’ the kitchen. How often do we see movie husbands in their 50s and 60s shelling green peas at the dining table? They are generally seen having their kaapi with a newspaper spread in front of them.

I remember from B Rangan’s ‘Conversations with Mani Ratnam’ that Charu Haasan, Mani’s FIL lost his memory in London and that his daughters sang to him in an attempt to revive his memory. In OKK, Bhavani has memory lapses, thanks to Alzheimer’s. Aadhi’s request for Tara move to his room is shot down by Ganapathi , his landlord. He is sure that his wife would also refuse. In her rare bout of sane moments, she calls her husband old fashioned; he’s the kind of man who would lower the window and put his hand out, in addition to switching on the car indicator, she says. Tara renders a wonderful Carnatic number and gets her passport to Bhavani’s heart and home. Ganapathi submits to that. Ganapathi and Bhavani seem to have great taste: their flat seems wonderfully and tastefully decorated. Very Madras, in the heart of Mumbai. It fits in with Ganapthi’s statement that it was only natural for a Kumbakonam guy from Indian Overseas Bank to gravitate to Mumbai’s Carnatic scene. Hard to swallow that an IOB employee and Carnatic musician can afford that in Bombay.

Music is no Alai Payuthey. But it is OK, Kanmani. And interestingly, I like Mana Mana Mental Manadhil more than I like the Behag composition.

About the many glitches in the movie I felt they were largely because Mani Ratnam has tried hard to ‘connect’ with the current generation. Skype calls, iPad apps, Loopy, video games, animation… the overkill was with the unrealistic, orchestrated attempt to sound net savvy- ‘go to makemytrip.com , get the cheapest flight ticket to Chennai, get BP tablets from the airport pharmacist and meet me at home; your live in girlfriend’s mom is here with her fancy cars and relatives’. And is the very obviously gay colleague character one of the attempts to look cool? Epic fail!

While Mani weaves magic with the romance between Ganapathi and Bhavani, interspersed with handwritten love letters and Carnatic music, he leaves us confused with the romance between Tara and Adhi.  The movie suggests that the pair want a fling and nothing else. The ‘love’ word is not used in the movie. Understandably. Appram, enna kalyanam mattum venum kadaisila?  And while they are ready to move in and live together, why do they seem to need a marriage certificate in the end? Feeling insecure, Adhi and Tara? And yet, I fell in love with the scene where Adhi says, ‘Paris po, Keeris po.. aanaa enna kalyanam pannindu po’.

Did I like the movie? Yes. I watched it after a hiatus of two years. I wanted to watch THIS movie. And it didn’t let me down. My money is on Mani. Welcome back.

Hotel Saravana Bhavan. The end of an era.

Is Saravana Bhavan on an intentional mission to kill its brand and rise from the ashes like a phoenix, with another brand? (The phoenix mention is more of a fervent hope, there is no visible sign of any such development) There is no other plausible explanation to the deterioration of what was once, the Mecca of South Indian food. The Madras middle class remembers HSB with fond recollections- our eating out- which was once or twice a year, usually during Birthdays, were isolated to this one restaurant. It has seen our birthdays, our celebrations when we stood first in class, our tears when we needed some cheering up and our parents took us there, in hopes of lifting our spirits with HSB's masal dosai and 14 idli. A bus trip to our native place meant an early morning 'tiffin' at the Ashok Pillar Fast Food restaurant and then catching a bus to Mayavaram. A book in hand, wonderful idli/dosai in the tummy and all set to go. KK Nagar vaasis have fonder associations with HSB than the rest of Madras. It is, after all, the hallowed ground which came up with the first HSB, some 35 years back. It stuck a chord with KK Nagar's quintessential middle class housed in Housing Board flats. It offered awesome South Indian food, it was close by, it was not expensive, it was not cheap. Not cheap, not in financial terms.. you get the point. If you don't, stop reading. This is not something you will associate yourself with. 

HSB was the one place you could take your no-masala-stench-no-overdose-of-garlic/onion/fennel clause mum AND your protta-saalna-patron husband to. He could relish his parotta-side dish and mum could have her masal dosai in peace. The husband muses over the fact that his mum once said, 'we are not as conservative as you think we are. When we choose a prospective bride for you, you can have a friendly chat with her at Saravana Bhavan in an entirely different table while we are at another table close by, without disturbing you. You can decide on marrying or not marrying her after one whole conversation.' While the central idea makes him laugh even today, it goes to tell you how much HSB was interwoven into our lives. It was the instant refuge in every Madras pincode worth its salt, when I was caught between the classes I taught all over the city. It offered the humble aappam-side dish for a quick evening meal. It offered an elaborate Sunday morning brunch in the form of a South Indian saappadu platter. It came with no frills. It hardly ever saw leftovers and wasted food. Plates were left polished clean by the patrons. You developed an instant hatred (lasting though, and it was well founded, one would agree with that) when a random wannabe acquaintance accompanied you to HSB, ordered paneer and rotis, and said, 'you know, food here is sooo over rated. In my city, rotis are soooooooo soft'. Mannaangatti, keep calm and order South Indian in HSB. Not that I don't like North Indian at HSB. I like the oh-so-customised-to-our-sambar-laden-tongues North Indian/Chinese foods! I swear I like HSB's pani puri better than I like Gangotree's. During the lady of the house's distant days (dhoorathukku naal/Aunt Irma's visits), the flustered dad, confused between samabr podi and rasappodi, would be willing to shell a few Rupees and take the family out to dinner at HSB. Peace prevailed in the kitchen! Furthermore, it presented a wide array of South Indian delicacies that mum was not adept with. Aappam, kurma, parotta, kaara kozhambu, mint chutney etc. 

The USP's  of the glorious HSB in those days were: safe food. I don't remember falling sick after consuming HSB food. Consistency- that masal dosai- sambar was the same in any HSB outlet throughout the city. It offered a respite from giggling college students and noisy customers. However crowded the restaurant was, the patrons were of of my ilk- they came there to eat the food. They came, they did not see the menu, for they knew what to order. They conquered the food. They paid and left. I hate places like Subway Nungambakkam which play loud music and attract punk kids who make way too much noise. HSB was a haven, with its soul food, acceptable levels of noise and its unintrusive Ilayaraja instrumental music in the background. I never complained about the fare that was touted expensive by others. I liked it that it was expensive. It kept noisy people out. It let me eat in peace. During the rush hour, I could just go to the restaurant doorstep, find a valet and let him park, walk in and share a table with some stranger and yet, eat in peace. There were no sambar stains on the table. There were no grains of rice squished under the table. It was clean. There were no flies and creepy crawlies. The plate was arranged in such a way that sambar did not touch chutney. Coconut chutney was fresh. Unblemished. We always wondered how the Pongal remained in that consistency for long. We never complained about parottas getting smaller and the pongal ladle becoming miniscule. We were fine with the escalating prices; we were happy ordering another plate of sambar vadai and not harp on the ever diminishing size of each vadai. HSB was the one undisputed love of an entire generation of Madras. We felt proud when Keith Floyd showed HSB kitchens on TLC and exclaimed, 'I have never seen anything like this'. 

Like a besotted spouse caught in disintegrating marriage, I remained aloof when patrons complained about HSB. The complaints grew in numbers. I stood my ground. I told myself that it couldn't be true. I told myself that the whole cosmos was conspiring against HSB. They were part of a conspiracy. And then, it struck down on me like a bolt of thunder. It was like the spouse caught the other in a compromising position with someone else. The moment of truth finally dawned. Yesterday, I visited the KK Nagar outlet. Not the hallowed first HSB ever. This was the fast food outlet some 10 steps from the actual restaurant. I walked in to be greeted by newly slashed prices, door delivery promises and combo offers. The bill amount was suspiciously low. And that was a harbinger of sorts. I don't think slashed prices can work for a restaurant like HSB. The open kitchen was a horrible sight. People handled my masal dosai and aappam with bare hands. The lady who prepared my mousambi juice poured a glass full of it, let it overflow all around the glass. She simply poured a few ml out, never bothered about the sticky outer sides of the glass, gave it to me. It was a long walk back to the table... The table was covered with sambar stains and chutney spills. I asked the cleaner to do her job. She did a lousy job. I had to call her again to clean the table surface. Shoddy job again. I don't care for 2 aappams for the price of one, HSB. But stop spicing the kurma beyond necessary. Whenever people tell me the food I eat is bland, I retort saying, 'Adding spices and chillies beyond a point is to conceal the stale taste (or lack of taste) of bad produce. I like fresh produce. I don't defile fresh vaazhai thandu from my own backyard with an overdose of green chillies'. This is exactly where HSB shone. And now, they have gone to the dogs. The sacred marriage has been broken. A multitude of Madras people are left in the lurch. 

You were no one night stand. You had a solid relationship with this generation. We owned the culinary scene in Madras. Yet, you chose to throw it all away. From being a faithful wife, you have turned into an adulteress. Why, HSB.. Why?? How could you this to us? 

Shop Talk

A friend asked me for a post on shopping in Chennai.
Everyone who knows me, is laughing out loud, reading this first line,Archana! 

A. I am a lousy shopper. I can't spend more than 15 minutes in one store. Be it clothes/diamonds/furniture!! I hate trial rooms. Claustrophobic. 

B. I love shopping for groceries. Grocery shopping is therapeutic. I get thrilled tobits getting tomato paste in a tube! 

C. My wardrobe has 2 dominant colors- black and white. And some pastel shades here and there. Yeah, I believe that the most beautiful animal in this planet is the Zebra. 

D. I can't wear heels. CAN'T. And when people suggest I try, I dabaaichufy and tell them am taller than most Indian men, just barefoot. I once fell down trying to maneuver a pair of teeny tiny heeled sandals, right in the middle of an Edinburgh restaurant. When the waiters came running from every direction, I had to shift the blame on their smooth floor. They also asked me if I intended suing the restaurant and their floor J

E. I am scared of polka dots, for some reason. Sometimes, am reminded of Sungudi sarees when I see polka dots. And it brings memories of old sraardha samayal maamis from the 80’s.

F. I have outgrown shopping in Chennai 600017. Very very rarely, can I do it.And I need an antidote afterwards. 

G. I suffer a major setback in self esteem when I am ambushed by a snobbish,impeccably dressed store assistant in a swanky place. 

H. I completed my entire wedding shopping within 2-3 hours max. Remember the Tambrahm wedding requires some 7-8 sarees. I took more than minutes because mum rejected black/white for the wedding. Stupid stores don't ever stock up on black/white silk sarees either. And she rejected a lot more for other reasons. 

I. My wardrobe is utilitarian. Stocked with kurtas, tunics, pajamas and cotton trousers more than anything else.  Hari hates to drive and we end up taking the auto. Every Chennai woman knows what to wear in an auto. And what not to. And most of my kurtas have collars- I am tired of random people seeing my bare neck and asking me about my mangalsutra. The lack thereof. 

J. I travel a lot. At least, I used to. But hardly shop abroad. Unlike most other friends of mine who earn in other currency or work onsite, we still earn in Rupees and the exchange rate leaves me mortified. But more importantly travelling with Hari means I carry no check-in baggage. Yes, he hates the extra waiting time. While there are times when I have smuggled shampoo bottles in cabin baggage, I have also lost Body Shop bath gel bottles to the airport dustbins.

K. Am married to someone whose grooming/sartorial sense is worse than mine. Sample this:
Me: I am getting oversized sunglasses.

Him:You aren’t going to gain weight on your eyes/nose. So, why get plus sizes? You should get your own size, unlike with Jeans and shirts.

He’s antisocial but I can convince him to attend weddings with me with the promise of ‘kalyana saappadu’. But enough people have laughed out loud seeing him in shorts and a Tantra T shirt in wedding halls.

He is scared of getting a haircut, says someone holding sharp instruments over his head makes him nervous. And hence, to minimise the ‘danger potential’, gets his head tonsured twice a year. That’s it. Shaves once a month. When I entice him with urulaikizhangu fry and refuse to give it to him until he shaves.
I love the fact that he is not fake- he and most of his pals, never look at clothes, shoes, cars and such. He can dine with propah Brit colleagues and eat with his bare hands!

He refuses to throw out anything- I discard stuff, but then, he never realises it either! :)

L.Don’t look for haute couture in this list. I am way too middle class and I live in Chennai, I drive through seedy parts and you know how people stare at you when you wear as much as a sleevless kurta or Capri trousers. Leave the men; I have seen women look at me contemptuously when I am dressed thus.  I have had instances of students staring at me inappropriately. I have one black dress I haven’t worn in 2 years.

M. I went to a stupid college with a stupider dress code. The management made sure we looked as hideous as possible. But those were the days- getting the unstitched fabric from Nalli/Kumaran/Pantheon Road/Sundari, looking into various out-dated catalogues at the tailors’, unable to settle for a single neck design, piping in contrast colours, churidar gatherings and Patiala salwars. Waiting a month or more to get the sets tailored. Wearing it to college the very next day. Aah, such simple things could make one happy when young. Sounds very distant today- and I don’t have the patience to go to the tailor these days.

Despite all this, I love retail therapy. I have a headache, I shop, I fight with Hari, I shop. I am bored, I shop. I am happy, I shop. Can even be a carton of milk. I shop akin to Chris Gayle getting bored and hitting sixers everyother ball. And then going back to the pavilion when he's bored of that as well.

When I was in school and college, I could not afford shopping. We weren't left with much after spending for education and basic necessities. I was not fashion conscious, I had a unibrow until 21 but did not get my eyebrows done until I was out of college- I could not imagine spending mum's precious little money on something that was not a bare necessity. It irks me today, to see middle class college kids get tattoos for a 4 figure sum.  Or pay thousands to enroll in a course with no intention of actually studying. I see a lot of such kids in my classes.

Anyhow, thanks to this conditioning, I have seen various class shopping segments- from Pantheon Road, Chennai 17 to the swankier and (the affordable) international labels. 

Now, coming to my favourite haunts:

1. Fabindia:
Madras is hot. Ideally, we should all be wearing minimal clothes- short shorts and tank tops. Despite our huge Dravidian posteriors and tiered stomachs. Butthen, you'd only have to leave our room, come to the living room and you'd have to dial for an ambulance- for you'd have a mum/dad/anyone-at-all suffer a heart attack. And you'd have to rush to the wardrobe, change into a kurta and pajamas before you can open the door and let the paramedics tend to the patient.
So, shorts are out of question.
The next best thing is Fabindia. You don't feel like you are wearing anything at all. It is that comfortable. Yes, the colour runs and runs and runs, the kurta lasts 10 washes, it's the same stuff again and again- but we all keep gravitating towards the nearest Fabindia store. Alas, we have no other option.You are geared for Madras' temperatures when you wear this. And thankfully,they make 'decent-by-auntyji-standards' and weird men on the road do not give you weirder looks when you wear them. I have never found fabric that is as good as Fabindia's anywhere. If you happen to know, enlighten me please.
Apart from the fabric, I like the inbuilt pockets- convenient for keys andphones.  And most importantly, the store is almost empty, all the time, unlessyou make the mistake of going to their mall outlets. 

The mall outlets always have a firang or two. Be it Fabindia or Maroma.

2. Kalpastree:
Y U no have an online store!!
The place is beautiful- near Stella Mari's. Again, the place has no crowds, i like their prices better than Fabindia prices and I must say their fabric is almost as good. ALMOST.
It's a one stop shop for all your ethnic needs. When I first heard of theplace, I was very sure I could not afford anything there- the pincode, the uber-elite sounding name and its proximity to Stella. It screamed 'snob'. But I have always been surprised at their prices. You can also look into their tapestry,curios, jewelry and stuff- I don't have a house swanky enough to decorate with their tapestry/curios. So, I give it a miss. 

Also look into Kalpa Kshema nearby- their organic food store. I liked the mangoes I got there last year.

3. Sundari Silks:
The one store in T Nagar that has a proper valet service. And it’s a little less crowded than Nalli/Kumaran. Mum always claims it’s at least 10 per cent more expensive than Nalli/Kumaran.

When I was in college, I got quite a few readymade salwar kameez sets from there. I went to the year-end sale recently and was sad to see that it had nothing much to offer these days.

I have always liked their silk sarees though. Still do! A majority of my wedding sarees are from Sundari.

Apart from the clothes, I like the store layout. With its quaint old-house-like charm.

Today,when I look at Sarangi’s ads on The Hindu, I think ‘Sundari is the Sarangi of TNagar’. Again, I look at Sarangi and am intimidated. By the pincode, the FBpage and the ads. I bet the place has snobbish store attendants who will not look at you unless you arrive there in a chauffeur driven high end vehicle.

Talking of snob places, I once had a very bad experience at Karishma, Nungambakkam- the store did not even look all that swanky and I walked in to the store when I was working nearby some 2 years back. The store had a snob of a woman who treated me like trash and I vowed to never enter the place again.

4.Cottonworld Corp:

I love Khader Nawaz Khan. Among Madras’ roads, it’s a favourite, next only to the area around Theosophical Society, Besant Nagar.

While most of Khader Nawaz Khan’s stores do not cater to the non-celery-eating public,Cottonworld Corp is heaven. Head to this place, above Auroville’s store, for comfortable western clothes. Very unassuming- cotton trousers, blouses, tunics, tops, shirts for women who eat. When I was younger and could fit into a size S comfortably, I went  to other places. And then shifted to Cottonworld Corp, as the inches increased.

On an unrelated note, I am reminded of Sujatha’s joke-
Women should stop dancing when they reach 40- Age and waist size!

5.Marks & Spencer:

The world’s most boring store, as a student of mine once remarked. When you realise that you aren’t young anymore, you automatically head to this place.

I am there. Are you?

6.Naidu Hall:

We all got our first ‘delicates’ from Naidu Hall. Barring a very short visit a couple of years back, accompanying someone else, I haven’t been to this place for a really long time. When we were kids,we always got our frocks here. Today, it is a mess.

7.Pantheon Road:

The road looks like a paintball match is perennially in progress there. You have street vendors sitting with their bales and bales of pure cotton fabric. They sell it by the metre and if you have any bargaining skills, you should head to this busy little street tucked beyond Thillayadi Valliammai complex in Egmore. If I have to choose a cheaper alternative to Fabindia, this is it. You can pick up fabric for around 60 bucks a metre and that translates to a salwar kameez set within 400 bucks. The catch is, it is far away. And you need a tailor. You have to take the bus/auto, for there is no parking space easily available. I wish they sold fabric online!! Again, it’s been ages since I have been here. I think I last went to this lovely street, often called ‘Cheap Street’ for obvious reasons, in 2009.

8.Nalli/Kumaran/Raasi:

We all transition from these places to the pricier options. Nevertheless, we all started there. Like old timers, I still prefer the old Nalli store, opposite Panagal Park to the new Nalli 100 building. All our mums still claim that Kumaran sells at a lesser price than Nalli does. I have my doubts there! The modern bride, despite all that trousseau shopping in Sarangi and Tulsi, still goes to Nalli/Kumaran/Raasi for the muhurtha pattu pudavai. While Nalli/Kumaran are preferred by people on this side of the Mount Road, the Mylapore maami adorned in her diamonds and draped in her Mangalgiri cotton saree will never stray from Raasi.