Cast: Nani, Lavanya Tripathi
Director: Maruthi Dasari
Love. Hate. Opinions. Rants. Poems. Prose. Randomness. Me. You. Us. The Universe. Wheeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee!
The Raven seems like a love-fest for anyone who’s an Edgar Allen Poe fan… what preparations did you undergo to ensure you played Edgar Allen Poe as close to what he might have been like, even if the character was fictionalized?A golden time has come... the rains lash across my homeland, filling the rivers to a full, brimming like never before... has the age of the plenty come back to reclaim its scorched plains and confused people?
Green seems to have taken over a brown that I was far too used to.
Tamilakkam shines... PonnTamizh is back... maybe it's time for another Sangam?
But has our thought become ripe-enough? Do we radiate self-actualisation like ripe mangoes perfume an orchard just before the mango showers?
Do our lips quiver with the need to spout beautiful words of heavenly sounding precision?
Do we tremble with anticipation of a chance to speak of wisdom and near-divine levels of literary perfection in thought and action?
Does our every action evoke the endless pregnant fields of the richly-watered flat valleys and the golden crops that sway to winds of the mositure-laden North-Eastern monsoons?
Have we finally reached that melting point of suffocation when expression in all its myriad forms burst forth in every possible medium we have come to represent with?
Or am I deviating from what really brings joy to my mind?
Do I see fruition in everything, only because my mind seems so full of vibrance and colour, that I feel like dancing, singing, floating... flying?
Listening to some wonderful verses in prose and poetry in a language as sweet as milk and honey, browned and caramelised by a rustic local culture that brings palpitations of a divine kind to my existence...
I am suddenly reminded that most of my joys come from finding love...
Love in it's all encompassing form...
Love that allows you to fight, to make-up, to rage, to calm, to have passion, to share compassion, to whisper, to shout, to smile, to frown, to cry, to laugh and most of all to care and be cared for...
The love for an identity, for a culture, for a people and for a civilization has just been equalled by the love for a person... and I am still left wondering... when the *^!@ did all of this happen?
Image courtesy: http://say2daffodil.blogspot.com :)
It's like a cool waft of breeze has blown into my life... a breeze that perfumes my every waking and sleeping hour. A perfumed cool draft that wakes me up, puts me to sleep, holds me close when I feel unloved, embraces me in my weakness and teases me silly.
The way it fondles me, when I am slowly swirling into those self-indulging throes of ecstasy, the way it makes me want to cry and laugh as it whispers sweet nothings into my ear, the raspy vibrations that it streams through me, leaving me begging for more, and satiated at the least — this is my breeze of life.
Gently caressing me, reminding me of the fruity fragrances born in the land of spices, embalmed exquisitely with soft pleasant notes of sandal, burning camphor and jasmine, woven into all the lightness of the touch of a cloud or a feather — it makes me want to adorn myself, beautify my existence and believe in myself.
Is this what they call love — my breeze, my cool draft, my breath?
Or is this just you?
Photo Credit: © Saina Jayapal
I'm thoroughly fed up answering a million queries as to why I am anti-North-Indian... and so I decided to instead write my logic down somewhere, so that tomorrow, just in case I suffer from a serious head injury and forget who I actually am, my blog shall remind me of my bias and my bias shall stay close to me, refuelling my anger and ideas — my precioussssssss!
But before I begin writing this orgasmic piece that will surely make me smile and jump in exhilaration in bits, let me be the ‘Indian’ diplomat and explain that — I am shamefully generalising and yes, I choose to do so...
I do not, never will and never have claimed that every North Indian is the same, so much so, some of my best friends are from the North — just that they are more evolved than I and often more than not, are much more broad-minded than I am.
I thank them for accepting me with all my annoying biases, but in the same breath, would like to remind them, that I am allowed to have said biases and indulge in them too. Much like they are allowed theirs.
Simply put — my biases define me to a huge extent, so deal with it!
LOGIC ABOVE ALL (It simms!)
I hate North India as an idea and I stand by every hateful word I utter with a vengeance, when I say this.
It’s not the people or their customs or their religions that annoy me... it is their identity, that they have chosen and created in the last few decades, that make me want to hate them.
Here’s a 5-point list that in-detail describes why my hatred is justified.
1) Language Issues:
India is a country with 28 states and 7 union territories and every single person who resides within these territories are as Indian as anybody else within these territories.
We might have a capital in New Delhi and Hindi might (as unfair and undemocratic as it might be) be the Official Language along with English — this however does not give anyone any legal or cultural authority to insist on the knowledge or usage of Hindi in any part of the country.
Our constitution quite clearly says that India has no National Language. What we do have is Hindi as our Official Language and English as a Subsidiary Official Language that can be used in lieu or with Hindi. We also have 22 Recognised Regional Languages that can be used in lieu of Hindi or English.
When the constitution so clearly states that we DO NOT have a National Language... it annoys me when people assume they have the right to question a person’s lack of knowledge or usage of Hindi.
It’s a free country — we’re allowed to use any of the recognised languages we might prefer to use!
More importantly, Hindi is a language native to the Ganga belt and so yes, speakers from there are naturally gifted to speak the language in all its subtle nuances and pronunciation anomalies.
Hoping and expecting people from other areas, with different native tongues, from different language groups to speak it like a native speaker is outright ridiculousness!
Furthermore, a person ridiculing someone for their regional accent in Hindi is uncalled for and illogical. You cannot force a new language down someone’s throat and then expect them to speak it as beautifully as you — that’s just common sense!
Of course you will bring up the Tamil issue and all I will say is read up. The Tamil issue was raised to counter the undemocratic proceedings of 1960.
Read: http://rajbhasha.nic.in/enpres-1960.htm
India did not need an Official Language from among the existing spoken languages. That is just undemocratic. An Indian version of a foreign language like English would have been fairer. It didn’t belong to anyone and none could claim it, not even the English!
2) Skin Colour Issues:
Indians who come from a Dravidic/Negroid/Austric or Austroloid racial origin tend to be darker skinned than people from Aryic/Mongoloid and Semitic strains. This is a fact, deal with it!
On the other hand India is so thoroughly mixed, that no one part of this country can claim to have pure racial origins from any one of these races.
We are a mixed people and we always have been. Often more than not, it has been geography and language that has united us, not the people we originally came from.
There will always be super fair South Indians and super dark North Indians and even though generalisations may be the norm, often more than not, you cannot judge a person’s origin by their colour.
I shall not demean the reader or myself by throwing around names... but it will suffice to say that some of our darkest models are often not from the South, while some of our fairest are not from the North.
And anyone with fairly unbiased tastes will vouch for me when I say; there can be good-looking dark people and ugly fair people.
3) Geography Issues:
This is one area that I refuse to be diplomatic about.
North Indians need to brush up on their geography. South Indian geography non-savants are as rare as two-headed snakes. Even more for the North-East!
The North-East has seven states, take time out and learn to recognise them on a map. Calling someone ‘Chinky’ is as racial as a North-Indian being called ‘Chom’! A Manipuri is not a Naga and a Naga is not a Khasi! A Khasi is not from Arunachal Pradesh and the Boros are a people. Getting yourself acquainted with your fellow Indians will not kill you.
The South of India is not one big state called Madras. Nor does everyone speak Tamizh. Half of South India is actually the two larger states of Karnataka and Andhra Pradesh. Kerala and Tamilnadu are the smaller two of the four states.
Be proud of being Indian, not just North Indian!
4) Accent Issues:
Exactly how not everyone in the North speaks fluent English, so don’t people in the South. Like how there is a proper accent for every area in the North, so do English accents change in the South. Neither is better than the other. They’re all equally creative and interesting.
Remember just because you were taught something in a particular way, it doesn’t make it right... English being a borrowed language in India can afford to have many rights.
I, for example have a stronger Scottish leaning in my spoken English, because missionaries in Western Tamilnadu were often from Scotland. The same can’t be said of Chennai where the educators were mostly English. Pondicherry similarly will have more French influences, while Goa will incline towards the Portuguese — the lesson being, stop assuming you are correct. Nobody ever truly is!
5) Identity Issues:
Yes, I am Indian, but no, I do not like Hindustani music. Yes, I am Indian, but I do not consider Kathak to be beautiful. Yes, I am Indian, but I am not inspired by couplets in Urdu and I am not that into Bollywood films.
I may not be like you, but I am Indian too. I am equally as Indian as you are.
India goes beyond the popular notion that India stands for. It pains me every time I am asked if I can speak Hindi because I am an Indian. Even worse is when Hindi is referred to when someone asks me if I can speak Indian...!
India does not equal Hindi or Hindi culture and thankfully never ever will. It’s about time people realised that. Yes, Hindi and the related culture is a huge chunk of our present common identity, but that’s not all of it. The rest of the states, their languages and cultures are equally Indian too!
To sum it all up, I hate what North Indians have become.
They have become the carriers of an oppressive culture unawares and are now taking pride in an assumed pseudo-superiority.
The problem however is that, for every North Indian who does not want to see beyond his borders, an Indian like me will redefine my borders without him.
This might seem like a small ego play in the beginning, but will soon rise into a huge secessionist movement that has already shown signs of arriving.
Let’s just hope India realises what went wrong and rectifies six decades worth of oppression or when the awakening comes, it might just be a tad too late.

“Panché Katti Kurraallalonee, Panchu Naaku Thelisochindi!” (I’ve come to know that the true ‘punch’ [virility] is in boys who wear the panché [dhoti]), go the lyrics of a very popular Telugu song that’s been my favourite for quite some time now.
Why do I like this song? Why do I want to bite my lower lip in a seductive manner, every time I hum this tune or sing these words? Am I a wannabe mass-song dancer whose dream is yet to be fulfilled or am I a ‘liberated’ woman (as portrayed in these movies), trapped in the body of an unwilling man? Or worse still, do I get so turned on by the idea of being so raw and sensually brazen when it comes to talking about a young man’s virility and his sexual prowess I want to violate every code of conduct?
Lots of thinking, intense speculation, deductions, paraphrasing and debates later, I realize I am none of these colourful people mentioned above — I am just a true, son of the soil South Indian, who loves being brash and really uncouth when it comes to matters of my colourful sexuality.
Do I love singing these songs or what! They are a part of my dosa-bred imagination and believe me when I say, that the most romantic thing I might call a lover is “Tent Kattuh Interval Murukkuh” (Possible Literary Transliteration: Your fried delicious savoury item that is my only accompaniment at a movie watched in a tent!) or even better, I might just ask him to build up his muscles like Suriya (Tamil movie poster boy) and grow a nice Singuh-Meesai (Lion Moustache) to satiate all my fantasies and fulfill his in return.
What is it about raw South Indian sensuality that makes it so damn good? This is possibly a question that will never be answered, but I’m sure you understand what I mean when one sees the scraggly unshaven look of Sendhil Ramamurthy as Suresh in Heroes and imagine far more devious things than what passes through my brain every time I see him. Or when one looks at Allu Arjun in all his porikki finesse, strip down to his bare minimum (Deshamuduru) or dress up to sinful indulgence perfection as he did in Arya 2. If only I could sink my teeth into those biceps, and I know you’re wishing for that too and so much more!
The South Indian man in all his dark perfection is the new sexual symbol. Be it the bulging goodness of John Abraham (who is Malayali), pun intended or the child-like innocence of the green-eyed Navadeep, South Indian men are the new hot things on the market and they’re selling like hot cakes for good reason.
We’ve been blessed with good looks and geographical features that make South Indians far more interesting looking than several of their plain faced Aryan counterparts. I’d happily have my fill with a Ganesh Venkataraman, a Karan Rao, a Diganth Manchalé, a Rana Daggubati, or a Naga Chaitanya any day, rather than pursue a supposedly more interesting Punjabi or Jat munda with the same skin tone. The choice is much wider down south anyway and the more particular you get, the more you have to choose from.
South Indian boys and men also seem to have the amazing capability to swing from elitist finesse to lose-all-inhibitions-rawness at the drop of the hat. That surely is a talent worth appreciating and it comes so naturally to most of us. Some of them switch so fast, that most people are caught blissfully unaware of this role change and are often left confused and delirious.
Is it still a surprise why my preferences are so biased? It’s almost like I know that I’m getting so much more even though I bargained for so much lesser! Why wouldn’t I be the happy(er) customer, pray tell? Let’s also not forget how hard it actually could be to refuse being attracted to the child-like innocence of a Vijay or the incontrollable manliness of a Vikram! Are you still in doubt?
I hope you aren’t, because it’s time for my daily ritual of worshipping my South Indian demi-gods. I need to concentrate and relish each utterance and movement, for only then will the gods be pleased with my devotedness. If you are as strong a believer as me, then hop onto the bandwagon and the next time you see a fabulous looking South Indian walk by, ensure you let him know you totally adore him. You’ll be earning karma and loads of kama in the bargain. Be assured. Experience speaks. I need to go now, the next pretty thing aka hunk I adore is on TV, and my ritual of drooling, lusting and wanting begins — feel free to join me any time. Lines are always open.

Broad shoulders, deep dark questioning eyes, a voice I love listening to and intelligence, a sense of humour and the wonderful gift of listening — everything I thought impossible to find in just one man. And here you are. Proving all my pre-conceived notions wrong, giving me the hope that I always wanted.
You’re everything that I could have imagined Mr. Perfect to be and yet, I know fully well, that you will never be mine.
Yes, you are straight... I know... and one small minute part of me rejoices that you are. If you were gay and didn’t choose me, I might have had no hope to believe in anymore.
I can flirt with you because you are straight and you probably think it’s really cute of me to be so shamelessly throwing myself at you — it probably is!
All I want to know is, am I wrong to want to be embraced by you? Am I wrong to have watched you while you slept beside me, punishing my heart for wanting to hold you and run my fingers through your hair? Am I wrong to want you so much, when you are the ONLY man in this whole world to have ever made me feel safe?
Why do you hug me so all-encompassing-ly? Am I wrong to hope for you to turn gay from every single conscious corner of my living soul? Am I wrong to wish I was the kind of woman you would want to be with?
Wanting to be with you has rekindled the vulnerable me and in the warmth of your ample, beautiful long neck and wonderfully shaped torso, I hope to bury my face, my love, my insecurities and my burdens that I have come to call life.
So what if I can never make love to you?
If one day I can hold you and shamelessly show you how much I care, and be held by you, like no other, as my body melts into a warm indulged pulp — I would have seen paradise and hence I shall die peacefully.