A Dodransbicentennial Tribute

Do…Dodran…bi…Yeah that’s exactly what we are celebrating.  It doesn’t matter if you couldn’t a) pronounce it b) didn’t know the meaning. This is addressed to the erstwhile alumni of Christ Church Anglo Indian School who were taught to pronounce it and spell it, right after they had learnt the meaning of a word by distinguished teachers who continue to, not only live in our hearts but also in our acts.

Some good souls got together and decided that it would be a good idea to celebrate the milestone and the process of informing the diaspora spread far and wide began, thanks to the people connecting tools these days like WhatsApp & Telegram, they came in droves.  60 year olds were sharing anecdotes on managing the Traffic as teenagers on the erstwhile Mount Road, when it was still in a manageable state, with childlike exuberance, the 50 year olds wanted to play a game of Bank, River, Ocean, Sea & Land (More about this game later) overrating the strength of their aging knee caps, the 40 year olds were lamenting that the women folk were not well represented, well what else can they think of in their 40’s!

It was a potpourri of emotional outpouring. Indeed a pleasant sight to see the virtual banters between very eminent groups of alumni. How each went on to be distinguished in their chosen paths is always surprising, when looking back we were indulging in our scholastic exploits in a school sandwiched amongst five movie halls. The Eastman colored hoardings around us outnumbered the black boards in the school and it took some really eminent set of teachers to make the black boards more attractive...  In contemporary terms it’s like asking a kid to study in a room with multiple play stations switched on. That’s exactly where we had our first lessons in developing a monk like concentration on the job on hand.

All of us would have passed through many other Institutions during our academic pursuits after we stepped out as naïve 15 years olds from its portals. However the strength of the bond to this particular alma mater comes a close second to the umbilical one.

Many eminent historians have chronicled the history of the school and I would not even attempt it.  I would confine myself to a couple of trivial experiences on the campus which I’m sure many would identify themselves with…Here we go.

As soon as the Investiture Ceremony for a particular academic year was over the eagerly awaited part was the duty rooster that was published. The most sought after duty was the one guarding the narrow strip that connected the Boys side and the Girls side part of the campus. I would like to call it The Wagah of Christ Church sans the hostilities. It was a border that was always manned and ‘womaned’ during the breaks.  Many a crushes & many a friendships have blossomed at that border.

Corporal punishment was so common on the campus. Never have I seen an incident when a parent walked up and defended their wards action.  Try it today and the kids and the parents slip into depression. The only depression we knew in those days was the one that passed over the Bay of Bengal that later manifested itself into a cyclone. Each of our teachers had what I call a patented approach to corporal punishment. One still stands out vividly in my memory and yes… ouch…my ear lobes are hurting when I think of this. The ritual starts with both your earlobes being gently primed / massaged and was later used as a lever to pull you back and forth, increasing the intensity on the earlobe with each to and fro movement all along narrating the gory details of your misdemeanor. This ended with a simultaneous release and slap on both cheeks. The timing and the synchronization of this mode of punishment was executed with clock like precision and with the elegance of a ballet artist. The even more painful part was that this act was performed in the august presence of your class mates some of whom were your partners in crime.

The games we played on the campus were also quiet unique and very indigenous. One of them was a game Bank, River, Ocean, Sea, Land that was played on the church steps. I have been trying to dig up the origins of this game for many years but in vain. There surely should be an inventor and anyone who can throw some clues on this would be suitably rewarded on the day of the event. 

While we exhibited the stiff upper lip behavior most of the times the Madras in us came up once in a while. That’s how a game called Kallangole was born. The game was played at the end of the Kite season. The campus used to reverberate with the chants of ‘Any Maanja!!! Any Saada!!! Any Twine!!! It was said with the same poise with which one would narrate an Alfred Lord Tennyson or a Wordsworth in the class rooms.

Come 26^th November we gather as a family to not only celebrate a milestone but to share reminiscences of the days spent, honor people who facilitated it and above all a day to give back to the institution that has played a key part in shaping you.

Son of a BOT!!!

My apologies on the blog title sounding a little offensive. The way things are shaping up in the world around us, the days are not far when the title might actually represent an evolutionary fact.

The last weeks I have been running into articles on BOTS and how they are here to stay. The clincher that made me write this one was the ugly virtual world spat between Mark & Musk (No, that’s not a name of deodorant) on the public domain. They were actually fighting over whose intelligence fared better on artificial intelligence.

In the 80’s the standard high school essay/ debate topic was Computers – A Boon or Bane.  Today it could well be BOTS- A boon or bane.  Me being an illiterate in the virtual world, the first time I encountered the word BOT, I asked someone and they told me that it was a virtual Robot. My first memories of a Robot are watching a serial as a kid called Giant Robot (Robot to be read as Row Boat) and ended with Rajni’s Endhiran.

At the turn of the millennium I also had to decipher funny skewed alpha numeric images before I could log onto my bank account and they looked as scary as the balance in my account. They were called CAPTCHA’s. I was again told by learned virtual world gurus that they were there to prevent BOTs and not to test my eyesight or my IQ.

Now I read, a BOT can bring happiness into my life an application I’m sceptical about, simply because a BOT cannot measure the number of tear drops that roll down a cheek (at least until now).  Emotions cannot be outsourced to an algorithm however brilliant it might be, is my opinion. There is another BOT that can actually tell me the recipe of a Pani Poori by its image, but in my opinion cracking the source of the paani in the poori at the road side Yadav Food Stall would still be a far cry for these advanced BOTS.

I was told BOTS and Artificial Intelligence was here to stay which means I need to do away with my natural intelligence.  I intend approaching Baba Ramdev who is fighting a lone battle for natural products; I wouldn’t be surprised to find a PATABOT spring out of the Patanjali stables as the first BOT that depends fully on natural intelligence.

The capitalist in me wants to have a butler like Jarvis as Mark has, but my socialist side tells me humans should not be made redundant by some machine that was created by man.

‘’If we create some digital super-intelligence that exceeds us in every way by a lot, it is very important it be benign’’ - Elon Musk

Upper cut for the Under Cut!

I have written retirement tributes to the likes of Sachin, Dravid & Ganguly in this blog and requiems to the great comedian Nagesh and one for even Maggi noodles when they were recalled from the shelves. In fact I even wrote a tribute to Mr. Bata the legend who adorned my feet in my growing years. Hence not writing a tribute or a requiem for the beef would be sacrilege.

This is purely written in jest and is not based on researched facts with regards to the legalities of prevention of cruelty to animals or Anti Slaughter laws and their effects on the beef ban. Since the whole world was debating about it, I have also jumped into the beef ban bandwagon. I know very little about the benefits of cow urine or the celibacy habits of peacocks.

Though born a Syrian Christian in the grasslands of Central Travancore where kids are taught to call a grazing cow or a bull as beef, I spent most of my childhood at my Iyer neighbour’s and developed a liking for good Iyer food, the likes of Thayir saadam, Vatha kuzhambu, Pavaka Pittalai, Narthangai etc. I eventually shunned meat at home and was branded a pariah by my own clan as I refused to eat beef. In fact, I was one of the earliest proponents of the beef ban at a home. The best part of my childhood was that I was never indoctrinated by my neighbours to stay away from the food habits to which I culturally belonged. Looks like the world has come a long way since, food habits transcend religion and taste buds should be left out of politics.

Beef is an integral part of the Kerala kitchen and rightly they were the first ones to be up in arms against the ban. Though the augmented consumption of the same along with its better half the parrotta has brought about an increase in lifestyle diseases among its citizens, you cannot wean a Malayalee away from the beef or the beef from the Malayalee.  Ironically, I developed the love for beef not in Kerala but in an Ikka’s cafeteria on the other side of the Arabian ocean during my bachelor days in Dubai. Ikka even served me what was called an Ammachi (Grandma’s) Beef curry.  Hence the beef played an instrumental part in helping me connect during my days away from home.

Later during my travels to Germany I came to know beef was not all about beef fry or Olathiyadhu they could also be devoured as steaks that are rare, medium or well done. Coming from a middle class background I always thought Medium is what I should order.  It took me some time to learn the correct pronunciation of steak or to order for well-done ones which came close to tasting my mom’s beef within 5 Minutes of it being on the stove.

I firmly believe that food habits are a cultural preference and taste buds are apolitical. So if one wants a bite of a flank, shank, chuck, plate, brisket or any of the loins, so be it. Food habits at the end of the day are as personal as religion. Let’s not mix them up to create a cultural farrago (Thanks to Mr. Shashi Tharoor)

We should be more worried about the other cruelties doing the rounds around the country like poverty, sanitation, water conservation, or security of the women folk in general.

Chasing Dreams Vs Following Dreams!

A synonym list of ‘Chasing’ and ‘Following’ throws up an interesting list of words.

Chasing = Racing / Dashing / Rushing /Careering/ Hurtling/ Hunting/ Pursuing

Following = Next / Succeeding / Resulting / Ensuing / Behind / After.

I have been an advocate of the virtues of the Gen Xers to which I belong and have found myself an object of ridicule in the recent past amongst my younger friends and family and also friends of mine from my Generation who often wear the’ cloak’ of  change preachers.  I am often accused by them of living in the past and not intrepid enough to accept reality.

As a father of what you can call Z++ gen kids at home, I’m mostly out-numbered in my opinions. Hence the only place I get to vent my thoughts are on this blog with friends who have been considerate enough not to take me to the launderers.

I hear so many youngsters these days talking about chasing their dreams or passion and do not want to be tied down / adhere to the traditional approaches in life, be it in the social or professional spheres. They are all chasing everything which means they are rushing and dashing and hurtling and hunting to achieve their dreams or passions.  As you can see all these synonyms of chasing throw up a list of rather ‘violent’ verbs and smell of impatience. On the contrary one could also argue that the highly successful start up generation of today was the result of this impatient chasing of dreams. The impatience in pursuit of valuations is a story for another day.

The GenXers also had dreams; it’s just that we ‘followed’ them instead of chasing it. We had the patience to see what ‘followed’ and what the ‘resulting’ outcomes were.  We rarely knew what was ‘behind’ or what ‘succeeded’ our efforts. In short we never knew what lay ‘after’.  In contrast to the synonyms associated with chasing, you can see here the words ooze of patience and uncertainty and what followed was always a mystery. We patiently waited for our efforts to deliver our dreams. We were probably a generation of who preferred to wait for our marshmallows!!!

I acknowledge the fact that the personality of each generation is defined by the conditions opportunities & challenges prevalent in the period they were born and brought up. While we the Genexers where born just after the baby boomers of the 40’s and 50’s we had to make do with the limited resources available but at the same time enjoying the liberty and freedom all around. The Gen Z where born at the dawn of the millennium and the Internet. While the Z++ as I chose to label them where born at a time when facebook and google were midwives at their birth.

Each one of the generations went through phases of rebellion and their own share of questioning the norms and practises. However the tone and tenor in which the Gen Z questions the norms is appalling. I don’t blame them but pity them instead. They are living in a much more competitive world and simply don’t have the time to debate and agree to disagree.  They need to race, rush and hurtle in the process of hunting down their dreams.

We cannot turn our heads away from the perils facing this generation since we are also stake holders in most of them by virtue of being their parents / aunts or uncles.  We as a society of Genexers who I believe have the seen the good and the bad of both worlds are best positioned to explain and guide them.

The ‘mother’ of all political battles.


I drafted a blog around 2 weeks back titled ‘Tughlak in Washington’ where I had in fact drawn parallels between the late great Bard’s work Comedy of Errors and the happenings in a developed country. The last two week’s development in my adopted state made me shelve that work and focus on the burning issue at home. This is when I realized people living in glass houses should not throw stones at your neighbors… er …not really neighbors but most of my neighbors and close friends are there in America! (I have used the American spelling for Neighbours since it was all about America First)

Well, let’s shift focus to the Lady up on Poes, the script of which was loosely prophesied by the great bard from Stratford upon Avon in his work Julius Caesar. I owe this connection to a brilliant WhatsApp forward I got. I certainly have to doff my hat to the author of that piece. Thank you whoever you are!

Dravidian politics that has been at the helm of Tamil Nadu governance over the last 5 decades or so has always been about art more than politics, so the theatrics that is happening now is not surprising to me. We had writers who scripted the do good Robin Hood stories and actors who had perfectly enacted and lipped the script and sung their ways into the hearts of the masses. The branding lasted generations. However the theatrics never came in the way of making the state one of the best in India in terms of development. Hence no one complained.

Kollywood was all about the do-good Hero, the pretty Heroin and the brilliant story tellers. There never has been a successful storyline that projected a side artist as the protagonist of the story and hope it stays that way. Nothing against the hard working side artist fraternity / sorority, it’s just that we don’t accept a scheming side artist in our scripts.

What we have been seeing in the last two weeks is a travesty of democracy. Hoping and praying people come out of the decades long theatrical hang over and start to focus on good governance. Let sycophancy also be laid to rest in peace in a well-earned memorial at the Marina.

Wishing the state a lot of good in the coming years and praying our elected legislatures be true and free as the legendary song scripts ‘Adho Andha Paravai pola Vazha vendum’ translated roughly as I want to live as free as that bird of the same flock, of the same land singing the bright song of freedom and right (Didn’t I tell you, getting the theatrics out of us is more than difficult!!). May God give them the missing vertebral columns to stand head high, chest out and stomach in and lead this great state.

For the un-initiated the title was not an error in font sizing. Please consult your close friend from Madras to understand the same!

A day at the PTM!

Uninspired happenings around the globe sent this blog into hibernation. Two back to back Parent teacher meetings resurrected the dead writer in me. Parent Teacher Meetings or PTM’s as I will be addressing them, are a source of enlightenment for parents more than the suspects (students) in question.

By virtue of the 7 year age difference between my elder daughter and the younger one I find myself to be privileged to exchange views (mostly not exchange, just accept) and rub shoulders with the crème de la crème representing the parents from two diverse generations . For the ease of understanding let’s call them the Pre Google Era and the Post Google Era parents.

Attending the younger one’s PTM, who is in 4th grade is always a challenge as I find myself in the company of Post Google era parents. I always accompany my wife to these PTM’s. My role along with the other not so better halves is securing a place in the meandering queue in front of the class room. The better of the halves indulge in constructive conversations which borders on topics ranging from the reforms in the Indian educational system to lamenting the loss of an angelic human resources campaigner who would have supported their cause at the national level. My role as I said earlier is simply to look through the people passing by take a step forward as the person in front takes one and exchange not so educative forwards with my forty something school boys group on Whatsapp. Well, since I was also a parent of a 10th grader, I had that been there, seen this, done that, aura around me.
This time though, I entertained myself to what is otherwise a boring ritual by eavesdropping into the deep intellectual conversations, the flag bearers of the Indian educational system were indulging in around me. One was frantically waving an answer sheet not knowing why a letter was asked to be written to the grandfather instead of the uncle while the other said why letter writing was considered important in an era of emails. That lady had a point. By the next PTM they would be discussing ‘y a chld shld not LOL whn de see a clown’. The English pundits would be ‘RITGs’, for the uninitiated, I made that up…It just means Rolling in Their Graves!!! Well this was coming from a generation of parents who frequently use the non-existent word ‘Bestest’ which might well find its way into the next version of Oxford dictionary considering its extensive use thereby adding an additional degree of comparison which I might call the ‘Hyperlative’. Another was questioning the teaching methods employed in explaining the concept of Associative property and waving out a Maths answer sheet of an 8 Year old which needed to be upgraded from a B1 to an A2. Never have alpha numeric combination of the first 5 alphabets and the first 2 numerals found more importance. All this was happening when the actual stake holders of these discussions were blissfully playing among themselves an A1 hit a D2 and a B2 laughed in the company of a D1 oblivious to the war on ambitions that was being plotted in the back ground.

Day two with my 10th grader was a saner affair since I was mostly in the company of the Pre-Google Era parents. We exchanged stuff like the number of times our parents had visited school or the oil price of the day or even discussed the possibility of who amongst us will be fired first in these bad oil days. The talk of NEET, NATA, JEE, IIT, BITS, NITS also did the rounds. There were the anxious-ones, the resigned-to-the-fate ones and still-the-pushy-ones, the forefathers of the ones I saw a day earlier at the 4th grade PTM.

We are in an era where obsessive compulsive parenting, the members of which are the proponents of the rat race by imposing martial laws at home and infringing on the fundamental right to information by denying access to any kind of media, like television, tabs, phones etc. The liberals are the pariahs of parenting who think they are actually punishing their kids by asking them to watch Arnob’s News Hour.

A small fraction of the off springs go on to prove that the pariahs were not wrong while a larger percentage prove that martial law implementing parents were right all along thereby making the sceptical liberals like me look like idiots. The only hope parental pariahs like me have is that, life is not all about the school grades alone.