To SIR, with love ...

[Disclaimer: No SIRs were harmed during the making of this blog]

Definition: South Indian Relative (SIR) is a species native to the southern parts of India. Some westward migratory tendencies have been observed but are mostly confined to the young ones. The usual age of a SIR is in the range of 40 years to 60 years with a high variability. The male of the species are characterized by receding hairlines while the females are characterized by extraneous noble metals on their self. Relatively large swarms of SIRs can often be found in group activities common among the species namely weddings, house warming ceremonies and naming ceremonies providing SIR researchers a wonderful opportunity for their study.

SIRs as usual can either be good or bad - The Noble SIR (N-SIR) and the Pesky SIR (P-SIR). The noble variety usually approach your parents with a broad grin on their faces. Quite predictably, they are the rarer species and so has little or no contact with your parents since when you were 60 cm tall. The opening phrase would be 'Elli, Magu barlilwa?' After scratching their generously grey heads, and racking their brains for an excuse (other than 'He hates people, he wont come'), the poor parents would be at loss of words to explain how the magu has grown up and no longer looks forward to buying balloons off the street vendor.

Another equally awkward situation would be when a group of elderly ladies approach you and ask "Neenu 'ivara' maga alwa?" In such situations, the clever victim usually says 'No' and scoots. However in my case, it has never been so. I unwittingly say yes and then wonder with a strange expression on my face as to who was that 'ivaru' she was referring to. Quite obviously I dont want to be someone else's son and so, I ask her upfront. At this point, there are umpteen possibilities -

• She really doesn't know you. Makes some apologies and grants you freedom.
• She really doesn't know you. But in defense of her, you look exactly like this guy and so she thought you were his son.
• She really doesn't know you, but said so just so that you could be asked to get a glass of water or even better, some kaapi from the kitchen two floors down. (Happens a lot in Hassan and surrounding areas, to the best of my experiences)
• She knows you! She tells a lot about how she met your parents in the morning and how good they are. ('Thumba oLLeyavaru') - Thanks for the affirmation!! 
• She knows you! She knows your father! She knows your father's chaddi friends too! You are treated to a long narrative of your father's childhood with the pride glistening in her eyes that she knows your father since the time he was 'shorter' than you.
• She knows you! You don't know who she is! The long process of making her familiar to you with a dozen other names (which obviously you dont know) thrown in and family tree pulled up - the most torturous of them all!

Let's move on. Then there is this 'uncle' who is not so closely related to be called a family member nor is so remotely connected to be a 'far relative'. He smiles, you smile. You notice his kid who's literally pulling his pants down for he wants that third bar of choclate or some fancy toy. The uncle is trying to divert his mind and lo and behold, you walk past! 'Ivanu yaaru gotteno? You know who this is? Ivanu Karthik Anna' You thank heavens that you aren't an uncle yourself yet and smile sheepishly. Thats when you catch the clearly annoyed kid sticking out his tongue at you.

So what about the pesky SIRs? Well, they are pesky. They take an active interest in all that others do, more than those involved themselves. They are probably more interested in your CET rank than you. (the year of CET = Annus horribilis). They actually count the number of Mysore Paks you had at the lunch. They keep a tab of your life more than your mom probably ever did! They dont believe you, why should they? And so they ask you the same question a dozen times, hoping that one of those times, you will give a different answer. Better still, they'll ask the same question to all people connected to you and try to dig out the 'secrets' ala Mr. Holmes.

God forbid, if a SIR's own progeny is within an acceptable age range as yours, you are doomed D-O-O-M-E-D! Now, my friend, your academic competitors are not the nerds in your class, its a subset of all those who attended the wedding reception last Monday night! And so, every prize from a lemon and spoon competition to a frog race and every achievement from being the class 'leeeeeeeader' to ranking first in the entire 3rd standard A section is celebrated upon. It is these kind of people who literally change the world! University of Timbucktoo becomes better than MIT, coding becomes high precision engineering; every frog race is a rat race, Phew!. One special penchant the pesky SIRs of Bangalore have (which I cant come to terms with for another century) is for a certain college in Bangalore run by Di.Ke.Shi. Anyway, Di.Ke.Shi and that special engineering college discussion for another rainy day.

In between the two extremes are the bunch of other SIRs. SIRs who take credit for anything from the greenness of the plantain leaf to the sweets of the coconuts used. SIRs who knew when you were born, that you are gonna be an 'excellent' engineer! SIRs who lecture you on why Digital Signal Processing is bad and why you must study Mechatronics instead (His wife's brother's father-in-law's sister's grandson is studying that - so it must be good) among a host of uncategorizables. Despite all this, time and again all the SIRs congregate, carry through their personal agendas, and yet mingle around and make the event a success. After all, that's life, full of diversities, full of masala. Cheers to the South Indian Relative!

Banashankari, onduvare ticket!

[My first blog post in ages, its an attempt to try my hand at nostalgic writing. This post is a tribute to all those blogs and stories of nostalgia, which when read truly transports you back in time, most notable among them Bengalooru Banter. Heres another comical take on it.]

For the uninitiated, Route No 14 is one of the very few links between the North and South of our famed Bengalooru. I wont go into all the explanation about how people in the North think South is a residential paradise or how the South thinks North is uncultured among other things. Usually operating between Malleswaram in the North to some random location in the South (which the author doesn't know since he never sat through till the end or had no enthu to google too), it made an extended trip from ITI Layout in the North to again the same random location in the south twice in the morning and once in the evening everyday. This they say was to facilitate the employees of AG's office long ago. Its another matter, that no one knows what exactly is AG's office now or what actually happens within the confines of the office [For general information, it is Accountant General's office situated somewhere on Kasturba Road, the same place where the Museum is situated (and no, its not the museum road)], and as with all great things, conspiracy theories abound like the local milkman bribed the BMTC officials to run this service so his kids could attend some random school in Basavangudi, or the area MLA used this to return from Vidhana Soudha when the MLAAD scheme was under scrutiny - although all charges have been unconditionally refuted and no chargesheet filed.

14 is one of the few buses (let me be frank, the only bus) I know in Bangalore that follows a queue system, yes a QUEUE. The bus leaves at 0840 hrs in the morning and one can see a long serpentine queue beginning to form at 0810 itself. As with most other things, I dont see the logic behind standing in a queue for a good 30 mins so that you dont have to stand in the bus for an equal or lesser time. But nonetheless, I have more often than not, stood in the line. And no, this bus is a true showman. He doesn't believe in exposing his body to all the smoke and paan standing there like a fool and expecting people to arrive. He arrives royally at 0830 or 0835, the conductor still cleaning his mouth of the morning breakfast and sipping water. The conductor for many years was a medium built man with a striking resemblance to Kannada actor Ambarish, was replaced for a few years and then he was back all over again.

The earliest ones are AG's office employees who are near their retirement or for that matter anybody whose retirement life is beckoning but they still got to finish up a few years before collecting their pension. They wake up early, eat early and are at the line early, with a newspaper, which is most cases is the orangish brown Economic times or the Hindu, TOI is blasphemous. Passing by the queue, mostly you would see shining bald heads with a briefcase or a bag in one hand, except if you were a regular, in which case, the shining heads would tilt back and grace you by a elegant curve on the lips. The general rule is no one breaks the line, and if you did, thou shalt be charred to death by the disgusted and angry look on their faces (even if looks could not kill). Then, there would be the old ladies who made a dignified walk to the end of the line occasionally stopping to chat with other ladies in the queue (as expected!!) Amidst all this, there would be a drooping Anglo Indian who seemed to be in a world of his own complete with an old European style cap, flannel clothing and total silence.

Amidst all this sepia tone drama, there would be an occasional 'young blood' in the queue. A young girl in her mid twenties who for some 'strange' reason always sat with another young guy of comparable age, an occasional engineer who lost his way, or some PU student from Shady's who had bunked the morning session and wanted to experience some college torture after the breakfast break (which incidentally is where yours truly fits in - and our college started at 7:30 in the morning and we had a breakfast break at 9 - good old days)

Back to sepia, bus is in place, conductor having finished cleaning his mouth, would start his ritual, and that being his first 'trippu' in the morning, the oft heard growl was 'Change illa kanri, change tharakke agalwa?' This was mostly with the people at the end of the line, the early birds were of course regulars and mostly had the exact change down to the last paisa or had passes! Occasionally, someone in the crowd waiting for other buses about 100 ft away would notice a totally empty bus as against the usual filled to triple capacity buses at that hour and would leap into the bus totally ignoring all protocols only to be abused and sent to the end of the line.

All the groundwork done and the last of the passengers boarded, the bus would leave at 0840 hours or at most 0843 hours - amazing time keeping by any Indian standards - initially slow and then picking up pace - as if it was some princely locomotive. The sepia tone generation would still be in their 'economic' times with an occasional political commentary, the color generation trying to strike up conversations and failing most of the time, a few others looking at their watches and repeatedly cursing the organised boarding for their delay, people alighting, new people boarding, and halfway through the trip, the original passengers would've all alighted to make way for a new set of them, a new crowd behavior, a new set of discussions, a new set of purposes. Of course, Route No 14 didn't mind any of these, it was more than happy looking at the stone buildings of IISc, the hustle bustle of Malleswaram, the stagnant traffic of link road, the terrible stink on link road, the distinctive smell at Shivananda, the powerful Vidhana Soudha, the bustling RC College, the overcrowded City Market, Chamrajpet, Ramakrishna Mission, Shanthi Talkies and disappear into the folds of the South.  It was afterall a daily routine, sometimes in sepia, sometimes in color.