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!