About Me

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I am a writer. I began by writing the world's shortest short stories.Each no longer than two lines:one on the cover, one inside.(Birthday cards for pals in school;-). Then I wrote slightly longer stories in the ad agency JWT. These stories lasted 30 whole seconds. After 30 years of having the time of my life, I quit, to write even longer stories. Travel Stories, reviewing eco-friendly hotels for Traveltocare.com. (That's free travel, free stay, free food.) And then I wrote something really really long. An entire Book. It's called "Don't Go Away, We'll Be Right Back: The Oops and Downs of Advertising". And now, another one. "Runaway Writers". It's about a Ghost Tweet Writer, and therefore has about 140 characters in it. (I mean the people, not the length of the book...:-)

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Thursday, September 20, 2012

[Firstpost] Talking the walk in Chennai

Early this morning on Boat Club Road in Chennai, I had a dangerous head-on collision…with a walker. Luckily for him, there was no cop around or I’d have had him booked for rash and negligent walking.
I blame it all on The Madras Week held in August that encouraged a lot of us Chennaiites to join the Madras Heritage Walks conducted all over town— from the Fort St George walkabout where the Brits first empired us, to the Old Theatres of Madras tour, where Kollywood first mesmerised us.
Well, a consequence of this Walks exercise was: many citizens discovered that getting up early for a pre-breakfast perambulation is a fine way to gain knowledge, while losing weight— and that’s why there’s such a traffic jam of feet early in the morning these days.
Image courtesy Indu Balachandran
My own motivations for walking began when I moved close to the most expensive real estate area in Chennai: Boat Club Road, with its lush, tree-lined avenues. I live on the road leading up to these hallowed grounds, in Pasumpon Muthuramalinga Thevar Street (though no posh Boat Club type will ever call it that, preferring its old colonial name, Chamiers Road). So one fine morning, I decided to check out this walker’s paradise.
Oh wow. I was constantly slowing down to gaze at the mansions I was walking past…this is where the truly well-heeled of the city live. But the flat-sneakered feet of the hoi polloi were the ones happily walking in droves in this premium neighbourhood; lowering cholesterol counts or increasing their metabolic rates here—all for free. Alas for the Privileged of Boat Club Road! They now had to walk their daily mile on fancy tread-mills in their own private gyms installed within their mansions, “as the roads outside our house…oh god, they’re getting so crowded with all sorts of riff-raff walking about these days…”
Well I quickly became a regular riff or a raff myself, not so much for the walk itself, but for the talk. Ah the joys of eavesdropping! Quite like the running commentary of the Heritage Walks, I was getting a free audio guide to the houses of Chennai’s rich and powerful and famous. “The Brothers live here,” I learnt from a gossipy gent, who pointed to a massive fortress of a residence, to his visiting relatives. Lucky Brothers, he went on… they escaped the fate of their half-cousin, the poet-lady who languished inTihar jail for months… It was easy guessing that he was referring to the 2G Spectrum-scandal-tainted brothers, and the nationally televised CBI raid on this very house a year ago.
With growing awe, I passed the splendid homes of head honchos of Chennai’s best-known industrial families. So this is where the scions of the Murugappa group return each evening. Chettinad pillared porches, old-world Tamil Nadu grandeur…as I could glimpse from the open gate. Further on I discovered the bungalow of TVS Motors’ 2- wheeler magnate—though I’m sure it’s a plush 4-wheeler that drives this CEO back home every day: could it be one of the Rolls Royces or Lamborighinis I sometimes see cruising about the locality? Or perhaps those wheels belong to another famous local entrepreneur living here: the CMD of MRF Tyres.
Walking on, I saw where the big drivers of our trucking industry live, the opulent Ashok Leyland villas. If you can judge a home by its wall, that is.
Well, the next big-wig dwelling I discovered was certainly built with India Cements…as I learnt that a certain nationally recognized, high profile Chennai personality retires (unhurt) here each night, after settling multi-crore business deals. The business of Cricket, of course…
But hey, what about the new Social Celebs, who have somehow managed to obtain an address here too amongst the old-wealth bungalows of Boat Club Road, in one of the few swish high-rises here? Well, that’s another storey…
Now all this has given me a great idea for moonlighting—or should that be sun rising… If anybody wants to go on a gossip-enhanced early morning Celebrity Street Tour while in Chennai, just walk along with me.


This article was featured on http://www.firstpost.com/blogs/talking-the-walk-in-chennai-462200.html

Sunday, September 9, 2012

Taxing times! In Sunday Hindu...


TDS… and other tedious matters

INDU BALACHANDRAN
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Intaxification, detaxification and other middle-class miseries of August… INDU BALACHANDRAN
Now that two thirds of the year is over, it’s time to see if that highly original and brilliantly-worded sms that hundreds of caring people sent you on January 1— “Wishing you a prosperous NEW YEAR!” — is working or not.
And for those prosperous ones who stretched filing their tax returns to that last frantic hour of August (“Now where did I keep that TDS statement? And my LIC receipt?”), you are now also probably thinking twice about craving for more income, considering the outcome.
Not a good start
I decided to do a short survey with some of my friends and check the after-effects of painful annual rituals like filing taxes. “Hey Jaggu! Shall we chat over a bite at Pizza Hut today?” I asked.
“Sure,” said Jaggu. “I can easily afford a bite there, as I have 25 bucks in my wallet. But you’ll have to eat and pay for the remaining four bites of that sandwich.”
Well. I didn’t know Jaggu was having it this bad. So then I tried my pal Parvati who I often bump into walking on Boat Club Road. “Hey! Just wanted to chat a bit. I’m generally finding out about money and filing taxes and stuff …”
Not funny
“Wait. Is this for one of your heartless articles making fun of our middle-class miseries?”
“Er…not exactly, but even if I do, I swear I’ll change your name,” I reassured her. “Well, you can change my name from Parvati to Poverty if you like… my auditor found new ways to show I owe the Government several more thousands than last year.” She stormed away at a faster trot. But then that’s good for her leg muscles I thought, in case she felt like kicking her auditor.
I walked on, and met a more cheerful friend. “Hi Jana! Filed your returns? Just gathering some thoughts for an article…” I said. “Well I’ve paid my usual lakhs and lakhs, but looks like many others haven’t. Just see the state of this road after one big downpour; our poor Government has no money left to maintain them, after maintaining only the roads leading up to their own mansions…” Jana viciously kicked a stone into a pothole; maybe I’d spoilt his nice mood here.
Market pulse
Someone suggested I check out a swish shopping mall to see what the atmosphere was like out there. What with newspapers announcing a million August Sales, shoppers must be so happy that with less money in their wallets, they would save precious money on each purchase. Well a Shopping Maul is what I saw. They were out in hundreds, raiding the shops for bargains. Many delirious people were buying five-for-the-price-of-three, when all they set out to buy that day was, say, just one new pair of discounted sun-glasses.
Well, despite no discounts whatsoever at the food courts, it was jam packed with people. The same ones who’d yell at the vegetable- wallah for raising the price of a kilo of onions from Rs. 10 to 12, were so readily paying Rs. 75 for an onion dosa . I suddenly spotted my ex-colleague Niloy sitting at a table, who waved to me to join him. “So what human trauma have you come to observe here and make fun of…” asked Niloy.
“Well, it’s the post-August mood of people, especially after filing their tax returns”, I confessed.
Niloy broke into a huge grin. “Well I have no complaints! Right now I actually love the IT people!” he said, biting into a large burger. “They recently sent me a refund for Rs. 7870!! Just like that! Sit down, I’ll treat you to a pizza.”
At last! A person who actually smiled at the mention of the words Income Tax. But then my good friend was merely enjoying that temporary feeling of euphoria called “intaxification”. That exhilarating high when we get unexpected money… Till we realise it was ours anyway, in the first place.
E-mail: indubee8@yahoo.co.in

It all began in Chennai vonly...(on firstpost.com)


Sridevi’s English-vinglish can thank Chennai

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Sridevi, one of Chennai’s famous residents, will shortly be regaling us with her English-Vinglish on the big screen. This is also a proud reminder that we Chennaiites, or rather Madrasis, got a headstart in learning the King’s language before the rest of India.
At our recently concluded Madras Week celebrations, we recalled that it was here in Madras, 373 years ago, that the British got serious about their empiring in India—setting up the East India Company in Fort St George near the shore. And just as the Viceroy’s men stole some local delicacies and made it theirs — like rasam or milagu thani which they fancily rechristened as ‘mullagtawny soup’— it was only fair that the Madrasis stole and popularised English foods in India.
Image courtesy: Paul Fernandes
Like “Bred-Butter-Armlet” (said as one word, mind it), that is still displayed at many a roadside shack, catering to the continental preferences of our auto-drivers.
But when it comes to our unabashed bashing of English phonetics, we Chennaiites really have our mothers to blame. Well, our mother tongue actually. Because when baby Tamilians learn the Tamil alphabet from their ammas, they find that one particular letter pronounced ‘pa’, could well be ‘pa’ or ‘ba’ or even ‘fa’. So if a jolly waiter in a Chennai hotel asks if you’d like some Jabadhi, (as written on their menu) do say a hasty ‘No’ and stick to dosas. That mysterious dish is actually the humble chapatti, pronounced and spelt the Tamil way…with our knack for liberally adding wherever possible, the letter ‘h’ (pronouncedyech, of course). In fact for our Southern purists, Hindi never quite sounds like Hindi, unless you spell it as Hindhi.
For further evidence that the true-blue Tamil speaker readily substitutes a pa phonetic for a fa –there’s this intriguing item I used to see in the Today’s Special board outside a Naarth Indian restaurant : Malai Gupta. (But just for the benefit of doubt, maybe it was a kofta dish whose secret recipe was handed down from the Gupta dynasty…)
Some time ago my cousin Raju from the US (who is –what else?– a brainy techy Tamilian working for Google) came on a visit to Chennai. Tired of American supersized hamburgers, Raju felt like gorging on Indian fast food for a change. So we set off in my car, and crawled through the by-lanes of Mylapore looking for a good place serving quick ready-meals. “Oh my god, and what’s that!” exclaimed Raju suddenly. I looked up at the signboard he was pointing to: “Kailash Restorant. Hot Mutton Pups daily”.
Image: Paul Fernandes
Now animal rights activists may well be alarmed wondering if this is how Chennai’s corporation deals with the stray dog menace. Not to worry: the hotel owner was merely advertising “Mutton Puffs”—pronounced and written the Tamil way. (Neither was Mutton Pups a smaller portion of the desi Hot Dog…).
And while on the subject of dogs, we also fervently hoped that “Paw Bhaji” on the menu had nothing to do with a poor doggy’s feet.
By the time we’d finished, Raju had had quite a bellyful –of chuckles as well as idli-vadai-sambar. So walking a few streets away to the car was welcome. Those narrow eating streets had room only for pedestrians and cyclists, and even had this firm notice at the beginning, for the hungry truck driver:
‘No entry for Larry.’
And just as my cousin Raju was wondering if that tiny belly-ache setting in was from overeating or laughing, we saw this painted notice that completely over-turned my explanation that a true-blue Tamilian cannot say F words: CAR NO FARKING.

Friday, September 7, 2012

[Firstpost] Sridevi’s English-vinglish can thank Chennai

Sridevi, one of Chennai’s famous residents, will shortly be regaling us with her English-Vinglish on the big screen. This is also a proud reminder that we Chennaiites, or rather Madrasis, got a headstart in learning the King’s language before the rest of India.
At our recently concluded Madras Week celebrations, we recalled that it was here in Madras, 373 years ago, that the British got serious about their empiring in India—setting up the East India Company in Fort St George near the shore. And just as the Viceroy’s men stole some local delicacies and made it theirs — like rasam or milagu thani which they fancily rechristened as ‘mullagtawny soup’— it was only fair that the Madrasis stole and popularised English foods in India.
Image courtesy: Paul Fernandes
Like “Bred-Butter-Armlet” (said as one word, mind it), that is still displayed at many a roadside shack, catering to the continental preferences of our auto-drivers.
But when it comes to our unabashed bashing of English phonetics, we Chennaiites really have our mothers to blame. Well, our mother tongue actually. Because when baby Tamilians learn the Tamil alphabet from their ammas, they find that one particular letter pronounced ‘pa’, could well be ‘pa’ or ‘ba’ or even ‘fa’. So if a jolly waiter in a Chennai hotel asks if you’d like some Jabadhi, (as written on their menu) do say a hasty ‘No’ and stick to dosas. That mysterious dish is actually the humble chapatti, pronounced and spelt the Tamil way…with our knack for liberally adding wherever possible, the letter ‘h’ (pronounced yech, of course). In fact for our Southern purists, Hindi never quite sounds like Hindi, unless you spell it as Hindhi.
For further evidence that the true-blue Tamil speaker readily substitutes a pa phonetic for a fa --there’s this intriguing item I used to see in the Today’s Special board outside a Naarth Indian restaurant : Malai Gupta. (But just for the benefit of doubt, maybe it was a kofta dish whose secret recipe was handed down from the Gupta dynasty…)
Some time ago my cousin Raju from the US (who is --what else?-- a brainy techy Tamilian working for Google) came on a visit to Chennai. Tired of American supersized hamburgers, Raju felt like gorging on Indian fast food for a change. So we set off in my car, and crawled through the by-lanes of Mylapore looking for a good place serving quick ready-meals. “Oh my god, and what’s that!” exclaimed Raju suddenly. I looked up at the signboard he was pointing to: “Kailash Restorant. Hot Mutton Pups daily”.
Image: Paul Fernandes
Now animal rights activists may well be alarmed wondering if this is how Chennai’s corporation deals with the stray dog menace. Not to worry: the hotel owner was merely advertising “Mutton Puffs”—pronounced and written the Tamil way. (Neither was Mutton Pups a smaller portion of the desi Hot Dog…).
And while on the subject of dogs, we also fervently hoped that “Paw Bhaji” on the menu had nothing to do with a poor doggy’s feet.
By the time we’d finished, Raju had had quite a bellyful –of chuckles as well as idli-vadai-sambar. So walking a few streets away to the car was welcome. Those narrow eating streets had room only for pedestrians and cyclists, and even had this firm notice at the beginning, for the hungry truck driver:
‘No entry for Larry.’
And just as my cousin Raju was wondering if that tiny belly-ache setting in was from overeating or laughing, we saw this painted notice that completely over-turned my explanation that a true-blue Tamilian cannot say F words: CAR NO FARKING.


This was featured on http://www.firstpost.com/blogs/sridevis-english-vinglish-can-thank-chennai-447464.html