I've always liked Saravana Bhavan--good sambar, and good chutney (two of the rarest things, I learned from my years in the U.S.).
But recently, I went to the one near Ashok Pillar--the restaurant, with my mother-in-law. And promptly got sticker shock! Why is a dosai priced at Rs. 78? And when I ordered the regular masala dosai, I was warned by the waiter- It won't be enough for you. Do you want the ghee masala instead? The price difference? One almost double the other. And when we ordered juices, they arrived when we almost finished eating.
And the fresh lime juice had been extracted more than the IT worker! Total thumbs down!
And the other one? Murugan Idli Shop. I used to like the unpretentiousness of the place. When we went this weekend (again, my m-i-l and I, our spouses are out of town, you see!) we both had the mini meal. And when m-i-l spotted that the so-called mango pickle had gone bad, the waiter was unapologetic. He said something like, "I guess it had started to ripen." Huh?
And when we persisted, asking if there was some other pickle, or something we could eat with the curd rice, pat came the reply, "The pickle will come at 3 p.m." Double huh?? How about offering us some sambar, dudes? And the waiter was bit of a smart-alec too. When we thought he had an order wrong and asked him to repeat the order, he said it right. Along with the comment, "You must been too long in the sun"!!
Customer is king, but I guess these times are those of ridiculing your king!
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Kids Say the Darndest Things!
This Saturday, a few of us CSR folks from our company (translate Singa paalam-- we’re apparently not supposed to blog about work or our office at all) went to Thirusoolam (a neat little hamlet just behind the hills that you always think will be perfect for trekking, whenever you feel active in the comfort of your bike/car/bus).
It was the CSR event for the month of June, and the organization we tied up with was Kaingkarya—an NGO that encourages the children of the village to go to school. It also conducts some training outside of school as well, and also nursing training programs.
In any case, we sponsored their sports day. We’d have liked to be more involved, but as it turned out, the young men of the village had it all covered.
It was good in one sense, because we had a lot of interaction with the kids. There were several interesting exchanges, which were very insightful—some funny, some very telling. These are, obviously, just translations:
Boy: Are you Hindu or Christian?
I: Why?
Boy: Chumma…
I: Can I not be Muslim?
Boy: Are you Muslim?
I: What do you think I am? (I’m not sure why I don’t give him a proper answer—maybe I still feel it’s not a kosher question!)
Boy: I think you’re Christian.
I: I am what you think I am (The kid must have thought I’m crazy!)
I: Are there many Christians?
Boy: No.
I: Are you? (I guess the question’s suddenly kosher!)
Boy: No, I’m Hindu. Are you really Christian? (This kid just doesn’t let up)
I: Is there only Hindu and Christian? Maybe I’m Sikh, maybe I’m Jain, maybe I’m Parsee!
Boy (calls his friend over): Hey, it seems Akka’s a seek da! You know, what you put in your hair on Diwali!
*--*--*
Lots of girls are fighting with boys who, it turns out, are their brothers. One such girl is talking about her brother, who’s actually quite the rowdy—and he’s not even 10!
Girl: He doesn’t listen to anyone at home.
I: Hmm… how did you come have a brother like this?
Girl: I don’t know.
I: (Trying humour here): Did you ask your mom why she bore such a brother for you?
Girl: I did.
Girl’s friend: Oho! As if mothers bear children after asking!
*-*-*
Girl: Are you from out of this country?
I: No. I’m from here only.
Girl: Then how come you’re so white?
I: I guess my parents are fair, so…
Girl: Are they from out of the country?
*--*--*
There were about 8 girls called Manimegalai. Everytime I asked some girl’s name, and the answer was “Manimegalai,” the girls burst into laughter!
Girl: Don’t call any girl called Manimegalai. If you do, around eight of them will answer!
*--*--*
Some of the kids are studying in English medium schools, and most in Tamil medium schools. One of the boys thought it was somehow funny.
Boy: Vanakkam, Englipees.
I: What’s that?
Boy (to another boy): This is Englipees Akka, da.
I: And what’s your name?
Boy: I’m Englipees.
I: Oh, so everyone’s Englipees?
Another boy: He studies in an English medium school—so….
I: Oh, that’s nice!
Boy: Avnu.
I: So, you’re Telugu as well?
Boy: Yes, all-India all languages.
I: You didn’t speak in Kannada.
(The conversation is getting a bit “out there”.)
Boy: Yes, I know it though.
I: Very good. Now how about you speak in English for me?
Boy: No Englipees. Haha…
The reason I mention this really otherwise boring conversation is that the boy seemed sort of embarrassed that he was in an English-medium school.
*-*-*
Well, it was a nice outing all in all. You should visit the temple that is atop a hill there--very cool. Try and go there before the sun gets up!
It was the CSR event for the month of June, and the organization we tied up with was Kaingkarya—an NGO that encourages the children of the village to go to school. It also conducts some training outside of school as well, and also nursing training programs.
In any case, we sponsored their sports day. We’d have liked to be more involved, but as it turned out, the young men of the village had it all covered.
It was good in one sense, because we had a lot of interaction with the kids. There were several interesting exchanges, which were very insightful—some funny, some very telling. These are, obviously, just translations:
Boy: Are you Hindu or Christian?
I: Why?
Boy: Chumma…
I: Can I not be Muslim?
Boy: Are you Muslim?
I: What do you think I am? (I’m not sure why I don’t give him a proper answer—maybe I still feel it’s not a kosher question!)
Boy: I think you’re Christian.
I: I am what you think I am (The kid must have thought I’m crazy!)
I: Are there many Christians?
Boy: No.
I: Are you? (I guess the question’s suddenly kosher!)
Boy: No, I’m Hindu. Are you really Christian? (This kid just doesn’t let up)
I: Is there only Hindu and Christian? Maybe I’m Sikh, maybe I’m Jain, maybe I’m Parsee!
Boy (calls his friend over): Hey, it seems Akka’s a seek da! You know, what you put in your hair on Diwali!
*--*--*
Lots of girls are fighting with boys who, it turns out, are their brothers. One such girl is talking about her brother, who’s actually quite the rowdy—and he’s not even 10!
Girl: He doesn’t listen to anyone at home.
I: Hmm… how did you come have a brother like this?
Girl: I don’t know.
I: (Trying humour here): Did you ask your mom why she bore such a brother for you?
Girl: I did.
Girl’s friend: Oho! As if mothers bear children after asking!
*-*-*
Girl: Are you from out of this country?
I: No. I’m from here only.
Girl: Then how come you’re so white?
I: I guess my parents are fair, so…
Girl: Are they from out of the country?
*--*--*
There were about 8 girls called Manimegalai. Everytime I asked some girl’s name, and the answer was “Manimegalai,” the girls burst into laughter!
Girl: Don’t call any girl called Manimegalai. If you do, around eight of them will answer!
*--*--*
Some of the kids are studying in English medium schools, and most in Tamil medium schools. One of the boys thought it was somehow funny.
Boy: Vanakkam, Englipees.
I: What’s that?
Boy (to another boy): This is Englipees Akka, da.
I: And what’s your name?
Boy: I’m Englipees.
I: Oh, so everyone’s Englipees?
Another boy: He studies in an English medium school—so….
I: Oh, that’s nice!
Boy: Avnu.
I: So, you’re Telugu as well?
Boy: Yes, all-India all languages.
I: You didn’t speak in Kannada.
(The conversation is getting a bit “out there”.)
Boy: Yes, I know it though.
I: Very good. Now how about you speak in English for me?
Boy: No Englipees. Haha…
The reason I mention this really otherwise boring conversation is that the boy seemed sort of embarrassed that he was in an English-medium school.
*-*-*
Well, it was a nice outing all in all. You should visit the temple that is atop a hill there--very cool. Try and go there before the sun gets up!
Friday, June 13, 2008
Ah! Print Acceptance
So, this morning I wake up to some really exciting news—my blog’s been mentioned in the Indian Express's Indulge’s Web Scout section.
I usually rush to grab Indulge on Fridays (I swear!) and read Niladri’s column, and glance through the list of blogs mentioned. Today, though, I had to look at it twice—and there it was: chennaigirlreturnshome.blogspot.com!
I jumped up and down, after ensuring that it was indeed my blog they were talking about, and was almost incoherent as I told my parents-in-law, “Indulge has mentioned my blog.”
I phoned V. from downstairs (after all, it’s not everyday that your blog gets mentioned in a national newspaper), and told him my blog was mentioned, when my mother-in-law asked me, “What is a blog?” I explained that it was sort of like an online diary. My father-in-law read the short write-up. My mother-in-law asked me again, “But where’s your name?”
Me: Opening my mouth and closing it.
In about 10 minutes, V. walked down. And ma-in-law was happy to see her son get up so early!
“Maybe you should write to Indian Express everyday,” she said, before walking off to water her garden, “Then V. may get up early everyday.”
Me: Speechless!
I usually rush to grab Indulge on Fridays (I swear!) and read Niladri’s column, and glance through the list of blogs mentioned. Today, though, I had to look at it twice—and there it was: chennaigirlreturnshome.blogspot.com!
I jumped up and down, after ensuring that it was indeed my blog they were talking about, and was almost incoherent as I told my parents-in-law, “Indulge has mentioned my blog.”
I phoned V. from downstairs (after all, it’s not everyday that your blog gets mentioned in a national newspaper), and told him my blog was mentioned, when my mother-in-law asked me, “What is a blog?” I explained that it was sort of like an online diary. My father-in-law read the short write-up. My mother-in-law asked me again, “But where’s your name?”
Me: Opening my mouth and closing it.
In about 10 minutes, V. walked down. And ma-in-law was happy to see her son get up so early!
“Maybe you should write to Indian Express everyday,” she said, before walking off to water her garden, “Then V. may get up early everyday.”
Me: Speechless!
Monday, June 9, 2008
Wired Weird
Last night, I had a weird dream—that I had AIDS. Must be all this NGO stuff I read about and do, I thought. V. always says my dreams are too weird.
What was most remarkable was the fact that, in my dream, I could feel the inability to do anything, the fatality that I assume comes with something like AIDS, and also people’s reactions. The dream went something like this: I suddenly become aware that I have AIDS, although people around me haven’t told me anything. Then, there are parties and other fun stuff that happen, but I’m not interested in any of them. I don’t even want to participate in anything. When someone asks me what I want to eat, I say something like, “I don’t really care; what does it matter now?”
There is a rich neighbour as well, in my dream. The neighbor seems to be some sort of scientist guy, something I probably took away from last night’s “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids”! Would he be the person to deliver me from the dreaded killer?
In any case, what mattered most in the dream was what I felt—no determination to fight this thing, no will to live, nothing. I’m not sure if that’s indicative of the kind of person that I am deep down, or what Freud would say about all this. But when I woke up (or even in the dream, I thought), I was determined to do something about this virus.
Now what that is, I’ve to figure out.
What was most remarkable was the fact that, in my dream, I could feel the inability to do anything, the fatality that I assume comes with something like AIDS, and also people’s reactions. The dream went something like this: I suddenly become aware that I have AIDS, although people around me haven’t told me anything. Then, there are parties and other fun stuff that happen, but I’m not interested in any of them. I don’t even want to participate in anything. When someone asks me what I want to eat, I say something like, “I don’t really care; what does it matter now?”
There is a rich neighbour as well, in my dream. The neighbor seems to be some sort of scientist guy, something I probably took away from last night’s “Honey, I Shrunk the Kids”! Would he be the person to deliver me from the dreaded killer?
In any case, what mattered most in the dream was what I felt—no determination to fight this thing, no will to live, nothing. I’m not sure if that’s indicative of the kind of person that I am deep down, or what Freud would say about all this. But when I woke up (or even in the dream, I thought), I was determined to do something about this virus.
Now what that is, I’ve to figure out.
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