singing the bangalore blues

its a mad world out there and getting madder. some of us try to forget the chaos by rocking away those blues. we even have a staid, long name - bangalore music group (not my choice, they had already christened this baby before i joined) we have ceos, writers, an RJ, an interior designer, an impressario, a couple of fighter pilots and even an astronaut. we try to meet up at one of the members' houses once a month. this was at our new place where 30 voices set temperatures soaring. some house warming, huh?

Along came Prof - a tribute to Wodehouse

Imagine a quiet professor. Not so quiet for he can talk a fair bit. But a fairly low profile guy, without any quirks of personality that make him stand out. Pleasant enough but not a head-turner; you get my drift?

Years ago, he married his college mate. But it didn’t work out and a while later, in his usual quiet way, the professor found another teaching job and well, continued to teach away. His colleagues liked him, his students liked him; he was sociable and helpful, always had an open house. Somehow as these things happen, he became the confidante of all lovelorn souls. All his friends paraded their latest flames, boasted or wept whichever way the tide might have been turning for them at the time. The quiet Prof had even to lend his ear and his money his lovelorn pals. Young and old, they confided their romantic rhapsodies and blithely took his help for granted.With all this romance in the air, surely you don’t imagine our protagonist was immune to the love bug?

Now like all men past 35, he longed for days of faded youth and sought to recapture them. By dint of assiduously hanging out with a bunch of youngsters, he befriended many a girl. Sadly, eager as they seemed for his company, they would use him to get a ride or a job or another guy. Still, he continued to revel in dreams of romance. In fact, much like the hero of old Indian films, he felt a masochistic pleasure in pining with unrequited love.

Came the day and it did happen to him too. Unbelievably so, a ripe young woman scorned a younger guy and became his girl-friend. This time everything was perfect; she was not a gold-digger, indeed, if she had a flaw at all, it was that she was supremely unambitious. She was content and loyal, sexy and witty and well, just right for him.She moved in to his home and life was heaven on earth for the quiet Prof. He barely managed to tear himself from home, scampered right back for ‘lunch’ and declined all invitations to dine out.

Friends just waited for the novelty to wear off; they winked at tech other with total understanding and asked him to make a note to call them after a couple of months. But he never seemed to weary of their cosy togetherness. The mutterings began, “He never calls us home nor does he come over. This is downright unfriendly, never though he would change etc etc”. Neighbours told mutual friends that he was hardly away from home. The bar-tender at his favourite pub sadly wiped a tear as he polished the glass mugs and longed for the Prof who would quietly imbibe huge quantities of beer.

Ah, if he could only tell them the truth. He imagined his friends quaffing beer and making ribald jokes at his expense. The thing that kept him chained to the house was not his late-blooming romance, passionate though he remained. His lady-love had finally decided their combined finances would get a boost if she went to work. She also longed to shed some of the avoirdupois which her fond lover was responsible for (he fed her constantly, liking his women round).

But she could not leave the house unless he promised to stay and take –over her job. That was to look after her dog. Never was a dog, nor his mistress, more pampered. This was no ordinary dog; it pined for human company. It would howl hits head off if it was left alone on the terrace and reduce the house to a wreck if it didn’t have a minder. His lady love could not give up her 8 hours of beauty sleep, so the quiet Prof (who used to think 9 am was too early to wake-up) would crawl out at the break of dawn to walk the dog. He came back, fixed breakfast first for the dog and then packed ‘tiffin’ for the lady.

She left with a kiss and a wave and he had to stay on as late as he could and dart out just in time for his first lesson. He would dash back at lunch time and stay as long as he could before going back to the office. Why, he had even given up his evening game of tennis and would straight home.

There, he would wait quietly, in front of the TV, as his darling finished work, work-out and then came home for a hot dinner at 8 pm. What rankled him most, he brooded, was when she got home, it was the dog and not he, who got the first rapturous hug and kisses. But it was not his nature to complain and he didn’t. He just went on being quieter and quieter. So quiet did he become that even the dog ceased to regard him as worthwhile company and took up its howling whether he was home or not. So enraged was the dog with its feeling of neglect, that one day it destroyed all his mistress’s cosmetics.

Love for the lipsticks and French perfume didn’t stand a chance against canine company. The dog was sent packing. Indeed, two figures emerged at a run from the house, one disappeared to the wilderness while the other human figure drove rashly and negligently to the old watering hole. There, he downed 4 mugs in a row and looked at all his old friends like a new man. He pulled out his cell phone, pressed speed dial for his home and spoke loud and clear, “I am going to be late. Fix your own dinner”.

*******

sacred games

am deep into ' sacred games' - vikram chandra's 3rd book.

i found his 'love and longing in bombay', which good ol' prof loaned me, v readable. last week, the author and his wife, melanie were down for the launch that was like a movie release - right down to the press kit: ' are you ready for the games to begin' or something like that, the book cover on a picture post card et al.

not suprising, given his filmi lineage. his sister tanuja chandra is an offbeat film-maker and he himself has co-written the script for 'mission kashmir'

anita nair was sitting next to me and just before the launch, she introduced me to vikram and i told him i appreciated the razzle-dazzle for a book launch. unless writers crow about themselves, no one will buy their books.

chandra is of modest height and looked a little shy at all the hype. he didn't read v well and i found it hard to concentrate on the story. but i found them both to be very likeable and charming.

i started reading the book on monday night and i've been finding it hard to put it down. when i do sleep, my dreams are full of police chases! 'sacred games' says nothing new but says it exceedingly well.

chandra has spent nine years writing this book and am sure nine years in which he has done a lot of growing up himself. how else would he have obtained the sensitivity he reveals ?

as for the story itself, at times i feel it is one of the bollywood films, perhaps 'satya', made in to a book; all that mumbaiyya dialogue and tapori stuff. am sure, chandra will make a lot more money than the huge advance he's received from his publishers when one of the new breed of film makers grabs sacred games and gives it celluloid shape.