I had heard about the talk for a long time. I looked at it with dread - a twenty minute talk on something that influenced my life. For a few days, most of my daydreaming time was spent thinking about the something that influenced my life. Thoughts came in and went like models on a fashion ramp but none of them seemed appealing to my fine sense. Most thoughts fit into the sappy category, others announced their association with a certain cliché and the remaining few fell into the "Really!" category. A few days into thinking, I still had no idea about the topic. I had to talk in front of a couple of hundred children who considered Stephen Curry their onnukku pona machan. I was almost sure regardless of what I talked about I would end up seeming ridiculous. I should do my best to keep away from the ridiculouser than the ridiculous zone.
I was sitting in a chaaya kada sipping a glass of "strong" tea, thinking up a topic for the "many months away and unannounced" talk. I felt eureka run through my mind naked. I said a "that's it" to myself and patted myself on my back in my thought. I had got it - I will talk about that fantastic temple trip we undertook many years ago. I sat back savouring the by now cold and hence bitter tea. The outline of my talk took its form in my head. For the next few days, my daydream trips were filled by temple and place names. Words like "beautiful sculptures", "exquisite architecture" and "precision work" walked in and out of my mind like unwelcome relatives. My walk had a spring of confidence in it; many of my colleagues commented about it too. I smiled at them benevolently. I wanted to tap the children on their shoulders and let them know that I was ready.
For many weeks nothing happened. No "hey, be ready next week OK?" came my way. Instead, I got to sit through an appalling talk by someone about his visit to Antarctica. The fellow put up a hundred photographs of those "six to nine weeks" birds from the movie Madagascar and other creatures that to my eyes seemed like a speck of dirt on the camera lens. I mean, what is the big deal about Antarctica. Why make so much noise about it? I looked around to stifle my yawn and was shocked to see the expressions of utter boredom on the children's faces. I turned my focus on the talk and listened carefully. The fellow was not exactly boring. As a matter of fact, the talk was quite amusing, especially the part about being chased by a flock of those Madagascarian birds. The photos were not bad either. The speck was not really a speck it was clearly visible. It was a seal chewing a bird. The flow of the talk was quite similar to what I had in my mind for my own yet-announced-but-yet-will-arrive-very-soon talk. I ran through the checklist.
1. Photographs: check
2. Gushing about the place: check
3. Using superlative words: check
4. Dropping in amusing incidents: check
5. The how-could-have-not-done-it-yet expression on face: check
5. The how-could-have-not-done-it-yet expression on face: check
The talk was proceeding exactly as per my own plan and the children did not seem amused. They seemed terribly bored and had actually started discussing mathematics among themselves. This was turning out to be a disaster. If Antarctica is treated in this manner, what will happen to my poor south Tamilnadu temples? I was swamped in the absolutely ridiculouser than the most ridiculous of ridiculous territory. I got up coughing, went out and did not go back to the talk.
That evening, I sat at the chaya kada with worry written all over my face. My world seemed darker that the strong tea I sipped. Prior to that talk on Antartica, my state of mind was similar to Swami Vivekananda's as he stepped onto the Chicagoan soil. Now my mind could be compared to an article in the piece of oil soaked newspaper lying crumpled on the road after being used first to take the oil of the vazhakai bajji and then used to take the oil out of the eater's hand. The owner of the tea stall turned on the music, probably in an attempt to regale me. A you-are-the-moon-of-my-life-I-have-been-asking-everyone-about-you-I-have-looked-everywhere-for-you type of song came on. Though the lyrics were puke-worthy, the music and singing were pleasant enough to give a listen. The song ended and a rage of a song from the 90's started playing. Rahman passionately belted out the lines
From the age of sixteen, friends studded my jewel of a life. They came in at regular intervals. I don't think anyone ever ended up hating me or un-friending me but some turned into memory at some point of time. But others continued to stay in life and put in their mark on certain days of my life. For a long time, I thought friends as a peripherals who made a few minutes of one's life amusing. But a few years back I looked back at my life to answer the question "Who the hell am I?" (Oh well! Oh hell!) But I brought the exercise to an end when it threw in another question instead of answering the existing one. "Why the hell am I like this?" (Isn't hell such a feeble word? But well, hell is all I can tell for nothing else will sell for all else will ring a bell and that would not jell at all and so I quell my will to yell.) But the exercise brought out one aspect clearly; some of my friends were not peripheral at all. They seemed to have made defining impacts on my life. Will it not be a fitting tribute to all of them to talk about some of them? I decided to talk about two. By talking about their lives I thought I will bring out how they weaved certain patterns through my life.
The "what" of the talk was set and the time had come to move to the details. I walked around the house and other places too waving my hands as I talked to myself. I framed the talk and then framed it again before framing it once more and so on forever and ever. I did it everywhere; while I walked to work, while I walked back home, while I sat on the bogs, while I took bath, while sleep played hide and seek with me. I was obsessed with it. I did not notice the stares and looks of concern on the faces of the people around. I wore a spectacle and that was enough to prove that I was trying to prove the big bang was preceded by an even bigger bang that sounded like someone having an uncontrollable sneeze.
In a matter of days, I was ready. My head contained all the words required to expose my version of these people's life. Their only crime, I decided to consider them my friends. One Thursday evening, I heard a voice tell me from behind "Hey, its your turn next Thursday." At that moment, I realized I was not ready at all. All my hand waving and talking aloud in public came down crashing. I rushed home and put on that Mustafa song. It did not sound inspiring at all. I sat down and went through the lines of my talk in my head. I felt reassured. It did not sound terrible - those two lives and their intersections with my life were interesting enough to keep anyone amused for at least a few minutes. Now I only doubted the profoundness of the topic as it seemed fairly mundane and of this world.
I verified the profound quotient of the topic with a couple of my colleagues. I noticed furrows appearing on their forehead as I narrated the gist of my talk. Both of them had the similar question "but what do you want the young audience to take away from this talk?" One of them was kind enough to suggest "Why don't you tie it all together and see what the young one can take away from your talk?" That evening, I sat on the only chair in my home resting my head on my palms. What do I expect the audience to take away from the talk? I have friends; I have good friends; I have friends whom I have known for years; I have friends who are cooler than cool; I have friends who are as normal as I; I have friends whom I meet once a year and yet we call each other friends. Yeah! Maybe there is a message after all. The process started again. Though 80% of what I wanted say remained the say, the remaining 20 had to be woven in. The process was now limited to the time I spent on bed between wake and sleep. I waved my hands lying on my back like Anjali in the Maniratnam movie of the same name. By Wednesday, I was ready.
Wednesday evening 11 pm, terror struck. My back had not yet hit the bed. I realized that I have not done a trial run of the talk; not even once. I opened the laptop and started recording a video of my speech. It was an embarrassing process; I hated to see myself on the screen and brought on a grotesque expression on my face. I did not like the sound of my voice and brought on an indecipherable accent. The recording took 25 minutes and was not a struggle. I played back the video. Within a few minutes, I turned my face away from the screen; I could not stand the sight of that phony on the screen. The accent was also terribly annoying but I had no choice but to grit my teeth and put up with it. One of the longest twenty five minutes in my life came to an end to twenty five minutes later. My face wore a satisfactory smile. I can't do any better!
I looked at the many young faces and a few older ones looking at me. For some reason, I felt they looked with some sort of expectation. I could feel a shiver pass through legs. I "mmmm hmmmmed" as I have always wanted to "mmmmm hmmmmm" before starting a talk. I opened my mouth and talked.
To be continued...
Mustafa mustafa don't worry Mustafaa
Kaalam nam thozhan Mustafaa
Day-by-day, day-by-day vaazhkaip payanam day-dy-day
Muzhugaatha shippae friendship thaan
I have always hated this song. What the hell does Muzhugaatha shippae friendship thaan mean! (Clearly, the word hell is inappropriate to reflect my feelings.) Vaali was a great poet with many great works associated with him but for having written these lines some of the greatness should be stripped off him. Unfortunately, the song's catchy and I hum to it every time it comes on. Worse, it stays inside my head subsequently for many days. As ever, I listened to the song and even hummed to it. The dog eating a piece of biscuit nearby looked at me curiously. My mood had lightened enough to smile back at him. I guess my smile was worse than my hum and it promptly went back to eating the biscuit.
And then the idea struck me - that damned muzhugaatha ship called FRIENDSHIP. That's it!
From the age of sixteen, friends studded my jewel of a life. They came in at regular intervals. I don't think anyone ever ended up hating me or un-friending me but some turned into memory at some point of time. But others continued to stay in life and put in their mark on certain days of my life. For a long time, I thought friends as a peripherals who made a few minutes of one's life amusing. But a few years back I looked back at my life to answer the question "Who the hell am I?" (Oh well! Oh hell!) But I brought the exercise to an end when it threw in another question instead of answering the existing one. "Why the hell am I like this?" (Isn't hell such a feeble word? But well, hell is all I can tell for nothing else will sell for all else will ring a bell and that would not jell at all and so I quell my will to yell.) But the exercise brought out one aspect clearly; some of my friends were not peripheral at all. They seemed to have made defining impacts on my life. Will it not be a fitting tribute to all of them to talk about some of them? I decided to talk about two. By talking about their lives I thought I will bring out how they weaved certain patterns through my life.
The "what" of the talk was set and the time had come to move to the details. I walked around the house and other places too waving my hands as I talked to myself. I framed the talk and then framed it again before framing it once more and so on forever and ever. I did it everywhere; while I walked to work, while I walked back home, while I sat on the bogs, while I took bath, while sleep played hide and seek with me. I was obsessed with it. I did not notice the stares and looks of concern on the faces of the people around. I wore a spectacle and that was enough to prove that I was trying to prove the big bang was preceded by an even bigger bang that sounded like someone having an uncontrollable sneeze.
In a matter of days, I was ready. My head contained all the words required to expose my version of these people's life. Their only crime, I decided to consider them my friends. One Thursday evening, I heard a voice tell me from behind "Hey, its your turn next Thursday." At that moment, I realized I was not ready at all. All my hand waving and talking aloud in public came down crashing. I rushed home and put on that Mustafa song. It did not sound inspiring at all. I sat down and went through the lines of my talk in my head. I felt reassured. It did not sound terrible - those two lives and their intersections with my life were interesting enough to keep anyone amused for at least a few minutes. Now I only doubted the profoundness of the topic as it seemed fairly mundane and of this world.
I verified the profound quotient of the topic with a couple of my colleagues. I noticed furrows appearing on their forehead as I narrated the gist of my talk. Both of them had the similar question "but what do you want the young audience to take away from this talk?" One of them was kind enough to suggest "Why don't you tie it all together and see what the young one can take away from your talk?" That evening, I sat on the only chair in my home resting my head on my palms. What do I expect the audience to take away from the talk? I have friends; I have good friends; I have friends whom I have known for years; I have friends who are cooler than cool; I have friends who are as normal as I; I have friends whom I meet once a year and yet we call each other friends. Yeah! Maybe there is a message after all. The process started again. Though 80% of what I wanted say remained the say, the remaining 20 had to be woven in. The process was now limited to the time I spent on bed between wake and sleep. I waved my hands lying on my back like Anjali in the Maniratnam movie of the same name. By Wednesday, I was ready.
Wednesday evening 11 pm, terror struck. My back had not yet hit the bed. I realized that I have not done a trial run of the talk; not even once. I opened the laptop and started recording a video of my speech. It was an embarrassing process; I hated to see myself on the screen and brought on a grotesque expression on my face. I did not like the sound of my voice and brought on an indecipherable accent. The recording took 25 minutes and was not a struggle. I played back the video. Within a few minutes, I turned my face away from the screen; I could not stand the sight of that phony on the screen. The accent was also terribly annoying but I had no choice but to grit my teeth and put up with it. One of the longest twenty five minutes in my life came to an end to twenty five minutes later. My face wore a satisfactory smile. I can't do any better!
I looked at the many young faces and a few older ones looking at me. For some reason, I felt they looked with some sort of expectation. I could feel a shiver pass through legs. I "mmmm hmmmmed" as I have always wanted to "mmmmm hmmmmm" before starting a talk. I opened my mouth and talked.
To be continued...
No comments:
Post a Comment