Manipal Madras on rainy slushy, muddy, dirty days. The smells of the earth sewers overflowing, garbage floating on roads. Everything turns beautifully green disgustingly brown.

Sigh. Yuck.

Someone asked me - "Which "Ri Ma Pa Ni" do you mean?" (Referring to the header on this blog.

My answer: Any combo. Kapi, Brindavana Saranga, Hamsanaadam, Sri, Madhyamavati, Revati, Gowla, Kedaragowla...

I sang Amritavarshini with great vigour and passion. My six month old son, sitting on my lap, peacefully peed on me.

So, this actress of yesteryear willed away her property to her brother's children who took care of her in her old age. Her husband's third wife's children filed a suit contesting the will, saying it was made when she was not mentally alright, and that there were suspicious circumstances. One of their grounds is that she never had a brother!

Her brother's children's lawyer says in court, "The lady knows whether she has a brother or not. Who are these people to tell her she doesn't have a brother?!"

I shift today - cities certainly, paradigms perhaps, and maybe morphologies.

I love sentences like the previous one that mean nothing. But I shall be in sweltering Madras tomorrow. Morning. 7.30 am. Sweating like a hosepipe.

I practice my Tamil reading off Billboards. Now I can read the word "Kalaignar" really fast!

When I was much much younger, I couldn't tell the difference between Anandabhairavi and Reetigowla, Durbar and Nayaki, Bhairavi and Mukhari, Kedaragowla and Yadukulakambhoji. But now, I hardly mistake one for another.

Much like Sehwag and Sachin. When Sehwag first burst on the scene, telling one from another was almost impossible. Now, you'll never mistake one for another. Sehwag's batting hasn't changed all that much. You've learnt to tell the difference.

The most exquisite taanam is one that's both rhythmic and not. Where the rhythm exists, but isn't overbearing.

Much like an ideal 50-over-match innings - must have periods of rhythmic scoring, but also periods of inactivity, meandering, and a final assault.

Ok, bad example.

Its been the most pointless day in a while. I hate days when I don't do anything.

Sometimes, I don't think I get sufficiently nervous about stuff. Nervousness in small doses is a virtue. Yes?

"So long?"
"This asymmetry is really hard..."
"How much is it from the samam to the half?"
"24."
"And samam to the spot?"
"40." Pauses. Suddenly the simplicity of the logic strikes. "Ohhhhhhhhh!"
"Now sing!"

Computers can sometimes be so frustrating. So so frustrating!

For months, I've been trying to form this thought into a sentence perfectly. I know the sentence must start with:

"The problem with love is..."

But I don't know how to form the rest of it.

There are some days (sometimes nights also) when I don't want to think. When I want to get away from it all. When I want to lose myself.

On those days, I listen to one of two people - T.R. Mahalingam, or Vilayat Khan.

Headphones. Loud volume. Eyes closed. I lose track of what is happening around me when I do this. I'm not asleep, but I'm not awake. It is this feeling of super-consciousness. When the music ends and I open my eyes, I'm fresh. I'm happy. I'm ready for the world once more.

Checked out the new Coffee House today. Its called the Indian Coffee House, and not India Coffee House. Doesn't feel as lived in as the older one. The furniture, waiter uniforms, coffee, dosa, cutlet, omlette, bad paint, prices are all the same. This is stuffier than the old one.

I don't like it yet. But the prices will make me go there again and again, until a fondness develops.

Last night was weird. So, the fever rose and dipped. Its gone now. I woke up at least five times, thirsty as hell. Finished two bottles of water. Had this funny dream where my brother was playing the violin for my concert, and a violinist playing the mridangam.

But I'm fresh this morning. Only, I woke up a good one hour after my normal time...

I have a feeling that I'm on the verge of a fever. The most meanderingly exquisite Kalyani I have heard in my life plays in the background (meandering is an art, no? One cant meander because one wants to meander. It must come from within. No?). I am slouched on my chair, my eyes are red and watering. Sleep consumes me.

A long long pause. A long long ni. And then a pause again. And a meandering slide down to ga. Pause. Ri. Pause. Sa. Flashes of extraordinary genius. Pause. Tambura drone. Ri ga ga ga ga ga.

I decide its time now to turn in. But the music and the fever don't allow me to.

More phrases around the ga. A slide to ma. How does he do that so precisely? Play with the ni and the ma.

I have decided. I shall sit here till it ends. Then, drink a glass of water. Then crash. If I still am in the mood to crash at the end of this Kalyani.

Lovely Ranjani this evening. There's something about that raaga.

Note to self: Buy an unruled notebook.

Watched "The Public Enemy" last night. When I opened the file, I was bracing myself for a dated, period piece of sorts. One of those old ones where you must "give marks for not only what you wrote in the exam, but also what you intended to write" (famous words from our Constitutional Law Professor).

I was proved wrong. "The Public Enemy" is as frank, brutal and chilling as many gangster movies today (I hear it was possibly the second gangster film ever made!). James Cagney is a quintessential gangster - evil, ruthless, vengeful and yet loves his mother.

Two scenes stand out - one, where Tom's father beats him up early in the film - the expression on Tom's face is one of pain, not remorse - he doesn't care about why his dad might be beating him up. The second where Putty Nose is killed. The camera pans away to Matt's face, and gunshots are heard. Many characters are killed in the film, but none of them is killed on screen. (Apparently, in Bharata's Natyashastra, it was written that a death mustn't be shown on stage, only suggested. Which is why people think Bhasa (the famous Sanskrit playwright) might be pre-Bharata - in Karnabhaaram, if I remember right, Karna does die on stage.)

And, of course, the last scene. I don't think the last scene has been matched since for its sheer understated power. The door opens, and the body just falls in. Must, must watch.