A Certain Kolaveri, Machchi

I have come to accept that there is no escaping Why this Kolaveri di? What with reading about it in newspapers, discussing it with colleagues, finding facebook updates about it, avoiding tweets about it – it is as good as being stalked by the very Soup Boy that the song talks about.

The Tamil film industry is full of songs like these – jilted male lover, black-hearted fair-skinned girl who rejects him (when the reality is more like black-hearted black-skinned girl) and therefore the regular scotch for solace. Get a life, Soup Boy. Or become a better lover. Go learn Seduction 101. I want to see a woman crying with a glass of scotch for once in a Tamil movie. Over a person who is a good man but a dull lover.

Why this kolaveri di? is every grammar teacher’s fantasy come true. Here is a song so ripe with grammatical errors that the critical grammatician thinks her time has finally arrived and the world is ready to receive the spellcheck Messiah.

Before you accuse me of being a kill-joy let me redeem myself by saying I liked the song. Hell yeah I did! I mean, how often do you come across a Tamil song that everyone is talking about? My little egoistic Tamil genes are tripping with joy. Hallelujiah! Now, everyone is forced to know the meaning of that un-translatable word kolaveri. And it’s absolutely fine when a Tamilian is teasing the whole of the glorious tradition of us Tamilians and pronouncing ‘empty’ as ‘Yempty’. Perfecto! Is it bigger than SRK and Bib B? Uh....I don't care.

But, is it worth all the gaga-ness? Hardly. Unoriginal lyrics (there have been funnier Tamil songs), boring voice (come on, it’s Danush, who are we kidding), irritating tune (I personally wouldn’t sing this even on a drunk call). Seems like we are buying into a well-strategized marketing agenda. Raja Sen hails it as the vox populi that brings us all together. The Hindustan Times praises the song by saying that it 'has become a rage in not just India but also Australia and the Americas for its catchy tune, traditional Tamil percussion and amusing lyrical style.' The Times of India states 'After a buzz in K-Town, Why This Kolaveri Di... from Aishwaryaa Dhanush's 3 has become nothing short of a phenomenon across the nation.' Enough with the romance. If anyone should be receiving the praise, I think it should be the publicists and advertisers and not Danush, Aishwarya, Anirudh or Shruti Haasan.

Danush revealed in an interview, "I had a lot of free time on the sets of 3. I just tried to put in some dummy words in the tunes and everyone liked it." Lesson to be learnt: if you have free time, do something with it, you can be famous. Provided you marry Rajinikanth's daughter.

For now, I like the song. But I wish to get up next morning and forget its name. No hard feelings, Soup Boy.

Fairly a Fairy Day

On a recent trip to Matunga, I happened to pick up an author whom I haven’t read for almost eleven years – Enid Blyton. I bought myself Happy Hours Story Book on the spur of the moment and as an indulgence. A second hand, hard bound, coloured-by-former-owner book, reminiscent of childhood.

I couldn’t wait to read it, so I settled myself on the steps of a grocery store, the owner of which didn’t mind strange women occupying such spaces, and read the first story. At once I was reminded of the simple storylines, the natural twists in the tale and the utter joy of a storyteller at work.

I was given one of the volumes of The Secret Seven – my first Enid Blyton ever – after I turned six. It lay on a carved wooden table in the living room and being a very shy child I wandered around the blue book for quite some time like a curious puppy. After the parents had retired to their cares, I finally approached the book, took it to a corner of the house where I was sure no one would come and read the first chapter.

And after that, I went on to read some thirty odd books by Enid Blyton. All second hand, all mine.

I of course read the remaining staple for children – the Tinkles, the Champaks, the Gokulams, the Chandamamas. With Blyton and her very English world of lamb and apple sauce, women named Miss Plum, stockings, currant cake, grouse bushes, promenades, piers and children who went to snow peaked mountains for convalescence – it hardly felt alien at all. Perhaps, one of the achievements as a writer is to be able to tell a story that captivates irrespective of locale and specificity.

Happy Hours Story Book is part of a collection of books by Enid Blyton featuring brownies, fairies, pixies, wizards and witches. So, for a woman who is nearing thirty and who was obsessed with fairies for a major part of that life, I must say I was very happy reading Oh, Flibberty-Gibberty under a November sun.