To,
You know who you are,
I have a difficult life. Not a ‘difficult’ difficult, but difficult nonetheless. For example, I took a couple of books from my office library the other day and while I was singing, the librarian ma’am smiled and told me that I have selected excellent books and that I would really like them. Now since I have the attention span of a 5 year old human and a two month old puppy, I did not read the two books and watched old Telugu movies over the weekend. The problem now is, when I go back to return the books, she will no doubt ask me if I liked the books, for which I have no good reply to make me not look like an idiot. If I tell her the truth, she might assume that I was just being pretentious and if I lie and tell her that the books were really good, I would be insulting two great authors and their works. See, this is what I mean when I say my life is difficult.
“Where do I fit in all this?” You may ask and that is what I am here to explain. You see I go to office travelling around 30kms (total of about 60kms) every day. There are so many battles I have to fight on the way, usually on my way back from office, since I will be exhausted and therefore vulnerable to pain and angst; my own battles. Like most days, after my work was over, I got into the bus not before watching at least few hundred people spit on the road. What is it with those people? Do you have any idea how difficult it is to walk beside an open-windowed bus or car without the constant fear of being spat upon by some indecent jerks. They all seem so proud while they make disgusting patterns, often colourful, on the road using it as their canvas as if they knew they were making Pablo Picasso proud (and me puke.) I don’t know what’s wrong with these people I tell you. Anyway it is a daily ritual for me to stop myself from puking and take the ac buses more often mostly because their windows are closed. As if things were not difficult enough in my life, you came into it unannounced (actually it was announced. Sorry.)
Back in the bus, I sat listening to songs on my iPod, escaping from the world outside and a scarier world inside my mind. As anyone can agree, one does not pause an iPod for listening to a song on the radio unless it is an “Ilayaraaja” song. “Suvvi suvvi suvvalamma” song was playing and so, like any sane person would, I paused and began to listen. And it was when the song ended, I heard your voice. Well, to be accurate it was first the radio jockey, who was named Rim-Jim Ria or Fatafat Jayalakshmi or Chalaki Chaitra or something else on similar lines I don’t remember. But then it was you, the caller. I don’t even know what you do for a living. May be make calls to these radio stations. That would be a good job. Please send me an application via email if it is indeed what you do. Anyway, I began to listen as the RJ, whatever her name is, announced that it was SPBs birthday and that you were the first caller to her show. Since Sripathi Panditaradhyula Balasubrahmanyam is the greatest singer to ever walk on this planet, (perhaps the universe) I switched off my iPod and began to pay attention.
You see, before going any further, let me tell you a little bit about myself. I am a man, or a boy of very simple thoughts. I like good food; I listen to music and make my living by working in a public sector bank. However if life is all about fighting battles, I have a thing about getting confused while choosing my battles. I get extremely annoyed if people talk loudly in public places, but I don’t feel disturbed after reading about government inefficiencies or charges of murder against political leaders. I remember who gave me my first erection (I will not be revealing it) but cannot recognize half the people in my Facebook friends list. I cannot empathise with suffering children in India but will begin to contemplate causing fatal injuries to security guards who show unnecessary authority when I try to park my vehicle outside supermarkets. The immigrant crisis in Europe or the ISIS problem in the middle-east do not bother me as much as you are doing right now. You might begin to recollect now and you should be realising that this happened a long time ago. That itself should make it clear how much you have disturbed me. Now let me get back to that RJ and when you called to talk to her. This is the gist of the conversation:
You: SPB sir is an amazing singer. The greatest
RJ: *shouting so loudly and quickly that I couldn’t process her words*
You: Hahaha.. Yeah…
Me: *thinking nothing* *burp*
RJ: What is your favorite SPB song.
Me: *thinking how ridiculous the question is*
You: My god. It is so difficult there are so many.
Me(thinking): Ofcourse Ofcourse there are.
RJ: Yes there are but tell me one favorite song.
Me: *Thinking what would be the song that I would say had I been asked the same question*
You: Ummm,…
RJ: *Shouting something or having fits, I wasn’t sure*
Me: *thinking of Geetanjali and Abhinandhana songs*
You: Haaaa there are literally thousands..
Me(thinking): yeah haha no wonder this girl is finding it difficult to choose she must also have a huge collection of good music like me.
RJ: tell me one.
You: The best should be the song from Chudalani vundi
Me(thinking): Wait what? ‘Ababaa idhu’, ‘manassa ekkadunav’ and ‘simbale simbale’ are good songs for sure; and I am a huge fan of Mani Sharma’s music. But the best?! Really?!
RJ: which song? Sing it for us.
Me(thinking): yes please
You: Yamahanagari.. Kalakathapuri….
RJ: Awesome.. What a song!!
I don’t remember the conversation after that. Not even the song that played after that. At that moment, I was pretty sure I felt like Asin in Ghajini when the villain hits her on the head while the hero watches helplessly. I looked at my co-passengers who didn’t seem to bother and were clearly not paying heed to what just happened. On the other hand, I was feeling like Pawan Kalyan, giving a speech; by which I mean, very vague and having no clarity about what I was thinking or saying but visibly emotional, very emotional.
In case you are still wondering why? The song you said was not sung by SPB. It was Hariharan. I would understand if it was the other way round but how could you get this wrong? Were you drunk that day? If so please confirm via email so that I could put my agitated mind to rest. If not, why? How? I mean if you could pick any song prior to 2000, there is a good 80% chance that SPB is the singer. How could you choose a 90s song, as if you knew what you were saying, and still get it wrong. Sigh. It should be like selecting a crook from the LokSabha or like picking a Rajnikanth fan in Tamilnadu. It is supposed to be so easy. Like I said before, I am very poor in selecting my battles and this battle is the kind I have no option but to lose. This silly blog post is my feeble attempt to give closure and put the horror behind me. I am going to move on now with my life of difficulties and you go on calling loud radio jockeys and talk about how Puri Jagannath directed Magadheera and how Devi Sri Prasad composed music for the Slum Dog Millionaire. That RJ, who I recall is named Sexy Shakila (or not) will go on yelling gibberish and agreeing to callers claiming to have killed Veerappan. Sigh. Meanwhile I will keep fighting a lone battle to try and escape from the armed openwindowed spitters while silently praying for a cleaner planet.
P.S Okay I will tell you, it was Stephanie McMahon.
Thanks & Regards,
G Sudhams,
Assistant Manager – IT and a fat person
The Cannibal 