Nada Bin Sri Laden

As usual, it always feels kinda ‘empty’ once the exams and the term end and you have a 6-week break. Apart from trying to go full-gear into my final-year project (which is due next March but was conceived almost last March), trying to catch some movies and trying to relax, I found myself in a frenzy to clear my cupboard. Out came the files, the books, the cute keychains that I kept for posterity (yeah, posterity my posterior), and all the rubbish that’s been hiding in there for the past few years.

Mercilessly, I began to sort the inhabitants of the cupboard into “to live” and “to die”. Old Starhub bills from 2000, my Edusave updates from primary (?!) school, my Community Chest thank-you letters (with pictures drawn by Angela, 8), anything and everything went to its respective heavens. It seems so odd that when you see some things at time A, you think “eh, this is damn important sia…” or “ah… this I will keep to show my son who probably won’t give a hoot”, but then at time B, when you’re older, wiser and have less time for bullshit, you just put them all in one NTUC plastic bag and chuck them off into a Laden Bin.

The basic principle I will try to stick to is simple: I’m not going to last forever, so why keep things as if they will last forever? I have come to believe in simple living and keeping minimal possessions. The best things are things you can keep with you and things you’ll be remembered long after you pass on, like (orchestra music please) good manners, a light heart and love for the fellow being. Not some frivolous trinkets amassed over the years that collect dust and just fill up space. Think no more folks - don't let 'sentiments' fog your mind and clog up your cupboards. March on to a Disposal Frenzy now!

Now on to my next task that always slips by me: cutting my hair. Currently looking like Paul McCartney in the 60s in his 20s (only the hairdo, not the face), I plan to make my hair look like Aamir Khan’s in Dil Chahta Hai. Whether or not Aamir Khan will attempt suicide after knowing this, or whether or not the Uncle downstairs would be able to pull it (not the hair) off, I’m not sure, and I’m too scared to try. Instead, I’ve been mulling over visiting the new type of barbers who typically have a “stylo” shop at a shopping mall, and include the name “Sri” or “Nada” in their shop to sort of associate or confuse the already-confused hair-cuttee (like me) into thinking of some of the more famous barber shops like Sri Nada. The barbers look like young dudes, so I guess it would be worth a try.

Brouhahahaha

Weddings. Depending on which part of them you make up, weddings can tingle your heartstrings and make you feel like a million dollars, or they can make you have successive strokes and a kidney failure with that.

It’s wedding-moodsy around me – my brother’s next year; Yashila’s two relatives’ in the coming weeks; my good pal recently had hers; another friend just invited me for his next month. And all the stories that come from it seem to be one of human strength, perseverance and absolute chaos.

I think any attempt to hold a revolutionary wedding against a backdrop of ‘tradition’ and ‘custom’ will fire in your face like how a cat’s ass is molested by a vehicle’s exhaust fumes (I like weird analogies). Take, for example, an Indian-Muslim wedding, an institution to be reckoned with in my community. I will now attempt to categorically make sense of the chaos found there.

1. Guests – There is no such thing as a “simple” Indian-Muslim wedding with only “important” guests. Everyone is important. Like how Friendster facilitates the meeting of you and your ex-secondary school janitor’s wife’s cousin-brother’s swimming instructor’s half-white lecturer in a 58-degree friendship, drawing up a guest list for a wedding becomes a massive, record-breaking Friendstarathon involving the furthest of relatives and the most forgettable acquaintances.

2. Venue – For the 500 guests from your side and 500 people from your significant other’s side, get ready for a thronging audience, fit for an Indian version of Woodstock. You need a place to put these folks in – the following perhaps is a thought process of an organizer (a relative, maybe): “Dei, the hotel ballrooms are too small! Ah, some ballrooms are huge - but too expensive! Football field? Cannot lah, too one kind! Hey: how about the local community center? Sure, they’ll suffocate, but that’s ok. If there are really, really too many VIPs, like say 200 more to the 1000 already coming, then no choice – void-deck lah. What, there was a funeral yesterday at the same spot? Not a problem! People are just going to eat the briyani and go right? So naïve you!”

3. Pre-Wedding Photo Shoots – there is a life-or-death need to take photos of yourself with your significant other in various high-end costumes, high-end make-up and high-end locations, photographed by a high-end photographer, binded in high-end book form, and to be stored forever in a high-end closet at home to collect high-end dust.

4. Door gifts – Shall it be aluminium plates from India (because they're very cheap due to the laughable exchange rate)? Or decorated eggs (raw) from Seng Choon? Or a piece of handkerchief that will serve no purpose in anyone’s life at all?

5. Music/Entertainment – Hmm, let’s choose: You can play, in the background, Arabic songs that no one understands, or contemporary AR Rahman duets, or bring in famous local celebs from Vasantham that no one pays any attention to (since the food is so good!), or get a live religious band from Malaysia/Afghanistan which plays Arabic songs no one understands. It goes without saying that decibel levels must reach or, better still, surpass the ultimate threshold of human hearing – otherwise, no one will know there is music.

6. Procedure of events (guest) –

a. You walk to the CC/Void-deck, identifying it by the Woodstock crowd. You join in the crowd, shoving, heaving, pushing and finally finding a table to sit. No sign of your friend, the groom, nor his newly-wedded wifey. Someone manhandles you to the nearest foldable table which is freshly peppered with yellow rice, half-chewed mutton parts and curry stains from the previous patrons. Who is the manhandler? Hey, it’s none other than Saiyed, the expatriate from Bangladesh who does the morning sweeps under the block (you find out that he does catering jobs as a hobby).

b. You eat very quickly, as the rest of the four unidentified VIPs who joined at the same time as you have already moved on to the dessert. They also burp loudly.

c. Suddenly, you spot the groom and wife! On stage. Why are they decorated like mannequins, you wonder. You struggle to understand how they can possibly keep their smile intact for a full 30 minutes. You jostle past the crowd and join in the queue that has formed to take photos with the couple. You get reminded of the time you queued up and took photos with Daffy and The Little Mermaid and Pooh (who doesn’t wear underwear) at World Trade Centre when you were 8. You snap out of it - your turn comes and you exchange a few kinds words with the groom, a friend of 15 years – “Hey, nice briyani. All the best.” Reply – “OK, thanks. Take a photo.” And before you know it, you’re posing for 3 cameras and you’re totally confused which direction to look at, blinded by the lights, or how a video camera could take stills (they can!).

7. Procedure of events (groom/bride) –

a. Put on clothes, make yourself pretty. Not ironed properly? Don’t worry, there will be 13 (thirteen) costume changes waiting for you, the reasons for which are unknown to any living individual.

b. Get married, with the Kaadi from MUIS and your close folks as witnesses on the same stage on which later you will sit on an elaborately decorated Fake Throne with sparkling, blinding bulbs.

c. Guests arrive (refer to 6 - Procedure of events (guest) for more details)

d. You are seated on the Fake Throne, where you smile and stare out into the arriving thronging crowds. You look for your spouse and get a shock of someone else sitting next to you. You realize that is indeed your spouse who is barely recognizable from the 2 mm-thick make-up and ornaments, plus the glare of the flashing bulbs that adorn the Throne.

e. In between, you’re told to change your costumes. 13 (thirteen) times.

f. You’re hungry and freezing from the air-con (or perspiring from the lack of it), but alas, the queue has formed around you to pose, take photos, and discretely, or otherwise, stuff into your hand their “payment”/”Green packet”/”moy” (in Tamil). The folks who are queuing up have finished their hearty meals, and before they leave, want to take a photo for memories. Of course, they will never, ever get to see the photo, as the completed album’s circulation would be confined to close relations, after which to would be put together with the Pre-Wedding photoshoot to collect high-end dust (see 3 above).


g. You and spouse eat the leftovers after the guests have left, and feel lonely in your flowing robe, make-up and Fake Throne. You curiously wonder whether what happened in the last 6 hours was a wedding to mark lifelong bliss and happiness, or a costume parade with free food where you and your spouse were the principle actors. And you blew $6, 569.59 for the wedding and got only leftovers. Perfect.

Ah, I hope I got everything down, but hey: no two Indian-Muslim weddings are ever the same, yes?

Wasted

"Akkad faced similar obstacles in getting Arab financial backing for his Salahuddin project. He had already gotten the iconic Sean Connery on board to star as the legendary Kurdish hero born in Iraq who would reclaim Jerusalem from the Crusaders in the 12^th century...

...He believed he was unable to gain Arab financial backing because the period leading up to the rise of Salahuddin too closely mirrored current events in the Arab world."

- Al Jazeera.Net


I had always wanted to watch the thus-far only movie about Prophet Mohammed, The Message. My curiosity was stroked 2 years ago when I heard that they made an entire movie about the Prophet and his efforts to spread Islam without a single shot of the man himself, due to Islamic conditions that no image of the Prophet should be published or attempted to be published or reproduced. The film is a masterpiece in much of the Muslim world; it's an artifact of the most amazing story ever told to the rest of the world, possibly a window for non-Muslims to see this story.

So it was with some solemness that I read that Moustapha Akkad, the man who made such a movie possible, was killed by terrorists in the recent Jordan bomb blasts. Indeed a wicked irony for a man who apparently abhorred Arab-rooted terrorism.

Read more about his ambitious plans that have come to naught, here. Wasted.

Summa maja

It’s the curse of the “Magnum Opus” effect: you give them a mega-budget masala with thrills, spills, murder, mayhem, Remo and 15-minute memory lapses, and you make them die for more. Your next movie has to have some corruption, revenge and Harris Jayaraj. Anything less is a cold thosai in their mouths.

So folks: get your butts off Anniyan and Ghajini: these were once-in-a-harvest kinda shows. Give them a break. [Ah, now I’ve rationalized with myself.]

Maja is a hilarious entertainer that plays it safe in all aspects. Well, not as safe as Vijay does in making all his movies having a standard template of entry songs, unbathed/unshaved/un-moved-bowels look, “item” number and smart-ass tactics against a bafoon of a villain (who’s actually a great actor in his own right). Safe, with regards to the storyline, treatment and flow of the narrative: it’s catered to the families and children. Easy on the stomach and the brain.

Vikram’s looking relaxed and enjoys himself after going through a very serious method acting class with Shankar in his Ambi-Remo-Anniyan avatar. He plays it easy, he plays it cool with his wild shirts and matching sarongs.

Pasupathy (from Mumbai Express, Virumandi) gives Vikram a run for his money by playing his hilariously endearing brother. Pasupathy’s antics were a joy to watch and although his scope was overshadowed by Vikram (because, erm, Vikram’s The Man), he showed that he was capable of comedy, fights and even romance! Yes! It’s bloody hilarious. He’s so good that even Vadivelu looks redundant and his histrionics are reduced to screaming matches with himself.

Our dear Asin… (wipes tear from left eye). After her phenomenal role in Ghajini, director Shafi has relegated the Fairever icon to a role Trisha Krishnan would love: a ‘calafare’ sidelined beauty whose life gets decided by everyone but her. She didn’t have much of a scope to shine, and I resent that (I guess it’s the Ghajini effect… got to… stop… it…).

As for “item” numbers: Sindhu Tholani (the promiscuous “Vaishu” in Manmadhan) does a dance with Vikram. And for a while it didn’t look like an item number at all: as you might have noticed, for typical item numbers, the female lead who dances is normally obese (Mumtaj), make-up laden and showing skin (Ramya, but I like), obese and irritating (Nayantara), or looking like a bar-top dancer (Seena Thana Woman). But Tholani looked as if she was the bloody heroine! I mean, she's quite a lithe maiden who's much better looking than some of the above-mentioned. Considering her acting abilities and Asin’s limited role, they might as well have put the low-budget Tholani as Vikram’s partner.

I hadn’t heard the songs before, but Vidyasagar did a pretty commendable job with the peppy numbers and duets. The theme score was catchy and danceable, I successfully controlled myself from dancing on the seat of GV Yishun. The songs were well picturized (and cute at times).

Overall, the team wanted to make a movie that was happy, funny and fast-paced, and just "maja" (which I gather to be a slang somewhat similar in meaning to "jamai" etc). But knowing the psychology of the mass audience, maybe it was not enough. Maja was all that (maybe a bit slow even), but it lacked the adrenaline-triggering fire of movies that project the fallen hero rising from near-death to avenge everything and everybody. Instead, Maja plays it so safe, it almost seems like a miniature mega-serial episode. Sure, it’s great fun, but the part that makes you go “DUDE! That was awesome” was lacking, and I think that’s what the mass audience have been trained to lap up (like how they’re apparently lapping up Sivakasi). And to make matters more hairy, there's a potential comparison with Vikram's previous show, which was a different animal altogether.

Anyways: Watch Maja for Vikram and Pasupathy. I’ll wait for Sivakasi on VCD. Going off for my media law exam now.

After Eid

It’s been quite a while since my last posting (about my school work!)(which was very interesting, naturally). The Hari Raya break was fabulous, watched Anniyan on Central, packed in the calories with all the cakes and brownies and cakes (and probably burnt it all by walking to my room from the hall). Before and after that, I went out and saw, heard, smelled and ate things, but didn’t get to write them all down.

That’s what happens when you don’t write for a while: you get all hot and confused on what to write, which fascinating nugget of your thus-far dull-as-a-duck life you want to shout about. Will it be my trip to Geylang during Ramadan where I saw a lot of children’s underwear? Or my transit through Toys ‘r Us where a dead Barney lay, cold and still? Or will it be going to my brother’s new flat at Cantonment near where a fat, white rabbit was caged? Or going to the Malaysian railway coffeeshop where I ate a thosai from the crevices of a kitchen from hell? Or the karaoke concert at Bukit Merah with singers who showed that true showmanship was not about having Botox jobs or prosthetic mammaries, but was about believing in yourself, nevermind that you might be old, fat, or just really can’t sing?

I’ve seen these karaoke gatherings before, and man, the audience is a sizable number. Dialect songs are sung by the Average Ah Kow and Ah Ling set to deafening music that some folks even get up and dance to. Who says we in Singapore don’t know how to have a good time? I may not, since I eat cakes and brownies indoors, but these fellas sure do.

Talking about performing outdoors, I spotted 2 dudes dressed in some hippie/gypsy kind of outfits performing at Boon Lay MRT a month back. Normal buskers to the naked eye, but Kings of Beats to the discerning ear. Not that I have a supremely discerning ear lah, but I thought it sounded cool. These guys were doing a mini Badmarsh and Shree, and attracting an audience quite large for a busker act. I wonder whether they’re still there; it’s quite an interesting place, Boon Lay MRT. Here you’ll see smelly pigeons, illegal curry puff sellers, banana sellers, VCD sellers getting chased by the police and SDP comrades selling their newspaper. Wonderful.

More recently, I went to take a look at my brother’s new flat at Cantonment, a 4-room flat set in a quiet area. Before that though I went to the nearby railway station for a small breakfast. As the news of some Clean and Hygiene Week’s official opening was being announced by Prema on Oli 96.8, the thosai stall owner dug a cup of semi-liquid thosai dough with his dough-splattered hand and splashed it onto the pan that already had 2 pratas frying. A peak into what I thought was the toilet, revealed what was actually the kitchen that had unwashed plates, raw potatoes and dustbins. A man came out from there, carrying a piping hot container of chicken masala. I didn’t want to think about the process that produced the chicken masala. I ate my thosai that (of course) tasted a bit like prata. Moving on to the flat.

It was a good place. Quiet, serene and tile-less, the flat was good for a couple, their 2 small kids and maybe one set of parents. Outside the flat, there was a caged rabbit owned by unidentified neighbours. After showing the family around, my brother bade us farewell to attend to work in the CBD. No need for a lift, he said to my dad. The CBD is walking distance from here. Cantonment is a cool place for a yuppie bent on living near a caged rabbit.

I’ve put up all the photos, so feel free to take a peak at everything I’ve taken a peak at. For the sound links to the Badmarsh and Shree Buskers and Bukit Merah Crooners, check back in a few days' time; Internet Archive takes a few days to accept the uploads. Will be back with a review of Vikram's Maja.