Sekolah Kebangsaan Seri Bali, Cha’ah

A recent catching up of childhood friends at the online social network portal, Facebook, got me thinking about the school in a place I call my hometown. The little town called Cha’ah in the Johore state that I may have mentioned it in my other posts before.

Though we were born in Kluang, my b

rothers and I spent a great amount of growing up and being educated (in and outside school) in Cha’ah, a town so small that if you are travelling by the road you might miss it. Especially if you are a Singaporean driver.

But where is Cha’ah, you may ask? It’s in Johore, between Labis and Yong Peng. Where is Labis and Yong Peng, you may ask. Well, it’s between Segamat and Kluang. Where is Segamat and Kluang? I don’t know, in frickin’ Kyrgyzstan. Just go online and checklah.

Aside: Cha’ah is easy pronounce. Start with “Cha” as in “Char” and followed by a quick, “ahhh”. There…simple. Now, wipe that phlegm away. End of aside.

Anyway, the first school I attended, Sekolah Kebangsaa

n Seri Bali, was formerly a smallish building according to a blurry picture I saw, or a goat pen. After moving from Paloh (another small town and don’t get me started) the timing was right when the entire school moved into a new building. At the age of nine I was introduced new bunch of friends who welcomed me with open arm, and palm

(more on that later).

Pix: That's me, standing at the back row. Fourth from right. The one that looks like roasted squirrel

The kids were great. They were harmless, except the boys of course. Boys of that age usually should be locked up in a…goat pen. Outside the class they are always running. And when they are not tearing off into the field or towards the cafeteria (we call canteen here), the boys were menace to each other. They were nasty to the girls too but usually a wail or two would fix things up with the teacher towering over the quivering perpetrator. Teachers those days had the license to cane or slap you. Try complaining to your dad and you will get twice of what you got from your teacher with a bonus of extended studying hour.

The kids of Cha’ah of that time were of no exception. One of the most notorious things we’d do to each other involve rubber seed. Erase the dirty thought, first. Easy to locate, this piece of harmless plant reproduction instrument would be secretly rubbed on the floor and the assailant would suddenly appear and pressed the damned seed on your thigh. Imagine it a tiny smoking hot iron.

Of course, the seeds are not available at every location. This is made up by smacking your palm against your buddy’s crotch, and watch him cry and curl into fetal position. When in comraderie mood we play games. One of the popular one was Police Sentry, so basic and back then didn’t involve tear gas and water canon. Or Belon Acah (loosely translated as Baloon Pickle, I think), played on the badminton court. It involves running from one stage into the other where the other guy try to stop you until someone’s teeth got knocked off.

The girls, as usual, were delicate creatures. They like to chat, and I believe I hung out a lot more with girls. I was then extremely thin, small, asthmatic and slightly effeminate (my asthma made me involved less in sports), so I hung out with them more. It was not until Secondary school that I was hanging out with dudes more (mostly because they had cigarettes).

The teachers were decent folks. But I suspect not too bright. Well, I am not being judgemental here, but an incident confirmed that. I was fairly bright student then, always scored high, especially in science and mathematics (that was before secondary school where I descended into becoming a blithering idiot).

So, here was recess time and suddenly I was summoned by the science teacher. She was alone in the class, and it has to since it could jeapordise her reputation. The obviously, source-less she asked me the names of the nine planets in our galaxy, which I responded, which she noted down in the book and thanked me. A very proud day for me, though nobody saw that and they are not going to believe anyway. But she must be feeling betrayed now, since scientists and astronomers have declared that Pluto is not a planet, but Goofy’s pet dog.

Most of us came from poor family. By most I mean, there were mostly Malay students (majority) and Indians with sprinklings of Chinese students. There were Tamil and Chinese language schools, for the respective speakers, so I can’t speak for them. But over here, we were mostly from Kampung (village) and estate (plantations), like my brothers and I. Usually 20 cents or 30cents (www.xe.com) would take care of meal. Of course the menu consist of dishes which are horrifying the health conscious/politically correct parents of these days (most of whom are from our generation actually), but hey, we grew up to be normal, healthy adults with piles.

Meeting the childhood friends, albeit virtually, do bring back those sweet feelings. Sure, you may have acquired best buddies recently, or still hangout with those you went in college. But childhood friends bring something else to the table.

They were there when you fell and injured yourself playing Police Sentry. They were there when entire class laughed to a fart nose. They were there when you had to go back halfway because of heavy wheezing. They were they when you were crying (and them too) because the goddamned evil nurse jabbed the BCG syringe into your arm.

It was the most important years of your life, and they were there with you. Except for that one moment. Now, I need to find that teacher and apologize about Pluto.

Extreme Fairy tales: Three little pigs and a wolf

Warning: This one comes with strong language, so if you are offended don’t read.

There was an old sow with three little pigs, and as she had not enough to keep them as they ate like a, err, pig she fucking kicked their ass and told them to be on their own.

Cursing under its breath, the first that went off met a man with a bundle of straw, and said to him:

“Please, man, give me that straw to build me a house.”

To which the man yelled, “I got a fucking name.”

And the frightened pig asked what his name was. “It’s Mann,” said the man, “Michael Mann, you know, like the film director”

The pig then proceeded to ask for the straw and the man impressed by the pigs courtesy and not helped by the factor that he seriously digs bacon, gave some of the hay.

And the little pig built a house with it, though he had no fucking architectural knowledge. Presently came along a wolf, and knocked at the door, and said:

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in.”

To which the pig answered:

“No, no, by the hair of my chiny chin chin.”

The wolf then answered to that:

“The fuck is that? Since when did pigs have fucking goatie? Anyway, let me in or I’ll huff, and I’ll puff, and I’ll blow your house in.”

After an awkward pause when he thought about the “blow” part, he actually did that. We mean, not like that blow, he actually huffed and puffed and blew the goddam strawhouse in, and ate up the little pig. Documents does not exist as to what he did with the meat, so we are assuming that he roasted it slowly after seasoning with cumin and fennel powder, salt and pepper.

Anyway, the second little pig met a man with a bundle of furze, and said:

“Please, man, give me that furze to build a house.”

Before you scratch your head, let us do the homework. Yeah, awesome, furze is another name for Gorse it seem. What the hell is Gorse? More homework, hang on. The internet is slow; meanwhile we’ll playing game apps on our Android phone.

Crap the server is down. Anyway, let’s assume furze is some kinda animal fur. You know the type if you wear one, the animal rights people would skin you alive?

This time the furze man just gave the furze away after sprinting off to his village to prepare for pork feast.

He’s too late, because the same damned wolf came and you know what’s gonna happen right?

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in,” he said, rolling his eyes because we gave him the same line. Fuck you, wolf, just do your character.

“No, no, by the hair of my chiny chin chin.”

To which the wolf retorted, “Jesus Christ. What the fuck is with that chin hair? Open up or I’ll huff…Nah, I’ll fucking tear the place down.”

Since the pig resisted, he did tear the piece down and grabbed the pig and since he was full from eating the first one, he shared it with the village folks and just ate the shoulder part.

So, there’s one more pig right? Smart, you have been paying attention.

Right, the third feller met a guy with loads of bricks.

The pig asked what it was.

The man said, “Something I shat.” The pig didn’t respond to that. “It’s a joke, you fucking idiot,” the man said.

Then the pig said, “Actually they look like it did came from where you joked it came from. Nobody’s going to buy shit-shaped bricks so you might as well give it to me.”

Humbled, the man gave away some bricks. His name is John Huntington the third, but at this point of time, we don’t fucking care.

As per his siblings, the pig used the brick to build a house. Not much of a house, but hey, a home is a home huh?

This happened like a month after the second pig incident, so the hungry wolf tracked him using his GPS system (smelling urine more like it) and found the third pig’s place.

“Little pig, little pig, let me come in despite the fact that you house looks like it was built with hardened shit.”

“You know,” said the pig from inside the house, “In India they actually use cow dung_”

“Fuck cow dung,” hissed the wolf. “You are letting me or are you gonna do the hair chin routine your two late brothers did.”

Shocked, the pig asked, “My brothers died?”

“Yeah, they’re in my belly, you should meet them”

“Shouldn’t they be digested already?”

“Wow, we got a fucking scientist here. You gonna open the door or you want me to blow it down”.

“Go ahead make my day,” said the pig, grinning at the Clint Eastwood poster on his wall.

Well, the idiot wolf which sat three times for third grade, did the huffing and puffing until his lung almost came out and bitch slapped him for making it work hard.

Out of breath, the wolf said “Little pig, I know where there is a nice field of turnips.”

“Where?” said the little pig. The fucking glutton.

“Oh, in Mr. Smith’s Home-field, and if you will be ready tomorrow morning I will call for you, and we will go together, and get some for dinner.”

“Very well,” said the little pig. He agreed. The idiot. “I will be ready. What time do you mean to go?”

“Oh,” said the wolf looking at his cheap Rolex knock-off, “ at six o’clock.”

Well, the little pig got up at five as he had to take a leak around that time, and got the turnips before the wolf came (which he did about seven o’clock as forgot to set the alarm) and who said:

“Little Pig, are you ready?”

The little pig said: “Actually I left early and got the turnip. I couldn’t stay, I had left the stove on in the kitchen.”

The wolf felt very angry at this, but getting angry is useless, he needs to strategise, like getting a tank or something.

“Little pig, I know where there is a nice apple-tree.” That’s right, wolf does the same routine. Knucklehead.

“Where?” said the pig not envisioning himself on a dinner table roasted with an apple between his mouth.

“Down at Merry-garden,” replied the wolf, “and hey, you wake up early, I wake up early too. Five am it is.”

It is, you dick. The pig got up at 4 am and grabbed all the apple he can and went back home, while you stood there at 5 am like an idiot.

The next day the wolf came again, and said to the little pig:

“Little pig, there is a fair at Shanklin this afternoon, will you go?”

“Oh yes,” said the pig, “I will go; what time shall you be ready?” He might as well said, "what time you want me to put my head in the oven".

“At three,” said the gleeful wolf, who actually watches the show Glee.

So the little pig went off before the time as usual, and got to the fair, and bought a butter-churn for no reason at all, which he was going home with, when he saw the wolf coming.

Shocked, he got into the churn to hide, which is about as same effect as closing your eyes so the fucking lion in front of you will go away.

But since he’s supposed to be the hero here, let’s modify the story a bit and say that the butter-churn it rolled down the hill with the pig in it, and apparently it frightened so much, that he ran home without going to the fair.

He went to the little pig’s house, and told him how frightened he had been by a great round thing which came down the hill past him with a screaming pig in it. Then the little pig said:

“Hah, I frightened you, then. I had been to the fair and bought a butter-churn, and when I saw you, I got into it, and rolled down the hill.”

“Hey, douchebag, the wolf said, “You are repeating what I told you, I know that pathetic scream must be yours. It’s that huge butter-churner scared me. But fuck it, it’s this. I am going to eat you and if I have to use the chimney, I goddam use the fucking chimney.”

The pig heard that, and he immediately boiled a pot full of water right below the chimney. The wolf got to the chimney, took out the cover, dived in straight to the boiling water. This time, the pig ate the wolf. Fucking A.

Who are we kidding? The water was not boiled yet when the wolf got in, so the wolf killed the pig, lived at that house with a supply of pork meat for a month. That one is one big mother.

Coming soon: Three Little Pigs and the wolf pt2: The one without the pigs.

Rajini: Converting Fans of All Ages.

Before leaving to Singapore for further medical treatment, a frail sounding actor Rajinikanth issued a voice message to his fans, saying he’d be back, blah, blah, blah. But the most interesting part of the message was that he’s baffled by the amount of love poured by his fans.

Frankly, Rajini may remember his pals from the bus conductor days, still love and respect brother, and the rugged childhood he grew up into, but he certainly forgot how he rose as a star and became not just an idol, but a family member in the households of many south Indians or those of that origin all around the world. Not to mention a bunch of Japanese. But they are weird, so let’s leave them out of the equation for now.

When he first appeared in a supporting role Apoorva Raganggal, he was just another guy in torn jacket who dies standing. When he appeared as sadistic anti-hero in Moondru Mudichu who’s responsible for Kamal’s death, he already made a three year old boy cry. I still remember the tears. Then, he went on, appearing in one film after another, building fanbase, converting nay-sayers and fair-skin worshippers, appearing with other stars and conquering their fans, moving forward shoulder to shoulder with his buddy/rival Kamal, till the Tamizh film fans, which has lost MGR to politics, and endorsed a brilliant actor called Sivaji Ganesan to wear silly wigs and sillier costumes, realised that these two are a force to reckon with.

While Rajini proved that he can be a damned good actor if he damned well pleases, he was more concentrating on crowd pleasing stuff. Armed with cigarette flipping gimmick that nobody got tired of for decades, he created the orphaned illiterate persona that takes on big guns. An underdog bent on avenging his murdered parents, sister, brother, buddy (restricted to human being, though he spent an entire movie chasing after a baby elephant not for retribution purpose).

That’s the image of late 70s early 80s Rajini – his teeth bared to express intense displeasure of having kick bad guys ass again, messy hair showing life does not warrant time to go to the hair saloon, simple costume when who needs fashion when it’s going to be splattered red. Needless to say, males of his age then (20s/30s) were his biggest fans when they are not picking fights with the Kamal fans of the same demography.

Post marriage (1980) Rajini was slowly shedding off the “I am an angry orphan, hear me roar” image to something more family friendly. Though there were comedy sidekicks in his movie, comedy became his sidekick. It was his dagger when he was not blowing the shotgun. His costume got better, his hair a lot more in place and he smiled a lot. Killing bad guys was no longer a major pre-occupation. His characters accept challenges like living as a simpleton in a village, or to convert a woman into queen. He occasionally goes back to his root like going vigilante in Nan Sigappu Manithan or though once, he let go of a bad guy in the end of Kai Kodukkum Kai (at the same climax a bull killed another bad guy in what may be termed as a separate incident). With brilliant composer Ilayaraja’s backing, he gets to mouth many beautiful melodious songs and that won many music fans.

Female fans who are deeply disturbed by Kamal’s penchant to do mouth to mouth rescucitation with conscious heroines, took to Rajini as their ideal hero. Still, kids were torn between the two, with my family sticking firmly to Kamal. We had a great time making fun of Rajini, whatever foible he had then, picking up fights with his fans, especially those who are smaller. I still do that with my hardcore Rajini fan wife.

Towards late 80s, Rajini parted his hair in the middle, perhaps symbolically as he took dual acting assignments, one in Tamizh, and another in Hindi film, which may have contributed a lot to the amnesia that he was fine actor. Suddenly my brothers and I, hardcore Kamal fans then, started to grudgingly admire him. I suppose this happened to Kamal fans of that time elsewhere too. Admit it, Rajini is not going to win an Oscar anytime soon, but dammit he does have something in him doesn’t he.

By this time, his smile has become more charming. The everyday man look has evolved into a manly handsome matinee mug. His urgent style of walking was included in his “style” list. He started mouthing searing dialogues, the way Eastwood would do with his .44s. He even can manage few easy steps of dancing. And his comedic skill, most of all, won us. And he was really working on it in the late 80s shitty films like Panakkaran, Siva or Dharmattin Talaivan which we watched repeatedly for his comic antics. He’s no threat against the post Nayagan Kamal. We can always go to two theatres, or rent two VHS tapes.

As he entered the 90s, he took last few shots in the dramatics; beating the crap out of his brothers with teary eyes in Dharma Dhurai; making sacrifices for his buddy in Thalabathi; refusing to be henpecked in Mannan and willing to be totally in white traditional garb in Ejamaan. His biggest break, as if he needed one, came when he played a don in Badsha. Till then, my dad, an MGR fanatic and hardcore Kamal fan, broke down and pledged loyalty to Rajini. Imagine what it would have done to the others. His fans are now everywhere. A year later, a bunch of Japanese took to liking Muthu and retitled it Dancing Maharaja. That’s like retitling Nayagan as Singing Godfather.

What followed was lazy foray into occasional acting gigs with scripts he endorsed. Arunachalam was tolerable, but not the hedonistic women hating Padaiyappa. Yet, fandom was growing. Younger heroes declared, directly and indirectly, than they want to become the next Rajinikanth. Becoming the next great actor was a thing of the past; becoming Rajini is the current goal. They are fans of him, these young stars. Imagine their own fans.

He became an everyday subject of conversation in most families, in the same tone you’d use on your uncle, or a brother, or in my wife’s case, a father. Little toddlers love him, and eats only when his song is played on TV. People hardly say Rajini now; they have joined the chorus of those who say Rajini-sir or Rajini uncle, and even Rajini-taataa. During the last ten years there were scores of stage events featuring the Tamizh Nadu chief minister, with Rajini and Kamal as the main guests. The TV shows of the stage shows would edit it in a way that both of their speech would appear right at the end; and we would all wait, sitting through idiotic dances, boring speeches, stupid jokes; sacrifices we make so that we could see our two beloved stars’ speeches.

So, Rajini, no need confusion as to why the fans love you so much. Just get better, come back and do what you do the best: entertain us. And those weird Japanese.

KO: Small review

I have come to a conclusion as far as KO’s director is concerned. I think KV. Anand hates us audience.

You see after crafting a wonderful script, creating memorable characters, and perhaps even storyboarded the tight action sequences, he remembered that we would be watching, and sadistically decided to place songs at strategic places enough to get us reeling.

The man for the job, Harris Jeyaraj took it as labour of love, and armed with recyle and sampling machine, he carpetbombed the entire film gleefully with the heard before tunes, and lazy-ass background score equivalent to audio shit.

But we should forgive KV. Anand, besides the musical turd, he gave one helluva political thriller. Superb performance from the cast, especially Jeeva and Ajmal, the film moves from one event to another, and reminding us the event before and why we should have thought of it as unnecessary scene, but we didn’t because it was awesome, and yet the scenes are explained in the nicely scripted twist.

The truth is, its nice to see a protagonist in form of a photo-journalist. When was the last time we saw one? Kamal in Tik Tik Tik? In the era of social media networking, whe world of physical newspaper seemed like an odd choice to place a young protagonist, but it was perhaps what makes the film work – the old school thriller that is purely worked around newspaper headlines.

Kudos to KV Anand for such a gorgeous piece of cinema. Drop Harris next time, Anand. Or we will hate you.

Yuvan’s Concert and The Evolution of Tamil Film Songs On Stage

In the middle of his first concert, Tamil film music composer Yuvan Shankar Raja hung from a helicopter via cable as he descends stylishly down the stage. Basically a schtick pop singers or rock bands worldwide, (especially Americans)use to enhance their concerts. Except, Yuvan is a movie composer, no different from John Williams or Danny Elfman or T. Rajender. It was something new in any Tamizh film related concerts, though similar scene was enacted in a Kamal movie only to have the cable snap so that Kamal can quickly stop his really bad song and emote melodiously*.

Yuvan is too ordinary looking to be a poster material, too short to be hunk material, too bland to be stageshow material, and basically too one-note to be a rockstar material vocally. He doesn’t have Michael Jackson’s move, nor does he possess Bono’s energy, Jagger’s swagger or even Freddie Mercury’s moustache. And yet, thousands turned up to his concert, a mix of young and old, from various background, and a guy who kept dancing with his ass turned towards camera.

But I was amazed to see rockstar level of adoration amongst his fans. The show itself was staged to elucidate such adulation, with guests praising showers on the young composer, and some other pop/rockstar gimmicks. And trouble with old fart grouch like me, I don’t know 70% of the songs delivered, so it cut my fun factor short. Not to mention, everyone on stage has to yell the compulsory, “Come on, CHENNAIII” every two minutes.

What again made me watch with glee is how much stage shows featuring Tamizh film songs has evolved. Back in the 80s, I have seen concerts by veteran composer Ilayaraja or veterans of those day, K.V Mahadevan and M.S. Viswanathan, all usually decked not in leather jacket and tight pants, but formal shirt and veshti (or Dhoti, or some white cloth wrapped around waist downwards, take your pick). It’s hard to think of them arriving by hanging from a helicopter. Well for one, the veshti might get entangled with the blades and create a musical disaster of some sort.

Anyway, these gentleman usually hardly speak, often when prodded by the emcee and the answers would be filled with humility, or in Ilayaraja’s case, very matter-of-fact answers that sometimes misread as being big headed. Guys, he was just being himself. But that would be all. Including many other small time composers who come over to Malaysia or Singapore, where we get the TV broadcast from, give the audience good music, then pack up and take a booze laden flight back home.

Then came A.R.Rahman making sure that his concert is every bit as polished as his audio output themselves, ruined only by the then new school singers like Shankar Mahadevan and Hariharan talking to the audience. A.R Rahman himself took to dressing up non-traditionally, usually smart casual, but remained mostly behind his synthesiser emerging only when he is singing and when he is not fussy with his damned keyboard.

Ilayaraja pretty much stayed away from staging shows at that time, giving way to lesser beings like Deva or S.A. Raj Kumar to strut their stuff on the stage where sometimes you get up to 270 people on it, with only 10 being musicians and singers. It was a messy affair, with musicians missing the queue, singers peering so tightly at the lyrics book in front of them and still miss the words.

The last time I went for a concert was to see and listen to my beloved S.P Balasubramaniam and K.J. Jesudass when I was in Singapore. If the third rate accompanying troupe was annoying enough, K.J Jesudass was busy screwing up the lyrics and forgetting the tune, leaving SPB to cover him up as if the song was not ruined already. It was a terrible show and that was the last straw for me. I’d rather watch a couple of snails making out than another Tamizh film song concert.

Respect for A.R. Rahman who is now touring the world around with his concerts, when not making music for Hindi, Tamizh and Hollywood films, aside I felt the whole film music concert will be brought one step further having seen Yuvan’s concert. Sure, he looked silly in Michael Jackson outfit, he knows only about three and a half dance steps, and often you have to seek him out when towering celebs share the stage with him (his port where he plays his synthesiser was on a heightened platform so you know the show is still about him), but he made lots of effort to be a performer, rather than a veshti wearing composer standing around looking nervous that the tabla feller might miss couple of beats or the flute guy picked up the wrong stick.

Also, never mind the fact that the celebs who talked about him might make you think that when he is not composing music, Yuvan was helping out at the leper colony (“he’s a great man”), there’s something fresh about the concert, even if I didn’t know most of the songs. I'd love to see Yuvan leading the younger composers to give lots of thought behind their shows and give high quality productions on stage. Though I wish he'd never wear the Michael Jackson outfit. Reminded me of MJ’s Bubbles.

*Kalaignan. Used to love Edakku Mudakkaana Sarakku. Now, unlistenable.

RIP Sujatha: A Mother For All

Argue as you may till the cows come home on how the recently departed actress Sujatha was much better actress than the stereotyped mother roles she has been doing the last three decades. Truth is, we will end up remembering her most of the times as mothers to the likes of Rajini, Prabhu and other leading stars who are themselves in their twilight of their careers now.

These stars were icons for us generation X-ers, and their on-screen mother was like ours, and Sujatha was one of the most comforting faces to look at on big and small screen. It doesn’t matter that she was terribly under-utilised because till today there is no place for the Meryl Streeps and Cate Blanchettes in Tamil film industry. You are either Marylin Monroe or mama Huxtable and after almost a decade of playing leading ladies to the leading men, she took on the latter roles and give her all to it.

Of all “sons” she had relationship with, the weirdest must be the recurring non-relationship with Rajini. She played his mother in Maaveran, Kodi Parakkuthu Uzhaippali and Baba, where as a baby he was never destined to be with his mother till maybe latter part of his adult life. Maybe.

In Maaveeran, she plays the typical split-from-son mother, a plotline beaten to death in Hindi film back in the 70s that hung over throughout the 80s. She goes amnesiac, sort of, until she is reunited with her husband and ultimately, her son. Only time we see mother and son together is towards the climax when Rajini is not busy beating up the bad guys.

The same plot reappears in the Kodi Parakkuthu, and this time she goes mute. Brushes with the unrecognized son Rajini aside, the only time the two spend time together is perhaps towards the end when Rajini is not beating up the bad guys.

As whittle down from director Rajasekhar, to Bharathiraja, we find ourselves watching P. Vasu’s Rajini film, Uzhaippali a silly, but enjoyable film, where again, Sujatha plays mother with amnesia, driven away from son Rajini, until both finally recognise each other and have quality time as mother and son, that too towards the end when Rajini is not beating up the bad guys.

Zoom forward a decade and we find ourselves in Rajini’s own scripted film Baba. This time, Sujatha is not amnesiac or mute, but told by many swamijis who spent too much time staring at the snow peaks of Himalaya that that is not her son. A reincarnation of some spiritual guru it seems. So, no son and mother quality time at all in this film where she was even killed off while Rajini was busy beating up the bad guys.

The root of this troubled “relationship” must have taken place decades earlier when she was the main star of K. Balachander’s Avargal, where Rajini played her verbally sadistic husband. It was not a relationship meant to happen, and it didn’t even went well when she played his mother.

But that is a terrible long digression on this piece where we acknowledge that she was like our own on-screen mother. We don’t like it when the sons hurt her feeling, even if it was by someone Innocent as played by Prabhu, or by two-fisted horse-riding gravity defying stuntmen like the ones Rajini played. No, don’t you hurt her feelings. She’s your mom, get her back, Rajini, and for god’s sake, look for a bride and get married, Prabhu, she won’t be around forever. And she’s not now.

The Hub Awards 2010 – Tamil Film Music

Best Female Playback Singgar

Here we are once again, with a handful nominations full of beautiful women who contributed to the well-being of Tibetans. Who am I kidding, I have here names of singers, most of whom I have not heard about singing films I have not seen

Here we go, first we have Anwesha who invested her vocal in Mandhira Punnagai, a film that has nothing to do with Sathyaraj.

Then we have Gurupriya who was used for the film Kanden, which nyaan kanddutulla.

Finally a singer from a film which I have seen and almost wept not because its terribly sad, but you don’t see much of them these days. And it’s Hamsika for Angadi Theru.

Winner: Anwesha

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Best Debut Male Singer

It’s no surprise that I don’t know any of the nominees since they are newcomers. But then this is an important moment for them. This is their first step, the giant step into the industry and then get invited to judge kid shows.

Here are the nominees, for Enggeyum Kaadhal, Aalap Raju. Why alap? His siblings name are Sanggathi Rani, or Birkha Bairavan or what?

That followed by Ajeesh for Goa, Alphones for Vinnai Tandi Varuvayo (VTV), Kirthi Sagahtya for Madhira Punnagai, Raman Mahadevan for that film that stole the title from NT’s classic comedy, Suresh Iyer for Angadi Theru and Yateeshwar Karthikraja for Nandhalalalala….

Whoever you guys are, all the best and stand in line behind more new singers…

Winner: Alphones

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Best Song Picturisation/Choreography

This is certainly a weird award, but considering the emphasis directors put in making sure, and knowing well, that their movies suck, at least the audience gets to take a gander at the heroines’ cleavages.

Leading the pack is Arima Arima from Endhiran, a sequence which Shankar must have spent the entire GDP of Singapore on. Needless to say, Rajini looked awesome in it, overshadowing his heroine, the brilliant set, and those extremely fake looking silicon lions (cost US$3.99).

Then comes En kadhal solla from Paiya, and Hosana from Vinnai Taandi Varuvayoo which again showcased Goutham Menon’s fixation over the crucifixion pose the heroes often project when they are in lauv.

This followed by Iragai pole (Nan Mahan Alla) and Kilimanjaro, again from Endhiran where Aishwarya Rai showed what would happen if the Loony Toons' Road Runner dances.

More songs from Vinnai Taandi Varuvaya with Mannipaya and Omana Penne, and Kamal gets to showcase his reverse singing talent in the nominated Neela Vaanam song from ManMadhan Ambu. Is there anything this man cannot do? Oh, bungee-jumping into a live volcano? Haha, wait did he hear that?

Last two song in the list is Pookal Pookum (Madarasapattinam) and Usure Poguthey ( Ravanan) the latter in which the heroine went through the extreme torture of looking beautiful all the time.

Winner: Neela Vaanam

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Best Lyricist

Best lyricist nomination names are interesting because of the names themselves.

First on is Arivumathi. Look at that name. Which parents would name a child two names that means the same thing. It’s like naming your kid, Sooru Saatham or something. This definitely will go down in the history as the most modest name in this side of Batman Villains.

Then we have Chandru, who’s usually played by Navarasa Nayagan Karthik, and Madhan Karkywho is, you guys know this very well, son of one of the most brilliant poets/lyricists/writers Kannadhasan.

The list is followed by Mu Mehta, a veteran lyricist who have been writing since the colonial times, and rubbed shoulders, palm and ears with Bharathidhasan, and Na. Muthukumar, who would have gotten my vote for being brilliant, creative and a fellow balding victim.

Other names in Thamarai, again another brilliant writer, Thiagarajan Kumaraja and Yugabharathi. Finally this list is not complete without one name that should be in any nominations lists ever, like Best Praisefest Contendor, the one and only Jimpalakkadi Jimba…wait, let me get the reading glass…oh yea, it’s Vairamuthu.

Winner: Vairamuthu

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Best Background Score

It’s increasingly interesting to note that a nod has been given to the Background score direction, considering some Hubbers here spent most of their waking hours talking about how they didn’t even realise that there was none in Nadunisi Naygal.

Leading the list is none other than A.R.Rahman who actually should be banned from any awards, and just mail him the trophies on regular basis bar the public holidays.

Next to him is his nephew G.V.Prakash who will forever known as the boy who sang cikku bukku cikku bukku opening. Next on is the both underrated and overrated Vidhyasagar, followed by the dude who always sings like he spent two hours in LA Airport and acquired the accent, Yuvan Shankar Raja.

Last but not least, of course, the composer better known for singing lots of Ramarajan songs,Ilaiyaraja.

Winner: Ilayaraja

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Best Playback Singer - Female

Here we go again, a list of mostly unknown folk whom I suspect are all ladies.

Or so I think, if I were to dismiss the lead nominee Andrea who seemed to be channelling Louis Armstong a lot. Followed by today's* Harini and highly overrated Shreya Ghosal, and Sudha Raghunathan who is someone, I suspect, who sings.

Then, we have Chinmayi whose chicken like clucking ability induced tons of offers from Cartoon Network, followed by Madhushree who, though she didn’t do the clucking thing, nevertheless deserves offers from Cartoon Network for reasons known by no one else but me because I don’t have a frickin clue what to write about her.

Then, you have honey voiced Sadhana Sargam, bee-wax voiced Saindhavi and Brazillian Bee sting voiced Suchitra.

*lame Malaysian joke, don't bother.

Winner: Shreya Ghosal

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Best Playback Singer - Male

It’s interesting that this year there are nominees who are composers themselves and also pairs of daddies and sons that shows nepotism rules and you’d rather do it yourself than the fee seeking singing chipmunks.

Among the nominees is Ilayaraja, whom previously I introduced as frequent playback singer for a certain milkman, who is also known for being responsible for another nominee Yuvan Shankar Rajawho has fierce “no entry” sign in his studio especially two rottweilers that specialises in ripping apart other singers throat.

Another daddy on the list is K.J Yesudass who occasionally descents from wherever he is to remind the us that he is the original, not Vijay Yesudass, the other nominee.

I am also given these names Roopkumar Rathod, Vijay Prakash, Haricharan, whom I have no idea who they are, which I suspect was plucked out of certain rear end to break the votes.

Also in the list is A.R.Rahman, who joined IR and MSV as composers who also sang for Rajini and yet none of them sound like Rajini at all. Unlike Karthik, another nominee in fact.

Last but not least is god himself. *lightening and thunder effect please* The defender of great singing, the purveyor of awesome voice talent, the symbol of cheerful obesity, the golden voiced, the giant bellied, the Man, the Lord, the one and the only ....
S.P.BALASUBRAMANIAM !!! Bow! Bow to the lord all thee minions!

Winner: Karthik

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Album of the Year

We have lots of nomination for album of the year this year owing to lazy hubbers who has been slacking in their work listening to worthless music and reading stupid award announcements. You have been warned.

Anyway leading the list. Wait, can I say something other than “leading the list”, it’s grating. Okay, ending the list is Ayirattil Oruvan/Madhrasapattinam /Va.

Ending further in the list is Angadi Theru, Mandhira Punnagai / Magizhchi
Mundhinam Paarthene/Moscovin Kauvery

The slashes are actually in the list, I am not making it up. I don’t know what it means either, split votes? Leaning over each other? Shoulder to cry on? I’m going bonkers with one too many announcements?

Okay, deep in the pit are titles like Nandhalala, Paiya and Tenmerku Paruva Katru, the latter title obviously trying to cash on ARR’s fame. Shame on you, you should try to cash on IR’s fame.

Of course, it’s inevitable that ARR is here, with three of his movies nominated, namely Endhiran, Raavanan, Vinnai Thandi Varuvaya all of which contained two of the worst actresses since Kamala Kamesh and Saritha’s sister combined. It’s time you take that break, Rahman.

Winner: Vinnai Taandi Varuvaya

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Song of the year - 2010

I don’t listen to new songs all that much except when A.R Rahman decides to take a break and composes Tamizh songs. But more on him later.

Songs that I may have heard about but don’t give not only two hoots, but three horns, four snorts, are En kathal solla (Paiya), Iragai pole (NMA), Onnukonna (Nandhalala),Pookal pookkum (Madharasapattinam), Un perai sollum (Angadi Theru). Though I have seen three of the films, I can’t remember the songs at all, that’s how awesome they are.

Usure poguthey from Raavanan goes on to show that as great as Vairamuthu was, sometimes he goes batshit insane when writes that the protagonist’s life leaves him when the heroin twists (twitch?) her lips. For the same heroine, years ago, he had the protagonist declare that he is willing to drink her sweat. Excuse me one nimits for five nimits....

...ah...feeling better...anyway, that song was composed by Rahman as he did for the film Vinnai Taandi Varuvaya where two songs made it here, Aaromale a bluesy, folksy, shout from the jungle song and Mannippaya which I conveniently forgot.

Next on, ARR not only composed, but also sang for Rajini, a number titled Irumbile (Endhiran)where on Rajini does lots of Aerobics for the geriatrics. But that’s not A.R Rahman’s fault, unless you want to blame him for the next nominated song, Puthiya manitha (Endhiran), where he made S.P. Bala sound like mating hippos. Who am I kidding I love both songs.

Winner: Irumbile

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Best Music Director

NOV, do we still have awards left to give to A.R Rahman? Oh, you’ve sent for a container. Okay, I’ll read the nomination list anyway.

Apart from the obvious winner, duh, is his nephew again, one Mr. G.V Prakash who kept giving one lame composition after another after showing potential in Veyyil. When was that? 25 years ago?

Then there are names that has escaped me time and time again and are now on a man-made raft in the sea of my amnesia attempting to board my ship of selected memory, namely Kannan (Tamil Padam), N.R.Rahanthan (Thenmerku Paruvakaatru) and Thaman.

Then you have the usual nominee Vidhyasagar...*yawn*... and, again, one of thousand Vijays, who worked for Kanden Seethaiyai.

If I began with uncle and nephew, I shall end the list with dad and son, Ilayaraja who can still rock the boat when he’s not tinkering with the boring synthesiser stuff and junior, Yuvan Shankar Raja, who’d rather strangle himself with guitar string than avoid tinkering with the boring synthesiser stuff.

Who wins this category? If “obvious answer” is not your answer, I suggest you leave the Hub and become member of “Hey, I’ve just discovered world wide web” forum.

Winner: A.R. Rahman

The Hub Awards 2010: Sports

I participate in an online forum called The Hub, populated mostly by Tamizh speaking members from all around the world. You can learn more about it here.

Anyway, every year they nominate films and individuals for awards, not sure they are given away personally, but hey it’s awards. This time I had the honour of making announcements through posts and the best part, in my own style, and here they are in case they get lost in the cyberworld. Note that I am being especially nasty towards the popular one, so don’t get offended. Special Thanks to my buddy NOV (Velan) who is one of the moderators there who was masochistic enough to give me this opportunity.

Sports Category

Best International Football Team.

Yes, I will be your presenter today. Here we go:

I think it goes without saying that Argentina has been the best for many years if not for severe suicidal bombings by Brazil fans in the respective embassies.

Anyway, joining Maradona’s team this year in the nomination list would be “endearing” Spain, “cybernetics” Germany, “it’s not hand of god dammit” England, “neither here or there”Nedherlands, “Pickled” Uruguay, “Folksy” Gana and “we are not Uruguay's evil twin sister”Paraguay. Brazil gets kicked out for technical reason. Okay, that was a joke. They are in. Defuse that bomb. Please.

Winner: Spain

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Bowler of the year

Mods (Moderators) wanted me to announce this category despite the fact that the only thing I know about cricket is that it makes noise by rubbing its hind leg. Anyway, when mods tell you to jump, you shouldn’t ask, “who’s coming for tea”

The nominees are Dale Steyn, Graham Swann and Harbhajan Singh who was last seen reading news in our national TV station. No?

Alright, then we have James Anderson (Sam's evil brother), Morne Morkel, R Ashwin. Hey, my heavy metal buddy….what’s he doing here. Add to the list, you have Ryan Harris, Shakib Al Hasan,Steve Finn and Zaheer Khan who’s either sibling to Salman, Amir or Shah Rukh Khan. There, I just did a religious stereotyping crack. Sue me.

Winner: Dale Steyn

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Footballer of The Year

What exactly is the criteria for this award is not exactly known. According to a mysterious source, the main criterion includes looking good in shorts, but she may be speculating

Since sport is boring for me, I shall not talk much. Leading the list is Xavi Hernandez , followed byAndres Iniesta, Iker Casillas, Wesley Sneidjer and Lionel Messi.

Then you have Diego Forlan, Thomas Mueller, David Villa, Miroslav Klose,
Cristiano Ronaldo and Lionel Messi.

That’s about it I guess. Did I mention Lionel Messi? I did huh? Sharp aren’t you?

Winner: Messi

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Batsman Of the Year

If you have just the best Batsmen of all time, I think the result for this poll is easy, it’s Michael Keaton dammit!!

Oh wait, right. It’s that damned cricket again, you folks treat it like religion don’t you?

So, big on this list is Sachin Tendulkar who might as well start a religion called Sachinologist or Tendulkarian, so many eager members here.

Then we have names Virendar Sehwag, Hashim Amla and Thilan Samaraweera. Who are these people, why they are in this list, and what is their significance in this existence called The Hub is a mystery currently being processed by the ministry of propaganda at the bunker. I don’t know what I am talking about but you will get the idea if you go immediately to your pharmacist.

Next on we have Virat “the chicken” Kohli, Jonathan “the deep” Trott, and Ian “Idea Mani” Bell.

The last three names include JH Kallis, AB de Villiers, VVS Laxman, those initials owing to extremely lazy parents.

Winner: Sachin

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Best Football Team - Premier League

Somehow the Premier League has captured the hearts and minds of everyone in this world except the US, which is enamoured by a game where some guys carry a ball around, with their own pair protected considering they are wearing something that’s designed to ram a goddam tank.

So, here we have who’s who of football world. First in the list, Manchester United, which club’s fans think that by becoming one they sit on the right side of god when actually they are more annoying than those damned noisy pigeons that sit by your window sill in the weekend morning.

Of course, you have Chelsea which I am fond of because the literary James Bond lives there. AndArsenal, the poor blokes always get the butt end of the jokes, if you know what I mean.

Then, there’s Liverpool which I am not allowed to make a crack about because I’d like to sleep on the bed, thank you dear.

My beloved Tottenham Hotspur makes it to the list because of my one frickin’ vote, thank you mods. Next you have clubs that earn living by gambling pools, like Blackpool, selling hams, likeFulham, and selling sundries like Sunderland. God bless you guys if you are not relegated soon.

Last but not the least you have Manchester City forever hidden by the gigantic winds broke by Man United, and Everton which unfortunately is so insignificant I don’t know what crack to make of this club, except that it reminds me of Oliver Twist during the porridge scene.

Winner: Manchester United

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Best Cricket Team

With all the excitement going on with the world cup it is without doubt this award would be of a great concern to many Malaysians.

Haha, who am I kidding. Malaysians know cricket like Americans know humility. If cricket match were the only thing that can help disputes among the participating countries instead of guns and bombs, then the entire world might as well switch off everything, announce the end of global warming, curl and die. It’s that intense.

First, we have the usual suspects of the cricket world, like India, England South Africa and Pakistan.

Then we have the unusual suspects of the cricket world on the account that I don’t have much to talk about, like Sri Lanka and Bangladesh, completing the South Asian Category.

Next on are the lands of barbie and bad English accent, Australian, New Zealand and West Indies.

Whoever wins and gets the Hubs attention will spend lots of sleepless nights wondering that the hellSoftsword is and why a forum member would have enough low self esteem to call itself Plum.

Winner: Duh….India

Oscar: Yearning the Crystal Years.

Yet, another gripe from a grouchy old man. Yes, I hated the Oscar show this year, and knowing well I would do considering the hosts are young actors, James Franco and Anne Hathaway. Don’t tell me watch it next year, as I am sure they are fielding Justin Bieber and Miley Cirus or is it Hannah Montana. Mily Montana? Whatever.

For many years, I’d stay home and watch the show. Whether using my annual, or medical leave, I’d be there even watching the red carpet show checking out my favourite stars who are mostly never my age. Older I mean, in case you are thinking of alerting the FBI.

That habit has since decreased ever since they stop putting good (not great) standup comics up there as hosts. Sure, there were glitches when I was home to watch the show hosted by Whoopi Goldberg, but she’s not bad as host as she is comparative to mongrel turd as a comedienne.

When I started watching them live, Billy Crystal was the host. While he’s so and so as a comedian, on Oscar stage he was the man. I have not seen any of Bob Hope hosted show, and I am sure that he was awesome, but for my generation and the generations to follow, Crystal was the definitive Academy Awards host. Steve Martin comes close and I had no issues with David Letterman when they were slotted in between the Crystal Years.

But Crystal was the man. As Facebook user, Doug Long puts it in recently started group called Bring Billy Crystal Back as Host of the Academy Awards, “He's the best of the modern Oscar hosts. Great humor mixed with a knowledge and appreciation of Hollywood and film. His medleys and parodies of nominated films are legendary, as are the fresh jokes such as when Jack Palance won and did the one-handed push-ups”.

I watched the show for the hosts, hoping to get good jokes, a gentle ribbing of the celebrities (unlike the roasting Rick Gervais delivered at the Global Globe, shock and awe technique mostly), the funny song medleys, and Crystals easy chemistry with the audience and us, the viewers. What happened yesterday was failed open mike night.

Not that the duo was bad, mind you. Anne Hatheway was funny in places, did a terrific song and dance routine, but was mostly lost. That was her. James Franco needed a GPS. It was poor writing, planning, and mostly unnecessary yapping. The presenters were mostly unfunny. Hell, Hugh Jackman was not funny. There was a brief relief when the ever charming and funny Robert Downey Jr, and the newly charming and recently funny Jude Law took the stage. Too brief.

And when Crystal appeared briefly, it was like God himself ascended, you can see the audiences faces, the delight seeing him back.

I know Crystal is not getting younger but to hell with the whole younger demography crap. We have the spending power and we control the, err, remote controls. Unless you are a husband. The younger demography thing is a myth. Younger people have an attention span of a domestic fly. I dare to say that, because I was one.

So, please, get Crystal back. We miss him. Go online and see how much he has been missed. I have just joined the group at http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=12738035350, you might want to do the same too. At least you don’t need a remote control for that.