The condensed milk ritual and the passage to manhood

Dating back to sometime between 1873 and now, the condensed milk ritual was born in Mayo College (other boarding schools may have their own legends, but this is ours.), Ajmer. It all began the first time a hungry schoolboy from the aforementioned institution tasted the thick, gooey and sickeningly sweet syrup someplace under the sun (or moon, depending on the time of day). The moment was glorious. Legend has it that as soon as the creamy goo touched his tongue an actual lightbulb lit up above his head. The light from this bulb was seen for miles away leading to the myth that a star had burst very close to the Earth, say a few million light years away, give or take a few.

Right away the young lad knew that the concoction he had in his possession was a true gift from the Gods. It was sticky, had no nutritional value and was so horrendously sweet that it could have you throwing up within a few seconds of chugging it (which could only be done straight from the tin via two scientifically calculated holes drilled using a protractor). Yes, this would make the perfect drink for pre-pubescent dorm parties where fraternal bonds were formed.

As the boys get older this bonding ritual is then performed by the consumption of copious quantities of tobasco sauce staight from the bottle (see who can drink the most, and who can drink this and not have any water for the longest time are the favourite versions of this game), which then gives way to the sniffing of glue or other intoxicants like thinner and white ink (at least in the case of some kids, while a vast majority give this stage a skip and graduate straight to the next one) and finally to the final stage (this one goes on for the rest of a man's life, or at least till a doctor puts a stop to it for health reasons) consumption of large quantities of alcohol over which many a brotherly bond is formed and even the most macho of men can be seen breaking down like blubbering idiots.

And that is how the condensed milk ritual makes a man out you!

Here are a few shots of my dad's cousins reminiscing about the good old days by knocking back a few cans of milkmaid.



Let the games begin!





Chug! Chug! Chug!





Now why don't you try some?





Ohmygod! I can't believe she did that!




Ohmygod!I can't believe I just did that!




There, there.. It's not that bad. Let me show you how it's done!




..and that is how it's done!



Well this is the authentic way. Remember?


Two holes on the lid (now the base, because the lid can easily be opened nowadays).




Salud!



Not one to shy away from anything that make most normal folk cringe, I too joined the party!
Not too bad, but I wouldn't make this my regular poison.




And then there were some who bravely raised the cup to their lips.....



.....only to let it fall...and then run off into the darkness, presumably to be sick.

Confusion, piss and condensed milk!

Had a long and interesting day today. Attended the opening of a new 5-star boutique hotel near my house, only to find out that the big do for the opening did not really signify the opening of the hotel for the hotel is still a few months away from actually opening. Confused? Yeah, so am I. But this is not to be dwelled upon at this godforsaken hour of drunken slumber (it is 2am and there's defintely enough alcohol floating in my veins to give my blood a good run for its money).

Met a certain big shot art curator at the aforementioned (non)opening. What I imagined would be a very awkward conversation, turned out to be a very pleasant and promising one. I'm quite knackered and if I could slur in my typing you'd see (or hear...whatever) that I'm really quite incoherent at the moment, but I will tell you why it could have been an awkward conversation. It was about four years ago, very soon after I finished my undergraduate degree that I first came in contact with the aforementioned big shot curator. Was utterly confused about what I wanted to do with myself at the time, but had a couple of sketches that seemed to have caught people's attention. Somebody called somebody, who in turn called someone else who then got me a meeting with big shot curator, who seemed to take kindly to the artwork at hand. The rest as they (yes 'they', the imaginary friends are back!) say was history. I handed over the sketches with the promise of returning with a few more so that he could show a full body of work to any prospective buyers, and never saw him again. Till this morning that is. But he was very nice about the whole thing and eventually ended up joining a bunch of my uncles, my dad and the self for a binge drinking session (he sensibly stuck to club soda) interrupted briefly by the uncles and your's truly chugging back two cans of condensed milk just for kicks!
Will put up some pictures of the condensed milk drinking ritual in the morn.
Conversation somehow turned to urine (yes, we were a bunch of pissheads talking about piss!) and the consumption of cow urine by humans... shockingly two out of the five of us sitting at the bar had been down that road and all they had to say about the whole experience was "It was warm". My guess is that it must have been very fresh. Hmmm.. nothing like a glass of fresh warm cow piss to start the day, eh! Health benefit or no health benefit I don't think I'd ever be able to knowingly drink any of that stuff.
I think I need to change the topic a bit and move onto another fun urine fact. Did you know that tweed is traditionally soaked in urine to soften the fabric? Yep it's true! I googled it. And to imagine that I saw some tweed a couple of days back that was priced at Rs 18,500 per metre because it was extra soft! Extra soft= Extra piss x extra time spent in piss. Yeah now feel that soft fabric against your cheek!

The article in the Tribune

Try as I might I haven't been able to link up the Tribune article that I spoke about in the previous post (who says my generation is technologically savvy??.. Or perhaps I'm just the exception to the rule. Hmm.. I like that. I've always wanted to be exceptional.... I think drinks are in order tonight!) Sorry got a little distracted there for a second. Here goes the article. Look for me in the sixth paragraph..And that is a younger and several kilos lighter version of me in the picture.

A cornucopia of artistic talent offers a visual treat

Angad Sodhi, from Mayo College, Ajmer, presented one of his paintings to External Affairs Minister Jaswant Sigh, at the IHC.

THE last week of the year 2001 saw a spate of activities in the realm of art. There was ‘Bengal Art, Past and Present’ at Visual Art Gallery with a host of artists from West Bengal participating in it. Contemporary West Bengal was sought to be portrayed through widows with shaven heads; Durga, the goddess of power and energy; domestic affairs through love, care and the degeneration in values. A visual treat, the exhibition was an enriching journey to the world of West Bengal today.

In another artistic show, Art Today came up with a thematic exhibition of 12 zodiac signs, painted by artists of repute who titled their paintings accordingly, Aquarius, Taurus, Leo and so on.

Even in the company of famous names like M. F. Hussain, Jatin Das and Paresh Maithy; a veteran painter, Paramjit Singh, though not as well known, stole the show with his ‘Pisces’.

What drew maximum attention were the works of young artists from Mayo College, Ajmer, at the India Habitat Centre. Sponsored by Mayo Heritage Society, it was an exhibition of paintings, crafts and photographs.

Scanning the entire art gallery in one go did not help. There were countless varieties of artistic items provoking wider glance. Divided into two sections, preparatory and senior, the gallery had countless attractions. Paintings portraying landscapes, murals, the life in Mayo, human figures, on the spot paintings—most of them on water and poster colour, were pulsating with life for the aura of their bright colours and unusual shades of mixes.

‘Glimpses of Mayo,’ a collection of seven paintings, done in seven days by young Angad Sodhi, a student of class X1I, turned out to be a major crowd- puller. Mayo and its pristine beauty in water colours allured even the External Affairs Minister Jaswant Sigh, who was presented with a Sodhi painting. For Sodhi, who wants to be a lawyer, painting is just a hobby he would like to take recourse to, when he needs solace.

Another attraction was the wire works and soft sandstone items. Soft aluminum wire, uniquely molded in the form of a man skating and sitting on a chair, woman knitting a sweater were, unfortunately, ‘not for sale.’

The factory waste of soft black sand was something that attracted the school vice-principal, Mrs Dipika Hazra, and her curator husband’s attention. With their guidance, the students made countless decorative pieces of art, specifically huge abstracts that few exhibitions had done so far.

Then, various figures on terra cota, stained glasses, and countless wall hangings of bright colours and mirror work in shell made the visitors dig deep into their pockets.

The boys’ section boasted of tie and dye fabrics, miniature and abstract paintings. “I find girls are better than we in art and craft. The boys are more inclined towards sports-related activities which are reflected in our works,” said Vaibhab Raghunanadan of class IX, whose miniature paintings saw many admirers. The exhibition had been on for only two days, and a major crowd-puller, particularly for its negligibly priced (Rs 25 to 1,000) utility items.

First Art exhibition in 8 years!

On January 31, 2010, The Lalit Kala Akademi on Copernicus Marg, New Delhi, witnessed the opening of an exhibition by three artists well on their way to being called established. To the casual observer there was nothing unusual about this opening; it was a Sunday evening, all the characters were in place, there were the three artists, er, two artists and one sculptor to be precise, the chief guest being played by a Supreme Court judge, family and friends who'll always make the right noises but never really buy anything, and the odd arty farty type, the sort who spend a little too long staring at canvases, their unashamed stare leaving even the most confident work of art feeling a little uncomfortable.

Nothing out of the ordinary, right? A very typical start to my first exhibition after eight long artless years. BUT! (cue climatic music) But, what if you now find out that none of the three artists I mentioned above were me? That's right, my first exhibition after many, many years was one where my name could not be found anywhere.. not on the brochure, the invitation and not even on the wall below the actual works themselves. Unbeknownst to almost everyone, especially to the good folk at the Akademi, stood two of my latest works.

What happened was this... The headline artist for the exhibition was a lady who also happens to be the mother of one of my closest friends. So about a week before the actual opening, and about a month after all invitations and brochures had been printed, I happened to mention to my friend that I had started painting again. Before I knew it, I had an invitation to display my work alongside those of his mum and another couple of artists. But because my name was not on any of the literature surrounding the event, the Akademi officials would not have let me in through official channels. Hence the secrecy. As long as I didn't tell the four members of the Akademi who came to the opening, that the paintings in the corner are mine, I could feel free to try and peddle my creations to the highest bidder.

The whole experience of trying to whore out my art left me feeling a bit strange, kind of like a pimp and not the cool kind of pimp that 50 Cent was talking about in his song, but one of those shady characters that jump out of dark alleys accompanied by a young girl high on crack, whenever they see some frustrated looking chump walking by. Or even like that old lady who frequents certain dingy bars in Vasant Vihar, going up to all stag tables with photo albums of young Eastern European women.

But after much self deliberation, I have come to terms with the fact that the best appreciation that anyone can show my work would be in monetary form. Talk is cheap!

The story of my first ever painting exhibition

The first time I ever exhibited my paintings at a location that wasn't home or the fine arts classroom at school, was back in 2001. It was a school sponsored show at the India Habitat Centre, where the best of the best from our school were selected to display their works (yes, I'll take the opportunity to brag whevever I can present it to myself!). Couldn't have asked for a better platform to launch a career in art!

But as a 16-year-old from an all boys boarding school, the exhibition to me, was merely an excuse to spend a few days in Delhi, officially bunking school and ogling girls. There were a few specimen from our sister school Mayo College Girls' school floating around the Visual Arts Gallery, but these ladies, with all due respect to them, were always wrapped in a drab beige coloured curtain, which along with a red chunni made up their uniform, and all in all did not really make for good eye candy.

So with my only other classmate who had managed to make it to the exhibition in tow, we spent most of our waking hours slipping away from the IHC to sit on the steps outside Mcdonalds in GK-I's M-block market watching the girls go by. I'd like to make one clarification at this point... not once did we speak to, or attempt to speak to, or even think about attempting to speak to any female human being during the many hours we spent birdwatching.

Also important to note is that any time that we did spend at the exhibition was utilised wisely to fabricate elaborate plans to somehow break out of the youth hostel where we were residing and take in the nightlife of Delhi. The closest we got to doing this was when my parents, who had come down for the exhibition, took the lot of us out for an early dinner only to deposit us safely back to the hostel before 10'o'clock. And anyone who has lived in Delhi can tell you that no one even leaves home to party before 10pm!

With hindsight, we really didn't manage to accomplish anything at the time, but while we were out checking out the chicks, I did manage to sell a couple of paintings for a sum of money that I never got to see. Then there was the one painting that was presented (free!) to former senior BJP minister and alumnus of the same school as your's truly, Jaswant Singh Jasol, as a token of the school's appreciation for the time he took out to be the chief guest at our exhibition. Well even though it was given away for free, ever the media savvy professional, I managed to get some mileage out of the actual presentation, which made for a brilliant photo op and later on led to a little writeup in The Tribune. Of course, at the time I have no idea what being media savvy or getting my picture in the paper meant, aside from more bragging rights back at school.

For those interested, here's a link to the story published in The Tribune: A cornucopia of artistic talent offers a visual treat
http://www.tribuneindia.com/2002/20020125/ncr2.htm

P.S. At the time of this first exhibition I wanted to be a human rights lawyer!

An introduction to the author... and all that other mumbo jumbo

"For the millionth time now, this is not going to be a false start! No, no, no, no, NooOO!," says my brain to, er, well, to my brain. And honestly I can't really hold my cynicism back, the blame is all on me. This is the seventh time I'm getting started on a blog. The last six died a little prematurely. All from the same disease.... procrastination. Does anyone know if the wonders of modern medicine have created a vaccine for that one yet?

Anyway, so I was thinking that if this blog were to develop another sort of medical condition, something that could, er, counter the symptoms of the aforementioned hereditary disease, what would be the perfect antibody? So here's wishing the writer of this already dragging jumble of words, a healthy and long lasting bout of chronic verbal diarrhea! May this blog be the enema to relieve the pressure of thoughts and unspoken opinions constipating his tiny brain!

So, without any further ado let me introduce you to our protagonist, me, known by some* as a dubious writer of tabloidy sleaze, by others as a wannabe food and travel writer, a struggling photographer (which button should I press again?), talentless artist and by an unfortunate few (and this one is reserved only for very close friends and family..fast depleting in numbers due to the fact that they're always too busy to show up for any of my dinners!), who have developed real digestive disorders, as a chef in the making. Oh and also as a bartender. The last one comes in handy whenever I manage to find a few suckers to sample any of my food. Just get them drunk and they'll never remember that roasted rat you (okay, I) fed them!

*Note to the readers: There are a few psychiatric facilities dedicated to finding out whether or not these people are real. For the time being it may be best to assume that the author suffers from a multiple personality disorder and that all aforementioned persons and anyone that may be mentioned in the future, including the author, are merely figments of an active but twisted imagination.

Now to resume our regular programme.....

As I was saying, others see me as a person who dons many hats, or as we here in India call them, turbans... a blue one, green one, red one... and the list goes on... So, in other words Angad B. Sodhi, our protagonist (whether you believe him to be real or not) is a rather confused individual, possibly suffering an identity crisis. After all, in our highly civilised and advanced world, where the individual is and her (yes feminists... I'm being politically correct here) individuality are held held so sacred, we are defined by our jobs. And as someone with many interests (some that occasionally bring in miniscule amounts of money) but no defined job or role to play in this machine called humanity, our subject is left speechless at times.

Here's an example of what I mean:
Random stranger to Sodhi: ...and you are?
Sodhi: hi, I'm Angad.
Stranger: I meant what is it that you do?
Sodhi: (awkward silence while trying to figure out what to say..)
Sodhi's brain to Sodhi: do I just lie and get it over with or do I go into a long monologue, which will make this person go away?

This conversation is usually followed by a feeling of confusion and sometimes shame and regret... "why can't I be like everyone else and just be a cog in the system?" It would be so much easier to be assigned a role in the machine and do only that for your 74 year average lifespan, with only your own regrets haunting you... all those shattered dreams that you had as a kid popping up in your head whenever they feel like.."If only I had..." being the standard prefix to every sentence addressed to your grandkids. But hey, at least I didn't suffer an identity crisis when it came to conversations with other tools!! Yeah, whatever makes you happy.

That defined life of a tool isn't really for our protagonist. He'll take the awkward conversations any day!

But enough mumbo jumbo about the role of society and its various nuts and bolts, this blog is about the journey of an individual trying to do everything he (and his fictitious friends) believes he is good at...or at least gets satisfaction out of.
And in conclusion it is safe to say he may have caught a verbal diarrhea bug. Let's just hope it is chronic!