How to write a letter in Telugu

Respected (never use ‘dear’ for elders) Uncle,
I hope you and (insert family details - eg. aunty and the children) are fine. By the grace of (insert God of choice - eg. Lord Balaji) we all are fine at home (I repeat, fine at home). I pray to (again, insert God of choice) for your health and that of the entire family.
Things are fine at our end. Amma’s joints are much better, thanks to your idea of (insert alternative therapy/home remedy). Naanna’s diabetes also is under control now. What would we have done without you?
I am writing to you to convey the good news. I (have passed with distinction/ have been accepted by reputed American university/ am getting married to a Telugu boy my parents have chosen/ am pregnant/ am pregnant again/ have chosen a suitable match for kanna - insert situation you are in). With the blessings of (insert God of choice again. And you bloody well stick to the same God throughout the letter) everything will go on as planned. We seek your blessings.
With this letter, we are sending tickets for the whole family. (Note: the tickets will be ONE-WAY). Please grace the house with your auspicious presence. Also, the mamidikaaya pachhadi you brought last time is over. Tell (insert uncle’s neighbour’s name) I asked about him/her.
Saashtaang namaskaram to you and aunty. Blessings to the children. Amma and Naanna send you their blessings.
I remain
Your loving niece,
(your name – eg. Bhanupriya, Meghalata, Suvarnaratna or anything but a cool name).

Note: You’ll agree this is not English. Not by any stretch of imagination.

I’m related to people I don’t relate to.

So said Calvin, the cartoon character. But I don’t think he faced half the problems I do. He wasn’t born in a traditional South Indian family, you see.
Recently, I had to attend a cousin’s engagement ceremony. I rushed straight from Famous to Matunga (where else?). Along with my family, my kanjeevaram and those kilos of gold were caught in traffic. So, in the blasphemous jeans-and-tee avatar, I made an unintentionally dramatic entry.
As I was slinking in, I heard the pandit say, “Sarva mangala maangalye shive, who-is-this-and-why-is-she-here?”
Spewing more venom through her eyes than a planner whose brief one rejects, peddamma, my aunt, said, “Ignore her, panthulu gaaru, she is like that only. What to do? We had to invite her.”
So panthulu gaaru continued the mantras, looking askance at me every now and then. As I was sitting there, head hung low, the most sympathetic of my aunts sat next to me.
“Coming straight from office aa?”
Just as I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, she spat out the words,
“You go to office like this only? Cotton clothes? You don’t have silk t-shirt or something?”
I was about to mutter some explanation but she continued,
“You wear plastic spectacles? At least you can afford gold-rimmed glasses like your uncle’s?”
I took off the specs, “Actually, athai….”
She launched into a harangue, “Whaat actually? Your visiting card has some fancy post no? And your earrings are so small! Your boss is not embarrassed to see you like this? They agree to take you for meetings?”
Quickly, she blew the clarion, and a herd of aunts surrounded me. Within two minutes, I was suddenly looking acceptable. Jeans and tee, 6 huge gold bangles on each hand, huge gold earrings that reached my shoulders, hair parted in the centre and in the parting, a huge golden thingy that covered half my forehead. As you’d know, I have not a single photograph of myself in the ceremony!

My first glimpse of Kolkata

That city talks to you. At least it did to me. It jeered and sneered at me. Barely 10 minutes away from the airport and on the way to the city, a huge, well-lit artefact pierced the darkness and hit me in the eyeball. What was it - you might wonder. Incredible though it sounds, believe me that artefact was a huge Rubik’s cube. Only Kolkata would have a bloody Rubik’s cube for an embellishment.
“Do you have the IQ to enter these exalted gates?” the city asked of me.
“Look I’m only here for a one-day shoot,” I said to no one in particular. I felt it necessary to explain my presence there. Another 10 minutes and another huge Rubik’s cube looked me in the eye.
“You don’t get it, do you?”
I was suitably daunted. Dotted with yellow amby taxis, the street seemed to shrug me off. “What is Bangla for ‘slow down’?, I screamed in my mind.
Slowly, I gathered myself. It’s just a city like any other – I told myself, unconvincingly. Thanks to multi-national banks and telecom communication inundating the streets, every city looks the same. Airtel, Aircel, Indicom collectively made me feel at home.
But after every few blocks, Kolkata in its real avatar would rear its head up. In the dark distance I saw a huge enclosure with a fancy sign board. Colourful and bright, it kind of cheered me up.
“Looks like this city has an amusement park.” I said aloud.
When I was finally able to see the sign at close quarters, to my horror it said – Science City Amusement Park. Through the clouds in my head, words like observatory, space and planetarium hit me in the temporal lobe.
I could instantly picture bespectacled Bong fathers dangling their kids on their knees and saying, “Bollo, A for Agoraphobia, B for Borborygmus, C for Collywobbles.”
The driver mumbled something in Bong. Considering the only Bong word I knew was Boka*&#@*, I kept shut. Better still, I shut my eyes.
Finally, I heard the driver say, “We’re almost there.”
I opened my eyes, curious to see what Park Street looked like. And another sign assaulted me.
Shakespere Sarani street.
“When was the last time you even mentioned Shakespere in a conversation?” the supercilious street asked me.
I forgot all about the shoot.
“When are we flying back?” I asked my colleague.

Sri Ram Super Mario

‘So, you tell stories to your little one?’ asked an ageing aunt of me.
With a nod of the head, I got into trouble that very minute.
‘Have you told him about the Ramayana yet?’
‘Have some appams, peddamma’ I tried valiantly.
But she wouldn’t budge.
‘Tell him about Sri Ram, and Laxmana, and Seethamma’ she continued with a wistful look.
I muttered something about getting appams and scurried towards the kitchen.
Look, I have no problems with Sri Ram and family per se.
I grew up praying, and singing all those Sri Ram bhajans.
But I really don’t know what to tell the kid about him.
I usually prepare a story in my head before I actually narrate it to him.
So, I tried whole-heartedly to mentally play back the Ramayana in order to tell him the story.
And you know what I discovered?
The story bears an uncanny resemblance to the Super Mario game.
Level 1: Sri Ram & Co go to school. Kill demons.
Level 2: The aforementioned Sri Ram & Co go with Rishi. Kill more demons. Also break a bow. Get bonus – Seethamma.
Level 3: Go to forest. Kill more demons. And a monkey-king.
Level 4: Look for lost wife. Kill a lot more demons. And then some.
Last level: Face to face with the biggest demon of them all. Kill him. Come home.
Now, how am I supposed to pass on this story?
We worship this guy (I’ve done it all my life).
And yet, he left home because dad said so, left his post and went hunting because wifey said so, threw the wife out because the dhobi said so.
For God’s sake, we’ve got Creative Directors like that.
And we call them spineless.
I don’t know what to tell the kid. I don’t know if I’ve got it all wrong.
So, please excuse me now.
I’ve got to go concoct a story about a crow and a sparrow for tonight.

Apsara Aali lyrics as explained by Kapil Sawant

“Lavani is sheer poetry”, said Kapil.
“But isn’t lavani supposed to be provocative and raunchy?” I asked.
“Provocative, yes. Raunchy, definitely not” he said firmly.
“Listen to this song. It’s Marathi poetry at it’s best. It’s sensuous, not raunchy.
It sets your imagination soaring. Not a vulgar word. It’s just suggestive. And beautiful’, said Kapil before playing me the song from youtube. He paused after every line and explained me the meaning.
Sometimes, he paused again because I had questions about each word. Patiently, he answered them all.
And thus began my love affair with Marathi poetry. I don’t know if I’ve got the translation right, but I tried.
Here’s the song. Even if you don’t get the lyrics, you can watch it for the mind-blowing choreography, and fabulous music.

Movie: Natrang
Poet: Guru Thakur
Music: Ajay-Atul
Singer: Bela Shende
Choreographer: Phulwa
The beautiful damsel in the video: Sonali Kulkarni (Not the ‘Dil Chahta Hai’ girl)



Komal kaaya ki moh maya
My soft skin is enchanting

Punava chandana nhale
I’m bathed in moonlight

Sonyaat sazale roopyat bhijle
Bedecked in gold, drenched in silver

Ratnaprabha tanu nyaale
I have worn the shimmer of rubies.

Hee natali thatali
I’m dressed up

Jashi umatali chandani rang mahaali
Looking like moonlight has descended on the stage

Mee youvan bijli
I’m a thunderbolt

paahun thizli Indrasabha bhavatali
that has struck the entire court of Indra

Apsara aali Indrapuri tun khaali
Here comes the nymph, straight from the heavens

Pasarli laali ratnaprabha tanu nyaali
Her presence has lit up the earth

Ti hasali gaali chandani rang mahaali
Her moonlit smile has brightened the stage


Apsara aali Punava chandana nhali
Here comes the nymph bathed in moonlight

Chhabidaar surat dekhani, janu hirkani, naar gulzar
My face is so beautiful, I’m a priceless diamond, I’m a rose in full bloom.

saangate umar kanchuki bhapudi mukhi
My blouse (kanchuki), the silent sufferer

sosate bhaar
complains about the heavy burden it has to bear

shelati khunaavi kati
my tiny waistline beckons you

tashi hanuvati, nayan talwar
as does my chin, and my lethal eyes


hee rati madu bharli, daji
she’s the intoxicating goddess of love, dear sir

thinagi shingarachi
she’s the very spark of passion

kasturi darvalali, daji, chook hi varyachi
the fact that her fragrance has intoxicated the air is the wind’s fault, not hers.

Hee natali thatali
Jashi umatali chandani rang mahaali
Mee youvan bijli paahun thizli
Indrasabha bhavatali
Apsara aali Indrapuri tun khaali
Pasarli laali ratnaprabha tanu nyaali
Ti hasali gaali chandani rang mahaali
Apsara aali Punava chand nahali

The case of the disappearing choti

When I was a kid, I always had my hair tied into two chotis. Like all the other girls I knew. And aunts. And grannies. Tying a choti was a ritual, the time for mother-daughter bonding. Twice a day, choti- time was when all the chit-chat would happen.
The little girls had two plaits and the older women had one. Some insecure women needed a rubberband at the end of their chotis. Most women didn’t. They just left it like that. Those were the days beauty quotient was measured by the length of your choti.
And if you think the choti was unfashionable, think again. Nowadays when you have a particular hairdo, you’re stuck with it till your next haircut. There’s scarcely anything you can do. But chotis were so very versatile. To start with, you could experiment with parting your hair. Three different looks just with the plain choti – centre parting, side parting and no parting. Tie a high choti for the no-nonsense look that, despite its sternness, highlights your sharp features. Or a loose choti for the casual, relaxed look. Two chotis, I think, were the I’m-still-a-little-girl look.
All this just with the plain choti. There was this neighbor who could tie some 14 different kinds of chotis. Every girl in the area would go her in case of any function. Strangely, those weren’t times anyone charged for stuff like that. It was just. “Bhabhi, choti bana do.”
Me, I know 3 types of them. The regular choti that’s tied inside out, the ulta choti that’s tied outside in, and of course the french plait. We all called it the ‘Sagar choti’ because Dimple Kapadia had worn it in the film ‘sagar’. I never got to see the movie (it was for adults only) but I know the sagar choti very well. Every shaadi, the women wanted the sagar choti.
And the choti made for really cool hairdos, you know. You could put little flowers, one at each intersection in the choti. Or you could have a gajra run along the length of the choti. Wannabes had to pin the gajra. The real cool babes would simply pass the gajra expertly through the choti itself, no pins needed. Talking about cool babes, remember the choti length : sexiness ratio we spoke of earlier? So the cool thing was to have a choti-supplement so your hair appeared longer than it was. Nakli hair was the hot accessory. And that long, colourful thingy with little bells at the end. I think it’s called ‘paranda’ in Punjabi. Strangely I never found out the Telugu word for it.
But then, most Telugu hotties didn’t need it. They had seriously long chotis. I remember this wedding I’d been to where this girl had a choti that reached her ankles. Her mother was beaming all evening as several ‘aunties’ queued up to have a word with her.
With long chotis you had even more options. Tie the choti into a bun, so it looks really fancy. Or better still, tie a round bun with the choti coming out of its centre. What styles there used to be!
When you were getting intimate with a girl, the first step would be to pull her choti to tease her. Holding hands came much later. And there were other things people did, like tying the choti to the bench etc. All in all, the choti was an integral part of the scenery.
Today it’s disappearing real fast, don’t you think? I think the last time chotis were hot, they were on the heads of Sridevi and Jaya Prada. After that, they went extinct. Recently I actually sat and saw a bollywood song on tv because Sonam Kapoor had a choti. It was the Masakali song, I think.
In my family, there was only one choti-waali aunt left. She was in Hyderabad. She came to Mumbai to see us after a long, long time. The first thing I noticed about her was the clip holding her shoulder length hair in place. There goes the last of the chotis, I thought.
I guess there will be a time when, like all fads, it’ll be back. And little girls will say (as their mothers tie their chotis, of course) , “Ma, tell about those barbaric times when women never tied their hair.” Then, 'letting your hair down' will again become a relevant phrase.

Sad

This saddened me. It's a piece about Amir Khan - a private citizen - and his wife. Apart from their grief, what's really sad is that this bit is under a section called 'entertainment'.
I don't know if it's anybody's fault. Maybe it's just regular functioning, you know. When you get a bit of news, you just pick a category and put it there, i guess.
I don't know if sensitivity is to be expected out of the guy who must've already been bleary-eyed while listing it.
It's just sad.