written : sun 10/13/02 1:03am
published: India Abroad (Magazine section - Print edition only)

Virgin Speeder

I drive fast, eat fast, think fast, and speak fast, well... why not date fast? That’s what a few friends of mine suggested while coaxing me to “speed date”. (note the word speed followed by the word dating are servicemarked by a Jewish social organization so I’ll refer to it from now on as other things) I had my reservations, and my reasons for trying it... I’ll tell u both in a bit.

First- dating at warp speed- for the uninitiated, is a scenario where a group of men and women are paired together at tiny tables for a set period of time. At the end of that period, the women stay seated, and the men rotate to the woman at the next table, until the clock resets and they do it all again. Everyone gets a form, and between meetings they secretly circle whether or not they would like to meet the other again. At the end of the night, the organizers check all the paperwork, and where parties were mutually interested in one another- the organizers exchange emails to the dynamic duo.

There is a significant level of stigma out there against hyper dating... that the next best thing would be to paint a big L on your forehead for LOSER because you aren't able to find a mate on your own. You must be some sort of inarticulate introverted axe-murderer who just doesn't get out much, and needs to pay $30 for some organization to set you up. With that in mind I began thinking about society's pressures for all of us to be partnered up, but a lack of acceptable structures out there where we could meet for the sake of meeting... w/o false pretenses... w/o arrangements from sometimes meddling relatives, etc.

So do I really need to do this? I work in a business that puts me into the living rooms of several Indian households every night... and every so often I’ll get the shy auntie or uncle calling the TV station- wondering whether I was single, and magically the resume of their daughter would land in my email box.? I’m also at that age where my friends are getting married left and right, and we all know what happens once your friends get hitched- they simply MUST see your married. So I’ve never been one to consider myself in dire need of a set-up. I’ve probably gone out of my way more often to keep from being “introduced”.

There are so many other ways to meet people you say, like hanging out with your friends at a party or a club, why not go that route? Lets visit planet reality for a moment shall we? Really - when was the last time you went out with a group of friends and did more than stare across the room, giggle a bit, pretend like you were waking the courage from the deepest recesses of your soul to start a conversation with an attractive stranger- and then fake a cell phone call at the last minute allowing you to chicken out and go home? (Ahem- not from personal experience of course :-)

It was only a matter of time before there was an event called a “Masala Mixer”, in my city held just for Indians. If there were star charts being examined, and the moderators had RA haircuts or shendis- I could see uncles and aunties lining up to send their 20 somethings into the fray. But the one I went to was a bunch of young professionals- yeah you can call 'em yuppies- some who flew from points all along the west coast just to roll the dice at finding a play pal of equal or greater value.

As soon as I walked in, I was a bit taken back at the crowd. Are there really that many lonely Indians out there? Some of these people looked so normal though... what was wrong with this picture? I was expecting inarticulate introverted axe-murderers.

As I sat down for the first of 15 5-minute rounds... it occurred to me that I had absolutely nothing to lose and everything to gain. I would probably never see a lot of these people again, so any self-doubt about looking cool in front of them- fuggid about it. Worst-case scenario... I could easily eat $30 worth of the cookies and brownies the organizers had laid out and split if the whole event really sucked. I made a very simple promise to myself, I would at no point be embarrassed, and if I ran into an uncomfortable partner, I would do everything possible to make sure she didn't feel that way when I left.

Some women were delighted to say hello, and the cold clammy hands of others showed how nervous and scared they were. Some couldn't make eye contact to save their lives, while others turned on a charm, which alone was worth the entrance fee. Most were pleasant, some were pushy, but after a bit it was all a blur. There was the designer who painted on silk, and the biotech marketer (drug pusher) who had the same name as my cousin, the dental assistant lookin' to get married - and she meant pronto, the programmer who seemed to be at a loss for words- in general, the PHD anthropologist who seemed disappointed at my youth, and the hip non-profiteer who told me I was her best five minute man yet. (I took it as a compliment :-)

My favorite question was what else they would be doing if they weren't sitting awkwardly across from a man who was quietly cataloging all their answers. Some women had very well rehearsed responses- saying that they would probably be hiking, or outdoors, wagering that I seemed like a tree-hugger (and they would have been right). But judging from some of their other answers- I figured that it must be an outdoor shopping mall where they love to hike. Most were honest though, and told me what they really would be doing, not what they thought I wanted to hear.

Some wanted to talk about the weather, but usually I steered the conversation into why they were doing this, why they were here? Men would be amazed to learn the lengths women have gone to find a suitable boy (without having to read Vikram Seth). Some women were using these scenarios as the last step before letting their parents do the dirty work the old fashioned way. There were so many genuinely nice people around the room; it made me feel bad for holding the stereotypes I had.

Overall I’d have to say that the women were better looking than the men, and that they were probably more articulate. Through the process I began learning a bit about the man who went in front of me, and the one who came behind me. I think the one in front of me must have been a pretty solid catch because the women were usually smiling and less tense by the time I got to them but the man behind me... lemme tell ya. I made enough fun of myself in front of all these women, that really- I think I left them more easy going then I found them. I figured it would be easy for this guy to just keep the momentum going. At least three times however, during the five-minute stints, I remember women deciding to get up and grab a drink while sitting across from him.

After having done it this way, and the “old fashioned ways”, would I do it again? Perhaps. Would I say its for everyone... probably. I think it actually takes more to put yourself out there- one on one with a person, than it does to go to a club and hide with your little clique of friends.

Single life includes a good deal of suffering. I don't care how romanticized the notions of meeting people and "getting to know" another person are. It is hard work. My personal opinion was that people should be able to come up with five minutes of conversation with any other human being that speaks the same language but it was harder than I expected. For no one is it natural to genuinely open up to a stranger. No one and I mean no one is ALWAYS cool. We’re all dorks one day or another, we all have challenges and hurdles to overcome, and in the words of one of my female Jewish friends... this is a great way to "get in touch with your inner dork". So why not be a dork for five minutes, 15 times, in one day... with a bunch of other people who are just as scared as you?

Hari Sreenivasan is contemplating the possibility of more laps on the high speed dating circuit, till then you can write to his slow lane self.

written: tue. 8/20/02 12:02pm
published: inthefray.com

Stashless
Yes I know, it’s gone.
I shaved it.
More than any of the columns I write, or the stories I do that appear on the air, over the last year the topic I’ve received the most comments on- is the absence of my moustache. Its taken me almost a year to gain some perspective, notice my own face, and people’s reaction to it.

Moustaches are interesting in that they have a rather strong group of supporters, and detractors. its not like politics, where there is a range of ideologies between Ralph Nader and Dinesh D'souza. People love facial hair or they hate it.

If we are to look at facial hair in a vacuum then it’s really not all that big a deal. It might have started as a filter to help Cro-Magnon man from breathing in large particulate matter. However when you talk about its role in the life of a south Indian man, and one who is in an image-driven business, well it gets a bit more complicated.

Close shaves-
Like most men, there is a fond memory tucked away somewhere about the rite of passage of the first time I figured out that I actually needed to shave. I still remember the pride I had when I handled my dad's disposable razor with far too much foam for barely enough hair. as soon as I could grow a Snor (Dutch for moustache) I did. It was somewhere in the second part of high school and it became a distinguishing characteristic of mine throughout the years. if "the Indian guy" wasn't enough, "the kid with the moustache" would always help someone pick me out in a crowd.

Portions of my identity began to be tied to this stretch of hair across my face. most of the people I grew up around in India- especially in the south had Meeshays (Tamil). I thought it was just the way you grew up as an Indian man. I say was because it seems the cosmo trend in most Indian cities today is to go without Schnurrbart (German). But of course there are the purists out there- those who believe that a good set of whiskers is distinguished, masculine and downright necessary. It connected me to the people of a rural village in the south- though they knew I was foreign, at least in their eyes, I hadn’t sold out by shaving. so with a population of a billion plus- and predominantly rural at that- the moustached men of India still have strength in numbers.

The scar
There was one scarring incident- back in high school, which I would be amiss if I did not admit in the history of my Mustaka (Greek root word). Once people knew how attached I grew to it, (and it to me) it became the object of a fundraising raffle for my senior year. Devastating - to say the least, for it came near the days of my cross country team photo- the only picture I cared about being in- oh well, from that I determined not to shave it on anyone else's terms.

Lights, camera…
This would all be much less dramatic had I not chosen television as the medium in which to practice my craft. Professionally- its one of the most rare sights in the tv reporter or anchor world to see a man with facial hair on camera. Don’t think so? Ok, go ahead, besides John Stossel on ABC News or perhaps Geraldo Rivera- who else can you name that has been able to hold onto his Bigote (Spanish) at a high level of exposure. That’s because somewhere - news consultants had tested focus groups to see how facial hair faired. Sadly for those of us with hairy lips- we were rated less trustworthy than our clean-shaven counterparts. Apparently enough viewers think that if you are presenting the news while hiding your upper lip- perhaps there are other things you hide as well.

It is a fact that facial hair adds years to your face. When I was starting out in the business, I didn’t want to look like I was starting out in the business. I laid my foot down from one news director to the next, saying it was part of who I was, and that I wasn't going to shave it. Most of them didn't say another word- and some of them cataloged me as an "ethnic" man and justified to their consultants why i needed to keep it, and why it "worked" for me. I knew no one was going to fire me because of it.

Around last October the inverse happened. I had an opportunity for some work - the only stipulation for my approval was - you guessed it- the Baffi (Italian) would stay behind. Well- push came to shove, and as I wrangled unnecessarily over a decision, the idiocy of the struggle occurred to me; if I didn’t have a moustache, I was no less Indian, and I could always grow it back. DUH!. When people form irrational attachments to objects in their lives, these seemingly simple logical decisions are near impossible to make. for more ammunition in support of my reason, I asked my closest friends what they thought of my face- before and after.

Not seeing is believing
Its been fascinating, most of my male friends- especially the clean shaven ones- are disappointed. They think I looked manlier with it. I don't know if they are being honest in their moustache envy (because its true- not every man looks good in one and I thought it worked for me so...), or whether they were being manipulative because I had suddenly entered as a competitor in the ranks of the smooth-skinned, a competitor of course for the affections of women. Women around me in a ratio of 4 to 1 are in favor of the new lighter, faster, cleaner look. Some of the more common reasons are that I look less like their uncles; the lack of it opens up my face, and of course the best is- that well- I seem more kissable.

So it seems to be all rather backwards- almost like how women dress for other women more than they do for men. In an odd way I think men grow moustaches more for men then for women. for if the data (as unscientific as it may be) is as lopsided as it is (and assuming that you are a straight man) men would be waxing away.

Who knows, I could grow it back . Every once in a while GQ magazine says that the moustache is coming back, and one of these days even the Gillette Mach 3 razor might lose its edge.

Hari Sreenivasan feels the San Francisco fog more intimately on his face now. write to it.

written-Mon 11/18/2002 12:20 AM
published- tbd
The campy hybrid-Indian film genre is born.

Its so bad- its good. Bollywood/hollywood is somewhere between "pretty woman", and "I know what you did last summer". I didn't have enough of a clue as to what the movie was about before I went in. All i knew- it was from the same woman who had riveted me with her previous films FIRE and EARTH. I do admit reading some cheeky description at the online site where I bought the tickets, and remember key concepts like -boy pays escort to pretend to be his woman -, lover-for-hire impresses family, etc. etc. Leaping off the page, and thinking to myself, aaah yet another melodramatic attempt at romanticizing the ubergeeks who have made it to North America. The notion that one of the first screenings of the film in the states was in the bay area, combined with fact that all proceeds from this event were going to a local charity through- Stree global investments in women-, it was a no-brainer. I had to round up a few friends and attend.

I had recently seen, among other films, the Michael Moore rant- Bowling for Columbine, and Eminem's ode to himself- 8-mile, and perhaps I was expecting Deepa Mehta to thrust the weight of the world upon me through heavy social commentary on the entertainment industries across the world from each other. Boy was I in for a shocker.

This movie was a spoof of itself and everything ill about both Bolly and Hollywood. Though it took the relatively silent crowd in the theater about 45 minutes or so to loosen up, I think most of them walked out getting the joke. The rest probably just hated it, and couldn't imagine why they paid the cash. For example, there were tongue in cheek subtitles introducing scenes, over-the-top special effects making dead people speak from paintings and hover through the air like ghosts, and lets not forget the random acts of choreographed dancing and absolutely cheesy moments where somehow only a song sung by the main character looking longingly up at the stars could capture the moment. I mean this film had overplayed every stereotype, and managed to wreak havoc in the traditional Bollywood moviegoer's head. It even included a hilarious number of references where characters would refer to their own behaviors in relation to the behaviors of other characters in Bollywood films.

The first scene opens up with a son at his father's deathbed- on a stormy night as lightning and thunder play outside. The father delivers some of the most incomprehensibly authentic lines of dialogue in cajoling his son to marry. Of course the audience is taken through a set of twists and turns to the central plot line, which is that the main character hires an escort to pose as his Indian girlfriend in order to please his family. This premise is not nearly as interesting as the role of the supporting cast, and the range of creativity that ms. Mehta infuses into the characters.

She uses some standard-bearing favorite actors of hers such as Kulbhushan Kharbanda who you'll recognize from Earth, Fire or even Lagaan. In this film he plays a wound up father who can't seem to decide upon his expressions without comparing his own life to Amrish Puri characters in Bollywood films. Ranjit Chowdhry who you might recognize from Kama Sutra, or even Mississippi Masala, plays one of the funniest characters- a man-servant by day/drag queen by night who at one point calls life a "sullen coitus". There is even a cameo from bona fide Bollywood wunderkind Akshaye Khanna (son of Vinod and real life brother of the main character Rahul) who comes to attend a pre-wedding party- and funny enough- Akshaye's best line in the movie to his friend Rahul is - "auntie- Rahul is like a brother to me". Its little jokes like that which are embedded throughout the film that make it worth watching.

The most poetic verse in the film for me was "a mother's love is like tiger balm". The profundity of that sentence- it was of course uttered in the context of marriages and pressure etc., but it’s so true. That love can scald and heal all at once. I had to start laughing out loud at that point.

I'd say the only downsides were that the audio was mixed rather poorly making your ears work pretty hard to hear the actors over the ambient sound in the film, but it could just have been the particular copy at this local theater. Anyway, if you go see the film, remember its not "WATER" and it certainly isn't wine... But with the right friends and the right frame of mind, it’s a perfectly good time.

You can write a review of Hari's review and send it back to him.