Preparing to meet Jeyamohan
or
The Art of Violently Forced Summer Reading, House Cleaning And Getting Organized

Jeyamohan is my favorite Tamil writer, whose blog I read regularly. A friend of mine introduced to his writings in the net magazine Thinnai, a long time ago. By reading his writings regularly, a mental closeness had formed over the years. I can cite multiple reasons: superb narrative and expository skills, masterful intellect, clarity of expression - but the skeptic observer in me, would say affinity in thought about socio-cultural-political issues. Over the years I could feel that I can converse with him mentally, and think of new questions to ask. But someone else would ask that same question, and he would answer it in his blog. Or othertimes I would have formed an opinion for my questions and find that he more or less holds the same view - supporting it with tons of facts from multiple sources, masterfully weaved in a seamless manner in one cogent argument. Reading it I would feel at once a rush of great vindication pursued closely by a sense of agonizing shame at my own lack of clarity.

Let us not digress into such boring stuff. How clever! Didnt I trick you into believing that what follows is not going to be boring? Jeyamohan was writing about his travels to Australia. I started to dream of his possible trip to US. Lo and Behold...Here is his post about his travel plans to US. And a whole month in the Bay Area! I immediately dashed off an email to Rajan, the trip organizer asking about public events. His response was immediate; I could come and meet him anytime. Oh oh! What a predicament! What the heck do I talk with him? My stock is very limited. I haven't read any of his fictional work yet.

The Lord indeed was merciful. JM gave a link where I could buy his collection of 10 books. Problem solved. Well, Almost. They were to be shipped from India. And, I had to read them. Meanwhile I prepared a reading list. Just to get me kickstarted I read a book that I knew I wouldn't give up. The Court of the Red Tsar by Simon Sebag Montefiore. About a 1000 pages. It gave me great confidence that I could read. A Book. In Full. Then its pre-quel 'Young Stalin', it is infact a sequel, but historically a pre-quel.

Atlast the books came. As usual I had them shipped to my office desk. I had to go for a haircut that evening straight from the office. Waiting for my turn at the barber shop, I read the first shortstory 'Nadi'. It was a jolt of powerful writing. My hairs stood on their end. Which helped the barber enormously. That same night I finished "Ninaivin Nadiyil", a great tribute to Sundara Ramaswamy by JM. I started reading the short stories. Some of them were violently twisting my idea of what the structure of a short story should be. But I yielded to his twisting like a kid yields to his favorite uncle.By the time I met him I had read half of his short stories collection.

Meanwhile I was curious about this fuss about Dosteyevsky. Checked out 'Brothers Karamazov'. Boy what a novel! I couldn't stop reading it. In the course of finishing this novel not a few relationships were ruptured, notable among them : wife, boss and daughter. Well, all the relationships. Then came the 'Crime and Punishment'. I started getting dreams of getting caught by Police and waking up all sweaty.

JM's introductory primer about Modern Tamil Literature was read. The tamil terms at the addendum were memorized. Multiple questions arose. 'Borivilli' is near Bombay, where is this 'nanavili'?, Heard of 'koodu vittu koodu payvathu', what is "oodu pavu"? Is that a Chennai slang for entering someone's house and beating him? Slowly I felt comfortable at the growing stock of materiel. I could say things like 'எழுத்தாளனின் ஆழ்மனம் வாசகனின் ஆழ்மனத்துடன் படிமங்களால் நடத்தும் அந்தரங்க உரையாடலின் செறிவும் ஆழமும் தான் இலக்கியத்தின் முக்கியமான அளவுகோல்." And receive my wife's and daughter's puzzled stare.

Rajan allotted me 2 full days to take JM around the North Bay area. My character can be captured in two words : laziness and ....well laziness alone will do. I am a minimalist when it comes to doing things. Most of the time I do nothing. But getting the home organized for JM's visit was like organzing Olympics. I read in one of his post that he likes to read in a reclining pose with a foot rest. Craigslist was scavenged. A nice recliner was bought. A tax attorney was selling his (recently dead) dad's recliner. Then the books that were in the storage room were hauled and arranged. All bought for $1 and $2 from San Francisco Public Library Sale in yester years. The bookshelf was my Darumi style retort, "I have read all these books. Did you think I bought them for $1 or $2 somewhere?"

Vacation was planned. Detailed negotiations on who picks up the kid on what day and when were conducted. A big debate ensued about buying another bed. Some background is necessary. We had moved from a 3 bed to a 2 bed recently. We had given away the extra bed. My Mother in law had recently stayed with us and slept on the floor mattress. You can imagine the outrage. Exemplary behavior on my part for weeks finally broke the stalemate.

From Bed to Bath and Beyond. Fresh bath towels and hand towels. A new toothbrush stand and a soap dispenser. A dish plate to keep paste, shaving cream, soap and shampoo. A bowl to keep pot pourri. All In blue color. None of it was pre-approved. Secrecy was paramount for success. Well, some times. My wife had thrown away the old pot pourri two days ago. Another run to the store for pot pourri.

The house was "Pollyanxha" cleaned. That is the name of the maid. Followed by "Srinivasan" cleaning. It was the week of miracles. Touchup paint was sought from the Apartment management to paint over my daughter's scribbles. The patio blinds started closing again. The water pressure in the bath was set right. My wife was positively pleased. Looking at me holding windex and towel, she said that she could see a faint spark of hope. Now I could relate to my dad's frenzy on the eve of my Engineer Athimber's yearly visit.

I read in one of his post about his liking for green tea. A kettle to boil, a kettle to pour. Two little cups. A packet of green tea. But what if he doesnt like that flavor? In my office kitchen, there exists atleast 20 varieties of tea. You cannot positively get anybody's wife to agree to buy 20 varieties of tea. I grabbed (stole) a few packets, stashed in a brown bag that carried my lunch. The planning would have pleased Raskolnikov.

6 (or so, who remembers all these things) months ago, a little stone fell on my windshield, driving thru a construction zone and cracked my windshield a teeny bit. The windshield was replaced. The van was bathed in soap and water! How my van squealed in delight when the washer's sponge brushed over her delicate body! 14000 miles and 10 months later engine oil was changed.

The D-Day atlast arrived. I saw JM was working on something in his laptop. I touched his feet and shook his hand. It was my tribute to have caused this revolutionary frenzy in me.