Rowdy Revanna

Question 1: How do you fit a daddy long legs and significant other into a Reva?
Easy breezy.
Two in the front, seats pushed back.

Question 2: How do you fit two porcine colleagues and one daddy long legs into a Reva?
Easy squeezy.
Two in the front, one in the back.

Question 3: How do you extricate two porcine colleagues and one daddy long legs from a Reva after 1 hour on Hosur Road?
Geezie Louisey.
Method 1:
Switch off AC and wait for everyone to melt into puddles and trickle out onto the sidewalk.
Method 2:

1. Gradually heat the windshield until the suction pocket formed by colleague 1’s nostril on the windshield expands and pops loose.
2. Remove various body parts of colleague 1 separately and reassemble on sidewalk.
3. Move seat forward and entice colleague 2 out with a benne biscuit. Notice that colleague 2 has now been neatly moulded into a compact cuboid. You might have to tilt the car a little to enable cuboidal colleague to scurry out on fingertips that have permanently adhered to his backside.

Question 4: Write short notes on salient features of Revathi car.

1. Hello, no engine = no servicing. What a lovely.
2. Powered by Jog Falls. Eat my dust, Bushie.
3. Looks like slightly cute dead lizard. Very endearing if you’re into that sort of thing.
4. Has 4 speed AC which when turned on at full blast can double up as reverse gear.
5. Contains one of 8 working cassette players in Bangalore. Also lets you to hatch ingenious plans of murdering Radio Indigo RJs while driving to work.
6. Chick/dude magnet: “Aww, Reva you’re hawing? So sweet yaaaaan.”
7. Squeezes into loincloth sized parking slot on MG road while you beam sympathetically at other drivers who have been circling the block for 8 hours trying to park their big bottomed style-party cars.
8. Can scare all manner of people by sneaking up silently behind them and nudging them with bumper.
9. Confuses cops and therefore gets through all police checkpoints in record time:

• Cop: “Sir emission thorsi” (Show me emission (tra la la la la) )
• Proud Reva Owner (PRO): (Putting on a Mangalore accent for effect) “Saara, gaadili engine il-la, yenthadhu thorisali.” (No engine sir, what shall I show?)
• Cop: “Oh haudalla? License thorsi sir hangaadre.” (Oh isn't that right? show me your license then)
• PRO: “Licensu maneli bittu bande. Halasinakaai happala untu. Beke?"(I left the license at home. Shall I give you jackfruit papad instead?)
• Cop: “Umm, sari hogli, smell maadi sir.” (Oh alright then, smell please (breathalyzer))
• PRO: “Saara! Electric car odisuvavarige vaasane maadalikke heliddare dosha biluththadhe. Ee gaadili vaasane baruvudhilla, bari parimalave baruvudhu. Sathyavaagi heluthene” (Sir! If you ask an electric car driver to smell you, you will be cursed forever. Only fragrances will emanate from this car, and this is the truth.)
• Cop: (confused, not wanting to mess with a Mangloor type) “Hauda??!!" (really?)
• PRO: "Hau-duuuuu.." (Yes)
• Cop: "Aithu saar, hog banni" (Alright sir, pls go.)
• PRO: (Preferably in Silk smitha like groan, half biting lips) "Saara, bere enthadaadaru nodabeke?" (Sir, did you want to see something else?")
• Cop: "Aiyo hogri swami, namskara." (Aiyo go sir my lord. I salute the divine in you.)

Ah lurrrves mah li’l junebug.

A kannada movie in little Delhi

Yesterday, C and I did the million mile schlep to Forum to watch a movie. I hadnt watched a kannada movie in years and Mungaarina MaLe seemed like the best one to break my kannada movie fast with. Err, or not!

I was late as usual. When we reached Forum (the Dalhi that Bangalore never had), the parking guy insistently directed us to a Reva charging point and hovered around anxiously. The charging point looked like it would short circuit if I plugged my car in. The parking guy looked like he would weep if I didnt. I muttered a quick prayer to Maini motors and apologized to my li'l junebug before plugging it in, hoping it wouldnt strangle me with its power cord for leaving it alone with an eccentric socket. You gotta hand it to old Forum for being Reva-friendly though, to the point of stuffing it down your throat.

We battled the "yaar I voj talling him yasterday ki yeh nahin hoga" crowds all the way upto the theatre and joined the serpentine queue to get in. When we finally walked through the permanently squealing metal detectors, the guard nonchalantly sent us all the way back downstairs to check C's laptop in. Schlep schlep, huff puff and back up again. Back in the queue, a similarly affronted NRI was yowling away at the unflappable theatre manager for "naat writin' a sign outsahd tellin' people to check their laptaaps in", much to the amusement of everyone around. "Yes sir defnitly next time I will write. Please side sir, other people are vaiting."

The movie: Bad Idea. Forum insisted on playing the audio at 10 million decibels. The story line was ludicrous and involved the hero continuously falling into a series of drains filled with black goo. Didn't hurt his looks, for sure. The heroine had two big moles on her ageing face that seemed to get bigger and bigger with every scene. Anant Nag, long past his chocolate glory days of the 80s, looked and sounded like he had been hit with something hard and blunt before every shoot. The villain had a facial tick and a drool, and spoke with a fake-as-a-40p-coin kodava accent. When a white rabbit named Devadaasa appeared on the screen, we left.

Apparently a younger star would come in half way through the movie and make it all better. We didnt have the energy or resolve to stick it out long enough to find out. The photography was quite nice though completely lost in the useless storyline.

A movie so grossly horrendous that it was enjoyable. Brinnnng back, brinnnnng back, bring back 80s kannada cinema to meeeee, to meeeee.

PS: Excuse pls, what is meaning of Mungaaru??