My latest book is The One Who Swam With The Fishes.
"A mesmerizing account of the well-known story of Matsyagandha ... and her transformation from fisherman’s daughter to Satyavati, Santanu’s royal consort and the Mother/Progenitor of the Kuru clan." - Hindustan Times
"Themes of fate, morality and power overlay a subtle and essential feminism to make this lyrical book a must-read. If this is Madhavan’s first book in the Girls from the Mahabharata series, there is much to look forward to in the months to come." - Open Magazine
"A gleeful dollop of Blytonian magic ... Reddy Madhavan is also able to tackle some fairly sensitive subjects such as identity, the love of and karmic ties with parents, adoption, the first sexual encounter, loneliness, and my favourite, feminist rage." - Scroll
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8 September 2007
I got rhythm, I got music, who could ask for anything more?
*We can now play the field with greater ease: So Major Epiphany One happened, when was it, Wednesday night? Yes, Wednesday. I was out with a friend for dinner, and because there was a (BLAAAAARGHKILLMENOW) cricket match, and we were at High Street Phoenix, he suggested that we go to the Sports Bar. One assumed he only wanted to go to the Sports Bar to get a drink and spend time with me, but once there, his eyes glazed over as he stared, fixated at the screen. The Sports Bar was full, so we hopped next door to the Brew Bar, which was also full, but we got ourselves bar stools. Many aborted attempts at conversation later ("So yesterday? I saw an alien!" "Uh-huh, that's nice, ohhhhh, SHOT!") I gave up and tried to read my book in the dim lighting, which also got too much, so sulkily, I also looked at the screen. And dudes, I totally got cricket for like the first time ever. It was a very exciting cricket match, all like the last scene of a sports movie, where everything happens in slow motion, and you're biting your nails, waiting for the good guys to win, and the good guys won and the entire bar exploded and mmmm so much testosterone in one room I swear I started ovulating right then. So. Not that I'm a cricket convert, I still think it's deadly boring, but I also cheered and whooped and grinned around at my fellow countrymen and scratched my balls. Urrrrrr. (That was a growly noise. Imagine me also flexing my biceps. You want a piece of me, beyotch?)
*Can you spell P-L-A-Y-A-H: Major Ephiphany Two is that it's possible to date. I'm dating. Which is different from DATING dating, when you're only dating one person. (Wow, that was a confused sentence.) But I'm going out with boys, nice ones, and allowing myself to wear skirts and feel all chick-like. This is fun! I realised about a week ago, that I was only picking the strange men, so I decided the next time a guy who seemed normal, asked me out, I would go for it. And I'm having a good time, and not feeling all fucked up or obsessive, and everyone should date. Exercise your gender roles. Be able to flutter your eyelashes by moonlight. Etc. Place your bets now, ladies and gentlemen, how long can eM stay healthy? Excellent odds!
* Music, makes the bourgeoisie, come together: I think there were only two epiphanies. Ooh, wait, there was one more. So Janmashtami recently happened, and like every other religious festival in my locality, this too was celebrated by two loudspeakers surrounding my house playing very different kinds of music. And since I had to meet someone for a story I was doing and had to pass by many more of these loudspeaker gatherings, I came to the conclusion that the most popular song played at these things was Sean Paul's Temperature, you know the one that goes, "I got the right temperature to shelter you from the storm, oh lord, gal, I got the right tactics to turn you on." I kid you not. I heard this five times outside my window and then thrice as I travelled through the city. Maybe it's a reference to the whole Krishna lifting the Mount Govardhan thing?
* Because no post is complete without some snark: In other news, despite all this positive reinforcement, things on the personal appearance front have totally turned for the worst. My hair! My hair! COMPLETE nightmare. There seems to be nothing I can do about it, it frizzes, it stands up in odd places, in the mornings, I have an afro, and no matter how much styling spritz or Livon I put on it, it still looks the same. Like crap. And my skin is breaking out. Which is what, I suspect, prompts people to ask me how old I am. And all this while, I put it down to my youthful exuberance and demeanor.
Is all. I leave. Thank you, come again.