Happy Monsoon!!

I am realising after long what a joy it is to work for yourself. Wind buzzing through your hair blades, silencing the noise around you to take you to your deepest thoughts. The healing touch of the green of the leaves and the black of the clouds. Your imagination gliding to hitherto unattainable places. And your mind free of all those shackles that made you look at your career as some sort of an investment on which to expect returns. Just a few days ago, I was wondering what it will take to return to the more innocent, idealistic state of mind from a few years ago. Thankfully, I didn't have to search for very long. The dagger of the raindrops pierced the heart, oozing out black muddy blood, cleansing and defogging the brain, and then followed the greens of connectedness, contentedness and creativity.

Anew

Six long years of absence from this space. I don't know what happened. It needed to stop. Nothing especially monumental. Just the usual screw-ups. And abruptness and randomness galore.

I have been thinking of blogging for some time now, but was dilly-dallying. I was done with dinner today and blogging was one of the last things on my mind. I was planning to turn in early. Had darkened my room to watch some warped stuff which would put me to sleep. Had pretty much settled into it, when as usual I hallucinated that someone was calling my name. I took off the headphones, but there was nothing, no one. To make sure I am not really wanted, I peeked through the window onlooking the main house. Peaceful. Weird, no lights. Is the power off? I plonked myself out of the bed to check what's happening, I stepped outside and took the small walkway joining the main house with the annexe. That's when it happened.

Ever tiptoed sneaking across a stranger's lawn, spick dry one moment and the sprinklers coming alive the next, soaking you? Before realising what's happening, I was drenched by the May showers. I didn't move. Once every dry stitch on the body was wet, I took shelter under the Akashneem tree. The woody, grassy heady fragrance given rise by the first rains soon wafted inside the nostrils and got sucked immediately in the empty brain space, wiping clean the ghost of any thought, and creating inside me somewhat contrasting feelings of comfortable nostalgia and a hopping maddening joyous state that only the first rains can bring. I stood and watched and felt and thought. And the first thing I thought was of starting the blog. Right then and there.

So here I am. I guess I will write often here 'coz there's a lot to share. Don't hold your breath though, if anyone is still following this hibernating beast.

Music To My Ears

Many, many old  gems come up while talking music with dad. Like the other day, we were discussing late 40s and early 50s music, and we remembered a beautiful song from Andaz (1949):

Music is by Naushad. Dad says that in the biography, Daastaan-e-Naushad, the writer Shashikant Kinikar writes that Naushad was a versatile cinephile who didn't just touch music, but also assisted filmmaker friends on story, screenplay, dialogues, direction and editing! And he must be good at it since people used to invite him quite often to do non-music affairs in their films. Some of these credits include the behemoths such as Kohinoor (1960), Mughal-e-Azam (1960) and Pakeezah (1972) among others!!!

Jaane Kya Dhundhti Rehti Hain (Shola Aur Shabnam, 1961)

Music by Khayyam. Lyrics by Kaifi Azmi. The song is in the Ghazal, Shayari genre which I don't like much (except select few by Mehndi Ali, Farida Khanum and Begum Akhtar), but I liked this song. A lot. Khayyam spearheaded the Ghazal genre in Hindi film music, and this is a good example of his forte. Raag Pahadi, but I think not a pure Pahadi. He has put some closeby notes in the song, which probably makes it a mishra-Pahadi, but that if anything makes the song even more beautiful and haunting.

Jeet Hi Lenge Baazi Hum Tum (Shola Aur Shabnam, 1961)

An outstanding song. The music..beautiful. Rafi rocks...what a tender, soothing voice. Very melodious.

Kabhi To Milegi, Kahin To Milegi (Aarti, 1962)

Lata's voice in this song is at its pristine best. आवाज़ जैसे खरे चांदी का कोई खनखनाता रुपहला सिक्का हो...Such perfect notes. And what an unconventional tune! It's in Raag Pahaadi. This song exudes vulnerable positivity. Meena Kumari...how can someone look so sensual even when fully clad? She just tilts her head, or lowers her gaze, and the effect is electrifying. And here I was, only today, telling a friend vehemently that I don't have a type. Who am I kidding? Every time I fall for the same kind of woman...Mysterious, vulnerable, expressive eyes, hint of a smile  - these are a few of my favourite things..

Aaj Se Pehle (Chitchor, 1976)

Kya Hua Tera Vaada (Hum Kisise Kum Naheen, 1977)

Adore this song. The picturisation is tapid, but the song touches the heartstrings of every guy who has some understanding of unrequited love. Remember Poornima from 90s? She gave backing vocals to Rafi here. What a raw, sweet voice. And Rafi...he was a surprise choice indeed by RD, because this movie came at a time when Rafi was an outcast, adrift in the flood of Kishore Kumar's idolisation. That's the reason why I feel Rafi must have picturised not a woman while singing this song but the audience who were once his ardent fans...The forgotten promises and the changing times...Trivia: This is the only song for which Rafi won a national award. In time too, coz Rafi would expire only 3 years later.

Dad is completely appalled by music of this era. He hates almost 90% if not more, of the music made from the day RD burst on the scene with Teesri Manzil in 1966. He becomes visibly disgusted with the western influence that RD brought into Hindi film music. My brother is the polar opposite, whose musical awakening started with the covenant of RD's ochestra. He worships RD and laughs at much of the music of 50-60s. I don't have any such qualms and embrace everything. They become incredulous regarding my choice, because just moments ago we would be discussing something where our choices are in complete unison. As we say in Ecology, they are specialists who are much specific in their musical palate, whereas me much less so, and hence a generalist (not to be confused with populist).

Ankhiyon Ke Jharokhon Se (Ankhiyon Ke Jharokhon Se, 1978)

Beautiful, gentle, refreshingly different song. The rhythm is unique. With many songs you can guess what came first, the lyrics or the music. With some the fit is so tight that it's difficult to imagine what preceded what. Music by Ravindra Jain. From Raag Brindavani Sarang. Some other songs from this raag are Humein To Loot Liya Milke Husnwaalon Ne (Al Hilal, 1958..music by the lesser known Bulo C. Rani), Tere Pyaar Ka Aasra Chaahta Hoon (Dhool Ka Phool, 1959..music by the Goan Dutta Naik, or popularly known as N. Dutta), Mere Mehboob Mein Kya Nahin (Mere Mehboob, 1963..Lata-Asha combo!), Chhadi Re Chhadi Kaise Gale Mein Padi (Mausam, 1975..the only Madan Mohan-Gulzar combo I am aware of).

Suniye, Kahiye (Baton Baton Mein, 1979)

Hothon Se Chhoo Lo Tum (Prem Geet, 1981)

This was an oft-sung, oft-heard song to the extent that it had become boring. And then it disappeared all of a sudden. No one ever talks about it anymore.

Mera Kuchh Saamaan (Ijaazat, 1987)

This is the famous song which when Gulzar took to RD, RD exclaimed, 'why have you brought this news cutting?!' Raju Bharatan says, that no one could imagine that such a song could be put to music, and that if anyone could, it was to be RD.

Whenever people talk about this song, you get to hear about Asha. But some songs belong to music directors over and above everyone else, and this is one such song. A gem..

--

You usually find that a hit director and music director team comes together again and again, to a level when soundtracks of successive films sound similar. Case in point: RK - Shankar Jaikishan. Navketan - SD. Burman. Chetan Anand - Madan Mohan. Nasir Hussain - RD. But if you look at Yash Chopra's filmography and the music in his films, you will notice a strikingly lateral choice of music directors. Out of 22 movies he directed, his choice of music directors included N. Dutta (twice), Ravi (twice), Salil Choudhury, Laxmikant Pyarelal, RD (twice), Khayyam (twice), Rajesh Roshan, Hridaynath Mangeshkar, Uttam Singh, Madan Mohan and A. R. Rahman. The only music directors he repeated more than twice were Shiv-Hari - a staggering seven times, which comprises of 1/3rd of his career as a director. Many of these were not popular names at all. But the music they gave was top notch!

--

Kisi Shaayar Ki Ghazal - Dream Girl (1977)

Liking for this song is enough to be expelled from any music aficionado club. I find it easy, nothing more, nothing less. It looks a tad tacky in colour, but in Black n White, this song was no less than a fairy tale. In those times I used to spend much of my time on figuring out questions my brain couldn't fathom. Such as how do actors change into new clothes so quickly! I tried it many times at home, sometimes changing the whole wardrobe, sometimes wearing three-four shirts and trousers over one another, just to check how much time I require to get into a complete new set of clothes, but to my chagrin it was always more than the split second they took on screen. I knew that it had to be a trick, but couldn't figure it out. I asked mom and dad a lot about how they do that, and they sincerely tried to answer about the shots and cuts and other technicalities, but I didn't understand it, because for me, each movie was taken as a single shot, from start to finish.

Coming from that mindset, this song was an utter mystery because the song is filled with weird special effects. Dharmendra walking on Hema Malini's flowing upper body clothing. It was crazy. I just went mad with curiosity and later with frustration at my inability to crack the filming technique.

But the reason why I think this song is set so resolutely in my memory is coz this is the the first song I remember watching on TV. We didn't have a television while growing up, so my friend Shashank's place was a godsend. I had a pet place in their TV room, just close to the door leading to the kitchen. There was a tall, thin bed prepared by putting a few bedsheets and duvets over three metallic grain containers.

The movie would start on Saturday and Sunday in the early evenings. Sushama kaku would be in the kitchen. Pappu mama would be in the front yard. Aaji would be doing puja. And Shashank, Mithila and I would be in the TV room.

--

Dad's love for music was much subdued and deep, my brother's more forceful and strong, and both left quite an impression. I believe I learnt to love music from dad, and to perform it from Aks. There are so many songs I heard dad sing at home and play on mandolin...and so many I saw Aks perform in his college orchestra.

I followed Aks to all his orchestras and heard him sing, and later on sung some of these songs myself in my college dos, and we tend to bond a lot over them:

Jaan-e-Jaan - Jawani Diwani (1972)

Neele Neele Ambar Par - Kalakaar (1982)

Ai Kaash Ke Hum - Kabhi Haan Kabhi Naa (1994)

Dad is a much-in-demand singer among family and friends. Everyone is stuck on their own favourites of his which he must have sung a lot when he was younger:

Ye Raat Ye Chaandni Phir Kahaan (Jaal, 1952)

and..

Kisiki Muskuraahaton Pe Ho Nisaar (Anari, 1959)

--

Time to introduce you to the song that had become a family anthem of sorts, especially during and around our yearly Kerala visits. From a movie called Darshan (1967), made in then East Pakistan. I don't know how someone got hold of this song, but my hunch is that some Malayali family friend who travelled to mid-East in late 70s-early 80s must have got hold of it, brought it back with him, and then someone in Danagram must have heard it, and then that's how we got to hear it. It's one of the earliest memories I have of Kerala, and is still reminiscent of mango and coconut trees, the old house,the old wooden treasure full of Amar Chitra Katha, the cultural programmes in the evening, the dinner by the lanterns, the careless abandon, love and trust with which all four of us spent time with each other and with other brothers, sisters, aunts and grandpa. There was so much love and joy...

--

I had a peculiar habit throughout my adolescence. I would put on music in full volume while having lunch before leaving for school and college. That was one time when no one used to be at home, and hence my music time. The home in Gopuri was such that I didn't have to worry about noise levels since the green fence insulated everything. The music chosen was decided completely randomly. So some days it was the 90s Hindi film music which I really liked, but most of the time it would be old music or Indian classical music since that's what we had most in our collection, and sometimes it was even Malayalam and Tamil music. Mom had brought a sizeable collection to Wardha from Danagram. The odd times when mom and dad would be at home at this time of the day, it was perplexing for them to see and hear me listening to something that I am not really expected to listen to. I did not especially liked this music or sometimes didn't even understand it, owing to the era, style or language, but I couldn't really change my own rules. There was in fact just one rule. Listen to all the cassettes one by one. The reason was very childish but logical :) I knew that some cassettes are heard more often than other. So the cassettes that are not heard had to feel left out and ignored and that when all of us slept in the night, and when all the 'non-living' objects came to life, the ones that are ignored must be feeling shitty when they heard the popular ones bragging. So my project and responsibility in life at that point was to make all music cassettes feel wanted. This began as early as middle school I think. This sounds funny, but that's how listening to everything, even things you didn't understand and appreciate, began. Later of course, the emotional and equality part of the reasoning disappeared, but by that time I was already hooked onto these different styles of music. This democratic style of listening to music helped me to not just broaden my taste and ear for different styles of music, but also made me more open to listen to anything without pre-conceived notion.

Robinson Crusoe...

...is a fascinating book. It has pages after pages of emotion, drama, adventure, history, geography, philosophy, and human psychology.

I had read the Paico Classics' pictorial version of Robinson Crusoe. Since then, I had harboured a desire to read the original. While reading it now, the sepia-toned amazingly life-like picture strips of the comic kept coming to mind. The book was written in 1719, and so the language is quite dreary and long, so I still prefer the comic.

What the book has on the positive side is the portal to the early eighteenth century. But it made me quizzical and angry the way certain things were written. For example, Crusoe's colonial attitude towards the first human being he meets in 25 years. You would think, he would want to befriend the new person in his life, for Crusoe is really hungry for human company after two-and-a-half decades of solitude. He keeps calling him a savage and then as if that wasn't all, one of the first words he teaches the new guy is to call him 'master'.

The worst thing is that it is not even subtle. You know how for example western world can become patronising towards the eastern world without wanting to be? Or how the most liberal people turn into bigots without realising? Daniel Defoe wears his views on colonialism, racism, christianity and theology on his sleeve.

In spite of all this, the book is a roller-coaster adventure. It kept reminding me of days, especially in Auroville, when money was sparse and how I had to keep creating cheap stuff from local technology to spend as less as possible on tools and yet derive as scientifically rich a dividend as possible. Comparing myself to Robinson Crusoe would be laughable, but this is a book where you keep doing two things: imagining and reminiscing. That makes for a great work of fiction doesn't it? Where the reader can personally connect with a rare occurrence.

Just Rambling Along

What would I like to be inscribed on my grave?

I don't know why I would think of such a question, but I did, and I had to think really hard, which made me feel good, coz as it happens, I usually come up with answers and solutions quickly, and this question needed me to think, which means it was an unchartered territory.

After some thought, I settled on this: If inscriptions are supposed to reflect what you were when living and what you wished to be, I would not want an inscription, nor a grave. A grave makes you grounded, and I have always aspired to be free. An inscription makes you confined to a few words, and I have always wished for being more than just a few words.

But I think graves and inscriptions do act as anchors for people who we leave behind. If at all, I would want the stone to say:

Free and Fearless.
--

There was a song in Malayalam for kids that mom and dad translated in Hindi for us and the Baal-Bhavan kids. It's raining and a sparrow is looking for shelter. She goes to different trees and says:
चिलचिल चिलचिल हम हैं चिडीया चिलचिल चिलचिल चिल
चिलचिल चिलचिल हम हैं चिडीया चिलचिल चिलचिल चिल
सुनो रे अंबुआ प्यारे अंबुआ मैं नन्ही चिडीया
बारिश में छुपने भर की मुझको जगह दोगे क्या?

And the mango tree would scold the sparrow and ask her to scoot off.

And so the sparrow would ask for shelter to different trees...and so on it would go, replacing अंबुआ with नीम and other trees. In the end, ईमली very generously would allow the sparrow to take shelter on her branches. The evils need to be punished, right? A strong gale approaches and uproots every tree except the ईमली for her generosity, and she and the sparrow live happily ever after.
--


It is probably true for some of us: 'in death we come alive'. I am not sure what these thoughts are an indication of. Self-destruction? Fatalism? I am not half ashamed to think about such things, and articulate them openly on this blog. Sometimes I confuse myself. I definitely want to live. Passion, zeal, blah, blah. Remember the last blog? But at the same time, if I think of death, I think I can embrace it. Maybe not with compassion, but definitely with calmness and composure. So yeah, I am confused by my own contradictions sometimes.
--

There's a constantly pelting wind on my wall, and I had a thought: What if the wind wants a shelter? What if the rain needs a home? Now that would indeed be a classic case of schizophrenia. Unleashing something, and then wanting to safeguard yourself against it.
--

Wish you all a very happy Diwali!

Lost and Found

Every generation has to bear a curse.

Our generation was fortunate enough to have everything going for us. We had good education, have good work, good money. We are well travelled. We have resources at our fingertips. We have means to get most of the things we want.

The curse is lack of respite. 
--

Even with a fast pace of life, there are some things which have the power to bring everything to a halt. A sudden standstill. Like memories. Memories of childhood. Of Aai and Achcha. Of Akash, Bai and Pitaji. Of Gopuri. Of Shanu and Shweta. Of friends. Of Kerala.

Those memories are not always happy ones, but the sieve of time has filtered out all positive and negative connotations attached to them. Some memories bring smiles. In most cases however, there's absolutely no emotion attached. Just neutrality. As if it the story of someone else's life.
--

We didn't have a television while growing up. I watched movies in theatre or on the office VCR, always in the cosy company of family and friends. Everyone in my family has been a movie buff. Even my grandparents. I remember countless re-runs of Anand, Jaagte Raho, Shree 420, Boot Polish, Jagriti, Disney Cartoons on the office TV. I don't remember much of what I thought of these movies. All I remember is the AV room cum library. The musty smell of the pillows and rajais. The onslaught of mosquitoes. The Good Knight-Kachhuachhaap-smoke of half burnt green neem leaves combo to drive the mosquitoes away.

And the warm glow of the flickering screen in the quiet darkness of the room where the five of us would huddle together. For me that's still the true semblance of a family.
--

The movie 'Anand' was a staple. The highlight of the movie was always the song Kahin Door Jab (despite everyone ridiculing Mukesh's voice). I guess I must have realised even then that there was some magic happening there on screen. Those 5 minutes where Rajesh Khanna (sans his herogiri) reveals himself before us made a lifelong impact. It struck a chord. The song is one of the best examples of revealing your deepest self to the world, done so in privacy and solitude of one's own company. There is no crude, coarse desperation in that sadness. If anything, it comes forth in a simple display of words, melody and acting, that misery can be poised and elegant.
--

My day ends today with this song in the background, my nose pressed against the glass pane of my room looking out on the Paris skyline, and the blue night beam of Eiffel in close grasp. Everything together reminds me once again how important it is to live every single moment, whether happy or sad, and that nothing is worth sacrificing little bits of time for yourself.

Of Space, Sleep and Shade

University of Paris was divided into 13 autonomous institutes in 1971, and I am currently working in one of them. We are outside the Paris city boundary (but part of Île-de-France). I recently got a chance to see one of the other 12 universities. I have been there before but haven't been there recently and my belief just got reaffirmed that it's always good to work in a place outside the city. If inside, the least they could do is to give the buildings and people some breathing space with boulevards, cycle tracks and jogging alleys and make it greener by having patches of woody areas throughout. UPMC, the university I visited today is at best a concrete jungle. It's one of the best in Europe but it sucks to look at. The only good thing about UPMC is that it is built on the banks of the beautiful Seine river (with its dirty bottle-green coloured water). Thanked my luck that I didn't decide to come to UPMC.

The common thread in all the places I lived, worked and enjoyed has been that they were cushioned in their respective bubbles.. Though I did not decide on the places based on their landscaping, I enjoyed being there because they were spacious, wide, green and full of unadulterated oxygen. The Farm, Danagram, Auroville, IISc, and now Orsay and Maison, they are all places very near to civilisation but detached and buffered. That's what is endearing.
--

It's good to be in Paris and travel outside for work because there's no hustle-bustle of the city, metros are always empty coz you are travelling in the direction opposite to the swarm, and you come back in the evening to the dazzling array of activities placed before you on a platter. It's another thing that am shit tired by the time the evening arrives and don't feel like doing anything but sleep in my warm room, but I have devised an idea that works surprisingly well. I have to spend 30 minutes in the metro and sometimes more if there's snow. As soon as I embark, I find a seat and start my 30-minute long nap. It's not sound and deep but energises me nevertheless.
--

Last few days have been extraordinarily sunny and it was disappointing. If I needed sun, I would be in India. Bring on the cold! My moods in the morning depend on whether I open my eyes to direct sun rays or diffracted light. It never really pours here which is good coz one can leisurely walk around even during rains. Today while commuting, I kept observing the rooftops for some reason. They reminded me of some Indian houses, like our old house in Gopuri. We had windows in the roof for the skylight to come in. Of course, in summers we have too much sun in Wardha so one needs to have an exact reverse system. We first had a simple curtains-drawn and curtains-withdrawn system, but then my techno-genius dad came up with a wooden trapdoor system which was augmented just below the roof window, and could slide up and down over a wooden plate, effectively covering or uncovering the light outside. It was obviously up in the roof, so we would use a long bamboo to slide the trapdoor. It was a daily ritual which I had forgotten about, and these french roofs brought back the memory.

On a tangent, many houses in these parts are un-plastered and look beautiful because of the exposed walls that disclose the stones they were built with in a very aesthetic way. I have been a fan of the cobblestone streets of Europe (who isn't?). A house wall thus displayed looks just like extensions of the streets, bringing to mind 3-D arenas that Cobb and Ariadne walk (climb?) on, but this is way more beautiful.