Welcome to the world of home decor ... when our younger one turned two, we finally decided it was time to furnish the house. Nothing fancy, just the usual couches and rugs and tables. The main point being to convert the playroom to its intended purpose, the formal living room and library (really the formal dining room, but what can I say, we're rebels).
First step: Combine the playroom with the family room and computer room.
Second step: Furnish.
Third step: Decorate.
The first step was mostly painless, no fun to be had. Moving toys and play mats is easy peasy.
So there we were, a vast empty living room ... which brings us to the second step, also relatively painless. Having experienced the IKEA quality in grad school, it was time for better furniture ... still Scandinavian, just better, so off to ScanDesign, and that took care of the "this is the fancy place where my butt shall rest" part.
But the decoration ... enough to make me go, "Oyoyoy" (I sometimes pretend I speak Yiddish).
Our decorator (also the grandmother of one of KidA's classmates) helped select the first decorative item ... a big ugly brass bowl with fake fruits and veggies (all with a hanging tag proudly stating that they were made in China). My first thought on spying the bowl was how visiting kids would use the veggies for toys, and maybe our 5-year-old would try to chop them (she is aspiring to be a sous chef). Besides, what's the point of fake fruits and veggies in a bowl? Years ago, cavemen would lure people into their caves with fake fruits and veggies, then they'd club them on the head and eat them. Our instinct still tells us to decorate with fake food, but the point of it is largely forgotten.
For the big empty expanse above the fireplace, a Philip Craig print of artichokes and other vegetables on a deep red background from the local Costco. Here's the thought process: "Hmmm, this painting has the same color in some places as the couch and the rugs, plus the frame would go well with the tables ... let's get this." That print had to be returned after the visiting sister-in-law wrinkled her nose at the very idea of vegetables as home decor. (The brass bowl had already been removed.)
Next up were a pair of anonymous oil paintings, with beautiful texture (important to contrast against the muted texture of the wall). Both paintings were scenes of the beach, again selected for the presence of a small amount of purple in the color scheme, but this time with a gilt-edged frame that matched (in our twisted and demented minds) the oak floors. The painting-shop was not a gallery where we met with the artist, it was the middle of the local Costco warehouse, where they had just finished putting the Philip Craig print back in place. As we stood in line waiting to pay, the juxtaposition of Costco's hothouse bell peppers, the paintings, and size 4 diapers in the shopping cart was what next gave rise to doubts.
Putting the paintings up on the wall did not help matters any. The immediate reaction was, "Gosh, this costs money!" Two days later, the realization dawned that the paintings were not just blah, they make the room look like something from a hotel lobby. We didn't have any passion about the artist or the paintings, they were just some random colored things to fill up the blank wall. No personality, no pizzaz, no masala, nothing!
Who buys these things anyway? In all the time I've shopped at Costco, I've never seen anyone pick these up ... I remember reading about Costco fanatics who would decorate rental properties with Costco furniture and paintings, maybe these are targeted at the hospitality trade, perhaps that's why the association with hotel lobbies was so strong. A Star Wars poster (for me), or a Toy Story poster (for the kids) would have been better, at least someone would've felt like it was cool.
So the paintings are now back at Costco.
A briefly hung mirror is back at the "Real Deals on Home Decor" store - upon reflection, it turned out to be badly distorted. While at the home decor store, the incredible fakeness of the whole experience made me want to scream: faux wood signs about love and forgiveness, plastic clocks that said "Kensington London" in an array of sizes, purporting to be from London's Kensington Station, or something in French (perhaps the name of a French metro station) none that looked authentic, all that sported prominent "Made In China" tags. Ugly garish bowls with warning notes like, "Decorative use only, may poison food!" Of course, all I have to do is cart this stuff home, remove the tag, and people will marvel at how I happened to be at Kensington when they were throwing out the old clocks.
So we're left with a store credit certificate - the store does not do refunds.
Although the wall above the fireplace is now empty and waiting for a better mirror, most other walls within my five-year-old's reach are decorated. Seeing us go through so much pain to decorate the house was too much for her ... plus her friends were visiting for her fifth birthday. She's decorated with her paintings, scrawls, sketches. There's one of the deck, complete with chairs and roof and flowers. There's another of mum and baby. There's one of me waiting at the airport for them to arrive back from India.
A4-sized art by an in-house artist. Almost disposable, all easily replaced, most of it with some meaning ... I like it.
p.s. I should note somewhere that the decorator did a fine job overall, there's a decent mirror on top of the fireplace, some nice lamps (on the tables, not on the fireplace), a wrought-iron fireplace screen (which may really be painted aluminum), and so on.
By,
Speck42 (speck42[at]gmail[dot]com)
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Tuesday, July 08, 2008
Review of 'Jazz'
The first production by Denzil Smith’s ‘Stagesmith’, ‘Jazz’is a bittersweet peek into the lives of the Goan musicians in Mumbai a few decades ago. Directed by Etienne Coutinho, penned by Ramu Ramanathan and researched by Naresh Fernandes, it is a thoroughly enjoyable play, one that I would recommend to anyone who enjoys witty dialogue, dark humour and good music. I watched it last Sunday and the entire audience loved the play, gave it a standing ovation and just wouldn’t stop clapping !
With a moniker like ‘Jazz’, the play would have fallen flat had it not had really lovely music – the music by Merlin D’Souza left me wanting more. While some reviewers have critiqued the use of popish ‘smooth’ jazz, I felt that this added to the enjoyment of the lay audience (such as myself) and made many of us keen to hear more of such music.
Through the story of a Jazz musician’s life, the play sketches the life of Goan and Anglo-Indian musicians during the 50s-70s, their assimilation into Bombay, life on the fringes of the Hindi film industry and exploitation therein, a hand-to-mouth existence endured for the sake of their music. The musician who is the pivot of the play is not an entirely nice or likeable character – he is a womaniser, uses bad language, doesn’t have too many friends, but he is true to his music, the music that was “Invented by the devil for the torture of the saints.”
The entire story is related – mostly in verse – by this musician to a young boy who comes to him to learn to play the saxophone. The verse is engrossing and has an unusual flavour to it - sardonic, witty, humourous, keeping pace with and matching mood and sound with the music playing in the background.
‘Bugs’ Bhargava Krishna was brilliant in the role of the old down-on-his-luck musician - the raspy voice, the accent, the quivering fingers, the slight limp and most of all, the passion in his voice and his body language when he spoke of music. There was rhythm in his dialogue delivery and in the jerky, not – entirely - smooth movement of his limbs when he spoke of music or delivered lines to the accompaniment of music playing in the background. He portrayed the old musician perfectly; there was energy in his performance - zany, eccentric, excited, manic, doomed, fizzing – like the diwali chakri careening madly in circles until the very last spark has been extinguished.
Rhys D’ Souza, who plays this musician’s student, couldn’t come close in terms of acting, but he was awesome on the saxophone. It was great to hear such good live music integrated into a play. A real treat !
There was minimal use of props on stage – the play was carried on the able shoulders of ‘Bugs’ Bhargava, with support from Rhys D’ Souza. Part of the story was told through pre-recorded video clips projected on screen which had his friends, family and lovers telling their version of his life. I felt some of these clips could have been cut without losing too much from the story - especially the ones with all the women, those with his former cronies added far more.
A nice touch was the weaving of bits of Bombay history into the story - almost as a footnote, a mention of Frances Almeida, the captain of the first Portugese ship to sail into Bombay. Of course, there were lots of references to the clubs popular during the 1950s-1970s, the popular artists who played there etc. The exhibition of posters outside the theatre added to one’s enjoyment by adding context to some of the names and happenings one heard the musician refer to on stage.
Some questions that I pondered over after the play :
Where has Bhargava Krishna been all this time ? I remember seeing him in a play or two, but these are few and far between.
Why have I not listened to more Jazz music ? Anyone reader who has heard a lot of jazz, please guide me to some simple, ‘popish’ jazz artist that I could start listening to before moving on to more intricate, complicated stuff.
Does any of you readers know anyone in the group ‘Stagesmith’ ? I want a list of numbers that made up the background score to this play. Alternately, if anyone knows enough and recognized which tunes were played, please let me know.
Where in Mumbai does one go to listen to Jazz played live ? (Incidentally, there is a chance to do so this weekend, please check this link a friend forwarded to me)
Will end by leaving you with this wry comment on the audience for Jazz music by Billy Collins in the poem ‘The Many Faces of Jazz’.
Zenobia D. Driver
With a moniker like ‘Jazz’, the play would have fallen flat had it not had really lovely music – the music by Merlin D’Souza left me wanting more. While some reviewers have critiqued the use of popish ‘smooth’ jazz, I felt that this added to the enjoyment of the lay audience (such as myself) and made many of us keen to hear more of such music.
Through the story of a Jazz musician’s life, the play sketches the life of Goan and Anglo-Indian musicians during the 50s-70s, their assimilation into Bombay, life on the fringes of the Hindi film industry and exploitation therein, a hand-to-mouth existence endured for the sake of their music. The musician who is the pivot of the play is not an entirely nice or likeable character – he is a womaniser, uses bad language, doesn’t have too many friends, but he is true to his music, the music that was “Invented by the devil for the torture of the saints.”
The entire story is related – mostly in verse – by this musician to a young boy who comes to him to learn to play the saxophone. The verse is engrossing and has an unusual flavour to it - sardonic, witty, humourous, keeping pace with and matching mood and sound with the music playing in the background.
‘Bugs’ Bhargava Krishna was brilliant in the role of the old down-on-his-luck musician - the raspy voice, the accent, the quivering fingers, the slight limp and most of all, the passion in his voice and his body language when he spoke of music. There was rhythm in his dialogue delivery and in the jerky, not – entirely - smooth movement of his limbs when he spoke of music or delivered lines to the accompaniment of music playing in the background. He portrayed the old musician perfectly; there was energy in his performance - zany, eccentric, excited, manic, doomed, fizzing – like the diwali chakri careening madly in circles until the very last spark has been extinguished.
Rhys D’ Souza, who plays this musician’s student, couldn’t come close in terms of acting, but he was awesome on the saxophone. It was great to hear such good live music integrated into a play. A real treat !
There was minimal use of props on stage – the play was carried on the able shoulders of ‘Bugs’ Bhargava, with support from Rhys D’ Souza. Part of the story was told through pre-recorded video clips projected on screen which had his friends, family and lovers telling their version of his life. I felt some of these clips could have been cut without losing too much from the story - especially the ones with all the women, those with his former cronies added far more.
A nice touch was the weaving of bits of Bombay history into the story - almost as a footnote, a mention of Frances Almeida, the captain of the first Portugese ship to sail into Bombay. Of course, there were lots of references to the clubs popular during the 1950s-1970s, the popular artists who played there etc. The exhibition of posters outside the theatre added to one’s enjoyment by adding context to some of the names and happenings one heard the musician refer to on stage.
Some questions that I pondered over after the play :
Where has Bhargava Krishna been all this time ? I remember seeing him in a play or two, but these are few and far between.
Why have I not listened to more Jazz music ? Anyone reader who has heard a lot of jazz, please guide me to some simple, ‘popish’ jazz artist that I could start listening to before moving on to more intricate, complicated stuff.
Does any of you readers know anyone in the group ‘Stagesmith’ ? I want a list of numbers that made up the background score to this play. Alternately, if anyone knows enough and recognized which tunes were played, please let me know.
Where in Mumbai does one go to listen to Jazz played live ? (Incidentally, there is a chance to do so this weekend, please check this link a friend forwarded to me)
Will end by leaving you with this wry comment on the audience for Jazz music by Billy Collins in the poem ‘The Many Faces of Jazz’.
Zenobia D. Driver
Saturday, July 05, 2008
Request to 'Motley'
In the last few weeks, I have watched two plays by the ‘Motley’ group – ‘Ismat Apa Ke Naam’ and ‘Prophet’, which have been a rendition of the author’s work without much change in the language as the author wrote it. Both plays seemed to go down rather well with the audience, which leads me to wonder why the ‘Motley’ group doesn’t do a pure poetry-reading session. I think it would be great to hear Naseeruddin Shah, Benjamin Gilani and Ratna Pathak Shah delivering poems (reciting seems a childish and inappropriate word to use in this context). To make it more interesting, they could select poems based on a theme, wherein each poem could take the thread of a story forward.
For instance, let’s take the theme of love (not the platonic variety), attraction, lust etc and all the myriad emotional hues that surround these.
Imagine Naseer trying to woo Ratna with the poem 'To His Coy Mistress' by Andrew Marvell. Once he ends, the lady could, in a scornful aside to the audience, recite the first verse of 'Bloody Men !' (by Wendy Cope) – ‘Bloody Men are like Bloody Buses / You wait for about a year / And as soon as one approaches your stop / Two or three others appear’. Then she could look down her nose at Naseer and proceed to mock his protestation of love (?) through the words of 'His Coy Mistress to Mr. Marvell' before exiting the stage. After the lady exits the stage, the gentleman could ruefully enact 'The Time I've Lost in Wooing'. No audience would find poetry boring if they saw the duo enact these – they bring the right blend of mischief and elegance to the stage, as anyone who has watched ‘Dear Liar’ can testify.
There could be a couple of disinterested bystanders who could give their sound-bytes on the nature of love once the couple has left the stage. One, mocks the lovers in the words of D. H. Lawrence as detailed in 'True Love at Last'. Another, a hypocritical, sanctimonious type, shown in true colours in the poem 'True Love'.
The latter poem, somehow reminds me of those who protest against Valentine’s Day by taking out morchas, ransacking shops and harassing couples. While I agree that Valentine’s Day is a fraud perpetuated by Hallmark, Archies and other companies, I feel that these louts are a much greater menace to society than lovesick young un’s wandering around with soppy expressions and red roses. In fact, maybe these two poems and a few more that you, generous reader, will bring to my notice, could be better utilized to highlight the hypocrisy of society’s moral police in a separate set. Imagine a store, bells chiming as some couples enter, fluffy red hearts with white frilly lace on the edges (how disgusting they look!) in the windows, heart shaped chocolates, pink flowery greeting cards etc – the typical Archies / Hallmark store in fact. And our two friends, Mr. Superior and Mr. Sanctimonious, leading a morcha outside. ‘True Love At Last’, mocks Mr. Superior. ‘True Love’, rants ‘Mr. Sanctimonious.’ And with what poems shall they be answered ? I know not. It is yours to decide, good (i.e. one who will save me from further effort) reader.
More hues of love. Imagine Irrfan Khan (yes, I know he is not a part of ‘Motley’, but this is a blog, and one can hope) reciting 'My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun', in the same casual, matter-of-fact tone he uses in the Hutch ads. And Benjamin Gilani reciting 'They Say' and 'To My Wife - With A Copy of My Poems'.
And the sad, bitter, cynical poems too. One marvelous one I would select is by Steely Dan - 'Things I miss the most', there could be someone reading it out with the music playing in the background. A poem with a different tone, 'Threnody' by Dorothy Parker. Somewhat similar, 'The Tree of Song' by Sara Teasdale.
p.s. I hope that the outlines I have described above, bare though they are, succeed in motivating you to click on the links and read the poems – they are really interesting ones. Also, if you can think of more poems to add depth and detail to the scenario, do write a comment.
p.p.s. The second theme I can think of is anti-establishmentarianism – think ‘August 1968’ and ‘Epitaph on a Tyrant’ by W.H. Auden. A post on that follows soon.
Awaiting comments,
Zenobia D. Driver
For instance, let’s take the theme of love (not the platonic variety), attraction, lust etc and all the myriad emotional hues that surround these.
Imagine Naseer trying to woo Ratna with the poem 'To His Coy Mistress' by Andrew Marvell. Once he ends, the lady could, in a scornful aside to the audience, recite the first verse of 'Bloody Men !' (by Wendy Cope) – ‘Bloody Men are like Bloody Buses / You wait for about a year / And as soon as one approaches your stop / Two or three others appear’. Then she could look down her nose at Naseer and proceed to mock his protestation of love (?) through the words of 'His Coy Mistress to Mr. Marvell' before exiting the stage. After the lady exits the stage, the gentleman could ruefully enact 'The Time I've Lost in Wooing'. No audience would find poetry boring if they saw the duo enact these – they bring the right blend of mischief and elegance to the stage, as anyone who has watched ‘Dear Liar’ can testify.
There could be a couple of disinterested bystanders who could give their sound-bytes on the nature of love once the couple has left the stage. One, mocks the lovers in the words of D. H. Lawrence as detailed in 'True Love at Last'. Another, a hypocritical, sanctimonious type, shown in true colours in the poem 'True Love'.
The latter poem, somehow reminds me of those who protest against Valentine’s Day by taking out morchas, ransacking shops and harassing couples. While I agree that Valentine’s Day is a fraud perpetuated by Hallmark, Archies and other companies, I feel that these louts are a much greater menace to society than lovesick young un’s wandering around with soppy expressions and red roses. In fact, maybe these two poems and a few more that you, generous reader, will bring to my notice, could be better utilized to highlight the hypocrisy of society’s moral police in a separate set. Imagine a store, bells chiming as some couples enter, fluffy red hearts with white frilly lace on the edges (how disgusting they look!) in the windows, heart shaped chocolates, pink flowery greeting cards etc – the typical Archies / Hallmark store in fact. And our two friends, Mr. Superior and Mr. Sanctimonious, leading a morcha outside. ‘True Love At Last’, mocks Mr. Superior. ‘True Love’, rants ‘Mr. Sanctimonious.’ And with what poems shall they be answered ? I know not. It is yours to decide, good (i.e. one who will save me from further effort) reader.
More hues of love. Imagine Irrfan Khan (yes, I know he is not a part of ‘Motley’, but this is a blog, and one can hope) reciting 'My Mistress' Eyes Are Nothing Like the Sun', in the same casual, matter-of-fact tone he uses in the Hutch ads. And Benjamin Gilani reciting 'They Say' and 'To My Wife - With A Copy of My Poems'.
And the sad, bitter, cynical poems too. One marvelous one I would select is by Steely Dan - 'Things I miss the most', there could be someone reading it out with the music playing in the background. A poem with a different tone, 'Threnody' by Dorothy Parker. Somewhat similar, 'The Tree of Song' by Sara Teasdale.
p.s. I hope that the outlines I have described above, bare though they are, succeed in motivating you to click on the links and read the poems – they are really interesting ones. Also, if you can think of more poems to add depth and detail to the scenario, do write a comment.
p.p.s. The second theme I can think of is anti-establishmentarianism – think ‘August 1968’ and ‘Epitaph on a Tyrant’ by W.H. Auden. A post on that follows soon.
Awaiting comments,
Zenobia D. Driver
Wednesday, July 02, 2008
Review of 'Prophet'
A faithful reproduction of the book, with Naseeruddin Shah’s enactment making the parable more approachable somehow. The plot device – of a patient in a hospital telling the story to a child in the same hospital – works and resembles the parable in some sections. Mr. Shah’s acting and dialogue delivery were brilliant as usual; am beginning to appreciate that actors put as much thought into how to utter each word - the pitch, enunciation, tone etc – as singers do.
I enjoyed the play more than the book, think I understood more too. However, the play is naught but a reproduction of the book, so if you disliked the book, or if you like plays with action on the stage, you would be better off giving this one a miss.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
I enjoyed the play more than the book, think I understood more too. However, the play is naught but a reproduction of the book, so if you disliked the book, or if you like plays with action on the stage, you would be better off giving this one a miss.
By,
Zenobia D. Driver
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