Windy Days - Panchgani Trip, Part 2

Panchgani’s claim to fame and the spot-to-visit for most visitors is a geographic feature called ‘table-top’ by the locals. It’s a hilly plateau – you can see from the photograph (taken from a point halfway up the hill) that it looks almost as if a gigantic hand had lopped off the peaks of a whole range of hills. One end of table-top is accessible by road and most visitors drive up.


We walked up by road and it was not too long either – we walked through the crowded market, past the Sahakari bank, an abandoned house and St. John’s church.

The Sahakari Bank is quite an unassuming building, the compound wall has a small official-looking board with the name of the bank, and above it and to the left, a wind-vane anchoring a line of laundry drying in the wind, ‘nothing official about it!’, as the tag-line goes; I suppose someone from the staff must be staying on the first floor and utilising the wind-vane as a convenient clothes-horse.

As we continued ambling down the road, we turned left, left the crowded market behind and noticed a picturesque abandoned house, the decay evident in the rags on the roof and the windows without panes in sharp contrast to the lush greenery right outside. We also passed an old bungalow with a moss-covered ancient red brick chimney and a shiny Tata Sky dish poking out of the roof; an increasingly common juxtaposition in small towns.



Further down the road, St. John’s church had stained glass windows, but a strict watchman shooed away visitors and disallowed photography, I don’t think anyone other than the Lord knew his motives.

However, when approached from this end, Table-top itself was mucky, crowded and uninspiring. Tongawallahs clustered around asking if we wanted a tonga ride, there were stalls selling food, and stalls with the usual fairground games such as air-rifle shooting, throwing a ring etc. It is only after we walked past the clutter of stalls and people that the actual vista of table-top opened up - a stretch of thick grass-carpeted land a few km long, offering nice views of Panchgani town, the surrounding hills, the river below etc.





We also discovered an alternate route to Table-top that is only used by the locals. It’s a 10 minute clamber up the side of the hill. Early one morning, fortified with hot tea and biscuits, three of us climbed up. Though the local who told us about the short-cut warned us about the wind on top, we underestimated it. At the end of the path was a small waterfall that welcomed us to table-top with a nice visual, the strong wind makes some of the spray flip backwards over the top of the hill instead of falling straight down. As it is the highest point in the area, the wind here is quite strong and actually buffets you as you walk, to the extent that it is dangerous to venture too close to the edge and a railing has been installed. The wind was so strong that when R took out her harmonica, some notes could be heard from it if she just held it out, she didn’t even need to play it !

Large ponds had formed in depressions in the undulating ground due to heavy rain, these were interspersed with patches of grass with small white flowers. There were small blue birds with bright white underparts and a chestnut head that kept swooping over and around us – I later found out that these were wire-tailed swallows. Against a background of green grass and grey mist, their intense blue-and – white colouring and flitting around added some liveliness. The weather, the expanse of green and the barn swallows reminded us of the English moors as described in Enid Blyton’s books.

The best experience, of course, was to be on table-top as the mist and clouds rolled in additional to announce heavy rain. On a normal day, mists swirl in and out, but the entire army of clouds advancing towards you and the advance guard of the swirling mist is something that can actually arouse a slight feeling of dread. The clouds are dark, dense and ponderous; they seem to be at eye-level or just a bit above, and since this is the highest point in the area, there is nothing but miles of sky all around and much of it rushing towards you, almost like a tsunami of cloud. You’re transfixed and your feet are rooted to the ground with a mixture of wonder and terror, and an awareness of one’s own powerlessness when compared with nature.

An Eye for Interesting Stuff

At the outset, let me admit that I am an Indian Express loyalist and have been one for years. Amongst the English language newspapers, they are one of the few that have resisted the temptation of transforming into a blingy-n-bright tabloid, and actually deliver a daily dose of credible news. They still stick to their superior investigative journalism, and occasionally re-open a decades old cover-up that all other newspapers seem to have forgotten about. To add to this, they have a local news and cultural events section that reports happenings other than page 3 parties. I think all this more than makes up for the occasional grammatical error and the poor print quality that sometimes leaves me with grey smudges on my fingers.

Last weekend, the Express gave me yet another reason to remain loyal – they expanded the Sunday supplement, the ‘Eye’, into a magazine. And a magazine that is perfect for a Sunday morning read –a well-balanced eclectic mix of topics, something that you won’t just skim through in a hurry to get to more interesting parts of your day, but will want to savour fully as you read from beginning to end of each article.

Consider last weekend’s articles. There were a few unusual travel write-ups, one where Bharath Moro tracked small bars in small towns from Koraput to Firozpur to Managuru (where the hell is that ?!!); another about two young American Muslims that travelled across America during Ramzan and break their roza every evening in a different mosque in a different city, another by Venita Coelho – a local’s look at the madness that is the tourist season in Goa. There were also a few articles on technology, a few on different industries, and then some current events / general knowledge stuff, politics - an interview of L.K.Advani (though his vintage is not exactly ‘current’), and economics - a blow-by-blow behind-the-scenes account of how India avoided a crisis in 2008, the key players, their actions and reactions. Also a very interesting article on the Salvis, one of the last families keeping alive the art of weaving Patan Patola saris .

A great read with a hot cup of tea / coffee by your side. Buy the Indian Express folks, at least every Sunday.

By,
Zen

R's Reality Check Moment

Here's the link to the post I had written a few weeks ago.

This is what a lady from Madhubani told R recently :
"After a lot of effort things have changed for the better. Now no children below the age of 6 are being married off in our area."

As the title of the original post said, 'The Times they are a-changing, but not fast enough'.

A 'Dabangg' Review

Watched ‘Dabangg’ in a late-night show a raucous sell-out crowd. Salman has reinvented himself as Rajni, going by the nature of the movie, the mannerisms with sunglasses, the humanly impossible action scenes and the wild adulation he receives from the audience. I haven’t heard so much hooting, clapping and whistling from a multiplex crowd ever. The movie is full of senseless violence, but keeps a light undertone throughout. For a change, Salman doesn’t ham and contort his face when doing humourous scenes. Dimple in a role as Salman’s Mum does a notable job. Sonakshi and Sonu Sood are pretty decent too. All in all, paisa vasool stuff especially if you are a Salman fan.

By,
Sachin

Panchgani trip - 1

A bunch of us set off for Panchgani one rain-drenched morning a few weeks ago. The five hour drive from Bombay, though a bit long, was not tedious at all – the view provided sufficient distraction, and there were friends and a music system for further amusement. It was the kind of journey that made one want to break out into ‘suhaanaa safar aur yeh mausam haseen’ (assuming one was one of the same vintage as yours truly, of course); intermittent downpours caused by the heavy grey monsoon clouds thudding across the sky, hills nearby covered with a canopy of green, hills in the distance wearing wreaths of vapour on their crowns.









We had been lucky enough to get rooms at a highly recommended place called ‘Il Palazzo’, fewer people must travel to Panchgani during the monsoon season. We caused some consternation in the kitchen when we arrived – I had omitted to mention that two of our group were vegetarians, the lunch that the hotel had prepared had mostly non-veg items. They quickly managed to rustle up enough for a meal for two vegetarians though. (Note : For non-vegetarians, meals here are like being transported to paradise –mutton, chicken and fish – all in one meal and all delicious. The amount you hog makes you feel quite guilty, though not guilty enough to skip dessert.) Lunch was served in a small porch-like area just outside our rooms, which gave us the satisfaction of looking out at the tall trees in the garden swaying in the rain and added an exciting picnic – like feeling to the meal. Like pythons that need to rest after a heavy meal, we all collapsed into bed after lunch, only to emerge in the evening at the sound of the tinkle of tea-things being laid for those in neighbouring rooms.



After tea, two of us set out for a small stroll. We stayed off the main road and walked along small streets set with cute cottages. We passed a charming and modest temple, all white with a reddish-orange border like a Bengali sari. We meandered up and down roads at random, seeing where they lead to. By the time we decided to return, it had darkened a bit and we could see a fine mist descending down the hill onto the road. A breeze that had simultaneously sprung up in the opposite direction seemed to push the mist back. The long white fingers of the mist retreated, regrouped and then rushed downhill again. Fascinated, we watched the wind and the mist sparring to establish dominion over this part of the road. The mist was victorious eventually and we decided to hurry back to our hotel before it got dark.

Around this time, we heard the evening call of a masjid, the silence it made its way through and the deep baritone of the person calling to the faithful in an unhurried rhythmic cadence made it a very peaceful sound, one we hadn’t heard in a long time in the din of the metropolis we live in.

As it got darker, the walk was loaded with the faintly-remembered atmosphere of hill-stations visited during childhood. Trees loomed over us on both sides of the road, not fully visible due to the mist, just a darker shadow against the grey misty night; street-lamps were a circle of yellow light diffusing through the halo of fog around them; the light filtering out through chinks in window-curtains all but reminding us to scurry home quickly lest we get lost and Mummy is unable to find us ever again.

The walk reassured us that the decision to come to Panchgani had not been wrong and this was a great place for a short weekend away from Mumbai – easily accessible, yet not too crowded, and really green, with just the right amount of activity for a peaceful indulgent escape. We resolved to fully explore the place the next day.

By,
Zen

The Taxman Cometh !

Read this in Bill Bryson's 'The Life and Times of the Thunderbolt Kid' recently :

In Washington, DC, gunman John A. Kendrick testified that he was offered $ 2,500 to murder Michael Lee, but declined the job because 'when I got done paying taxes out of that, what would I have left?'
- Time Magazine, 7 January 1953

parappapaaraa I'm Lovin' it !
- Zen

The Times They Are a-chaging - Part 2

Wanted to introduce Ro's blog here, specifically her Rakshabandhan post. Relevant paragraphs of her post reproduced below for those that are too lazy to visit her blog themselves :

Yesterday was Rakshabandhan. The festival is all about brothers and sisters, so this was the first year that Ayaan could legitimately participate, having a baby sister and all.

All these years, I have never thought twice about the way the festival is traditionally celebrated - the sisters tie rakhis on their brothers, the brothers vow to protect the sisters and the sisters in turn pray for the well-being of their brothers. I simply followed the ritual and tied rakhis on all my brothers and cousin brothers.

But having my own daughter made me stop and think about the inherent chauvinism in the whole process and how that somehow made the whole festival something of an anachronism. In the days in which the festival of Rakshabandhan came to be, women were truly the weaker sex and therefore the presence and protection of the male members of their families (fathers, brothers and husbands) was not something that could be taken lightly.

But centuries on, much has changed, especially in the socio-economic strata that my children and I inhabit. I find it hard to imagine that Tarana will be the weaker sibling, in dire need of her brother's protection. I think they will both go through challenging times and I hope they will retain the love in their hearts that will help to provide help, support, encouragement, protection or whatever else is the need of the hour to each other.

So like many of my friends and acquaintances, I have decided to tweak and update the ritual to make it more contemporary. In our house, rakhi will be about celebrating the sibling bond and both Ayaan and Tarana will tie a rakhi on each other, with everything else that that entails.

Three cheers for Ro ! and Equality !
:-)
Zen

The Times they are a-changing – but not fast enough

Part of the title of this post is explained by the two real-life episodes described below:

First there’s R bai, a feisty lady that works as a maid in Mumbai. This lady’s daughter is getting married soon; to a man she fell in love with. R bai says that she doesn’t really care which rituals are conducted during the marriage ceremony, she doesn’t even care whether the couple undergoes the saat pheras or not, what she is insisting on is that the marriage be registered in court. She feels that rituals do not put any pressure on the guy to actually take care of her precious daughter; and that the lack of a document that can stand up in court implies that they have no recourse to legal action if he ever deserts her or ill-treats her. Three cheers for R bai for thinking of legal action against an errant son-in-law and not echoing the ‘beti shaadi ke baad paraayi hoti hai’ sentiment!

Another heartening story is one of a kabaadiwaala in Delhi, let’s call him K. For some time, when illiterate K goes house-to-house buying old newspapers and magazines for reselling, he has been requesting housewives on his paper-route to point out to him articles about travel and give those magazines to him free. Why ? Because his daughter was attending classes for some travel – and – tourism related training and needed material for her assignments and project submissions. Apparently, K had decided years ago that he would educate both his children, not just the son as many of his friends did; he was determined to ensure that his daughter would be able to stand on her own two feet and never be forced to stay trapped in an unhappy or abusive marriage due to being financially dependent on her husband.

Earlier this year, K’s ambitions were fulfilled, his daughter completed her course and got a government job.

Kudos to this kabaadiwaala for having the guts and the vision for seeing a different future for his daughter, and for having the determination to make it happen, it couldn’t have been an easy journey. And, of course, hats off to the young lady for the hard work she must have put in to get this far.

And just when I begin to exult in how much the status of women in this country has improved, I read stories like the one below in the newspaper :

Mumbai : A 28-year-old housewife has filed a case against her in-laws and neighbours for allegedly stripping and molesting her a fortnight ago. Byculla police said the incident happened on August 17. Senior Inspector Tukaram Godge said the complainant, a resident of Sankalp Siddhi chawl in Byculla, was reportedly beaten up by her mother-in-law for breaking a kitchen utensil. “The women in the neighbourhood allegedly tore her clothes and stripped her while men molested her.”

Desh Mera !

By,
Zen

Atmosphere

I like watching old Hindi movies of the Basu Bhattacharjee or Hrishikesh Mukherjee variety – think ‘Baaton Baaton Mein’, ‘Chhotisi Baat’, ‘Chupke Chupke’,‘Chashme Buddoor’, ‘Golmaal’ etc, often featuring actors such as Uptal Dutt, Om Prakash, Farooque Shaikh, Deepti Naval, Amol Palekar. Movies shot through with warmth, gentle humour and good music; the love story at the centre mellow, not melodramatic.

When I watch these at home in Mumbai, I sometimes find my enjoyment disrupted by a sense of impatience at the slow pace at which events unfold in these movies; a fall-out of the frenetic pace of the work-week in Mumbai, the urge to get things done quickly carries over into the weekend.

Recently I spent a few lazy days with friends at Panchgani, a hill station a few hours away from Mumbai. We went for walks, looked at the rain pouring down from the safety of the porch, admired tall trees in the garden, read books, chatted and basically indulged in aimless meandering activity. Even time spent carefully watching leaves fall in the wind seemed worthwhile, noting how larger leaves turn and spin multiple times in the eddies of wind on their way down, much like boats caught in a whirlpool must spin, I imagine.





One friend had brought along her small music-system. After breakfast and lunch, while others dozed away the heavy meals, we sat out on the porch and listened to music. Listening to ‘raindrops keep falling on my head’ while you’re watching the rain and listening to the wind ruffle leaves on the trees adds so much to the enjoyment of the song; ditto for ‘tiluk kumod’ with the background accompaniment of heavy rain. Or the Byrds singing ‘turn turn turn’ – a song about the cycle of the seasons makes so much sense and strikes a really true note when you’re amid tall trees that have seen many seasons change and weathered it all majestically.



I realised how much the atmosphere had seeped into me when I watched ‘Dulhan wahi jo piya man bhaaye’ for a bit on TV. The pace seemed just right, none of the dialogues seemed too verbose, though some of the emotions expressed were undeniably old-fashioned. Part of the reason might have been that at points in the movie where my attention flagged, the sounds I heard were not busy city sounds – traffic, hawkers, bhangaarwalas crying ‘papaarr’ – that reminded me of my task-list and time flying by, but unchanging unvarying sounds like the wind, rain, crickets chirping, etc, that had been and would continue to be around for millennia.

(Note : ‘Atmosphere’ does not seem to seep into guys thick skulls as much – they watched an action movie called ‘Kick-Ass’ at Panchgani and then 'Remember the Titans'.)

By,
Zen

Navroz Mubarak

To All our Parsi clan,
who carry eccentricity with elan;
Enjoy the New Year with chicken legs,
Parsi pegs,
good cheer,
a glass of beer,
majha masti
and tandarosti.

Happy New Year Everyone !

(p.s. the verse above is not original, but copied from an sms. - Zen)

Holidays. And Books.

A holiday without books – sacrilege ! Part of the excitement of packing for a holiday lies in calling ahead and finding out which books are available at the relative or friend’s house or hotel you are going to stay at, then selecting which books to carry with yourself, factoring in how much free time you will have, what sort of mood you will be in, maybe even where you will sit and read – in a hammock, in an easy chair, curled up near the fireplace, on a bench with a view of the hills and trees etc.

At least one book that I read during a vacation (apart from a guidebook) matches the place that I am travelling to; the atmosphere of the place helps me get so much more involved in the events in the book. I like to carry a book about mountains or mountaineering when in the hills; for instance, ‘Into Thin Air’ by Jon Krakauer (though not advisable while on a high-altitude trek, it’s about a climbing tragedy on Mount Everest), or ‘Nandadevi’ by Bill Aitken or ‘Silk Road on Wheels’ by Akhil Bakshi. When trekking through forests, I revisit chapters about Mirkwood or about the Ents from the ‘Lord of the Rings’ trilogy. If visiting Buddhist monasteries in Sikkim, Ladakh etc, a book on Buddhism does very well – the autobiography of the Dalai Lama, something by Pico Iyer etc.

It’s always nice to have one thriller or suspense novel at hand too – an Agatha Christie, a Perry Mason. And a light, humourous novel in case the murder mystery gets too scary – P.G.Wodehouse and Terry Pratchett are old favourites; some fibre for the brain to chew on – Amitava Ghosh maybe, nothing too heavy though, no Kafka, no tome on microeconomics, not for me. A collection of poems by various poets is also nice to dip into every now and then.

For one person to lug so many books around is a bit much, even after combining categories by selecting an author such as Bill Bryson (travel writing and humour). Hence I have learnt that choosing travel companions with care is very important. Choose them not for the quality of their conversation, or their enthusiasm levels, or good humour when faced with a ticketing ba**s-up, or the grace with which they lose to you at taboo/scrabble/pictionary etc; choose travel companions for the books they read and you cannot but enjoy the vacation.

By,
Zen

Review of 'I Hate Luv Storys'

With many reviews panning it mercilessly, I thought this above-average-and-entertaining movie deserved some support. It makes for quite an agreeable watch, and has much in its favour.

One, I like the name of the movie, and the chorus on the title track is peppy and catchy.

Two, the hero looks really good; Imran, stay with the stubble and the muscles.

Three, it is very amusing if you have watched several films of the Karan Johar or Aditya Chopra variety before. What makes this one fun is that this movie is a Karan Johar production skewering earlier Karan Johar movies, sending up everything from ‘DDLJ’ to ‘Kuchh Kuchh Hota Hai’ to ‘Kal Ho Na Ho’. My friend and I collapsed into giggles everytime we spotted a famous scene from a hit SRK movie parodied, or when an actor strutting about in a song with the sweater casually flung around his neck leaned back a bit and flung his arms out in an oh-so-famous pose. At apt moments in the movie, we could hear the soundtrack from one of the mushy movies in the background and the effect was hilarious, underscoring some romantic-and-ridiculous phillumi circumstance or happening.

The basic plot is simple, hackneyed really; as the hero’s best friend expresses it during the movie - Simran falls in love with Jai, Jai rejects her, then Jai falls in love with Simran and Simran rejects him. In order to drag this out for two hours, the two character’s attitudes towards love are poles apart; Simran is the romantic who views the world and her place in it through rose-tinted spectacles, Soppy Simran inhabits a world of pink teddy bears, proudly carries the white flower that her boyfriend gives her everyday to work, and smiles sweetly at big red hearts with shiny red confetti on them. Jai is the cool and cynical guy who pooh-poohs romance, prefers short-lived liaisons, and barfs at romantic scenes in the movies he works on (oh yes ! both work for a Bollywood production house).

One interesting scene has the director of romantic films, Vir, getting exasperated with the cynical Jai and explaining that even he realises that the romances he creates are rubbish, but dammit, doesn’t the audience just love ‘em ! (Yes, Karan, we heard you address your detractors loud and clear.)

Unfortunately the romance between the lead pair in this movie is slightly thanda, but I was too busy ogling at Imran Khan to mind. The second half, when Imran undergoes a change of heart and gets all soppy is not as much fun as the first, except for portions where earlier romantic films are parodied. Imran’s acting was patchy towards the end - the worst scene of the movie was undoubtedly Imran’s phone call to his Mum.

Basically, think of this movie like candyfloss, if you want either a healthy meal or the masala of a dum biriyani, you’re going to find it disappointing; nevertheless it is attractive and tasty if you’re in the mood for it.

By,
Zenobia

The Random Self Help Book – The Basic Difference Between People (3)

These guys at The Oatmeal are so much better than my efforts at this (see here and here). Almost make me feel like giving up blogging.

Almost, but not quite.

:-)
Zen.

Quote

Read the quote below in a book called 'Known Turf' by Annie Zaidi; will post a book review in a few days, for now, am reproducing the quote :

'Whoever the homeland may belong to, it is not merely a piece of geography. It is also not just history. Nor is it the rivers of the region, or the mountains. It is all those things that keep getting absorbed in your very being whether you want it or not.
- Krishna Sobti (writing about the creative process in 'Muse India)'

The Monsoon is Here

After tip-toeing meekly into Mumbai a few days ago, the Monsoon announced its arrival in its inimitable style with a furious downpour this morning. Strong winds, heavy rain, overcast sky, grey sea, water slapping the sea-front and throwing spray right over, water on the roads, cabs stalling, traffic jams, umbrellas turning inside out, wet clothes, colds, coughs, sniffles – Monsoon Mayhem 2010 begins now folks !

Notwithstanding the dirt, grime, delays and sundry inconveniences, there are those who love the Monsoon, this post is for them, a Hurrah to the start of the rainy season. Grab a cup of hot coffee or tea, biscuits to dip (or hot pakodas / samosas if you are lucky), put on headphones, stare earnestly at a word doc/ excel file /ppt and play these songs at full volume in the background.

This song first - to welcome in the monsoon, ‘Consider Yourself’ from the movie ‘Oliver Twist’. While it’s not a song about the rain, it does welcome someone with the lines below :
Consider Yourself....at home
Consider yourself.....One of the family
I’ve taken to you
So strong
It’ clear
We’re
Going to get along

And then this classic, ‘Singing in the rain’ from the movie ‘ Singing in the Rain’ starring Gene Kelly. And if you need to wake yourself up, here’s ‘Good Morning’ a perky song from the same movie.

Incidentally, has anyone noticed how the ‘beauty X brains = constant’ equation can be modified to ‘beauty X (sum of all talents) = constant’, and then it holds in every kind of situation. For instance, the best dancers such as Gene Kelly and Fred Astaire aren’t anywhere near as good-looking as Cary Grant or Gregory Peck, who aren’t really known for their dancing skills.

Just have to listen to ‘Raindrops keep falling on my head’ this morning.

This one is not really a song about the rain, but deserves to be listed as it one of Bollywood’s most famous songs sung in the rain – ‘Pyar hua Ikraar hua’ from ‘Shri 420’

‘Dekho zara dekho barsaat ki jhadi’ – a really cute song from ‘Yeh Dillagi, features the effervescent Kajol and Akshay Kumar

And to end with, a funky lively song in Marathi, ‘Dhaga la Lagli Kala’, warning – if you understand Marathi, you might not want to listen to this as it has some improper connotations. I don’t understand sufficient Marathi to get the double entendres and hence totally enjoy the song – yet more proof of the fact that ignorance is bliss !

From Anita – My absolute favourite rain song is this relatively unknown number that goes 'Sawan barse tarse dil' from ‘Dahek’. The song also has nice visuals of a rain drenched city and a happy Sonali Bendre skipping all over the place.Thanks for the contribution, Anita, had forgotten all about this song.


By,
Zen

The Random Self-Help Book: ‘Experience Says’

Zen wisdom for getting on in the corporate world :

1) ‘Check the source of the coo,
Before you end up handling loads of poo’
(Pigeons’ cooing sound nice from a distance, but let them get in, they poo on the floor and you have to clean it up)

2) Check the harness and the ropes before you rapell down a cliff

3) Better to check if you left the gas on before you are kilometers away

4) From ‘Making Money’ by Terry Pratchett :
“....Oh yes, mystic stuff doesn’t hurt, people’ll believe in any damn thing if it sounds old and mysterious. Doth not a penny to a widow outshine the unconquered sun ?”
“What does that mean?”
“I haven’t the foggiest idea,” said Moist, “I just made it up.”

Compiled By,
Zen (who else ?)

A song and a dance about Money

I watched a well choreographed version of the song ‘Money Makes the World Go Round’ at Shiamak Davar’s ‘Summer Funk’ show recently. Was motivated enough to search for the original song on youtube; and then to search for more songs on the same topic. In case you think of any more, drop a comment and I will add it to this post.
Zen.

1. To start with, of course, ‘Money makes the world go round’ from ‘Charlie and the Chocolate Factory’, sung by Alan Cummings. Great song, I prefer this version to the Liza Minelli and Joel Gray version from ‘Cabaret’.

2. 'Money' by Pink Floyd, a Classic ! Sure you all know this song.
Here’s the link to the video, and this link also gives the lyrics.

3. ‘Mujhe mil jo jaaye thoda paisa’ – great song from a band called ‘Agosh’; did they have any other hits, they seemed to have vanished after this one.

Don’t miss the tongue-in-cheek allusions to the corporate world in this song; from ‘The Paisa Group – we change lives’ to the allusion to rich and successful actors in shampoo ads, the anti-pimple ad etc. The at-times-kooky subtitles running across the top of the screen add to the fun.

4. After ‘mujhe mil jo jaaye thoda paisa’, a similar refrain in English ‘If I was a rich man’ from the movie ‘Fiddler on the Roof’. An old favourite since childhood, it has lovely music; and I love the delicious detail in the imagined life the poor man could have had had he been rich, for instance, the wife developing a ‘proper’ (?!) double chin or building a staircase going nowhere ‘just for show’.

Right at the outset, he conversationally poses this question to God (or maybe fate), “so what would have been so terrible if I had a small fortune ?”

And then this is restated in the end of the song as :
“Lord, who made the Lion and the Lamb
You decreed I should be what I am
Would it spoil some vast eternal plan
If I were a wealthy man ?”
Lovely !

5. ‘Teri Dhoom Har Kahin’ – a really old song from an old Dev Anand movie called ‘Kala Bazar’. The film is essentially about an honest man (Dev Anand) who enters the black marketing business because he cannot make money through honest means. Sung by Kishore Kumar, the lyrics proclaim ‘teri dhoom har kahin, tujhsa yaar koi nahin, humko tho pyaare, tu sabse pyaaraa’.

Don’t you just love the irony in the stanza which goes ‘Daulat ka mazhab chalaake.....Hum ek mandir banaake....Poojengey tujhko bithaake’, especially the chanting after each line !

6. ‘Sabse Bada Rupaiyya’ from 'Bluffmaster' – cool Abhishek, catchy tune, enjoyable song.

An ‘inspired’ song, the original was sung by Rafisaab with the lyrics ‘Baap bhala na bhaiyya, Sabse Bhala Rupaiyya’; a later adaptation, sung by Mehmood in a song with Vinod Mehra and Moushumi Chatterji, is clearly recognisable as the ‘Bluffmaster song.

7. ‘Money money money’ by ABBA
This link also has the lyrics in the info section, and here is the video of the song from the movie ‘Mamma Mia! The Movie’.

8. ‘Money for Nothing’ – Dire Straits


9. ‘Paisa paisa’ from the recent movie ‘De Dana Dan’ – not a song I like very much, but in small doses it is quite funny.

10. A famous hit rap song in the 90s by Wu Tang Clan, ‘
Cash Rules Everything Around Me – C.R.E.A.M’ . Can’t say I like the song much, but it fits the theme of this post

Re-Discovering India #1 : The Monsoon

A friend who is returning to India after many years in the U.S recently posted this on his blog 'Brick and Rope'. I enjoyed the post so much that I am copying it here, with his permission, of course (Thanks, J).

Re-Discovering India #1 : The Monsoon

"Re-Discovering India": Facts about India that I either - (a) never knew, (b) never appreciated, or (c) once knew and appreciated, but have since forgotten - the distinction between the three flavors being mostly semantic. Contemplating my eager homecoming, I find myself getting re-acquainted with these old friends.
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In two days, I will pack my bags, and get on the interminably long Air India flight from New York, Mumbai bound. At about the same time, some hundreds of billions of molecules of air and water currently residing above the Indian Ocean will decide, all at once, with dramatic suddenness and unremitting decisiveness, that they too like the warm lanes of Mumbai and heartland India better than their cold, wet, oceanic hosts. Without so much as an Expedia search, they will set off on their long journey, these fickle winds, to keep their annual appointment with the subcontinent. The first of these guests will arrive in Kerala around the 1st of June - dark, rumbling, and gloriously, ominously wet. The monsoon will be here.

It was only a few days ago that I realized my arrival in Mumbai is going to coincide with that of the monsoon. Seven years of scrupulously avoided rains had dulled my memory of them, but those faint echoes from the past were enough to cause some flutters in the present. My first concern was for my daughter, the sheltered child who has only seen rain in sputtering, playful moods. Even the 'thunder storms' the local weather channel warned of occasionally would be no more than a few hours of pouring rain accompanied by the periodic clap of thunder, the fitful lightning, and then a glorious rainbow. An inconvenience, sure. A dampener of picnic plans. But not something to fear. Not an angry, malevolent God.


I try to prepare her for what lies ahead. I tell her about the rain, the unceasing wetness. "But appa", she says with the touching certitude of a child, "if it rains, I can wear my raincoat when I go out to play!" No my darling, you can not. No raincoat can stand up to the fury of the monsoon. Ask the many dispirited Duckbacks of my childhood. Each met a monsoon, and didn't have the pleasure of meeting another.

[Quick primer on the monsoon for those who, like me, only remember enough from high school science to mumble random keywords when the topic comes up: Super hot summers in the sub-continent and the Thar desert cause air over central and northern India to become considerably hot, and hence create low pressure. Cooler - and hence high pressure - air from over the Indian Ocean rushes in to fill the low pressure area, carrying a load of moisture with it. The winds are blocked by the Himalayas, rise up because of it, cooling as they rise. Water precipitates, it rains - the southwest monsoon. Now, why all this gets initiated suddenly on June 1 every year is beyond me, but there you have it.

Around September, the sun has moved south, the subcontinent and northern lands get cooler, the Indian Ocean air is still hot, the winds rapidly get into reverse gear and go right back. On the way, they pick up some moisture from the Bay of Bengal, and dump it over some of the southern cities like Chennai (which gets, I understand, about 70% of its precipitation from this retreating, or northeast monsoon). End of science class.]

So, how wet is the monsoon? Here is a comparison that surprised me perhaps more than it should have. First, take a look at the average rainfall received every month in temperate Washington DC.


Data from Weather.com

Steady as she goes, right? 2.5 to 3.5 inches of rain every month, all through the year, for an average annual rainfall of 35-40 inches.

Now compare this with Mumbai's average rainfall, with the same scale on the y-axis:


Data from weather.com

See the difference in the skyline? It is dry as a bone for eight months of the year. But between June and September, it pours like like no four-year old girl in Washington DC has seen. Average annual rainfall: 85-95 inches.

As I was saying, the monsoons are monstrously wet. When I see clogged roads and overwhelmed sewage systems in Mumbai come July, I will try and remember this chart. The poor city is receiving, in one soggy quarter, more than twice the rain that relatively wet Washington DC receives the entire year! Give the poor sewers a break, will you - future, frustrated me?



The monsoon hits the Kerala coast with dramatic suddenness and punctuality, on or around June 1 every year. This year, the Indian Meteorological Department, with their customary bravado, have stuck their neck out and made the bold prediction that the onset of the monsoon over Kerala would occur 'around May 31'. Whew! That was hard work, wasn't it folks? You can now sit back and start your sophisticated calculations for next year thank you very much.

The scenes in Kerala around this time are stunning, to state the obvious - nature resplendently blooming. As I have been looking this up over the last few days, I have found nature pictures whose sublime beauty defies mere verbal descriptions. Look at this photo blog for some spectacular examples. Interesting fact about the New India of course, is that entrepreneurs, bless their hearts, have found ways to make honest money around this spectacle of nature. NatureNest is one of the companies that offers Kerala tour packages tailored for what they call "monsoon tourism". Alappuzha, Kochi, Kumarakom, Thekkadi ...: 'watch the swaying paddy fields', 'backwater cruise on Punnamada Kayal', 'bamboo rafting in Periyar Wildlife Sanctuary' ... mouthwatering promises of natural beauty in God's own country. Note to self: sights of India I would like to see - add to list.

So, where was I? Ah, yes, Mr. Monsoon: Mumbai. June. You, me, four year old daughter. No raincoats, no umbrellas. Just mano a mano. Date?

By,
J

Swarathma

I heard a band called ‘Swarathma’ a few weeks ago and really liked their act. Note, I said their act, which is much more than just their music, for these guys are entertainers and have to be watched on-stage. Part of the experience of listening to ‘Swarathma’ consists of their music, which is an eclectic mix of rock, Indian folk music, Carnatic and jazz. Their on-stage attire (as you can see in this poster) is as varied as the sources of their style of music and adds to the ‘rock mela’ effect of their sound; ditto for Vasu’s on-stage antics and dances such as the prance in the ghodi costume.

The sarcastic commentary on contemporary social and political issues ensures that one listens carefully to the lyrics song after song, especially to guitarist Jishnu’s introductions and interjections, delivered in an absolutely brilliant dehati accent.














p.s. Links to some of their songs below :
‘Topiwale’ – about politics and politicians; 'Yeshu Allah Krishna' - about religion and ‘devotional athyachaar’ (wish I had thought of this phrase);'Ee Bhoomi' - here and here; and
‘Jaane kahan hai mujhe’

Information from Wikipedia for those who want to know more about the band :

Swarathma is a Bangalore (India) based Indian Folk/fusion band. The current line up features Vasu Dixit (vocals and rhythm guitar), Pavan Kumar KJ (percussion and backing vocals), Montry Manuel (drums), Varun (lead guitar), Sanjeev Nayak (violin) and Jishnu Dasgupta (bass guitar and backing vocals).


The first break for Swarathma came when they won Radio City Live 2006, an SMS based contest for Bangalore's best band, conducted by the FM radio station Radio City on September 31, 2006[4]. The fresh original sound of the band won them the contest coupled with the fact that they played a song "Ee Bhoomi" (This Earth) in Kannada, the local language of Bangalore

They released their debut album on Virgin Records on January 5, 2009, supporting it with a nationwide tour. They were featured on the Soundpad compilation of Indian music that released in May 2009, in support of which they toured the UK along with three other Indian band.

In Anticipation

(waiting for the rains)

Monsoon is the best time for trekking in the Sahayadris. Though the rain makes the downhill route slippery and a bit tricky to negotiate, it is more than made up by the rain – drenched hills shrouded in mist, the clouds and the numerous small waterfalls and streams that spring up all over.

I went with Odati on two perfect monsoon treks last year – to Manikgad and Surgad. Both were short hikes and just right for a relaxed Sunday – a 3.5 hr amble uphill at Manikgad and a 2.5 hr walk at Surgad. The only patch of slightly difficult terrain was the the last patch at Surgad which is steep and slippery and requires concentration. While the rain evaded us at Manikgad, in Surgad we got caught in a downpour that was full ‘paisa-vasool’ and thoroughly enjoyed it. Both treks had lush greenery and long wavy grass rippling in the breeze.

Both places we had a local guide in addition to the Odati team; apart from showing us the way, they added to overall entertainment levels with their eccentric personalities. I have a sneaky suspicion, though, that these villagers might have a similar reason for agreeing to guide us – not for the money, but to observe these wimpy weird townfolk and have funny stories to tell their families over dinner.

The Maamaa at Manikgad was strong ‘n silent and quite a disciplinarian. On the way up the final portion, whenever we halted to catch our breath, he would stop ahead of us, look down at us and make clicking noises with his teeth to hurry us up – the kind villagers make to hurry along cattle in the fields ! Like all such maamaa’s I have seen, the fact that we were paying him made no difference to his bindaas attitude and behaviour. As we had oodles of time to enjoy the view from the peak, we intended to snooze for about an hour after eating lunch but he would have none of it. He woke us up in 20-30 minutes and herded us down, saying that he was worried it would soon rain heavily and we would be stuck there. As he had earlier confidently predicted a dry morning when we thought dark clouds heralded rain, we decided he might be right this time too and clambered down the hill lickety-split.

The Maamaa at Surgad had even more impressive weather prediction skills. A lean, stringy weather-beaten guy over 70 monsoons old, he would predict when it would rain down to the last half hour (maybe the MET office should hire him!) and his reading of the clouds was right more often than not. He was as much of a disciplinarian as the Manikgad Maamaa, but his style was to shame you into hurrying, rather than to herd you. Halfway up the hill, when we stopped for 5-10 minutes at a nice meadow, he proudly told us that he could ascend and descend the hill in less than an hour, which was less than the time it had taken us to reach the halfway point; you can bet we walked faster after that.

All these Monsoon maamaa’s interpret suggestions of alternative routes as mutiny and tend to mulishly insist that you take exactly the path they prefer – maybe it comes from a lifetime of being the undisputed head of the family and getting unquestioning obedience. Our Surgad maamaa had the same attitude towards dissent, except that he was also an expert at psychological warfare. When he didn’t want to climb right to the very peak, rather than argument and obstinacy, he used the tell-tales-of-townsfolk-who-would-not-listen-and-suffered-painful-accidents solution. Quite a storyteller, he relished multiple retellings of the tale of women from Mumbai getting stuck at the peak during a downpour, almost falling all the way down while descending and finally having to be lowered down on ropes. He was quite effective too, we convinced ourselves that the hills, the fort walls and the stone relics scattered around were sufficient adventure and there couldn’t be anything better to see at the peak.

By,
Zenobia

Lost in Translation - II

More gems from the wonderful book we dipped into two weeks ago . This time, in order to provide some variation, will first give the translated version and then the original English – in future, spare some sympathy for hapless foreigners interacting with Indians using guides such as this one.

Easy stuff first – words and short phrases :

“Bunny-aan”
A banian or a vest, not a request concerning a playmate.
“Iddar deck-o” (Did I hear someone say, “Aye Aye Cap’n” ? )
“Idhar dekho” or “Look here”
“Chore doe”
“Leave it”
“Doe-pahar kay kah-nay kay pie-lay aow.”
Come before lunch.

Somehow, the placid ‘ao’ is always transformed into an anguished ‘aow’ in this book.
“Challay Jaow”
Go away.
“Idder aow.”
“Come here.”
“Mutt jaow.”
“Don’t go.”
“Ya chahn-dee chum-kaow.”
“Polish this silver”
“Sum-jaow.”
“Explain”
“Wakt per aow.” (my favourite, implies regular disciplining. Maybe for unsatisfactory explanations.)
“Come in time”
“Gun-tea budge-aow” (!!)
“Ring the bell”

And what might be the explanation for the poor translations :
“Maiyn bill-cool teak na-heehn hoohn.”
“I am not too well.

Amen.

Complied and laboriously typed out by,
Zen.
p.s. Venky, thanks a ton for lending me the book.

I'm Lovin it !

Five reasons for loving the book :

1. The title : ‘Zenobia – the curious book of business’
2. The description : ‘A book of triumph over Yes-Men, Cynics, Hedgers, and other Corporate Killjoys’
3. The question marks scattered topsy- turvy all over the cover
4. The stance the heroine adopts as she gazes at the question marks, and what it implies about her no-nonsense attitude
5. Her glorious red shoes and red-striped socks, on her first day at a new job !




While I relish the title of the book, in all honesty I must let you know that the Zenobia in the title is a once-mighty corporation bedevilled by paralysing hierarchies, grossly inadequate communications, distrust and over-reliance on stultifying rules.

Into this mess steps Moira, a young lady responding to a help-wanted ad that directs her to room 133A. Except that nobody knows where the room is, there are no directions or signs either. Her journey through the Zenobian maze is filled with obstacles such as twisted ladders with missing rungs, a tight-rope walk, people that heckle, scorn and discourage her, a room full of power-pointers endlessly revising slides with old data etc.

A reviewer described this book as ‘Harry Potter meets bureaucracy’. While I wouldn’t go that far, I will admit that it’s a rollicking ride !

(I didn’t write this book, but I wish I had).
Zen.
p.s. Rads, thanks for the book.

Lost in Translation

Ever wondered why the foreigners in Hindi films mangle the few Hindi words that they utter ? It’s because that’s how they are taught to utter them. Consider the gems below from a guidebook titled ‘Hindustani for the tourist – A Phonetic Phrase Book for Everyday Use’. Read the phonetic translations out loud to get the full flavour, do not miss the hyphens ‘which show the division of syllables in a word, where you should have a slight pause in your pronounciation’.

‘Kartik’ becomes ‘Car-tick’ ; ‘Kitne’ becomes ‘Kit-nay’.
‘Sawan’ becomes ‘Sah-won’, almost Japanese !
In a throwback to more polite times, “please” is translated as “meherbani karke” (what happened to ‘kripya’?), phonetically as “mayher-baanee kar-kay”.

In the ‘All About Yourself’ section, amongst sentences to befriend the locals are these two, “I am a bachelor” and “I weigh 82 kilos”, important if you are meeting a lot of good-looking young Indian women. Though they might be a bit confused after you utter these sentences, “ Maiyn Coohn-ara hoohn” and “May-rah wazan bay-ah-see kilo high”.

Consider a few sentences to be exchanged with the Dhobi (‘Doe-Bee’).
“Have these cleaned and pressed.” As we would say in Hindi, “Ye dho kar istri karo”. But this is phonetically translated as, “Ye doe kar isstree karo”.
“This is not clean.”
“Yah saaf nahin hai.”
“Ya saaf na-heenh high.”
“Press these correctly.”
“Ye theek tarah se istri karo.”
“Ye teak tarah se isstree karo,”
Really, ‘teak’ ?!

And which foreigner could survive in India without knowing how to speak to a shoemaker ? Hence the following :
“Can you make a pair of shoes for me ?”
“Tum mere liye joote banaa sakte ho?”
“Toom may-ray lee-eh jootay bun-nah suck-tay ho ?”

Sample the howlers below which translate words correctly but get the meaning in this context absolutely wrong :
“Can you make a pair of heels ?”
“Tum eriyan bana sakte ho?”
“Toom ehri-yahn bun-nah suck-tay ho ?”
Some confusion between a shoemaker and a surgeon here !
“Have you got patent leather?”
“Tumhare paas koi achchha chamra hai?”
“Toom-ha-ray pass ko-ee atch-chah chum-rah high ?”
Only if the shoe-maker moonlights as a pimp !

From questions included in the list of critical inquiries to be made before checking in at a hotel, one knows what the author of this book thinks of foreigners and their habits :
“Can I dine in shorts at lunch?”
“Main nekar pahan kar dopahar ka khana kha sakta hoon”
“Maiyn nicker pahan-ker doe-pahar kah kah-nah kah suck-tah hoon?”
“Where is the bar?”
“Bar kidhar hai?”
“Bar kidder high ?”
“Is there a cabaret?”
“Idhar ‘cabaret’ hai ?”
“Iddar ‘cabaret’ high ?”
“Can I bring ladies to my room?”
“Auraton ko apne kamre mein la sakta hun ?”
“Ow-rut-ohn ko up-nay come-ray mayn lah suck-tah hoohn?”
I know some people describe women as a pain-in-the-ass, but ‘Ow-rut’ !

More of these next week, folks.
Zen.

Getting to Goa

A great way to begin a vacation in Goa is to travel by the Mandovi Express, a day train that travels along the Konkan Coast from Mumbai to Goa. While it may sound like a waste of a day, I discovered recently that it is actually the perfect bridge between a hectic work-week and a relaxed vacation, there is no way that you can rush around in the train and nothing much to do except savour the moment. The scenic route passes through hills, forests and assorted shrubbery, the clatter of the wheels and vibration of the carriage leaves one in the mood of childhood holidays – full of excitement and anticipation, especially with the added advantage of chilling in a thanda thanda cool cool A.C. compartment. The pantry car sends yummy food one’s way at regular intervals, dig in, for what is a holiday without over-eating ! For breakfast, don’t even bother with the usual bred-aamlit or bred- kutlit options, wait for the piping hot, fragrant medu wada, sabudana wada, methi bhajji and masala dosa to be brought your way.



K...A...N...K...A...V...A....L.....I...........S...T...A...T.....I....O...N


Tiny stations like Bhoke, Adavalli and Kankavali pass by. Against a backdrop of verdant greenery, a single narrow platform bordered with a fence painted a demure white but often draped with bright and boisterous bougainvillea flowers. A small white board with ‘Welcome’ written on it in red letters greets all who disembark. You realise how hot it is outside when you notice people using the taps placed at regular intervals on the platform. A young banana vendor, after he has worn himself out walking up and down the length of the train in the hot afternoon sun, sets his basket down by the tap and gulps down mouthfuls of water before splashing some on his face. The rivulets of sweat running down his face are replaced by large streams of water.

The train goes through a lot of tunnels – the route passes through difficult hilly terrain and is testimony to the engineering and organisation ability of E. Shreedharan, who is also known for building the Delhi Metro. This article from 1996 documents the difficulties faced in building this railway, while this and thiscelebrate its completion and the awarding of a Padma Vibhushan to E. Shreedharan.

On one section of hillside, I notice a wire mesh pushing back the rock walls – like a security barricade pushing back hordes of groupies when a film-star walks by. Well, why not, the Mandovi Express is no less than a star amongst other trains ! Suddenly this poem by Robert Frost pops into my head; how strong this wire mesh must be to hold back an entire hill full of boulders from smashing on to us !

Our train clatters past a patch with some barren fields bathed in the mellow four p.m. sun. The fields have clearly demarcated mud boundaries and resemble a patchwork quilt in shades of mud-brown and grass-green; except for one small plot which has a host of sunflowers nodding their yellow and brown heads sagely.

A few fields away my eye is drawn to a shiny undamaged auto, with no signs of human habitation or a road visible, wonder how it got there. The yellow and brown of the auto matches the sunflowers - quite a quirky tableau.

It makes me wonder about pretty-but-ruthless mutant sunflowers that start their campaign for world domination by stealing autos for travelling in; resolve to look out of the window and investigate the next time I hear an auto bleating ‘praap praap’ at night. Then resolve not to eat so much chicken biriyani for lunch – all the oxygen seems to have rushed to my stomach, starving my brain of vital oxygen needed to fuel logic and reasoning.

Two hours later, I alight at Karmali station in Goa, which recently won an award from the Union Tourism Ministry as ‘the most tourist friendly station’ (see this article and this one) . Set in the middle of verdant greenery, it has a natural lake on one side of the platform. On the side of the platform opposite the lake is the Station building which is low, long and has a tiled roof with a structure like the bell tower of a cathedral in the centre.

K...A...R...M...A....L.....I...........S...T...A...T.....I....O...N




One platform has regular street lamps on it, the other has lamps in old-fashioned quaint shapes. The lake has a lot of ducks and other water birds; when I alight in the evening, they are quacking and cheeping away – a good omen for a birding trip.

It totally convinced me that my last minute decision to dash down to Goa and join friends on a bird-watching trip was the right one.

By,
Zen

p.s. This blog has a very nice account of a train journey through Goa

London Symphony Orchestra Experience

11th April 2010
Enigma Indeed !

Last weekend, the London Symphony Orchestra was in Mumbai after almost half a century. I was most excited as I walked up the stairs in NCPA, It was always a treat to watch a music concert at the main auditorium. The acoustics are amongst the best here and there is something grand about the place that makes me feel special and important! The only thing that did not quite live up to expectations that evening was the cold coffee and chicken sandwiches. Don’t know why, it just didn’t taste all that fabulous!

The conductor was Sir Colin Davis and the orchestra was playing Edward Elgar and Hector Berlioz. Have watched a few shows here before – sometimes Chamber music, at times the Philharmonic Orchestra and this time it was the Symphony Orchestra. In case you’re curious to understand the difference between the three, Philharmonic and Symphony differ in scale (much larger, usually musicians in excess of fifty) from the Chamber music. The difference between Philharmonic and Symphony is interesting, the names don’t signify any difference in the makeup of the orchestra or the way they are governed, but to distinguish the different groups playing within a city, so for example the London Philharmonic and London Symphony Orchestra.

As I traveled the one hour from home to NCPA, I was pondering over who they would play (yep, I didn’t know), was guessing between Bach, Beethoven and Schubert. After buying the brochure for a princely sum of hundred rupees at the entrance I impatiently flipped to the concert details and found Edward Elgar and Hector Berlioz were the two composers being played that night. Nice, had not heard much of Elgar and never heard Berlioz before and certainly never at a live concert.

Sir Colin Davis was the Orchestra Conductor. (he is the president of the LSO as well). When I was young I thought the conductor had an easy job just standing and waving a matchstick like structure in the air. My respect grew with experience and knowledge about all the preparation that goes into getting the orchestra to sound like it does. Easy test that I still do every time I attend a concert like this is to shut my eyes and listen for a while. It is absurd how a hundred people can be orchestrated to sound like a single strain of music when your eyes are shut and all you’re doing is listening intently. Worth trying out.

Having seats in the front of the auditorium does make a difference! Of course the acoustics and therefore sound quality differs based on where one sits but what really made a difference to the experience was being able to see the interchange between the conductor and his ensemble in the few moments that he turned to each side. There would be an instant connect with a smile, mutual encouragement I surmised (that reminded me of the way musicians connect in a jugalbandhi in an eastern classical concert) . The difference was he was controlling the subtle elements of music like the tempo and dynamics of the music with a flourish of his arm. As Sir Colin Davis’ baton meted out artistic directions to about seventy talented musicians, Edward Elgar’s ‘Enigma’ was coming alive!

British, Elgar was a product of the Victorian era, an unquestionably skilled composer and whilst Elgar’s compositions have not traveled as wide as other composers, ‘Enigma’ was undoubtedly the composer’s breakthrough masterpiece.

The story about Enigma goes like this. Post returning home one evening, after giving violin lessons, Elgar sat down at the piano and, to unwind, began improvising. Alice, his wife commented favorably on the tune that emerged and Elgar responded by playing it in ways that suggested how some of their friends might play it. Out of that spontaneous exchange was born the Enigma Variations, the work that analyzes the personalities of his family and friends. What improvisation !

In all, fourteen people (including his wife, an old flame, himself and a dog) are featured in the Variations. No wonder it is referred to as an orchestral suite at times. In Elgar’s words “it expressed when written (1898) my sense of the loneliness of the artist… and to me it still embodies that sense.”

As if to reflect his words I found the music elusive and subtle, at times perplexing and always riveting. It starts with the melancholic and self doubting feel that reflected the artist’s mood but as the journey continues you can hear the ambition come through as the triumph of the artist’s soul builds up in the final rendition named ‘Edu’ (name that his wife fondly called him by). Amongst the composers I have heard (am no authority), the intensity and loudness of the music was different and showed the intensity of the composer. What is also true is that the loneliness never leaves the music and you can hear it as the Orchestra plays on from one Variation to the next.

The concept I found charming, about the core of the artist’s soul that cannot be reached. At the same time, the warmth and friendliness of some of the themes reflecting the close personal relationships and exchanges he shared with his friends and fellow musicians, at times discussing Beethoven (‘Nimrod’, one of the nicest Variations) or about his pensive, romantic viola player friend in ‘Ysobel’ or ‘Romanza’ that is the memory of a love lost and still yearned for.

I so enjoyed myself, surrendering to the Variations. Letting myself flow along with the mood and feel of every composition, it was somewhat like a roller coaster ride. Over a hundred years after, he carried me along the journey, (and I’m sure many in the audience including my neighbor who was in a trance like condition furiously playing notes in the air) of his varying moods. Best of all, I caught myself smiling quietly many times, that to me is the power of what brilliant music can do! And of course Edward Elgar’s Enigma was no less!

By,
soma ghosh.

Grocery Shopping Abroad

When I travel to a new place on holiday, I often like to fancy that I’m staying there as opposed to just travelling through. The thing that helps me to get into living-there fantasy is to walk down to a grocery shop near where I stay and buy groceries. Behind the wheels of a shopping cart, I can pretend I’m a local, i.e. anyone from here, i.e. anyone in the know to buy sensibly and not get fleeced like the ignorant tourists.

The important thing is that the buying must be for something I will need to use immediately and not just shopping-for-back-home. Usually it’s for things that go into or along with a sandwich – bread, cheese, maybe a bit of meat or some local fruit. Of course, there is nothing like buying cleaning material – nothing that quite as well cements the fact that you are putting down some roots, however small. But, well, if I’m staying at a hotel it’s quite unlikely that I will need to get those.

It isn’t that I don’t like to eat at restaurants, not at all. I usually plan my holidays around where and what we will eat. It’s this fact that dictates that I often need to eat one meal light for the sake of my stomach and also my pocket. So having my own stash of groceries in the car or hotel fridge makes helps me feel more settled.

And then there is the sheer joy of grocery shopping. Even under normal circumstances, I love scouting about the racks for my everyday at-home grocery getting. But when abroad, this takes on even more delicious intensity. I am an explorer amongst row after row of less familiar brand names, fruit and dairy products. Thrilling at every discovery of stuff I’ve only ever seen on TV or read about in books. Or even better, finding familiar brands that cost 10 times more back home. I spend wistful minutes in the exotic (but local for there, you see) spice aisle, while putting together earthy pot roasts, hearth warming stews and such in my head. They always turn out fragrantly delicious and my friends and family have tears in their eyes at my nourishing brilliance. Fortunately, I don’t have a kitchen right there or the time when I’m back home, to see these dreams come crashing down to earth. I blink and move on. Onward to the ready-to-eat sections where I can appease my gatherer instincts. Happy minutes at the yoghurt aisle, looking through the different flavours, ditto for the Crisps and Beverages and Instant Soup . Flavours I’ve never imagined, and they must all be tried!

Naturally, every so often, amidst the entire delightful discovery there is also the occasional revolting mistake. But that’s what hotel bins are made for. And then there are times like when we bought a piece of wrapped up durian and left it for over an hour in a parked car! a bad disaster like that could even call for buying cleaning material…and I’m back in my imagined paradise.

There is, of course, the ultimate reward to all my shenanigans at the grocery shop. Later, at some ancient fort miles in the country I can gloat silently at the persecuted tourists who are milling about the only (and expensive) food stall eating fried dangly bits of heaven knows while we dig in to all our lovely food. In truth, this hasn't happened yet, but sooner or later it will and when it does I will be prepared.

By,
Nafisa

Fatitude

I love to eat. Nowadays, I Eat like a horse
This is telling on my waistline of course.
My brain thinks I’m pregnant and it’s putting up a fight
Its sending signals all over, to boost my appetite.
It’s working on growing the little mite in my tum
That’s no baby, dolt brain, but a cream filled bun.
But the tum is growing I know that much
From all the dimsums, fried jalapenos, chocolate and such.
The shirts are a stretch, I see skin ‘tween the buttons
And the trousers are pretty close, they’re just about shuttin.
The gnawing pangs get worse with the frantic swimming
The universe conspires to keep me more brimming than slimming.

By,
Nafisa

the 20s once more…

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
with its feelings of nervousness, anticipation
and dreaming, at times about nothing at all?
lying in the dark veranda, Bad Company , REM on the 2 in 1, mind furiously wandering
gazing into the night sky
marveling at the Einstein black and white taped onto my book cupboard, then glancing at frida kahlo sitting on the other side,
her suffering expressed with a vibrancy that suffering lends
filled with wonder, anticipation and yearning.
yearning that I didn’t really wish to fulfill
but that gave joy in itself...
thinking what life could be like
the future was unknown, but the present was so secure. So certain.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
am i scared to feel this excitement again?
perhaps, but to feel this yearning again is exquisite
awakening parts of me I had blocked out
parts that I had numbed myself to, as a coping mechanism
to obliterate the grief, loss and guilt that visited me in the last decade.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
feel like I want to write again and might be able to
feel like listening to my cassettes of favorite songs on the outdated 2 in 1
(had forgotten I had ‘favorites’ )
rewinding just the line of the song I wanted to hear again
feel like traveling back to where I belonged
city I lived in, places I frequented, but importantly parts of me I haven’t visited for a while.
parts of me that allow for believing, longing and feeling.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
the twenties of discussing intricate details of my dreams
laughing over silly exchanges and cigarette smoke
wrestling for share of a bottle of Smirnoff, discussing Foucault’s pendulum as an excuse to flirt coquettishly
standing up for what I wanted, voicing what I felt, fighting for an agenda.

the rush of my twenties is visiting me of late
of feeling wanted, angry, excited, emotional all at once.
whiling away hours on philosophizing, dreaming, self expressing
wondering once more what life could be like,
as the rush of my twenties visits me in my thirties
cheers I say!

By,
Anonymous

Kolkata Chapter

Felt so connected with Kolkata this time. There are times when I feel so close to the city and times when I am so happy to leave. This time was about intimacy and going back to my core :-)

Kolkata and Mumbai could not be more different. I felt it as soon as I stepped out of the aircraft, life was in slow motion. People were walking at a slow pace, talking to each other and looking around and wondering. Sort of imbibing the atmosphere …

People have the time to talk and to listen and to exchange what they are thinking about, which means they have time and some inclination to think…I loved the slow meandering motion and slipped into it blissfully. Understood why I am always running behind others in Mumbai.

People are more aware, just regular people on the street, in the shops or restaurants or cab drivers..they have an interest in what’s happening in the city – IPL for instance and they also are aware of their surroundings and can give directions. I was looking for a biye bari (wedding hall) and actually when I reached the location, the tea seller on the road was able to give me clear directions to get to the address. Have a ten percent hit rate of this in Mumbai.

I walked into a book store at the airport and amongst the first books I saw were marie seton’s book on satyajit ray and no business books and money magazines staring at you. And the hotel movie list had the whole ray collection and amongst the bollywood fare something like devd. Someone had actually applied their minds in making the list instead of having the latest movies . The guy selling coffee at ccd had time to talk and told me what other coffee was available at which part of the airport.

I went for a close school friend’s second wedding, had missed her first and was determined to make it this time. So glad I went…met friends I had not seen for at least a decade. We went back to our old haunts and the coffee and chocolate shortbread at flurys was still on the menu. As we walked around, flurys, oxford bookstore and giggles were all in the same place !!! Went to visit school with a friend, we visited each classroom we studied in and sat at the desk in an empty classroom and got goosebumps, revisited the names and idiosyncrasies of each teacher we had. Everything was exactly the same in school, the wooden desks, the green softboard, classrooms were still non ac (thankfully), staff rooms, the green room, the jungle gym and swings. Outside the school gate there was kwality thelavala, selling orange sticks! How wonderful it is to go back to places which have not changed a bit, how comforting is that.

About the biye bari, there again for all the ceremonies, things were so beautifully slow, so relaxed and chaotic at the same time. And talking in Bengali how marvelous that feels, how utterly marvelous. Sort of reconnecting with my core. Realized what all I was missing out on, opinionated informed mileu of Kolkata were people actually have time to talk, to listen and to absorb. Now I know where the opinionated comes from too :-)

Then I got onto the flight and landed in Mumbai. As soon as we touched down, everyone switched on their blackberries, phones and as started running to the exit before the plane halted. Everyone running, for what purpose some times I wonder. The same people including me who would saunter and pontificate now back to business, the business of making money and somehow running to get to nowhere. Just this once I let it be and took my time till tomorrow when Mumbai will sweep over me and I will be back to the maddening rush. Or can I hold onto a bit of kolkata for a little longer?

I love Mumbai too in many ways and that’s why I live here now but that will be a new chapter. But what I am definitely giving up without realizing is having time for exploration and adda, for meaningful relationships and reconnecting with myself in a leisurely and relaxed way. Like a quotation on a mug in ‘Giggles’ said ‘ the cost of anything will be double what you originally estimated’.

By,
Anonymous

Saanp - Seedi : Snakes and Ladders

Most of us liked playing snakes and ladders as kids; some still enjoy the game and indulge in it as frequently as possible with their kids, nieces, nephews, friend’s kids etc. For all of you that enjoy the game, here is some cool stuff related to it.

First, some facts about it’s origin; sourced from Wikipedia and this article from the Hindu.

Snakes and Ladders originated in India as a game based on morality called Vaikuntapaali or Paramapada Sopanam (the ladder to salvation) or Moksha Patamu; the earliest known Jain version Gyanbazi dating back to 16th century. The game and reflected the Hinduism consciousness around everyday life. Impressed by the ideals behind the game, a newer version was introduced in Victorian England in 1892, possibly by John Jacques of London. It was eventually introduced in the United States of America by game pioneer Milton Bradley in 1943.



The game was played widely in ancient India by the name of Moksha Patamu. Moksha Patamu was perhaps invented by Hindu spiritual teachers to teach children about the effects of good deeds as opposed to bad deeds. In this game every time a snake swallows a player he reaches the tail, which is death. He replays and goes up a ladder — this is life again.

The game board has 132 squares arranged in a serial order from the left bottom. There are different pictures on each block. They denote a living creature — animals, birds and men and they stand as a symbol. For example, the picture of a rishi (hermit) in block No 30 stands for nishta (concentration). Some squares have human qualities like Ego (Square No. 75), infatuation (Moham No. 97).

The ladders began from squares that represented virtues, such generosity, faith, humility, etc., and the snakes began from squares that represented vices such as lust, anger, murder, theft, etc. The squares of virtue on the original game are Faith (12), Reliability (51), Generosity (57), Knowledge (76), Asceticism (78); the squares of evil are Disobedience (41), Vanity (44), Vulgarity (49), Theft (52), Lying (58), Drunkenness (62), Debt (69), Rage (84), Greed (92), Pride (95), Murder (73) and Lust (99).

The moral of the game was that a person can attain salvation (Moksha) through performing good deeds whereas by doing evil one takes rebirth in lower forms of life (Patamu). The number of ladders was less than the number of snakes as a reminder that treading the path of good is very difficult compared to committing sins.
Once the victor reaches the 132nd square (the last), the right number has to fall to "reach God." Until he does so, he would be limping from one dwarapalak to another. Once he gets the right number to reach the Virat swaroopa, he wins the game!




‘Snakes and Ladders’ is also the title of a collection of Gita Mehta’s essays. In this article, Mehta explains that she chose the title as a metaphor for contemporary India because the unpredictability of whether a player rises quickly up a ladder or plunges into the jaws of a serpent seems like Indian life itself.

''Sometimes in our glacial progress toward liberation from the injustices that make a mockery of political freedoms,'' she writes, ''it seems we Indians have vaulted over the painful stages experienced by other countries, lifted by ladders we had no right to expect. At other times we have been swallowed by the snakes of past nightmares, finding ourselves after half a century of independence back at square one.''

And, to end this post, a passage from from ‘Midnight’s Children’ by Salman Rushdie :

The moment I was old enough to play board games, I fell in love with snakes and ladders. O perfect balance of rewards and penalties ! O seemingly random choices made by tumbling dice ! Clambering up ladders, slithering down snakes, I spent some of the happiest days of my life. When, in my time of trial, my father challenged me to master the game of shatranj, I infuriated him by preferring to invite him, instead, to chance his fortune among the ladders and nibbling snakes.


All games have morals; and the game of Snakes and Ladders captures, as no other activity can hope to do, the eternal truth that for every ladder you climb, a snake is waiting just around the corner; and for every snake, a ladder will compensate. But it’s more than that; no mere carrot-and-stick affair; because implicit in the game is the unchanging twoness of things, the duality of up against down, good against evil; the solid rationality of ladders balances the occult sinuosities of the serpent; in the opposition of staircase and cobra we can see, metaphorically, all conceivable oppositions, Alpha against Omega, father against mother; ......but I found, very early in my life, that the game lacked one crucial dimension, that of ambiguity – because, it is also possible to slither down a ladder and climb to triumph on the venom of a snake....

Information collated by,
Zen