Catching up with an old friend - reply

I like the untidiness
The newspapers look well read,
The books lying where I saw them last
Maybe the familiarity makes me feel comfortable
I’m growing old you know

Remember, I’m a coffee drinker
Though I rather like the tea you make
Or the fact that you make it with the mint leaves
Can you make it black?
I’ve given up milk these days – it’s an experiment…
(In exactly what I’m not sure anymore)

Let me share with you my favorite songs
Many from the past, they will come back to you,
Some are new,
I will let the lyrics do the talking
To tell you how the time has been since we last met
Where life has made me go and made of me
Might do better than the words I will speak…

Tell me , how it has been
I want to know a little more about your story
Before I leave, who knows when
We will have this afternoon to share again
The two of us with this cup of mint tea,
In this sunlit untidy living room of yours.

By,
Soma

Catching up with an old friend

Welcome in,
Ignore the untidiness -
I haven’t changed much, you see.

Make space
Toss newspapers aside -
Always room for you here, somewhere.

Do you like tea ?
Or filter coffee ?
Some memories have faded with time, and age.

Listen to music
And slowly unwind,
Let’s not catch up with each other’s lives, not yet.

A remark
Or two, stray details,
Meandering conversation, so content.

By,
Zen

Requiem

Read this article by Salman Taseer's daughter yesterday. Thought it worth sharing.

Regards,
Zenobia

Review of ‘The King’s Speech’

Yesterday, on a snowy and confusing day, I watched ‘The King’s Speech’. It did me a lot of good.

Directed by Tom Hooper and having Colin Firth cast as George VI, it is a personal story of the current Queen Elizabeth’s father. Actually, one aspect of her father, his speech challenge and how he finally overcomes it with the assistance of his wife - played by Helena Bonham Carter, who helps him to find a speech therapist.

As an aside, the movie reminded me of- in the most obvious way, ‘The Queen’ which was enacted superbly by Helen Mirren. Anyhow, that is quite another topic.

Getting back to ‘The King’s Speech’, let’s get the story out of the way. The film starts with a scene where The Duke has been asked to give a speech on behalf of his father - he is standing in front of a large congregation of people and unable to even start. Tears well up in his wife’s eyes and that is the end of this scene, it effectively tells you what ‘the conflict’ in the story is going to be all about.

The broad framework of the story is about King George V who wants one of his sons to take over the throne; the younger brother, Duke of York (Bertie) is the preferred option, but has a stammer and this comes in the way of making a speech – which is the key form of communication with the people. From his childhood he has had the stammer and his father and brother have always made fun of this. Now he is sure he cannot change, more so when his father is pressuring him; even though his wife – a confident and pushy Elizabeth (enacted with panache by Helena Bonham Carter) - keeps fixing appointments with a multitude of therapists whom she seeks out from time to time. One even makes him do crazy things like putting marbles in his mouth and read, needless to say nothing works.

Nothing seems to work, that is, until she finds this therapist from Australia named Lionel Logue (played by Geoffrey Rush) and convinces her husband to meet with him. He is someone who works on his own terms in his own office on his own principles with his very own methods. He refuses to bend the rules even for the Duke of York (which is what Colin Firth is for most part of the film). Geoffrey Rush has his own value system including keeping the confidence that the Duke is his patient from everyone, including his own wife.

When teacher and student meet there is initially a clash of words, the Duke not being treated in the way he is used to, Logue not agreeing to bend his rules. A number of witty and humorous exchanges follow (the dialogues are very English as is the wit!) and finally the Duke stomps out, irritated and giving up yet again. Only this time he has been given an LP that recorded him reading from a book while having on headphones playing loud western classical music.

Obviously this record appears subsequently when the Duke is having a frustrating quiet moment to himself, and he is astounded to hear himself speak almost without a single stammer or pause that usually intersperse his speeches.

This takes him back after some deliberations and days, to train with Dr. L. This now forms the most interesting part of the movie – as L systematically treats him in a holistic manner, peeling the layers off to find the story behind the stammer. Most problems in life that are treated turn out to be only symptoms till someone peels the layers off and finds what lies within. I learned for example that no child is ever born with a stammer, it develops sometime in childhood and is usually linked - as in this case too – with certain other life issues.

Over time, Dr. L and Bertie realise that from being therapist and student, they are becoming friends. However, sometime later, they have a bitter debate that ends with Bertie marching out of L’s life saying this is treason. Meanwhile, events in the land have moved on. After King George V’s death, David becomes King and then has to abdicate as he must marry his twice divorced American love; he makes a speech to that effect relinquishing the throne to his younger brother Bertie, who chooses to be called King George VI to maintain continuity with his father’s times. You can then see Bertie getting overwhelmed with the responsibilities and state of things as they are, in a moment of weakness he is even seen to break down crying in front of his wife one day. Quite a thing for the English royalty I say!

It takes a while for the new King and L to find each other and apologize (both do) and then all is well. It is 1939, Bertie must now deliver a speech about going to war and inspire patriotism and unity amongst people …and now comes the crux of the movie. This speech is to be on live radio with no scope of editing or cutting. And all L’s training sessions will be now put to the test. The King is awfully nervous and in the last one hour whilst rehearsing with L in the room, he just can’t seem to get it right, his stammer comes in the way and he needs all the help.

To me the essence of the film and the relationship they share (that far exceeds therapist and student) happens in the dialogue moments before the King is to deliver his important speech. L says “Have faith in your own voice and know that a friend is listening”.

It is a feel good essence, takes you back to a space you once knew where people cared beyond the surface level to go within and understand the core, where people had a knowledge beyond the superficial, where they applied common sense and not text book medical theory and most of all when people had the time, will and ability to be good people.

And this is the moment that might bring a tear to the corner of your eye as it did to mine…isn’t that what we all crave, when we feel a little rocked, a little confused, someone who can remind us to have faith in our own voice and the reassurance that a friend is listening.

Colin Firth and Geoffrey Rush have chemistry that on screen romantic couples can seldom boast of, Helena Bonham Carter does a fine job too. The dialogues are well written, the direction obviously great. This movie has a soul that makes you feel warm on a cold evening.

Watch it – for the outstanding performances, well written dialogues and for friendship’s sake.

By Soma

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