Watching two plays consecutively, on each of the last two weekends, has been sort of a study in contrasts for me.
The first play I talk about was titled “The Golden Fish”, a play for children, and part of a kids’ theatre festival, which we randomly walked into, thinking it as no more than a time pass evening for our 7 year old son.
On the contrary, we were pleasantly surprised to watch an immensely enjoyable and brilliant play, which managed to reach out to even us adults, what to talk about the kids. It is based on a poem of the same name by the famous Russian poet Alexander Pushkin, and talks about an old fisherman, his greedy wife, and a generous & miraculous gold-fish. How the greedy wife is justly rewarded is the mainstay of the play.
“The Golden Fish”, we learnt, is produced by a society named Khilona, and was presented as a part of International World Day of Theater for Children, in collaboration with ASSITEJ – International Association of Theater for Children and Young People.
Khilona, we also learnt, is a 20 year old theater society specializing in dramas and workshops only for kids. It is run by Mr. VK Sharma, who is an NSD graduate and an acclaimed director himself, who has directed this present production too.
In this play, VK used an interactive narrative – sort of conversational building blocks, right from the introduction of the cast in the beginning – an approach which surely appealed to kids. Aided by pithy dialogues which do not talk down to the kids, good acting, simple but interesting props and of course a tight direction, the play progressed as a fun-filled informal interaction would naturally happen in group of kids.
It was a treat to watch and is highly recommended. I would be on look out for other plays from Khilona in future.
In contrast is the second play, which I watched just yesterday - the extremely famous “Sakharam Binder”, which was presented by Abhyan (or is it Abhiyan?) and directed by the equally famous theater doyen Rajinder Nath.
Having earlier watched a stupendous performance of “Ghasiram Kotwal”, which is also written by Tendulkar, at the NSD some time back, and having read a bit about Sakharam Binder, I was really very excited about it.
Sakharam Binder is one of the most noted & controversial plays written by Vijay Tendulkar. The protagonist, Sakharam, a book binder by profession, is alone in this world except for a close friend Dawood. He does not believe in marriage and considers it as hypocrisy. Instead, he picks up discarded women, giving them shelter and food in return of companionship and sex (forced, mainly). But, he is sure his candor is virtue enough, which rises above all these shortcomings. The play deals about the complex relationship with two women – Laxmi and Champa – the development of, and interesting culmination to, these relationships.
With the benefit of such a background, however, I must mention that I was sorely disappointed in the presentation.
Sanjeev Jauhari as the foul-mouthed protagonist no doubt gave a powerhouse performance, using wonderful inflections even to the swear-words, and body language.
However, to bring out the intricacies of the complex relationship, which was the mainstay of the script according to me, what was needed was an equally proficient performance from the other two woman characters. It was here that the play faltered, owing to below par performances from both the woman characters.
And, I could faintly sense an overbearing attitude of the director, who I think believed that only the fame of the play would carry it through. There was no interaction at all with the audience – neither through a synopsis at the beginning nor at the time of curtain call, where we expected an introduction to the actors and the director. At the end, when all of us got up and filed out, it felt, as my wife mentioned, a little like a movie hall. Which, you would agree, is something a true theaterwallah would not like to hear.
Sunday, March 29, 2009
Friday, March 20, 2009
Indian Express, Delhi; March 20, 2009
Today's Indian Express, Delhi carries my letter about the now-famous hate-speech of Varun Gandhi:
Foul Mouth
VARUN GANDHI’S hate speech should be condemned in the harshest of terms for its blatant communalism and the speechmaker punished (‘Shocking language’, IE, March 18). During troubled times — when our secular fabric is already stretched to the extreme — such criminally irresponsible remarks, that too from a public podium and supposedly in the cause of democracy, are the last thing the country needs. The BJP has distanced itself from Varun but it needs to clarify what it thinks about the affair to the public.
The last line has been tweaked by them probably to suit their style, but I must admit that this has taken the sting out of my proposition.
Here is what I actually wrote to them:
BJP may have publicly distanced itself from Varun, but in their hearts, they would be feeling proud to see their agenda articulated in such clear terms, shorn of all verbal embellishments. Rather, I would go so far as to suggest that this might be a part of a pre-conceived plan by BJP to assure its loyalists.
Foul Mouth
VARUN GANDHI’S hate speech should be condemned in the harshest of terms for its blatant communalism and the speechmaker punished (‘Shocking language’, IE, March 18). During troubled times — when our secular fabric is already stretched to the extreme — such criminally irresponsible remarks, that too from a public podium and supposedly in the cause of democracy, are the last thing the country needs. The BJP has distanced itself from Varun but it needs to clarify what it thinks about the affair to the public.
The last line has been tweaked by them probably to suit their style, but I must admit that this has taken the sting out of my proposition.
Here is what I actually wrote to them:
BJP may have publicly distanced itself from Varun, but in their hearts, they would be feeling proud to see their agenda articulated in such clear terms, shorn of all verbal embellishments. Rather, I would go so far as to suggest that this might be a part of a pre-conceived plan by BJP to assure its loyalists.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
होली है!
Here is wishing all of you a very Happy and, as it is politically correct to say now, safe Holi!
Below is a verse I wrote many years back, when me and my wife were still new to the city, with no friends, "celebrating" our first holi completely alone and away from home.
I remember both of us waited the whole day for somebody to come and play holi with us - unsuccessfully. At the end of the day, the acute feeling of being complete strangers found its expression thus:
मेरी बदरंग नीरसता के भीतर
आज फिर उग आया हैं
फागुन का सपनीला एक इन्द्रधनुष,
जिसके सात रंगों के पार
मैं देख रहा हूँ
बरसों पहले के, रंगों के बादल -
चटक लेकिन, आज भी!
सुन रहा हूँ
उल्लासित खिल्खिलाहटें हो-हुल्लड़!
महसूसता हूँ -
शीतल, आत्मीय फुहारें,
अंतस पर अपनें।
बीते बरसों की ये किरचें
आज फिर बैठ जाएँगी
चुपके से, पलकों की कोरों पर,
जिन्हें आज फिर,
रख दूँगा सहेज कर,
मन की दरक में,
और शामिल हो कर अनजानी भीड़ में,
पुकारूँगा ज़ोर से -
होली है !
Below is a verse I wrote many years back, when me and my wife were still new to the city, with no friends, "celebrating" our first holi completely alone and away from home.
I remember both of us waited the whole day for somebody to come and play holi with us - unsuccessfully. At the end of the day, the acute feeling of being complete strangers found its expression thus:
मेरी बदरंग नीरसता के भीतर
आज फिर उग आया हैं
फागुन का सपनीला एक इन्द्रधनुष,
जिसके सात रंगों के पार
मैं देख रहा हूँ
बरसों पहले के, रंगों के बादल -
चटक लेकिन, आज भी!
सुन रहा हूँ
उल्लासित खिल्खिलाहटें हो-हुल्लड़!
महसूसता हूँ -
शीतल, आत्मीय फुहारें,
अंतस पर अपनें।
बीते बरसों की ये किरचें
आज फिर बैठ जाएँगी
चुपके से, पलकों की कोरों पर,
जिन्हें आज फिर,
रख दूँगा सहेज कर,
मन की दरक में,
और शामिल हो कर अनजानी भीड़ में,
पुकारूँगा ज़ोर से -
होली है !
Saturday, March 07, 2009
Not History, Michael
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| (Image from www.last.fm) |
One was, of course Jackson himself, who for me still remains the King of Pop, albeit I admit that the list of “angrezi” singers I am aware of and have heard to is quite impoverished.
The other is my very dear old friend whom I would address as Parry Luther, his preferred moniker a quarter of century back when we were silly teenagers. It was courtesy him that I, a small–town-boy was introduced to a hitherto unexplored world of western music.
And what was western music, if not Michael Jackson! For years, I reveled in the rich sounds of Thriller, followed by Bad and then History.
Parry diligently continued to arrange a wide variety of the latest western pop for us initiated but even with all the choice, Jackson always remained a favourite, with his magnificently distinct vocals & music, his fantastic dancing (moonwalk et al), his grand stage shows and videos with superb production values.
As Wikipedia says, “Time magazine described Jackson's influence as "Star of records, radio, rock video. A one-man rescue team for the music business. A songwriter who sets the beat for a decade. A dancer with the fanciest feet on the street. A singer who cuts across all boundaries of taste and style and color too".
I am deeply saddened to see that today Jackson has been reduced to a caricature of himself, a pale, pale shadow of the phenomenon he was. True it is that success & fame are not worn lightly by everybody.
It is a strange coincidence that as I end this day, the last news item which comes to my notice is that Jackson has announced his swansong in London. I wish him all the very best.
Parry, what say?
Sunday, February 22, 2009
Oye Its Farhan's Friday!
I am not an avid watcher of TV but even with my limited viewing, the inverse relationship of quality and quantity is not hard to miss.
Whether it is a reality show (frightening, really!!), some silly soap, news or even interviews, mostly the content on the telly is downright dumb.
It is in this context that the variety show “Oye Its Friday!” hosted by Farhan Akhtar quite simply stands out for its refreshing brilliance, seen on the TV after a long time.
Although it is technically a variety show, a major part is about Farhan interviewing the guests, leading to an inevitable comparison with earlier chat-shows of Simi Garewal and Karan Johar, other filmi insiders interviewing their fraternity.
I remember Simi as being positively mannequin-ish & maudlin, and Karan as very stylish and intelligent. Both, however, were overbearing – the former most of the time and the latter some of it.
In contrast, Farhan is sheer fun. His intelligence and delightful tongue-in-cheek humour permeates through the scripted lines, so visible in his clever turn of phrase and efficient wordplay (with Javed Akhtar and Honey Irani as his parents, can you expect anything different?). And, it is delightful to watch his unpretentiousness and masti quotient inevitably get to the guest. The episodes with Shahrukh and Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy were simply crackling with energy.
Adding to it is the ensemble of various interesting garnishing items like gags, songs, dances, instrument recitals, rope tricks, acrobats, what–have–you.
In short – good conceptualizing and even better presentation. Talking about the Indian telly, a rarity indeed!
Whether it is a reality show (frightening, really!!), some silly soap, news or even interviews, mostly the content on the telly is downright dumb.
It is in this context that the variety show “Oye Its Friday!” hosted by Farhan Akhtar quite simply stands out for its refreshing brilliance, seen on the TV after a long time.
Although it is technically a variety show, a major part is about Farhan interviewing the guests, leading to an inevitable comparison with earlier chat-shows of Simi Garewal and Karan Johar, other filmi insiders interviewing their fraternity.
I remember Simi as being positively mannequin-ish & maudlin, and Karan as very stylish and intelligent. Both, however, were overbearing – the former most of the time and the latter some of it.
In contrast, Farhan is sheer fun. His intelligence and delightful tongue-in-cheek humour permeates through the scripted lines, so visible in his clever turn of phrase and efficient wordplay (with Javed Akhtar and Honey Irani as his parents, can you expect anything different?). And, it is delightful to watch his unpretentiousness and masti quotient inevitably get to the guest. The episodes with Shahrukh and Shankar-Ehsaan-Loy were simply crackling with energy.
Adding to it is the ensemble of various interesting garnishing items like gags, songs, dances, instrument recitals, rope tricks, acrobats, what–have–you.
In short – good conceptualizing and even better presentation. Talking about the Indian telly, a rarity indeed!
Sunday, February 15, 2009
A Worthy Valentine
Since the day the cowardly attacks on innocent young boys and girls happened in a pub in Mangalore, I had been dreading what would happen on the Valentine’s Day. Thankfully, yesterday was largely peaceful.
It is clear however that this state-sponsored cordiality is merely a superficial dressing. Slowly but surely, the fault-lines between the self-appointed “guardians” of a glorious “Indian” sanskruti and the supposedly liberal thinking modern youth have come to run quite deep now.
It is a good time to think whether these fault-lines are as clearly defined in black and white as we think them to be? And, most importantly, where does one fit in, whose side one is on. A decade back, you needn’t have bothered to even ask me. I was young enough to root for “freedom” above all. Now, my take is a little different.
I am no closet member of Shri Ram Sene (how can they malign this name!!). I however seriously feel that in the garb of modernity, this “freedom & liberty” bit has been overplayed a bit by a small section of our populace, including the English media. After all, why do we need to be free from our culture and traditions so badly? What great purpose in life is being held from us by our allegiance to these traditions?
Forgive me for spewing clichés like a true-blue (or red?) Marxist, but it does remain a fact that the economic imperialism being perpetrated for so many years by the west has indeed skewed our reference points now, so that there is apparently no other individual goal except immediate self–gratification. And it is this exalted goal which is being lent inaccessible by the whole body of our culture and traditions.
It helps of course that the self-appointed custodians of culture are another over-zealous & misguided ideologues leading a whole bunch of equally misguided youth, most of which give in to being utilized because they are suffering from an acute identity crisis and have got nothing more worthwhile to do.
I wish we were seeking liberty and freedom for achieving some greater value addition to the society in areas where it actually matters, which would have made this fight more justified.
It is clear however that this state-sponsored cordiality is merely a superficial dressing. Slowly but surely, the fault-lines between the self-appointed “guardians” of a glorious “Indian” sanskruti and the supposedly liberal thinking modern youth have come to run quite deep now.
It is a good time to think whether these fault-lines are as clearly defined in black and white as we think them to be? And, most importantly, where does one fit in, whose side one is on. A decade back, you needn’t have bothered to even ask me. I was young enough to root for “freedom” above all. Now, my take is a little different.
I am no closet member of Shri Ram Sene (how can they malign this name!!). I however seriously feel that in the garb of modernity, this “freedom & liberty” bit has been overplayed a bit by a small section of our populace, including the English media. After all, why do we need to be free from our culture and traditions so badly? What great purpose in life is being held from us by our allegiance to these traditions?
Forgive me for spewing clichés like a true-blue (or red?) Marxist, but it does remain a fact that the economic imperialism being perpetrated for so many years by the west has indeed skewed our reference points now, so that there is apparently no other individual goal except immediate self–gratification. And it is this exalted goal which is being lent inaccessible by the whole body of our culture and traditions.
It helps of course that the self-appointed custodians of culture are another over-zealous & misguided ideologues leading a whole bunch of equally misguided youth, most of which give in to being utilized because they are suffering from an acute identity crisis and have got nothing more worthwhile to do.
I wish we were seeking liberty and freedom for achieving some greater value addition to the society in areas where it actually matters, which would have made this fight more justified.
Wednesday, February 04, 2009
Life's lessons or Death's?
An unfortunate death of a family elder took me recently to my hometown Bikaner in Rajasthan.
Notwithstanding the tragedy of the moment, what struck me wondrously, and in ways more than one, was the import of our social mores and customs, as they fit in all the facets of our life – from a celebration to a calamity; how the sincerity and honesty with which these customs are practiced in our small towns and cities makes them so relevant & useful, more so in times of grief.
I could see that none of the visiting ladies, who had come to commiserate with the widow, sported the bindi, in deference to her immense grief.
I could see that while the funeral procession passed through the bazaar, even some strangers joined in the funeral procession, chanting the holy name and taking turns to be the pall-bearers, brethren in a shared mourning, so to say.
I could see that all the people we passed, irrespective of their religious or caste affiliations, paused in whatever they were doing to pay obeisance to the dead. This included even the drivers of all the vehicles we passed. Those driving two-wheelers got off their vehicles.
I could see that while at the cremation grounds, none of the young were allowed to touch the feet of their elders in reverence, which is otherwise always expected of them. After all, each one of us was in attendance of the one irrefutable truth of life – the death, whom none could surpass in importance.
Far from being some inconsequential, dead rituals, as we forward–looking types are wont to consider them, I think all our customs are actually very finely-tuned responses to the psychological and social demands of the particular occasion.
It would therefore do well for us to neither discard our customs as hogwash nor mechanically adhere to them but to make an effort and understand their import, which could certainly enrich our lives a little bit.
Notwithstanding the tragedy of the moment, what struck me wondrously, and in ways more than one, was the import of our social mores and customs, as they fit in all the facets of our life – from a celebration to a calamity; how the sincerity and honesty with which these customs are practiced in our small towns and cities makes them so relevant & useful, more so in times of grief.
I could see that none of the visiting ladies, who had come to commiserate with the widow, sported the bindi, in deference to her immense grief.
I could see that while the funeral procession passed through the bazaar, even some strangers joined in the funeral procession, chanting the holy name and taking turns to be the pall-bearers, brethren in a shared mourning, so to say.
I could see that all the people we passed, irrespective of their religious or caste affiliations, paused in whatever they were doing to pay obeisance to the dead. This included even the drivers of all the vehicles we passed. Those driving two-wheelers got off their vehicles.
I could see that while at the cremation grounds, none of the young were allowed to touch the feet of their elders in reverence, which is otherwise always expected of them. After all, each one of us was in attendance of the one irrefutable truth of life – the death, whom none could surpass in importance.
Far from being some inconsequential, dead rituals, as we forward–looking types are wont to consider them, I think all our customs are actually very finely-tuned responses to the psychological and social demands of the particular occasion.
It would therefore do well for us to neither discard our customs as hogwash nor mechanically adhere to them but to make an effort and understand their import, which could certainly enrich our lives a little bit.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Republic Day 09
As we approach another Republic Day, mouthing platitudes about our strong & vibrant democracy, it is depressing to be reminded of the depths our polity has actually plunged to. This latest realization is courtesy two news items in the Indian Express of 24th Jan09, which hit me right in the morning.
The first was about a sweetshop owner in Thane, who has been threatened by the goons of MNS to change the 60 year old shop’s name from “Karachi Sweets”, objecting to the use of a Pakistani city’s name. It would be really hilarious, had it not been so terrifyingly true.
More than the outlandish threat, the unfortunate part is the alacrity with which the owners have gone ahead and already renamed their shop as Jai Shree Krishna Sweets. Is it not shameful that the all-powerful state can not guarantee protection to an innocent person against a madman or two and their bunch of thugs? Surely, a glowing tribute to the Fundamental Rights enshrined in our constitution!
This is neither the first nor an isolated incident, we all know. This outfit (and others of its clan) have been working at it for quite some time now – playing with emotions of vulnerable people, and dividing & pitting them against each other by raking up non-existent issues, in process consolidating their own goonda power.
I really do not understand why the government of the day hesitates to take strict action against such a vulgar mockery of the rule of law.
The second relates to the queen of megalomaniacs Mayawati.
I am given to understand vide a report that a whopping 90% of the UP’s culture budget of this year has been spent on making sculptures, most of them of Madam Mayawati herself.
Notwithstanding all the talk of her being the symbol of Dalit empowerment, does no body of her followers see through this act and realize that this is just part-narcissism, part-get-filthy-rich obsession? How can she fleece her own people of their hard-earned money on these monstrosities which do nothing except feed her own ego? Another Imelda Marcos in the making, is she?
But I remain hopeful. Surely, वो सुबह कभी तो आएगी! Happy Republic Day!!
The first was about a sweetshop owner in Thane, who has been threatened by the goons of MNS to change the 60 year old shop’s name from “Karachi Sweets”, objecting to the use of a Pakistani city’s name. It would be really hilarious, had it not been so terrifyingly true.
More than the outlandish threat, the unfortunate part is the alacrity with which the owners have gone ahead and already renamed their shop as Jai Shree Krishna Sweets. Is it not shameful that the all-powerful state can not guarantee protection to an innocent person against a madman or two and their bunch of thugs? Surely, a glowing tribute to the Fundamental Rights enshrined in our constitution!
This is neither the first nor an isolated incident, we all know. This outfit (and others of its clan) have been working at it for quite some time now – playing with emotions of vulnerable people, and dividing & pitting them against each other by raking up non-existent issues, in process consolidating their own goonda power.
I really do not understand why the government of the day hesitates to take strict action against such a vulgar mockery of the rule of law.
The second relates to the queen of megalomaniacs Mayawati.
I am given to understand vide a report that a whopping 90% of the UP’s culture budget of this year has been spent on making sculptures, most of them of Madam Mayawati herself.
Notwithstanding all the talk of her being the symbol of Dalit empowerment, does no body of her followers see through this act and realize that this is just part-narcissism, part-get-filthy-rich obsession? How can she fleece her own people of their hard-earned money on these monstrosities which do nothing except feed her own ego? Another Imelda Marcos in the making, is she?
But I remain hopeful. Surely, वो सुबह कभी तो आएगी! Happy Republic Day!!
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Overdose Obama
This morning, you could have been pardoned for thinking you were in America, going by the all-out coverage of Obama's inauguration in the Indian media. (btw, just how does a person gets "inaugurated", I do not understand. Birth - yes; death - maybe yes; but inauguration? Wasn't it something to do with events or buildings or some such life-like objects?) . A clear case of overdose, considering even our own president election did not get this type of coverage.
Me and good friend Kay were discussing why is this happening; why even newspapers with usually balanced perspectives (like Indian Express) featured this event so out of proportion, and we decided it was because of two reasons.
First, the world, and India more so, is desperately in need of charismatic heroes today. And, Obama is, no doubt, one of the most charismatic public figures on the present world stage. His leadership skills and effectiveness remain to be seen, but charisma, he has loads of, and using his remarkable oratorial skills, he has managed to project himself as a beacon of hope in these troubled times. (It of course helps that America's mighty marketing machine is at work here).
Second, like it or not, America does remain the sole super-power, the चौधरी of the global village, who controls most of the economy and decides the pecking order of the world.
But at the end of it, we should not mind it, as long as it is followed by real performance and results, which we look forward to.
Me and good friend Kay were discussing why is this happening; why even newspapers with usually balanced perspectives (like Indian Express) featured this event so out of proportion, and we decided it was because of two reasons.
First, the world, and India more so, is desperately in need of charismatic heroes today. And, Obama is, no doubt, one of the most charismatic public figures on the present world stage. His leadership skills and effectiveness remain to be seen, but charisma, he has loads of, and using his remarkable oratorial skills, he has managed to project himself as a beacon of hope in these troubled times. (It of course helps that America's mighty marketing machine is at work here).
Second, like it or not, America does remain the sole super-power, the चौधरी of the global village, who controls most of the economy and decides the pecking order of the world.
But at the end of it, we should not mind it, as long as it is followed by real performance and results, which we look forward to.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Ghazini
Till about a couple of months back, I thought Ghazini to be a period drama about the (in)famous Mahmud of Ghazni. After watching it yesterday, I now wish it was. At least it would have been some novelty to watch.
Ghazini has been a letdown, and I am frankly surprised at the claims of the record business it has already reaped in.
The concept and story surely have an immense potential to be turned in to a great psychological thriller.
However, owing to a totally un-imaginative treatment, the film remains throughout a prisoner to only brute, physical action, in spite of having an actor like Aamir Khan.
The psychological and mental warfare by the character of Aamir, which could have been the mainstay of the film, is touched upon only tentatively and that too only at the fringes. Murugadoss was probably cautious not to let the film become too obtuse for the masses.
Aamir is his usual perfect self in most of the movie but in some of the scenes, where he is required to scream and generally show his angst, he surprisingly goes overboard. Asin is tacky and school-girlish (except for her final scene) and Ghazini probably needed somebody more sinister to justify the title character.
Take Aamir and the two main songs out and there would be nothing left in it to distinguish it from your run-of-the-mill action films.
All in all, a letdown.
Different takes, any one?
Ghazini has been a letdown, and I am frankly surprised at the claims of the record business it has already reaped in.
The concept and story surely have an immense potential to be turned in to a great psychological thriller.
However, owing to a totally un-imaginative treatment, the film remains throughout a prisoner to only brute, physical action, in spite of having an actor like Aamir Khan.
The psychological and mental warfare by the character of Aamir, which could have been the mainstay of the film, is touched upon only tentatively and that too only at the fringes. Murugadoss was probably cautious not to let the film become too obtuse for the masses.
Aamir is his usual perfect self in most of the movie but in some of the scenes, where he is required to scream and generally show his angst, he surprisingly goes overboard. Asin is tacky and school-girlish (except for her final scene) and Ghazini probably needed somebody more sinister to justify the title character.
Take Aamir and the two main songs out and there would be nothing left in it to distinguish it from your run-of-the-mill action films.
All in all, a letdown.
Different takes, any one?
Thursday, January 15, 2009
जाड़ा
I was rummaging through my old papers a couple of days back, when I came across one I wrote in December 1991. It is about winters, seen from three different perspectives.। I thought it might be relevant to share it with you now, while the famous "Dilli ki sardi"is here:
एक
जाड़ा
सिमटा सिमटा, सकपकाया सा,
घूमता बाहर कोठी के दालान में,
एयर-कंडीशनरों से, और शनील की रजाइयों से बचता बचाता,
शाम को इम्पोर्टेड व्हिस्की से लड़ने को प्रत्यनरत
खिड़कियों में ही अटका,
अन्दर आ पाने को बे-चैन यहाँ पर जाड़ा!
दो
जाड़ा
खुशनुमा
सुनाई पड़ता मूंग-फली के टूटे छिलकों में,
चिपटा गुढ की पापडी में,
पसरा हुआ आँगन ही की धुप ही के साथ
दादी माँ के चश्में में मुंह चिडाता,
शाम को, रसोई के अलाव के बाहर,
चाय के कप पर
भाप का बादल बन कर
उड़ता सा आ जाता है, जाड़ा
तीन
जाड़ा,
भयावह
ठंडी सड़कों पर पड़ा गुर्राता,
और कातर, नंगी एडियों को नोचता, खसोटता,
झपट पड़ता, पागल कुत्ते सा,
टूटे दरवाजे से, खिड़की की झिर्री से,
पैबंद लगे कपडों से आकर
नंगे, भूखे शरीरों को नोच खाता हैं
जाड़ा
I invite your comments.
एक
जाड़ा
सिमटा सिमटा, सकपकाया सा,
घूमता बाहर कोठी के दालान में,
एयर-कंडीशनरों से, और शनील की रजाइयों से बचता बचाता,
शाम को इम्पोर्टेड व्हिस्की से लड़ने को प्रत्यनरत
खिड़कियों में ही अटका,
अन्दर आ पाने को बे-चैन यहाँ पर जाड़ा!
दो
जाड़ा
खुशनुमा
सुनाई पड़ता मूंग-फली के टूटे छिलकों में,
चिपटा गुढ की पापडी में,
पसरा हुआ आँगन ही की धुप ही के साथ
दादी माँ के चश्में में मुंह चिडाता,
शाम को, रसोई के अलाव के बाहर,
चाय के कप पर
भाप का बादल बन कर
उड़ता सा आ जाता है, जाड़ा
तीन
जाड़ा,
भयावह
ठंडी सड़कों पर पड़ा गुर्राता,
और कातर, नंगी एडियों को नोचता, खसोटता,
झपट पड़ता, पागल कुत्ते सा,
टूटे दरवाजे से, खिड़की की झिर्री से,
पैबंद लगे कपडों से आकर
नंगे, भूखे शरीरों को नोच खाता हैं
जाड़ा
I invite your comments.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Slumdog fraternity
The alacrity with which our media and Bollywood have come out to embrace “Slumdog Millionaire” as one of their own, after it has won four Golden Globe awards, somewhat irritates me.
No, I have nothing against the film. In fact, I have not even watched it. And from what I hear and see about it, I would surely not be disappointed once I do (although the book by Vikas Swarup was hopeless, as one of my friends insists).
The film is said to boast of superb direction by Danny Boyle, a fabulous musical score by AR Rahman (congratulations for the award!) and some very decent acting by Irrfan, Anil Kapoor, Dev Patel and others. All great individual efforts worthy of applause.
But it has to be clearly understood that the Indian connection and context, over which our media is going gaga, is purely incidental.
A film is essentially a director’s medium, his vision which unfolds on to the screen. I am sure that the story telling abilities of a director of the caliber of Danny Boyle is not limited by the locale or the back-drop, and it is entirely to his credit that he has utilized the Indian backdrop so effectively.
Notwithstanding, therefore, the well-deserved praise for the craft of this film (I presume), it would do well for us not to rush in to falsely appropriate claims which are not due to us, like we did with Kalpana Chawla, Bobby Jindal etc. We surely have enough other genuinely Indian things to be proud of.
No, I have nothing against the film. In fact, I have not even watched it. And from what I hear and see about it, I would surely not be disappointed once I do (although the book by Vikas Swarup was hopeless, as one of my friends insists).
The film is said to boast of superb direction by Danny Boyle, a fabulous musical score by AR Rahman (congratulations for the award!) and some very decent acting by Irrfan, Anil Kapoor, Dev Patel and others. All great individual efforts worthy of applause.
But it has to be clearly understood that the Indian connection and context, over which our media is going gaga, is purely incidental.
A film is essentially a director’s medium, his vision which unfolds on to the screen. I am sure that the story telling abilities of a director of the caliber of Danny Boyle is not limited by the locale or the back-drop, and it is entirely to his credit that he has utilized the Indian backdrop so effectively.
Notwithstanding, therefore, the well-deserved praise for the craft of this film (I presume), it would do well for us not to rush in to falsely appropriate claims which are not due to us, like we did with Kalpana Chawla, Bobby Jindal etc. We surely have enough other genuinely Indian things to be proud of.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Outlook Jan19, 09
Let's start the year with a heavy dose of self-publicity.
The Jan 19 issue of Outlook - first of this year - carries 2 letters of mine, which I wish to share with you:
The first one is on the article Arundhati Roy wrote after the Mumbai terror attacks:
Arundhati is clearly very rattled by the Mumbai attacks. Her prose, usually so lucid and a treat to read whether or not you agree with her, is this time rambling and repetitive. Along with the form, the function too suffers from a complete lack of new insight. Instead, she has once again propped up her all-time favourite villains—Gujarat genocide, "atrocities" in Kashmir, Hindutva, powerful and sinister politicians et al, which have supposedly led to this (almost justified!) retribution from the Muslims of the world. This is a tad too over the top. Notwithstanding the "decades of quick-fixes and dirty deeds", these terrorists were no disgruntled Indian Muslims whereby these attacks could be explained in the above context. I wouldn’t even term them as Pakistanis. People like them are above nationalities, owing allegiance only to their own pure hatred and warped mindsets, global citizens of the Terror Republic.
The second one is a response to the Happiness Prescription in an earlier issue:
I noted sadly that the list of books prescribed for happiness (Rev Up Your H Quotient) included not a single book in Hindi. Maybe it needed Manjula Padmanabhan, the selector, to be a more pan-Indian author to include gems like Raag Darbari (Shrilal Shukla) and a collection of essays by the great Harishankar Parsai.
R.G., on e-mail
Did they use my initials to convey that we were two different readers writing in?
The Jan 19 issue of Outlook - first of this year - carries 2 letters of mine, which I wish to share with you:
The first one is on the article Arundhati Roy wrote after the Mumbai terror attacks:
Arundhati is clearly very rattled by the Mumbai attacks. Her prose, usually so lucid and a treat to read whether or not you agree with her, is this time rambling and repetitive. Along with the form, the function too suffers from a complete lack of new insight. Instead, she has once again propped up her all-time favourite villains—Gujarat genocide, "atrocities" in Kashmir, Hindutva, powerful and sinister politicians et al, which have supposedly led to this (almost justified!) retribution from the Muslims of the world. This is a tad too over the top. Notwithstanding the "decades of quick-fixes and dirty deeds", these terrorists were no disgruntled Indian Muslims whereby these attacks could be explained in the above context. I wouldn’t even term them as Pakistanis. People like them are above nationalities, owing allegiance only to their own pure hatred and warped mindsets, global citizens of the Terror Republic.
The second one is a response to the Happiness Prescription in an earlier issue:
I noted sadly that the list of books prescribed for happiness (Rev Up Your H Quotient) included not a single book in Hindi. Maybe it needed Manjula Padmanabhan, the selector, to be a more pan-Indian author to include gems like Raag Darbari (Shrilal Shukla) and a collection of essays by the great Harishankar Parsai.
R.G., on e-mail
Did they use my initials to convey that we were two different readers writing in?
Thursday, January 01, 2009
Saal Mubarak
Till late last night, when the year 2008 was inching towards its end, overwhelming despondency was what I felt, I would admit.
What else could one could expect, I consoled myself, when all around we had seen some of the most troubling moments served by fate & nature all the year round – financial meltdown, Bihar floods, temple stampedes, communal & regional riots, along with some murders and rapes thrown in for good measure.
Moments of joy like Abhinav Bindra’s gold medal, N-deal’s passage and Rock On were few and far in between. And, at the end, when it seemed nothing worse could happen, Mumbai was attacked brazenly, the shadow of which loomed high.
I, along with few friends (wife & son were away), tried to shake off this shroud of gloom, gyrating over rustic beats of “Oye Lucky” and “Singh is King” around a small bonfire but in the end, went to sleep as depressed as ever, after exchanging lukewarm wishes of Happy New Year.
This morning, however, as I stepped out, it was a warm & bright sunshine which greeted me, and the gloom of last night suddenly evaporated.
I pride myself on not being a romantic but the sight of beautiful bouqets and a contented, happy smile from the flower-vendor was all it took to instantly fill me up with hope and cheer again.
I now feel strangely comforted and confident of myself. I also wish that each one of us is able to put down one’s demons firmly down, to have a really Happy, Peaceful, Prosperous Year 2009!
Cheers
What else could one could expect, I consoled myself, when all around we had seen some of the most troubling moments served by fate & nature all the year round – financial meltdown, Bihar floods, temple stampedes, communal & regional riots, along with some murders and rapes thrown in for good measure.
Moments of joy like Abhinav Bindra’s gold medal, N-deal’s passage and Rock On were few and far in between. And, at the end, when it seemed nothing worse could happen, Mumbai was attacked brazenly, the shadow of which loomed high.
I, along with few friends (wife & son were away), tried to shake off this shroud of gloom, gyrating over rustic beats of “Oye Lucky” and “Singh is King” around a small bonfire but in the end, went to sleep as depressed as ever, after exchanging lukewarm wishes of Happy New Year.
This morning, however, as I stepped out, it was a warm & bright sunshine which greeted me, and the gloom of last night suddenly evaporated.
I pride myself on not being a romantic but the sight of beautiful bouqets and a contented, happy smile from the flower-vendor was all it took to instantly fill me up with hope and cheer again.
I now feel strangely comforted and confident of myself. I also wish that each one of us is able to put down one’s demons firmly down, to have a really Happy, Peaceful, Prosperous Year 2009!
Cheers
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Oye Lucky
Oye Lucky is a delightful slice of Delhi life on celluloid. The vigenettes and caricatures are flaw-less, as were in Dibakar Banerjee’s last film – Khosla Ka Ghosla. It seems like a hilarious documentary, if there is such a genre, that is.
Regretfully, however, it remains just that - a documentary, refusing to take off as a story. And thus, in spite of excellent acting efforts by Paresh Rawal, Abhay Deol and all other actors, it remains a little lower than the perfect 10 mark. Still, a sure not-to-be-missed.
Regretfully, however, it remains just that - a documentary, refusing to take off as a story. And thus, in spite of excellent acting efforts by Paresh Rawal, Abhay Deol and all other actors, it remains a little lower than the perfect 10 mark. Still, a sure not-to-be-missed.
Saturday, December 15, 2007
The Kite Runner
“The Kite Runner” by Khaled Hosseini was recommended to me by a dear friend almost a year back.
For all this time, however, this book did not figure in my priority reads. I was vaguely aware that it had Afghanistan as its backdrop, and for some strange reason, my mind connected this with the boring and hugely pretentious “The Afghan” (Frederic Forsyth). I now sincerely regret this long wait of one year.
The Kite Runner is an endearingly honest and from–the–heart story, the kind one rarely comes across in the artificiality of your usual pulp fiction these days.
This is primarily a story of a young Afghani boy Amir and his various relationships –with his servant–friend Hassan, with his father, with his motherland Afghanistan and more importantly, with himself.
Hosseini has treated this beautiful panorama of relationships with amazing sensitivity and truthfulness, specially the father-son relation. This depiction of father–son relation is the best I have come across in my limited reading experience.
And the love Hosseini feels for his motherland Afghanistan is so palpable in his descriptions, which are refreshingly different from the usual western views one gets these days.
To me, however, more creditworthy is that for a first–time writer, he has been able to achieve the rare feat of making the reader intensely feel all the love, happiness, pain & anguish of the characters without indulging in any excessive verbal calisthenics.
A must read – “a thousand times over”!!
For all this time, however, this book did not figure in my priority reads. I was vaguely aware that it had Afghanistan as its backdrop, and for some strange reason, my mind connected this with the boring and hugely pretentious “The Afghan” (Frederic Forsyth). I now sincerely regret this long wait of one year.
The Kite Runner is an endearingly honest and from–the–heart story, the kind one rarely comes across in the artificiality of your usual pulp fiction these days.
This is primarily a story of a young Afghani boy Amir and his various relationships –with his servant–friend Hassan, with his father, with his motherland Afghanistan and more importantly, with himself.
Hosseini has treated this beautiful panorama of relationships with amazing sensitivity and truthfulness, specially the father-son relation. This depiction of father–son relation is the best I have come across in my limited reading experience.
And the love Hosseini feels for his motherland Afghanistan is so palpable in his descriptions, which are refreshingly different from the usual western views one gets these days.
To me, however, more creditworthy is that for a first–time writer, he has been able to achieve the rare feat of making the reader intensely feel all the love, happiness, pain & anguish of the characters without indulging in any excessive verbal calisthenics.
A must read – “a thousand times over”!!
Sunday, September 09, 2007
Oh Calcutta!
To borrow a cliché – cities are like people – each one with a distinct character, a different personality and of course, a very individual first impression they leave on the observer.
I recently visited Calcutta for the first time. I was armed with all sorts of prejudices – traffic jams, power cuts, militant left, pollution and poverty. It was a very short business visit of only a couple of days, with a very tight itinerary. Delhi and Mumbai were my only other metro benchmarks. Not all the right qualifications, but perfect for a snap-shot first impression.
Now, talking about first impressions, I am sure Delhi would seem like a brash young woman (okay, a man, maybe), with a very in–your–face attitude to the first–time visitor. Mumbai would be like probably a snooty glam-girl.
In comparison, Calcutta seems like a wizened old lady, who has “been there and done that”.
The majesty of downtown Calcutta is best epitomized by the huge, stately buildings with big pillars, high ceilings and wide staircases, typical relics of the Raj. Even though these buildings now house government organizations of the most run–of–the–mill–type, and private companies of different market standings, the suggestion of the administrative and financial power their occupants might have once wielded over this country still exudes therefrom.
In contrast, I passed by various seemingly derelict old houses – moss–ridden, with blackened walls and crumbling facades, which, I thought, were abandoned, till I saw families inhabit them. They might not be representative of the city, and I might be romanticizing a bit, but the contrast is too glaring to miss. I wish I would see more of the residential quarters of the city, those fabled “paras”, when I am here the next time.
With a long experience of the Delhi rush-hour traffic, the much maligned traffic volume does not surprise me. It is the fine art of jay–walking, however, which I find absolutely fantastic.
An astonishingly large number of people in crowded bazaars, lanes and main roads walk like apparitions – running, hopping, skipping, dodging and stretching – past all the traffic, including the bloated–frog–like yellow taxis, the ramshackle local buses and yes, the trams – those run-down carriages seemingly stuck in a time–warp.
Due to the nature of my trip, I was not able to interact with the real people and enjoy the authentic Bengal cuisine. I would be able to make up for this the next time I am here. Which would be sooner rather than later, I am sure.
Thursday, May 03, 2007
Coffee?
“Ta Ra Rum Pum”, which I watched last Sunday, reminded me of the “espresso coffee” one is served in wedding pandals – high on froth but when you go digging for some substance, practically there is nothing to be found. The last time I got this feeling was when I watched Dhoom-2.
If movie–making is basically good story–telling, as I remember having read somewhere and what I think is correct, in my view these films should not have been made at all. Without even a semblance of a story, these movies are nothing more than a sequence of beautifully crafted advertisements, juxtaposed against each other, designed to merely titillate sans any stimulation.
Almost all such movies come from a big banner with a bigger star-cast, which succeeds in fooling one in to watching it, only to repent later. Wish the next time they could squeeze in some plain, old-fashioned story-telling.
If movie–making is basically good story–telling, as I remember having read somewhere and what I think is correct, in my view these films should not have been made at all. Without even a semblance of a story, these movies are nothing more than a sequence of beautifully crafted advertisements, juxtaposed against each other, designed to merely titillate sans any stimulation.
Almost all such movies come from a big banner with a bigger star-cast, which succeeds in fooling one in to watching it, only to repent later. Wish the next time they could squeeze in some plain, old-fashioned story-telling.
Wednesday, March 21, 2007
The Last King of Scotland
I would be lying if I said that I was looking forward to watching the movie – The Last King of Scotland. I mean, tyrannical dictators & despots, assuming power by staging coups, have long since ceased to be a novelty, haven’t they?
I therefore braced myself for some boring docu-drama about Idi Amin – the long–forgotten, cannibal dictator. Thankfully, I could not have been more wrong.
The Last King of Scotland is a brilliant film, which merits a watch for reasons more than one – first, an excellent and justifiably award–winning performance by the lead-actor Forrest Whittaker as Idi Amin, and second –in spite of the small garnishing of fiction, it is one of those movies which provide one with a reference point in history
The story of the movie is from the perspective of Amin’s personal physician – Dr. Garrigan who, from being a nobody, rises to the top echelons of power, among the most trusted aides of Amin himself.
Initially charmed by Amin’s ostentatious show of concern towards the poor of his country, Dr. Garrigan later comes to know the horrors Amin & his coterie has inflicted on the masses.
But by that time, he realizes he is entrapped in the vicious quagmire and in a reversal of fortune, he just escapes being murdered by Amin’s henchmen to flee from the state incognito.
More than being a story, the movie actually scores in bringing out in detail not only the eccentricities, whims & tantrums of a dictator drunk on absolute power, but also his insecurities & fears in illuminating detail. A must watch.
I therefore braced myself for some boring docu-drama about Idi Amin – the long–forgotten, cannibal dictator. Thankfully, I could not have been more wrong.
The Last King of Scotland is a brilliant film, which merits a watch for reasons more than one – first, an excellent and justifiably award–winning performance by the lead-actor Forrest Whittaker as Idi Amin, and second –in spite of the small garnishing of fiction, it is one of those movies which provide one with a reference point in history
The story of the movie is from the perspective of Amin’s personal physician – Dr. Garrigan who, from being a nobody, rises to the top echelons of power, among the most trusted aides of Amin himself.
Initially charmed by Amin’s ostentatious show of concern towards the poor of his country, Dr. Garrigan later comes to know the horrors Amin & his coterie has inflicted on the masses.
But by that time, he realizes he is entrapped in the vicious quagmire and in a reversal of fortune, he just escapes being murdered by Amin’s henchmen to flee from the state incognito.
More than being a story, the movie actually scores in bringing out in detail not only the eccentricities, whims & tantrums of a dictator drunk on absolute power, but also his insecurities & fears in illuminating detail. A must watch.
Wednesday, March 07, 2007
Paincho!!
I remember, in my child-hood, swear & curse words being referred to as “helping verbs”. At that time, the reason for this nomenclature eluded me but now, in saaddi Dilli, I realize the aptness.
Now when my work, and pleasure occasionally, takes me around Delhi, and when my ears are treated to a wide variety of lingo – all peppered with enough garnishing of these “helping verbs”, I find that your everyday “Painchos” and “Machos” indeed do help a large number of Delhites make meaningful conversations with their fellow citizens.
So much so that there are people I know who, if their p…’s and m….’s are proscribed, would be left completely tongue-tied, devoid of even rudimentary conversation tools and skills.
So, the next time when you crib about the lack of decent language & tehzeeb in Delhi, spare a thought for those true Delhites who, but for these helping verbs, would not have been able to talk even, let alone talking properly, poor chaps!
Now when my work, and pleasure occasionally, takes me around Delhi, and when my ears are treated to a wide variety of lingo – all peppered with enough garnishing of these “helping verbs”, I find that your everyday “Painchos” and “Machos” indeed do help a large number of Delhites make meaningful conversations with their fellow citizens.
So much so that there are people I know who, if their p…’s and m….’s are proscribed, would be left completely tongue-tied, devoid of even rudimentary conversation tools and skills.
So, the next time when you crib about the lack of decent language & tehzeeb in Delhi, spare a thought for those true Delhites who, but for these helping verbs, would not have been able to talk even, let alone talking properly, poor chaps!
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