Brake Fail

What’s with the song-remixes these days, I cannot quite understand.
Not very long ago, remixes were basically fast-paced versions of old hits, set to contemporary beats and in more modern voices. Remember “Chura Liya” by Bally Sagoo?
These were created to appeal to the supposedly newer generation. Fast-paced, because it was a given that the “newer” generation was leading a fast-paced life and was handicapped with shorter attention spans. True, maybe.
But can somebody explain why does one need to create a remix of a new song, which, by virtue of its music and feel, is already sufficiently “fast paced”? What elusive, mindless speed are these songs trying to run on to?
Try listening to the remix of “Kajrare” and you would know what I mean. It is just a cacophony interspersed with metallic voices, which are so common these days. Then there are those Himesh songs – it seems each version of a song is faster than the earlier one.
To use an old Bollywoodian phrase – “Maine uski gaadi ke brake phail kar diye hain, ab voh nahin bach sakta!!” Somebody please set right the brakes!

Ramayana

(Image Courtesy: www.bl.uk)

I am definitely not making a revelation when I say that Ramayana is a timeless epic, such which is penned only once in a million years.

I am however even more amazed at its timeless appeal, of its quality of lending itself beautifully to contexts, situations, periods and treatments so different from the original and not necessarily religious in nature.

I first experienced it about 15 years back when I read the complete 5-volume version in Hindi – “Deeksha”, “Awsar”, Sangharsh Ki Or”, “Yudh – 1” & “Yudh-2’, penned by the celebrated Hindi writer – Narendra Kohli. Sadly, however, only an abridged, 2-volume series (Abhyudaya-1 & 2) is what I have found available in the market presently.

It is an extremely interesting and eminently readable series, more of a sociological & political thesis of those imagined times. It traces the journey (both inner & outer) of Ram, who is no God but a mortal prince–in–exile. The sketchiness, if I may use the word, of the original plot has been filled-in with a vivid interplay of intra & interpersonal relations.

I experienced it for the second time recently when I finished the last (last published, I mean) of the Ramayana series by the new-age author – Ashok Banker. Till now, 5 books in this series have been brought out in the market – “Prince of Ayodhya”, “Siege of Mithila”, “Demons of Chitrakut”, “Armies of Hanuman” and recently, “Bridge of Rama”.

Though Ram is still no God in this series, the treatment is a far departure from the Kohli series (apart from the language – Banker is in English). This is an extremely rich, unadulterated fantasy tale for a young, global audience.

Keeping the basic plot intact, Banker writes with a sense of ownership, playing around with various characters and sub-plots dexterously as if it is his own story, which, curiously enough, is the biggest strength of this series. There are various new, fantastical dimensions in the story - demons & gods & sorcery & of course, the new facets to the relationships between the characters.

Banker has not completed yet, and I am eagerly awaiting his next book. Meanwhile, I think, I would read Narendra Kohli again.

Billboards

Remember the outdoor advertising a few years back?

For the sarkari or sarkari type ads designed for plebian tastes, you had a wall painted with safedi & the message printed in neel. After some time, the colours faded and street- urchins took unprintable liberties with the syntax of the message.

For real class products like suitings – shirtings, there was a galvanized board which was actually made by joining various sheets. More often than not, it was painted garishly as a distorted approximation of a print advertisement and after some time, one of the corners managed to hang out precariously.

In the last few years, however, there has been such a marvelous change in the quality and the concept of the advertisement hoardings that to me it seems this is the single most visible indicator of our economic development.

Leave apart the big malls or swanky showrooms, even the corner juice-wallah has life-like Shahrukh or Rani Mukherji sitting atop their shed, extolling the virtues of the respective cold-drink.

And this is not restricted to only the consumer products. The tyre shops, garages, cycle repair shops, hotels, property dealers, gyms, beauty parlours – everyone is in to these glam hoardings (do they still call it that?). The bus stops, train stations and everywhich place is a collage of glamorous advertising.

Sometimes, it feels all these hoardings are talking about some different India - a shiny, smiling, bright, blemishless India, which is altogether on a different planet. If only....

Taxi Wallah

At the end of yet another outstation tour last week, I plonked myself in the back seat of the taxi I had hired for the day. A whole 200 kms of soliloquy or silence, in absence of a functional car radio or any other traveling companion, stretched before me.

As the car started and I relaxed, I learnt that the mild-mannered young taxi-wallah was named Abbas and his family was back home in Bihar. In a manner of small–talk, I asked him about his education. “Madarse mein islam ki taleem liye hain, sir, nau jamaat tak”, he replied. (I have studied Islam till 9th standard in a seminary).

Fed on the media induced prejudice for long and, let me admit, my being conscious of the class-divide that supposedly stretched between us, no further conversation seemed possible.

“But me, Sir”, he continued, “I believe that up there, there is but only one God. It’s just that our ways of calling out to him are different.”

Now, this was interesting, coming from a so-called “madarsa product”! I peered in to the rear-view mirror and saw his truthful eyes. And that was the start of a 4 hour-long dialogue between us.

He told me about his father – a dutiful government teacher, a loving mother and one sister. He told me about the vagaries of his job and how, in face of adversities, he was trying to keep his imaan intact.

But what we mainly discussed was the difference and, more importantly, the sameness of two religions – his and mine, Muslim and Hindu.

As he was eager to explain to me the story of Baba Adam, so was he curious to know about the Hindu concept of atman; as he patiently heard the basis of tri-murti, so he explained to me the one-ness of Allah; on the one hand he explained to me why Muslims do not keep idols or pictures in their place of worship, on the other hand he theorized why, for a Hindu who has not yet attained the highest religious state, an idol is a necessary aid for concentration.

More than his knowledge & awareness, it was his willingness to accommodate the other point of view, which I found to be a rarity and gave him, so to say, an exalted status in my eyes. Let’s face it - so many of us, so-called educated people lack this willingness, having turned our minds in to ghettos, which nurture hatred for “the other”.

As we entered Delhi, passing beneath huge hoardings carrying advertisements of TV serials, Abbas looked at me in his rear-view mirror and said– “Jab duty par nahin hota, toh TV par aap logon ka Ramayan bahut dekhta hoon main, Sir. Ram kitne dayalu hain na?”

Veebhatsa-Rasa

Somebody please wake me up!! Seemingly, I am in a time warp, some 2 thousand years ago, with my old-world sense of aesthetics still intact (or so I prefer to believe)!
How else do I console myself when I read that a Brooklyn art gallery is planning to exhibit a profound sculpture next month – a life-size nude sculpture of pop star Britney Spears giving birth on a bear-skin rug! (http://www.hindustantimes.com/news/181_1662539,00470001.htm)
Ugh! What people would enjoy looking at this grotesque work, I fail to understand.
And sample this comment from the great artist Edwards himself - "Spears provides inspiration for those struggling with the right choice." Inspiration? Choice? Sorry?

Feluda

Let me confess it – till a month back, I had never read any of Satyajit Ray’s books or watched his movies. From whatever little I knew, he was primarily a film-maker, who touched esoteric subjects in his films and books, which he wrote occasionally, both of them primarily to be enjoyed by bhadra-lok. It happens, you know, with great people – the myth overrides the man and his works. And then average-brained persons like me can not muster enough courage to take a plunge.

But thank God to the marketing guys, for once. As I walked in to the Crossword book-shop last Sunday, a neatly packaged “Feluda” omnibus almost called out to me. And putting aside my prejudices, I picked it up. If I am allowed to say so, I haven’t regretted it since.

For the umpteenth time I have realized you do not need great-sounding works or complex plots to tell a good story. Ray’s simple and spontaneous prose flows easily and reaches out to your heart and his plots and characters are from among everyday people like you and me. I am not over with it yet and till now, the whole experience has been a bit like one’s forgotten, innocent childhood, which one cherishes all his life.

I am sure as soon as I finish with “Feluda”, I would set out to find another good book from his repertoire. Any suggestions?

Times of India

There is an interesting quote in the The Speaking Tree column in Sunday Times of India (March 24'06), which set me thinking and I thought I should share with you.
It is ascribed to Epicurus, the Greek philosopher - "If God is willing to prevent evil but not able, then he is not omnipotent; if he is able but not willing, he is not benevolent; if he is both able and willing, whence come evil?" Whence, indeed?

Wardi

A few weeks back, as I was walking at a very busy cross-road in Delhi during the morning rush-hour, I saw two rowdies on a motorcycle jumping a red-light. To compound the matters further, I noticed, none of them was wearing a helmet.
Trust a traffic-cop never to let such an opportunity fritter away. Soon as I thought, a traffic cop with his flailing hands, jumped in the center of the road and signaled both of them to stop. I swear I could see him salivating at the prospect of some “kamai” so early in the morning. What a way to start the day!
As happens in countless such dramas played out on our roads everyday, I fully expected the rowdies to get down, and then start their routine of cajoling, pleading, citing extremely valid reasons for such an invalid behaviour, and finally conspiratorially handing over a 50-rupee note, to be let away with a knowing smile. What followed was a complete surprise to me. Thereby this tale.
As soon as the motorcycle stopped, the pillion rider jumped down and walked with a pronounced swagger to the cop – “Oye, itna kood kyun raha hai? Hum kahin bhaage ja rahein hain kya?” (Hey, why are you jumping all over? Are we running off to somewhere?) The cop was positively astounded! After some hesitation, he tried to match up to the duo with a renewed confidence and tried to wrestle out the ignition key. The driver caught his hand firmly and snarled – “Saale, chaabi ko haath mat lagana!! Tere paon ka hi joota nikal kar itna maroonga ki bhool jayega sab kuchh!!” (#$%^&*, don't you ever touch that key! I will thrash you bad!). It was followed by a string of choicest expletives available to the Hindi language.
I could see the petrified face of the cop. He seemed to have shrunk a bit in his uniform. He beat a hasty retreat, confounded no doubt by this role-reversal, sort of. A small crowd, which had by that time gathered around, seemed equally surprised but none of them moved. Rather, most of them seemed to be enjoying his predicament.
As a law-abiding citizen, this incident should have angered me. Perverse as it may sound, at that time I actually loved it. It seemed to me a case of a doctor getting a dose of his own bitter medicine.
I would not wish this thing to be repeated. Never. But for not letting this happen again, its high time the average police personnel on the street is trained and sensitized to come out of the feudal, colonial mindset and is sensitized to the concept of human dignity and service to the people. Its then that it could expect reciprocation from your average person on the street.