tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-66970753115627170302024-03-05T08:40:11.390-08:00IndrayaniKaathiwhat is the blog about, if not mindless digression....Unknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger111125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-82782317362407029342020-10-14T01:49:00.001-07:002020-10-23T05:55:49.753-07:00TRICHUR<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana;"></span></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hyLcwj-5lsc/X4a6ruW82II/AAAAAAAAOtQ/WCbD33W8pOw6ulTSPnRDjp1DAoE32OOqACLcBGAsYHQ/s1168/light%2Bhouse.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="579" data-original-width="1168" height="318" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hyLcwj-5lsc/X4a6ruW82II/AAAAAAAAOtQ/WCbD33W8pOw6ulTSPnRDjp1DAoE32OOqACLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h318/light%2Bhouse.jpg" width="640" /></a></div><span style="font-size: large;"><br /><span style="font-family: verdana;">It was 1933, when this affair shook my
life, and I remember it led me into smoking. As a teenager I always thought it
to be a bad idea, but I was beyond twenty now, mature enough to test the
thing’s reputation as a stress reliever. One would be initiated into smoking
not with cigarettes then, but with </span></span><span style="font-size: large;"><i><span style="font-family: verdana;">beedi</span></i><span style="font-family: verdana;">. If you are from my generation
you’ll recall that cigarette was out-of-favour in the whole of India, in
deference to Mahatma Gandhi’s ‘Swadesi’ call. I’d pass hours at my
brooding-point under a clump of swaying coconut palms under the gaze of the
under-repair Tangasseri Point lighthouse at Quilon, trying to emit smoke-rings,
which was quite a task with </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">beedi</i><span style="font-family: verdana;">es, given the measly amounts of smoke
they produced. Peace reigned, to the sound of the emerald waves lapping on the
shore, kites swooping down to pick up the stray </span><i style="font-family: verdana;">matti</i><span style="font-family: verdana;"> that popped up
like a cork now and then. Good old Quilon coast! I could watch these sights but
not feel them inside, alas, given the prevailing circumstance.</span></span><p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The trademark red diagonal stripes of
the stately lighthouse were, I remember, largely blotted out by patches of
jacketing that served to mend the cracks that had sprung up here and there,
which, under the dying lights of the setting sun, looked like gnarled hands of
a bloody gigantic witch clasping the tower. And what was I doing at Quilon, I
was in attendance upon <i>Acchachan</i>, my grandfather, who lay very sick at
District Hospital, Quilon, which, on account of the skills and care bestowed
upon patients by the Swiss Holy Cross Sisters offered the best medical care in
the whole of the Travancore state.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But to fully appreciate what I relate,
you must follow me through the crazy maze of kinship that Kerala society once
was. Or like a bloody house of mirrors you may say. Vivekananda called Kerala a
‘mad-house of castes’. Even Malayalees of the present generations are surprised
to be told about unsavoury practices like <i>Mulakkaram</i>, or the breast tax,
and I suspect modern Keralites think it best to let the skeletons lie in
forgotten cupboards of society. But, this is what I feel, contemporary social
evils can all be traced to the <i>Nambudiri</i> <i>bhumi atyagraham</i> which
loosely means ‘greed for land’. And every social thing in Kerala is ultimately
traced back to <i>Parasurama</i>, who reputedly created the Kerala cosmos, and
planted Brahmin clans there. Detractors claim that the <i>Nambudiri</i>
Brahmins were created by him out of fishermen, by fashioning the fishing-rod
strings into sacred thread, that is the <i>yadhnyopavitham</i>, a claim not to
be taken seriously, for, in reality, they had migrated from the north. <i>Parasurama</i>
is still around, the <i>Puranas</i> say… <i>niṅṅaḷ dirghakalaṁ jīvikkaṭṭe
daivam</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">My <i>Acchan</i>, who harboured some
scientific curiosity loved to say that kinship in Kerala is as complex as the
theory of relativity. You’ll notice the laboured pun in the idea, concerned as
it was with ‘relatives’. Just to highlight our scientific temperament, Einstein,
like no other scientist, caught the fancy of the Malayalee mind, and it is a
matter of record, Albert Einstein was offered a Professor’s post in the
fledgling University of Travancore by the Travancore State Diwan, Sir
C.P.Ramaswamy Aiyar, for a fixed monthly pay of Rupees 6000.00! Alas he chose
Princeton over Travancore. <i>Acchan</i>, charlatan, thought that was brilliant
business, the pun and all, though I was not impressed. Not that <i>Acchan</i>
cared overmuch for others’ opinion. His manners, or as we say in Malayalam, <i>maanyers</i>
were highly boisterous, his right hand perpetually raised, seeking to imprint a high-five on the companion’s hand,
to the shriek of <i>adipoli</i>!! or <i>kidduu</i>!!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But <i>Acchan</i>’s <i>Acchan</i>,
that is <i>Acchachan</i>, was the very opposite of that- restrained and stoic,
philosophical. Kind, profound…I am somewhere in between, but closer to <i>Acchachan</i>,
I fondly hoped once..no longer, as you’ll soon witness. Apparently his genetic
imprint, and his father’s, were so dominating, my <i>Ammooma</i> always said,
that in the clan, <i>ceṟumakan mutt Acchaneaṭ samyamuṇṭ</i>- boys take after
grandfathers!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><span lang="EN-IN">Acchachan</span></i><span lang="EN-IN"> was a <i>Nambudiri</i>, so also <i>Acchan</i>,
like the Adi Sankaracharya, members of the Brahmin sub-caste considered widely
to be the acme of Vedic culture, very orthodox. A strict code of bloody
‘purity’ was built around themselves by the <i>Nambudiris</i>. Just to
illustrate, every lower caste was
prescribed a distance upto which they could accost a <i>Nambudiri</i>. For
example the safe distance to be maintained by fisher-folk was 24 arms-lengths!
But this holy whiff entirely bypassed me, in spite of my being a direct male
descendant of <i>Acchachan</i>! I was a <i>Nair</i>, not a Brahmin, but a <i>kshatriya</i>
technically. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-IN">Of course all this was to finally
change with the Madras <i>Nambudiri</i> Act 1933, and <i>Acchachan</i> was part
of the reform movement, as I shall shortly explain. But see how bloody mulish
are bad habits, here and there you will still find relics of <i>Marumakathayam</i>
or matrilineal ways in our language and culture- for example even today the
wife often addresses the husband as <i>chetta,</i> something like <i>bhaiyya! </i> So a <i>Nair</i> family consisted not of
husband, wife and children, but of brother, sister and the sister’s children
from the man who in turn inhabited in <i>his</i> family in <i>his</i> sister’s
homestead. If a</span><span lang="EN-IN"> <i>Nair</i> boy somehow happened to marry a <i>Nambudiri</i>
girl, for <i>Nair</i>s, their children would be, <i>Nambudiri</i> and vice versa, because the <i>Nambudiri</i>
was above the <i>Nair</i> in social hierarchy, even though the latter was much
smarter!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><span lang="EN-IN">Acchachan</span></i><span lang="EN-IN">, being the
first born, inherited the family estates as per the <i>Nambudiri</i> practices
and was the <i>paterfamilias </i>of the <i>illam</i>, that is the correct word
for a <i>Nambudiri</i> estate. </span><i><span lang="EN-IN">Acchachan</span></i><span lang="EN-IN"> never used his caste title, but was known to everyone as
Kesavan, and would, impishly, sign as ‘K7’. </span><i><span lang="EN-IN">Acchan</span></i><span lang="EN-IN">, that is
dad, was spared of that responsibility, and he was the youngest of <i>Acchachan</i>’s
sons. Only the eldest son could have a regular marriage, so that the
pre-eminence of the eldest son remained unquestionable, and the younger sons
had to rest content with <i>Sambandam</i>, an informal arrangement basically
for procreation. A man could enter into <i>Sambandam</i> merely by gifting a <i>mundu,
</i>in the presence of an oil-lamp, to the <i>Nair</i> girl, who belonging as
she did to a matrilineal set-up, could say <i>poda</i> to her ‘husband’ by <i>simmbly</i>
returning the bloody <i>mundu.</i> My <i>Ammachi</i>, though, I should mention,
treasured her <i>mundu</i> and kept it along with her jewellery in a private
corner of the family steel cupboard! Such was their love, <i>Acchan</i> frequently
stayed with us…</span><span lang="EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-IN">All that ended with the Madras</span><i><span lang="EN-IN"> Marumakathayam </span></i><span lang="EN-IN">Act 1933, after which no <i>Sambandam</i>
remained and the bloody thrill was gone! But while it prevailed, the maternal
uncle of children was responsible for their upbringing, not the biological
father, and the household or <i>Tharavad</i> was headed by the senior-most
lady, or the matriarch, though the real power still vested with the eldest
male, the <i>karnavar</i>..<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So I and <i>Acchachan</i> were like
two parallel lines running close like rails of a railway track, never meeting
but drawn towards a common point. He had a certain fondness for me. One, both
of us were very fair, and I bore uncanny resemblance to the child Kesavan, <i>Ammoman</i>
used to say, which was of a piece of her formula of <i>ceṟumakan muttAcchaneaṭ
samyamuṇṭ</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I and <i>Acchachan</i> had much in
common, both of us were equally drawn to literature and painting. The late 19<sup>th</sup>
century and the early 20<sup>th</sup> were the renaissance years for Malayalam
literature. Christian missionaries with their perseverance and curiosity were
the prime movers of this literary movement. The Samuel Johnson of Malayalam,
who painstakingly compiled the first Malayalam-English dictionary was German missionary, Herman Gundert. <i>Acchachan</i>
had a well-stocked library, and the most well-thumbed books in his collection were the
Malayalam-English dictionary by Gundert, the <i>Abhijnanasakuntalam</i> of
Kalidasa translated by Kerala Varma, and not the least, his beloved novel,
Chandhu Menon’s <i>Indulekha</i>, said to be the first Malayalam novel to be
written. It’s about <i>Nair</i> society, though the preoccupation of <i>Acchachan</i>
was <i>Nambudiri</i> reform, but as dad used to say, <i>Nambudiris </i>and <i>Nairs
</i>are two sides of the same coin! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">If one has to summarise the social
changes that were in the offing, one has merely to remember <i>Indulekha</i>!
The British, steeped in Victorian tradition never ceased to be horrified with <i>Nambudiri
</i>excesses, <i>Sambandam</i> marriages, and the apparent promiscuity prevalent
in society. The Church was also in a ‘reformatory’ mode, even as the Queen was
not amused. The attempts to remould Kerala society in the British mould was
bound to succeed as the Royal House of Travancore (and Cochin as well) threw
its weight behind the movement. Basically the contradictions between a society
trying to emulate the patriarchal West,
and the matrilineal systems at home became too much for the Travancore royalty.
With their sharp intellect, the ruling class read the writing on the wall and
correctly concluded that the world of the future would be dominated by the
western mode. Queen Victoria, it is said, was delighted with the famous
Travancore queen Rani Lakshmi Bayi when she refused to divorce her husband
Kerala Varma, that is the writer of the Malayalam <i>Abhijnanasakuntalam</i>,
at the behest of scheming courtiers. Queen Victoria appreciated the ‘moral
fibre’ of the Rani and gradually Christian morality percolated downwards. The
writer Chandhu Menon was himself an employee of the British administration. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Madhavi, the heroine of <i>Indulekha </i>was
the new ideal for Malayalee womanhood who wouldn’t suffer <i>Nambudiri</i>
excesses. She is dedicated to her husband, and fights back when her virtue is
questioned. Her sensibilities are very English. My <i>Acchachan</i> would
illustrate his points with instances from Madhavi’s life with such fervor that
as a child I always thought Madhavi was some real handsome lady in our
neighbourhood!<i> </i>In fact, Madhavi was the heroine’s horoscope name and <i>Indulekha
</i>was a sobriquet lavished on her on account of her beauty by Krishna uncle.
However the name Madhavi is used only by her soul-mate, that is Madhavan!
Madhavan-Madhavi, you see!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><span lang="EN-IN">Acchachan</span></i><span lang="EN-IN"> loved Raja Ravi Varma and his
paintings, every Ravi Varma tells a story he would insist. He is the creator of
the creators, and the images of various Gods that reside in the Hindu mind are
his creations! His favourite painting was </span><i><span lang="EN-IN">Ata Acchan Varunnu</span></i><span lang="EN-IN"> that is,
“There Comes Papa”. The painting depicts Ravi Varma’s daughter Mavalikera holding
the baby Setu Lakhmi Bayi, the one who, as an adult happened to impress Queen
Victoria, as I told you earlier, with the family dog beside, waiting
expectantly for the father to arrive, as if, to complete the picture of a
modern nuclear family!</span><i><span lang="EN-IN"><o:p></o:p></span></i></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So basically <i>Acchachan</i> saw the
world through English eyes and therefore found allies in the reform movement.
He would talk about V.T.Bhattathiripad, the very talented leader of the <i>Nambudiri
Yogakshema Mahasabha</i> much his junior. Known as VT, he had, just like <i>Acchachan</i>
stopped using the caste-name <i>Nambudiri</i>. Somehow <i>Acchachan</i> often
visited Trichur, where he had occasion to watch the progress of VT, who studied
at the <i>Edakunni Nambudiri School</i>, where he also edited the youth
magazine <i>Vidyarthi </i>copy of which <i>Acchachan</i> invariably came back
with. Made me read the editorial note, which of course was of no interest to
me, I would rather trawl magazines with pictures, or read the <i>Kaumudi</i>..<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The reforms attempted by the <i>Mahasabha</i>
revolved around the plight of unmarried<i> Nambudiri</i> women and <i>Nambudiri</i>
widows. The eldest <i>Nambudiri</i> son was expected to take on a <i>Nambudiri</i>
bride, or several of them, and the younger ones, like <i>Acchan</i> entered
into <i>Sambandam</i> with <i>Nair</i> girls thus leaving out one set of women:
the unmarried <i>Nambudiri</i> women who were cursed to remain life-long
virgins. A <i>Nambudiri</i> widow could not re-marry. Together they constituted
the bloody <i>‘Antherjanams’</i>, or ‘people inside the house’, meaning they
could not step out of the household, and if at all they had to, they had to
move about in a formation more like a Roman phalanx, lest the eyes of a
stranger fall on them. The system, if it can be called so, resulted in a
matrimonial gender imbalance which caused social tensions, and created
opportunity for the <i>Nambudiri</i> male to revel in debauchery, while all the
time earning <i>punyam</i>, because all this apparently had the sanctions of <i>Parasurama</i>!
The slogan VT gave was “transform the <i>Nambudiri</i> into a human being”. And
<i>Acchachan</i> with his sense of compassion and equality of all human beings
became their torch-bearer in Venad! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Nothing is as powerful as an idea
whose time has come, and so it was with the Reforms .As a result of the many
Resolutions that were passed by the <i>Mahasabha</i>, the conferences and not
the least, stage shows, the <i>Prahasanams,</i> under their aegis, a number of
legislations were enacted by the Houses of Travancore and Cochin, though the
Kerala <i>Nambudiri</i> Act was passed after Independence. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">A Plague raged in greater India in
1932-33, but thanks to the Public Health Department, which set up observation
stations at every entry point, not a single case happened in Kerala! However
fate had decided to corner <i>Acchachan</i>, and when he returned from the
Silver Jubilee celebrations of the <i>Sabha</i> held at Karalmanna near
Trichur, he developed cough, cold and high fever, which was later diagnosed as
Winter Fever, though there is hardly any winter in Kerala, only rain, rain, and
more rain! Perhaps the strain of the 300 mile journey, changing trains, from
Trichur to Sengottaii to Punalur to Quilon to Trivandrum to Attingal, got the
better of him. Of course as the crow flies the distance may be half of that. <i>Acchachan</i>,
though, was full of stories from the conference, boasting that one thousand <i>Antherjanams</i>
had participated, and was particularly impressed by the <i>Prahasanam </i>staged
by some amateurs, which he found more gripping than any <i>Nambudiri Kathakali</i>
show or any <i>Nair Kalaripayattu</i> show! My <i>Ammooma</i> administered to
him the usual turmeric <i>prasadam</i>, and the usual <i>Nambudiri</i> <i>manthrams</i>,
but <i>Parasurama</i> was unmoved, and
given <i>Acchachan</i>’s faith in Missionaries, it was decided to take <i>Acchachan</i>
to Quilon, which was, fortunately, quite close.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Naturally <i>Acchachan</i>’s choice of
companion fell on me, and I always had a sense of loyalty towards him. But it was
a sad journey. It was raining off and on and you can imagine what the Kerala
landscape would offer, looking out of the window of a train in gently falling
rain, an endless expanse of green, glassy rain-drops refracting myriad hues of
green, but that day the shade of clouds played on my gloom. The only source of
warmth was a wad of Rupees 5,000 which was entrusted with me by <i>Acchachan</i>
at the commencement of journey, not that I had designs on it, but this was the
first time I had touched so much of dough.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><span lang="EN-IN">Acchan</span></i><span lang="EN-IN"> was a Bradshaw person, and would wait
like a crow on a tree for the latest edition to arrive, and he generously
donated one of his retired copies to us, according to which the rail distance
was 40 miles, and after 2 hours of travel we reached Quilon. The <i>Mahasabha</i>
guys were waiting impatiently for our arrival. A car with a TCQ number plate
was pressed into service, and the old man, who had survived the epic journeys
of the last few days was straight put on oxygen support. Apparently the entire
admission formalities were completed by <i>Mahasabha</i> volunteers, save the
mandatory what’s-it-called, which has to be filled up by ‘next-of-kin’. The
fund for admission had been arranged before-hand by <i>Acchachan</i>, when and
how remained a mystery to me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The Quilon Hospital was a small
affair, only 15 beds. It was a revelation to me, how rich <i>Acchachan</i> was.
He was housed in the best room, with an ante-room for the attendant. Not that I
had anything to do with the treatment, the Swiss Matron Annali was around when
help was required. The main treatment as I learnt was Oxygen, for serum therapy
was not indicated in acute cases, it worked in early detection. Sulphonamides
and Penicillin were yet to be made commercially available. Fever would sometimes reach as high as 106
degrees F and <i>Acchachan</i> would become delirious. For fever, he would be
administered Salicin, which I suppose is same as Aspirin. The sisters would
resort to sponging if temperature exceeded 104 deg.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">During one such bouts, Sister Marieli
rushed out of the old man’s room, I was lazing in the ante-room. They used to
call him <i>Opa</i>, like the Tamils’ <i>Appa</i>, I thought. <i>Opa</i> wants
you quickly she said. <i>Opa</i> was struggling with a bout of delirium. I was
so worried, I stood with my legs shaking. <i>Acchachan</i> was deranged and
unhinged, expostulating and desperate to tell me something and he waved out
Sister saying <i>doore po! doore po! Vaathil adaikkoo!!!</i> Door close
please!!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">What he said next raised the hair on
the back of my neck. Does <i>Thaathri</i> know about my illness <i>Mone</i>! he
said, she will be very worried! A bolt of lightning struck me as I heard him
say <i>Thaathri</i>. A hundred years of the sordid existence of <i>Antherjanams</i>,
the meanness of <i>Nambudiri</i> society flashed across my mind. As it rose, it
abated. Relieved I remembered <i>Thaathri</i> was lost to Kerala 30 year back
and no, no, <i>Acchachan</i> could not have been one of her consorts. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I’m not sure about <i>Indulekha</i>,
but <i>Thaathri</i> was for real, the Kerala Joan of Arc virtually burnt at the
stake! Her life was not the subject of a novel like <i>Indulekha</i> by then,
but was living, earthy memory in the first half of the 20<sup>th</sup> century.
Only the previous year, that is 1932 had seen the demise of a prime character
in the saga, Rajashri Sir Rama Varma XV, who was the Cochin King during the <i>Smarthvicharam,
Thaathri’s</i> inquisition as per <i>shastras</i>.. The late King had aborted
the inquiry proceedings in 1905, allegedly as he was the next on the list of <i>Thaathri’s</i>
illicit consorts. He lent strength to this surmise by abdicating the throne in
1908. However as a matter of fact he had fallen out with the British Resident
and decided that he had enough. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;"><i><span lang="EN-IN">Thaathri</span></i><span lang="EN-IN">, is the Malayalam form of Sanskrit <i>Dharitri</i>,
earth goddess. She was a <i>Nambudiri</i> girl married to an old widower as a
mere 9 year old! <i>Thaathri</i> blossomed into an extremely beautiful girl,
apart from being wily, and so bold, I don’t think even <i>Parasurama</i> could
have looked her in her eye. But she burnt a hole in <i>Parasurama’s</i>
creation when she struck like a meteor! As a fall-out of her <i>Smarthvicharam</i>
conducted by a constellation of <i>Namudiri</i> priests, sixty-five
‘respectable’ citizens were arraigned, many were excommunicated, and a couple
of them even communicated suicide. She had painstakingly documented her
visitors’ capers, and could establish each and every intimacy, even placing
accurately the grandees’ bloody moles on thighs and all .<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">But ‘<i>Thaathri’</i> from <i>Acchachan</i>’s
mouth..<i>bhayamkara..ende ammo!</i> It was perplexing to say the least…Anyway
in <i>Acchachan</i>’s incoherent blabber <i>Thaathri</i> got transformed to <i>Chitra</i>.
<i>Chitra</i> an ex-<i>Antherjanam</i>, <i>Chitra</i>, who had a big girl and
an <i>unni </i>boy and stayed in Arimbur or Nadathara was it, in Trichur. The
old man kept on raving incoherently and largely inaudibly. Something sounded
like <i>kuṭṭikaḷe paripālikkuka </i>and <i>enne kapatabhaktan siksikkuka
Parasurama, admahatya ceyyuka,</i> weeping in spells. Do you have a beedi <i>Mone</i>!
he entreated in between! In his moments of alertness he seemed to have caught
the smell of tobacco on my persona. The bloody long and short of it was
that <i>Acchachan</i> had what Tamilians
call <i>chinna veedu</i>, little home, back in Trichur and, he felt guilty,
entreating <i>Parasurama</i> to punish the hypocrite, and worried about the
kids who were supposedly <i>Acchan</i>’s truant step-siblings, assuming
whatever the old man was spouting was real! I was avoiding his wild gaze,
nursing feelings of betrayal, anger, sorrow, pity..and wondering why the bloody
hell I came here! “Thank God <i>Chitru</i> I met you before I came back from
Karalmanna”, he said..which I construed
as circumstantial evidence for the veracity of the story…must be all true for
he had just returned from Trichur. Ha ha, and so that’s why <i>Ammooma</i> used
to wonder why he always had one foot in Trichur! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">As a result of the sponging and pills,
<i>Acchachan</i>’s temperature plunged, followed by my respect for my <i>Acchachan</i>.
The moment I dreaded arrived soon enough. <i>Acchachan</i> recovered in a
weeks’ time. Did he remember the Hamlet-like febrile soliloquy at all? Did I
really hear what I thought I heard? Was it a bad dream? <i>Acchachan</i> would
look on pensively at me, clear his throat and stop in his tracks, or so I
thought. His brain was made of sterner stuff, and on the evening before his
discharge he tentatively enquired, avoiding my glance, if in his unconscious
spells he had talked about <i>Chitra</i>. Yes, I replied curtly, and I am sorry
you are like any other <i>Nambudiri</i> yoke, that’s what you told me. <i>Acchachan</i>
sat back resigned, wisely refraining from fanning the fires.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The trauma was unbearable. Here was my
ideal, my beloved, my childhood friend, my <i>Acchachan</i>, revered <i>Nambudiri</i>
reformer of Venad, who fought for the rights of <i>Antherjanam</i>s, confessing
to an illicit liaison with an <i>Antherjanam</i>, unbeknownst to anyone! It was
as if I was carrying a bloody live grenade on my body, and which I could not
cast away. So, what was I supposed to do? Tell <i>Acchan</i>- will he launch
into a high-five? Tell <i>Ammooma</i>? Write an anonymous letter home? How
could this trespass be forgotten and forgiven? At least someone apart from me
should know..<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The journey back home appeared much
shorter than the up-journey. For the most of the time, I planted myself at the
bogie entrance, eyes trained on the telegraph poles and wires, on which could
be seen droplets of rain fall, tremblingly shuffle with the winds, coalesce and
drop down to the earth. On the <i>illam</i>, there was a grand reception, and I
was treated as a hero, who had pulled the old man from the jaws of death. <i>Acchan</i>
even had tears in his eyes, that was the first and last time I saw him like
that. <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I was in a hurry to leave Attingal as
soon as possible. I graduated that year and got a scholarship to attend the Sir
J J School of Art at Bombay. I may have turned my head away from <i>Acchachan</i>,
but the values and aesthetics internalised since my childhood were like a reluctant
legacy. An exposure to the outside world inculcated in me a more balanced and
inclusive view of morality. Gradually, the feeling of betrayal lost its sting,
and grudgingly I admitted to myself that extenuating circumstances were possible
in <i>Acchachan</i>’s case. I had not sought any further information on the how
this <i>chinna veedu</i> thing could have come about, at what stage of his
life. The episode changed my mental make-up forever. Cigarettes started getting
manufactured in India in a big way after Independence, and I could bid farewell
to the <i>beedi</i>. I became more discreet, lest I should have to harbour
secrets of my own, which I could accidentally reveal to my as yet unborn
grandchild in a bout of Pneumonia! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">The thought of spilling the beans on <i>Acchachan</i>
never arose in my mind. Our relation was sacred, I still believed, all said and
done. It would have been betrayal. But I never spoke or wrote to <i>Acchachan</i>
after I left Trivandrum. <i>Acchachan</i> could be carrying an apprehension
about my conduct, and worried about my depth to keep the secret known only to
me in the whole clan. Never did I have any interest in knowing more about our
larger family of Trichur, I ran from even thoughts about them! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">One day I was to learn that the
curtains had still not fallen upon the story. <i>Acchachan</i> left us seven
years after the fateful days spent with <i>Acchachan</i> at Quilon. I did not
feel an urge to attend his last rites, and by then the clan had grown, and I
had outgrown the clan. Shortly
thereafter I got a letter from a solicitor in Quilon. <i>Acchachan</i> had left
a letter for me with him. I was requested to call the solicitor and fix up an
appointment which reluctantly I did. I was told to be there with my
identification papers. Railways were a lot better by then, less zig-zag, or as
we say <i>sigg-sagg</i> and I reached the law-firm’s office at Quilon at the
appointed hour. The solicitor was a busy man and quite impersonally handed me a
moderately heavy envelope, after checking my identification, took my
acknowledgement, then showed me up to the door, at last uttering a few words of
condolence, which I thought was kind of him. I went back to my lodge, envelope
in my coat pocket. I carefully tore open the envelope, and out fell a steel
key, a Godrej emblem etched on the bow. There was a letter in a shaky hand
signed K7. <i>Acchachan</i> briefly thanked me for being such a valuable
company at District Hospital and securing him from the jaws of death. This is
the key to my locker in Kutchery branch of State Bank of Travancore, he wrote.
Take the key with your identification papers to the Manager and take the
contents, and surrender the key to the bank. Do not share information about
this legacy with anyone please, <i>Mone</i>! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">My return ticket was for the next
evening. At 11.00 I reached the bank and went straight to the Manager. <i>Acchachan</i>
was held in high esteem by the bank, and I was not told to come next day or
next week, as is the common practice. Go to Mrs. Thangammal, show her your
identification and access your locker, leave the key with her and take her
acknowledgement. You also have the option to get the locker transferred to your
name after opening a new account, we shall waive the Introduction, since you
already have an account with our D.N.Road, Bombay branch. We wouldn’t mind that,
that will be a blessing for you, there is a three year wait-list for our
lockers. The lady was quite efficient, had no difficulty in interpreting my
papers, took my signatures at roughly 18 places, and led me upto the locker,
and left after operating her master-key. Inside the locker there was another
envelope, which contained two wads of hundred rupee notes! Rupees 20,000!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">My heart leapt! I looked at the vault
door instinctively! The first time I held so much cash was also at the instance
of </span><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Acchachan</i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">, and now after his departure. It should have been worth 600
tolas of gold! Or a palatial house in Quilon or why even Bombay! A wave of
mortification swept through me! </span><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Narayana</i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">! Was I coveting those riches? I
replaced the wads with their envelope in the locker. It was Hush Money no
doubt. The reward of keeping the old man’s secret. It was accompanied by no
message, no missive, no explanation. He must have spent the rest of his life
under threat of being stripped of his status, his dignity. I felt sorry for him,
and livid at the same time for assuming I’d be ripe for a reward. To the best
of my knowledge about family affairs, nobody got a windfall from </span><i style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">Acchachan</i><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: x-large;">’s
testaments. That Money was, for me, untouchable, and sure I was bitter at being
presented with such a dilemma, and so crudely!</span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">Anyway I could also not leave the Money
there, I was sure the bankmen would not pinch it, it would just rot, no? I
picked the envelope and the bloody cash like a dead rat and deposited it into
my coat pocket crinkling my nose mentally, unsure how I’d dispose of it. I
informed Mrs. Thangammal of conclusion of my business on the way out, handing
her over the Godrej key. She in return handed over the acknowledgement, which I
would have certainly consigned to the waste-paper basket, had she not been
around. Strangely, she accompanied me to the main door, and from the top of the
staircase, pointed to a building. That’s the Quilon office of the <i>Yogakshemam
Mahasabha</i>, she said. Your <i>Appooppan</i> was a famous <i>Nambudiri</i>
man. My name may be Tamil, but I am a <i>Nambudiri</i>, sort of, she giggled.
There is a photograph of your <i>Appooppan</i> in the office, the <i>Maaaneger</i>
told me, you know, they have their account with us. Ha ha, the bank has nursed
the Malayalee trait of knowing everything about everyone nicely, I thought. It
was the idea of taking a glimpse of <i>Acchachan</i>’s photograph that hit me,
I was so curious. </span></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">I walked up to that dilapidated structure, and after
hesitating a bit, walked in. Only one gentleman in a clean shining <i>mundu</i>,
reading <i>Manorama</i>. The <i>Sabha</i> had fallen on bad times, with a
running battle between the members and the office-bearers going on and on, all
reported in the press. It appeared the office had no cleaning staff either. I
froze when I looked at <i>Acchachan</i>’s picture above the side window. It was
a young Kesavan. <i>Nambudiri Kesavan</i>, the legend said. Would <i>Acchachan</i>
like the “<i>Nambudiri</i>” I thought . The VT culture had perhaps ended. The
man looked up questioningly and seemed apologetic about the disarray, and said
it is now like this only saar I sayyy… <i>vera entha parayaa! </i>Suddenly the
expression turned to one of astonishment. Looking alternately at the picture
and me he said are you the nephew of Kesavan Saar who was with him in his
illness in the District Hospital? I only drove you from the station! God, you
resemble him so much! It could be you picture, I sayyy..he he he <i>ende ammo</i>!
I’m his grandson I explained. <i>Irikku! </i>Please sit saar! <i>Ninnaḷkk
keaphi kuṭikkumea</i>? Coffee? Will take some time saar he he he! The picture
we got from his home in Attingal! We lost a very great man, your uncle, I mean
your grandpa I sayyy..! Tell me, what can I do for you!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">In a flash it came ! A divine revelation! I
reached for the envelope with the cash, drew it out and placed it on the table.
A donation I said, for the <i>Sabha’s</i> work. He hastily took out the cover
and tried to comprehend the amount. <i>Ammo</i>! <i>Tondy</i>? This is more
than what I earned in my whole life! He ran for the telephone frantically, but
it was dead. He put on his slippers and started for the door, came back
breathless, saying what should I tell the Secretary, he is in Trivandrum today,
scratching his head. I said no, no, no please we don’t want publicity at all. I
have to catch the flight, give me the receipt and let me go in God’s name! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">They call me <i>Ammavan, </i>I’m<i> </i>the
Treasurer, he said, rummaging drawers for the receipt book, which took a
while...nobody donates or cares for poor <i>Nambudiri</i> women now, I sayyy…so
the receipt book is…I don’t know…but there it is, he got it out of the drawer
and dusting it he bowed to <i>Acchahcan</i>’s picture, counted the Money, and
started writing slowly like a child. Even after he dies he remembers the <i>Antherjanams</i>,
must be the biggest donation anybody gave them I sayyy…What is he writing for
Donor’s Name I wondered, without asking me my name? Seemed impolite to me to
ask. Finally he blew on the ink, carefully folded the yellowing paper, placed
it in a decaying envelope and handed it over to me, eyes moist ! <o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">What a relief! I stepped out and after
walking a dozen steps, and ensuring that <i>Ammavan</i> had retreated into the
room, took out the envelope. I opened the receipt. It was filled in cursive
letters fondly. The Donor’s Name said “<i>Nambudiri Kesavan</i>”! What a
perceptive man, <i>Ammavan,</i> I thought. Knew what the situation demanded! Or
that I looked appropriately destitute!<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;"><span lang="EN-IN"><span style="font-family: verdana; font-size: large;">So I had check-mated <i>Acchachan</i>.
The whereabouts of King Bali are not known, but <i>Acchachan</i> I’m sure is in
heaven and smiling at his <i>Mone</i>’s smartness and generosity. </span><span face="Arial, sans-serif"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p> </p>Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-88419656775255335022020-07-24T05:55:00.000-07:002020-08-01T00:44:06.669-07:00REWA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Rama was a
little girl from a Brahmin family in Rewa, then a small principality, and now a
district in Central India. Her father Pandit Dwivedi was a priest, living off
alms, that is the <i>dakshina</i> he was entitled to, for performing religious
rituals. When the girl turned eight, the father found a match and married her
off, as was the custom those days. The boy was also from a priestly Brahmin
family, the Mishras, and was fourteen years of age. On the very second day of
their marriage, calamity struck. Rama’s groom died of snake-bite, leaving her a
child-widow at a tender age. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Since Rama was
now part of another family, the so called gainers, the Mishra widow-sorority
descended upon the loser-home and took Rama into their custody. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Rama had made
such a pretty bride, in a red <i>joda,</i> red traditional bridal <i>ghunghat, </i>the
henna on her palms and feet, the shimmering gold and silver bedecking her,
forehead to toes. The Mishra-widows, three in number, claimed the distraught
girl and whisked her away against the wishes of Dwivedi and his wife. One of
the three wailed incessantly as if to the gallery, dwelling over the departed
boy and the others joined her in cursing Rama at the misfortune she had brought
upon the family. Once in the Mishras’ home, Rama’s little frame was hemmed into
the centre of the courtyard by the wedding guests and curious onlookers. The
trio first shattered her bangles, as if to illustrate her fractured future to
her. She was shorn of her bridal finery and make-up and wrapped into the
remnant of one of the senior widows’ tattered white dhoti. There was no blouse
for her, as stitching one would take some time. Rama was in no state to respond
in kind and was weeping away silently, now and then calling out to her mother.
Unbeknown to her, by then, the village barber had arrived with his unpropitious
implement-box, waiting to author the end of the Act, shearing the girl’s hair,
that is.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Rama was
understandably fond of her long golden tresses and the dreaded moment had
arrived. She had not mourned sufficiently the departure of her groom for she
was too young to contemplate the consequences yet, but the prospect of losing
her hair was immediate, and meant the loss of all that she treasured of her
persona, and she struggled to free herself from the clutches of the widows,
grieving and sobbing, succumbing to the ritual at last.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">The barber was
a kind man, but the manner and technique of shearing the locks of such a small
girl was quite repulsive. A child could not be expected to offer a stiff and
steady pate to the shearer, and the only way out was for the child’s head to be
held between the man’s knees, with the child’s face downcast. That was the socially
accepted technique. The head, held thus in a vice-like grip could be shorn
without much ado. The girl lost her hair, leaving a few bruises, on which the
barber was considerate enough to apply some turmeric paste. The hair were cast
on the pyre of the departed boy by none else than the barber. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">The girl went
through the trials and tribulations of being a Hindu child widow, but hair have
a way of growing and Rama had to be relieved of the wretched stubble every
fortnight, as per the custom. This meant a repetition of the obnoxious tonsure
ordeal twice every month, till perhaps she should carry her own head. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Mercifully, though,
the barber, who everyone called Thakur, was 65 years of age when the girl first
underwent this abominable treatment. Though his hand was steady, he was wanting
in hygiene and every fortnight Rama had to brace herself for this sweaty stench
emanating from his privates. On his part, Thakur would drag his feet till the
afternoon to arrive for the ritual, for tonsuring a child-widow was hardly a
prospect a decent person would look forward to. For this he would get
half-an-anna, and that too, at Panditji’s convenience. Rama though was quite
comfortable with Thakur as a person, he was one of the few who would genuinely
smile at her, and not consider her touch inauspicious like the others did.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Life went on
and Rama gradually adjusted to the fearsome regime. She took the starvation,
the discrimination and the apathy in her stride. She was an intelligent girl, almost
precocious, and taught herself the rudiments of arithmetic and language with
the help of her late husband’s books. She made herself useful to the family,
keeping accounts and even reading out the newspaper to her father-in-law who
was losing his eye-sight with advancing age. The Trio of senior widows too lost
its edge with the departure of the eldest, the most fiendish of the three. The
next elder struggling against arthritis, became to an extent dependent on Rama.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">But misfortune
had not yet left alone of Rama. Around three years had passed when Thakur the
barber died. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Thakur had
five sons out of which the older four were away from Rewa seeking livelihood.
The youngest was called Kanu and was eighteen. He was studying for his Matric
and was a tall strapping lad, full of verve and ambition. He was also the sole
inheritor of his father’s craft and the village counted on him. There was no
way he could abdicate his responsibility, for he was now the sole bread-winner
of the family. He was adept at his native job, having stood in for Thakur on
occasion, and embraced the family calling without qualm or demur, certain that
one day he and his family will move up the social ladder.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Even so, the
death of an inconsequential barber had some grave consequences when it came to
Rama. The technique of tonsuring her head was destined to survive the Thakur,
so ingrained was it in the situation. Given the girl’s delicate physique, there
was no other way it could have been done. Kanu had seen this hapless girl with
the large liquid eyes when he had accompanied Thakur to the Mishra home now and
then. Sensitive as he was, he had bolted from the scene when his father held
Rama’s fine cranium so awkwardly. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">On the
appointed tonsure day, Kanu played truant. Rama too had prayed the whole day to
Durga Maa for deliverance from such a mortification. Thakur was old enough to
be her grandfather, but not Kanu! Rama, having crossed puberty by then, could
not submit the way she did to Thakur. What was merely unhygienic in Thakur’s
hand threatened to become an act of depravity in his son’s. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">The next day
saw the Pandit’s wife and daughter remonstrating over the crop of hair on
Rama’s head and what it would do to the Brahmin family’s prestige. A messenger
was dispatched to Thakur’s house who reminded Kanu of his filial and religious
responsibilities, quoting extensively from the Bhagwad Gita. Kanu promised to
be there by evening, and yes, before sunset.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Rama locked
herself up in the tiny widows’ room and ate nothing the next day. I’d rather
hang myself than submit to such lechery she promised herself. Evening brought with
it Kanu and the unpropitious implement-box. The family left the two alone in
the courtyard, lest they be distracted. Kanu decided to shear the head,
carrying on in the way he would proceed with any adult. Spreading out his <i>gamcha
</i>on the stone-paved yard, with his box to his right, he made the girl sit
opposite him. Gingerly, his hands and body trembling, he held Rama’s face in
his left hand by her cheeks, thumb to her left, four fingers to the right and
placed the razor on the top of her head. This was the first time in his life he
held a girl that way. He panicked and cut a gash on her crown, and there was
blood everywhere! The turmeric paste of his however succeeded in stanching the
blood-flow, but the mission had to be abandoned for the day. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Pandit Mishra
was livid with what they had done to his court-yard. Your father was not a fool
that he did it the way he did boy, he roared. Come early tomorrow and don’t
disappoint your father again, he said pointing skywards. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">The injury and
the shower of blood had left the girl chastened and she lost all remnants of
resistance, submitting tamely the next day. After what happened to the decorous
courtyard the previous day, there was a change of venue. The ceremony was
carried out in the widows’ room, door closed, only the two inside. The job was
done quickly, observing utmost silence, skirting last evening’s gash,
presumably following Thakur’s procedure. The girl sat sobbing inside and Kanu
left hurriedly with his kit, without meeting anyone’s eye. The family sighed in
relief, and the widows sitting on a cot outside simpered.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Nothing
happened the next day, and the next, but what happened thereafter is recounted
by people of the village to this day. Kanu and Rama eloped. For me that was poetic
justice and I’m sure they lived an auspicious life at the good place that
provided shelter to them.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-41333010181702737032020-07-03T20:47:00.000-07:002020-07-04T23:39:27.763-07:00RATNAGIRI<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pzrxe5d99QY/XwAG6nNed8I/AAAAAAAAOfk/SCIrIcd-P3QOnIfjnUH_kf0YqYrLcGf9wCLcBGAsYHQ/s1600/aboli1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="272" data-original-width="367" height="474" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pzrxe5d99QY/XwAG6nNed8I/AAAAAAAAOfk/SCIrIcd-P3QOnIfjnUH_kf0YqYrLcGf9wCLcBGAsYHQ/s640/aboli1.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">ABOLI</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; text-align: justify;">In everyone’s life there’s a Summer of ’42, and I am
no exception. In my case it happened a decade ago, in 2011, which will be
remembered as the year when the magic vanished from the Indian Classical stage,
that is, when Pt. Bhimsen Joshi died.</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; text-align: justify;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There are string trios, there are piano trios, and
there are even mixed trios, like Nirvana, and we dubbed ourselves a home-grown vocal
trio, devoted entirely to Indian Classical Music, Hindustani, to be precise. Prajakta,
Rutuj and me, Prathamesh. “Accompanying Prajakta Apte on the <i>Samwadini</i>
is Rutuj Bapat and on <i>tabla</i>, Prathamesh Kulkarni”.. That is how we used
to be announced, on the stray occasion a ‘comparer’ was around..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our home Pune is different from the rest of the world
so far as Classical music is concerned. There is a sense of mission, of
ownership. The art and profession of music has reached a sort of critical mass
here. There is money in Classical music, not in a crass materialistic sense,
but in the sense of value. Our trio was not averse to worldly trappings, but
our music meant much more to us. We equated the pursuit of music to the worship
of Goddess <i>Saraswati</i>, everyone professes that, but we were Believers..guileless
Believers. We saw the Goddess in our Guru, and if you belong in Pune, you’ll
greet your senior by bending down to touch his or her feet, regardless of
whether you are a musician or not.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Prajakta, Rutuj and I. Accidentally we had come
together, like a planetary conjunction. They say, i<span lang="EN-IN" style="background: white;">t is a
truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good
fortune, must be in want of a wife. Our Pune variant is: a serious </span>vocalist with
moderate means, must be in want a ‘reasonable’ <i>tabalchi</i>, or <i>tabbalji</i>
as they respectfully say here, and a <i>peti-wala</i>. The three of us came
together in the course of random molecular motion dictated by the mechanics of
Prajakta seeking suitable accompanists. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Pune audiences will go to the world’s end to indulge youngsters
and newbies, and we could as a trio keep busy by ourselves, the three of us
were self-sufficient, in healthy complementarity<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course the star was Prajakta and people
beholding her on stage for the first time would be relieved to see that such a
decorous voice belonged to a such a pretty face…</span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Just as the default instrument in Western is the
piano, in Indian it’s vocal. The piano has fixed notes while the vocal chords
are akin to a violin. That default instrument is responsible for the way the
notes or <i>swaras</i> are defined in the respective systems. I was a physics
student who took acoustics seriously and had familiarized myself with the
science of <i>swaras</i>, based on frequencies. Prajakta was put-off by
mathematics, like most of humanity, but her intuitive <i>swara</i> was strong.
Rutuj was the happy-go-lucky type who had the intellect to understand
harmonics, but was lazy. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Indian music follows the ‘natural scale’, consisting
of the keynote, usually <i>shadja</i>, and its overtones. In the natural scale,
the ratios of frequencies of any note with the successive note on the same
scale are different. It is called the ‘just intonation’ technically and this is
the point of departure for Indian Classical and Western Classical. Western, on
the other hand uses t<span lang="EN-IN">he
‘equal temperament’ scale which involves choosing a set of notes having minimum
mutual dissonance, so as to enable a fixed note instrument like a piano to play
the widest gamut of tunes. But the Indian ragas require notes differing by
subtle shades. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-IN" style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Western classical was always in the background of my
consciousness, like a foil to the music we practised. There would be these huge
arguments between the three of us on the relative superiority of Western Classical
and Indian, Prajakta and I pitching in for, you guessed it right, Indian, while
Rutuj was enamoured of Western. I had a sneaking suspicion about the finality
of our claim, but one had to stand by one’s livelihood isn’t it? And stand by Prajakta…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Like many great Hindustani vocalists, Prajakta had this
small difficulty with the <i>tala</i>, or rhythm. A <i>tabalchi</i> has a major
responsibility in such a situation, and can make or mar the show. Aside from
stretching and bending <i>matras</i>, or beat-intervals to accommodate her erring
<i>taans</i> during concerts, I was also her <i>tala</i> tutor. You have to get
the <i>laya</i>, the grace and tempo into your body and mind, I used to tell a
nervous Prajakta before recitals. <i>Madhya laya</i> is your heart-beat. One of
her birthdays, I gifted her an electronic <i>tabla</i>, prescribing that she
set it in the morning to <i>madhya laya</i> of the <i>tala</i> to be used in
the ensuing recital, and let it play endlessly in the background, so as to
etch it in your RAM- the read-only-memory. That helped a lot and episodes of
the type I have mentioned above became rare, and Prajakta ended up calling me <i>Guruji</i>
in jest, when we took the stage. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We were young and it was human after all, the whole
world seemed full of romance. Flirting is unknown in our universe. It would
embarrass me to wake up sometimes in the night, ear-lobes flushed, choking,
feeling Prajakta’s presence around, her soft breath mixing with mine, stinging
in my nostrils like a tangy fragrance…embarrassing, for she was a fellow
pilgrim on the path leading up to <i>Saraswati</i>. Keep it platonic
Prathamesh, I would tell myself, but…hmm! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Normally accompanists cannot aspire to hang out with
the lead, but in our case, rather than fraternize with her peers, Prajakta
would abide with the two of us. We would reach the venue of our concerts on our
bikes, Prajakta riding one of the pillions. My <i>tabla</i> would be in my lap,
straddling the fuel tank. Rutuj was at a disadvantage when the pillion was
involved, for he had to secure his harmonium on the pillion, unlike me. Anyway,
even when we were travelling without our instruments, Prajakta preferred to
ride with me, for I came out as safer of the two of us. It was sheer heaven
when once in a while Prajakta’s soft frame brushed against my back. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would sometimes discern this mischievous
gleam in her eye when she alighted at the destination, her hand firmly placed
on my shoulder for support. Or was I imagining things?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Amusingly, as the green shoots of endearment emerged,
I started getting a different feel from lyrics, particularly semi-classical,
like <i>thumri</i> or <i>dadra</i>. I started comprehending the poetry of the <i>bols</i>
of the composition, which we always approached sort of mechanically.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i>Khayal gayaki</i> was always indifferent
towards the words of the compositions, and many great vocalists look upon words
as so many pegs where to hang their <i>swaras. Bols</i> could be trite, like
the usual gripe against ‘<i>saas’</i> and ‘<i>nanadiya</i>’, whether the raga
was light or sombre. Prajakta joked that the creator of most traditional
bandishes, Sadarang, was perhaps blessed with a particularly nasty mother and
sister! A big smile always appeared on her face when in the course of a recital
she came to this part. I’m not sure it happened to her, or to Rutuj, but that
was the first time I realized the emotiveness residing in allusions to rain,
clouds, the <i>piyu</i> or <i>sanwariya</i> that is beloved, in light
classical! Why only classical, even Hindi movie songs took on a new meaning,
and some of the lyricists I disdained rose in my esteem! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Prajakta was simple, uncomplicated, a bit nonchalant,
and was not ruffled easily. She did not appear overtly emotional, but once you
got to know her better, she was as sensitive as anyone else. <i>Bageshri</i>,
which moved me to tears, also affected her likewise. Rutuj was not our type. He
was so deep into each raga at an intellectual level, you could say the
familiarity bred indifference… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Prajakta had a striking built, and had a certain grace.
A habit of hers which I found endearing was her constant humming under her
breath. I read somewhere, happy people do that. Mostly it used to be some Hindi
film song based on the raga of her forthcoming recital, for which she would
practice hours on end. She avoided even listening to a raga which was close to
the one she had to sing next, for fear of contamination. She had to sing <i>Puriya</i>
once and I tuned in to <i>Marwa</i> accidentally, and boy…how she got wild at
me! Between Rutuj and me, she tried to keep equidistant. Both of us had a
tendency to look at each other’s plate so far as her attentions were concerned.
Obviously, <i>tabla</i> and the harmonium were equally important for her! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I furtively kept a tab on the number of times
she exchanged glances or nodded in approval sympathetically with either of us at
some turn of musical phrase, we ran almost even! At our jokes even, she laughed
and laughed in equal merriment! And even Prajakta’s parents, themselves musicians,
showed an equal deference to the both of us! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Our trio by and by attained a respectable status
amongst audiences, invitations trickling in mainly from upcountry places like
Aurangabad, Nasik, even Indore! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In
October, on 6 October 2011 that is, which was the <i>Dussehra</i> day, we were invited to
perform classical, followed by <i>abhang</i> and <i>bhavgeet</i> at Ratnagiri.
The recital was in the morning, and we would get to present morning ragas like <i>Bhairavs</i>
or <i>Todis</i>, which are nowadays losing out to evening and night concert
ragas like <i>Multani, Yaman </i>or<i> Kalawati</i>, as audiences prefer
evening engagements. That is the charm of <i>Diwali pahat</i> or <i>Dussehra
pahat</i>- audiences can listen to early morning ragas to their heart’s content.
<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Prajakta’s recital was arranged in the precincts of
the Thiba Palace, which was in fact a revelation for the three of us. It’s a
beautiful palace in Burmese Buddhist style built in 1910 by the British to
accommodate the deposed, incarcerated Burmese King Thibaw Min. Bal Gangadhar
Tilak, the most illustrious son of Ratnagiri was exiled by the British to
Mandalay from 1908 to 1914, and the Burmese King was exiled from Mandalay to
Ratnagiri from 1905 to 1916! Whether this reciprocity was coincidental or by
design, the Govt officials we met there could not tell..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We were to arrive in Ratnagiri on the fifth evening,
perform on the morning of <i>Dussehra</i>, that is the sixth October, and
depart for Pune on the seventh morning, thus spending two nights and a day at
Ratnagiri. The road from Pune to Ratnagiri is circuitous and we went via Amba
Valley in a cab. The journey was uneventful, but the post-rain Konkan was all
emerald green and a pleasure to behold. We had been warned that the audience
would be ‘discerning’ which somehow weighed on our minds. We were put up very
comfortably at a swank new hotel, called <i>Konkan Niswarga</i> close to the
beach and the roar of the sea and a heady oceany smell were our constant
companions. I and Rutuj were on the third floor, sharing a spacious double
room, and Prajakta, on the second floor in a similar room, which she had to
herself. Rooms number 303 and number 202, two numbers I’ll always remember.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-spacerun: yes;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The recital was scheduled for 6 morning and so we
decided to have an early dinner and turn in by 10. We took a stroll after
dinner, and Prajakta, who like all Marathi girls, had a fancy for bedecking
hair with flowers, kept looking for flower-braids made out of <i>kewra</i> and <i>aboli</i>,
for which <i>Konkan</i> is known. It’s too late for <i>gajras</i> we were told,
we assemble them at 7 in the morning, a flower-girl told us, and you’ll find me
at the local beach. We parted with the usual three-way hi-five, which was our
custom.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As is usual for Maharashtrian venues, things worked
with clockwork precision. The enclosures were full and audience, predominantly
seniors. Prajakta sang <i>Bilaskhani Todi</i>, followed by <i>Desi</i>, topped
with Abhishekiji’s <i>Bolawa Vitthal</i>, Ashatai’s <i>Kenhwa tari pahate</i>,
and ended with a Panditji’s befitting <i>Bhaja mana ram charan sukhadayi </i>in
<i>Bhairavi</i>, for which she got an encore. Indian audiences are parsimonious
so far as applause is concerned, but that day, perhaps due to the early morning
hour, sea breeze, and the classic ambience, the emotional build-up was
unmistakable and there was a spontaneous applause. Throughout the recital there
were ‘<i>kya baat hai’s</i> and ‘<i>wah, wah, wah’s</i>, mostly for Prajakta, a
few coming Rutuj’s way. Audiences pay attention to the <i>tabalchi</i> mainly in
instrumental recitals, in fact the <i>tabalchi</i> ambushes the audience till
there is an applause! However, any day, I’m not the one to upset the lead with
clap-traps. The chief guest happened to be a cashew-nut dealer, and we got a
kilo of unshelled raw cashew-nuts each, in bonus! Breakfast, or rather the
brunch was sumptuous, cooked in <i>Malwani</i> style. People came right upto
the entrance to see us off, exchanging the usual vows to invite/perform next
year, and the next! Someone would personally come to Pune with the album and
the CDs and the recordings, we were told…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suffice it to say that by mid-day, we were swimming in
an ocean of bliss and contentment. This was perhaps our best show ever. The
star of the <i>Dussehra pahat</i> was indeed Prajakta, who giggled endlessly at
our jokes, and I couldn’t keep myself from admiring her flushed cheeks and
wayward tresses all the time. A hundred waves would rush through my whole
being, when our shoulders brushed…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We were to check out by 9 next morning and we rounded
up the day after doing full justice to the aquatic delights of <i>Konkan</i>,
that is the <i>pomfrets</i> the <i>bombil, </i>and the<i> rawas. </i>It was 9
by them time we took to our beds, and the two of us instantly fell asleep,
exhausted emotionally and physically as we were… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Shortly, I woke up with a start, around 11... I did
not want to lose Prajakta! My mind sank at the thought of parting ways with her
someday! I wished to set my eyes upon her that very moment, look into her eyes,
and ask her if she’d be mine for ever! I was certain that she cared for me. And
if she said yes! The name Ratnagiri had always sounded felicitous to me, didn’t
it? On an impulse I got up, changed into a silk kurta and trousers, brushed my
hair, looked into the mirror and wished me good luck. She had her Masters’ exam
the day after, and needed to read Pt. Bhatkhande’s <i>Kramik Pustak Malika</i>
4 which she was carrying, she had told us. Rutuj was asleep, snoring mildly. I
opened the door and latched it, leaving it a little ajar. I walked on cat’s
feet, preferring to use the staircase, Prajakta’s room was the second one
towards the right. I could hear the rustle of pages turning, from the room. And
a <i>Chandrakauns</i> being hummed. I reached for the door-bell, but shrank
back, thinking it would be more appropriate to deliver a light rap, given the
unearthly hour. But suddenly I developed misgivings about the propriety of this
nocturnal mission for Prajakta’s quest. What will she think? Here we embark on a
journey to expose our blessed art, and I hasten at this hour to propose to our
Muse. I turned back, sanguine at my own decision, after all I could wait till
we reach Pune, El Dorado was only of a day away! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">I came back relieved, took refuge in my bed, and
pulled the soft quilt on my head. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It was six by the time I got up, still dark outside.
Rutuj snored happily. I emerged from the wash-room, my morning chores over,
after an hour or so, ready to take on the world! Rutuj was in jeans and a silk
kurta. Did you step out for a morning walk, you appear to have changed…I asked.
Rutuj whizzed past me towards the wash-room, mumbling something I could not
make out. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We met, the three of us, for breakfast in the
restaurant at around 8. There was a couch behind the dining table, and two
chairs opposite. Prajakta, glowing in her pink dress, an <i>aboli</i> braid
adorning her hair, eased herself in the couch, and hastily Rutuj claimed the
other couch seat, which was somewhat unlike any of us, normally we, the boys
would have taken the two chairs. They glanced at each other. Rutuj got me the <i>aboli</i>
braid in the morning, she said excitedly. Shall I tell him said Rutuj to
Prajakta, let him be the first one to know... Prajakta’s eyes were animated,
and shone, as light from the morning sun fell on her beautiful face at an angle.
Rutuj, she said haltingly, savouring each word as she spoke, knocks my door at
11.45 in the night, and standing in the door proposes to me…and Prajakta says
I’ll ask my parents first, Rutuj laughed. No, I said yes first and then told
you I should talk to my parents before we tell anybody, they’ll feel bad
otherwise. True said Rutuj, taking Prajakta’s hand, I was so nervous till your
came up and whispered Yesss through the closed door and no one was there when I
opened the door…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">This whole exchange lasted not even half a minute, and
my world came to a standstill! That explains why Rutuj woke-up in his jeans and
silk kurta, I thought. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It’s beside the point to tell you about my feelings,
but I do go over that <i>Dussehra</i> day now and then, the day my Universe
changed. I dismiss the thoughts of being a loser, it is only that at that
instance Rutuj’s instinct was superior to mine, in any case I was standing
before door number 202 half an hour before, and he happened to somehow breast
the tape before me!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-16292436524430247002019-02-02T01:17:00.000-08:002019-02-16T20:31:04.988-08:00TALE WITHOUT A MORAL<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Hello!, God bless you sons…. </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Deo borem korum</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">
! I am Julius Rebello, Father Julius Rebello. Not to be confused with Julio
Ribeiro, the feisty policeman, the…what do they say, Paadma Bibusan Ribeiro.
But names apart, there remains one more bond of mine with the old man. Both of
us were in the police force, he before his retirement, and I before my
ordainment. Only one alphabet distinguishes our ranks held last. He was a DGP,
and I, a DSP…</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Lest I forget, a word about what brings me
here. I met this precocious Catholic girl of seven who is apparently a writer
of some consequence…better than me, may the Lord bless her. I think Maria
D’Costa, or perhaps Maria D’ Silva, some Maria to be certain….as our Bishop the
Reverend Mario Castelino assures us, Maria along with her male and female
variants Mary, Mario, Mariah etc. etc. is the commonest given name on the
planet. Makes remembering less of a pain at my age…This young lady mostly writes
in the vein of Dame Agatha Christie, but with a Biblical moral at the end, and one day, after the Children’s Mass, somehow held me with her query, two queries
to be precise. One, why is there no organised crime of the Sicilian variety in
Goa, rather in India for that matter, and two, why are names like Brasi,
Sollozzo or Gonsalves, names which lend a rare menace to crime fiction, so rare
in the annals of Crime in Bharatha, that is India. God bless her! Pertinent
queries, well-meaning, not meant to offend the priestly order. After all they
were put to an ex-cop…Moreover a priest cannot refuse to address a human query
just because it is outrageous, he must measure it up against the Lord’s word. It is certainly the right of every writer to
seek fertile pastures for his or her prose, and of course as the Latin proverb
goes, <i>ut sementem feceris ita metes</i>- you reap what you sow…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But first I must address the question that
should now be uppermost in the attentive reader’s mind. Is it not oxymoronic- a
policeman-priest? Agreed, ‘tis a bit tricky, a policeman becoming a priest. But
in today’s world there is a tragic resonance between the two professions, if I
may say so. As the <i>Jesuit Post</i> succinctly puts it, both are today
“mistrusted groups with accountability issues”. Take that!</span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Aside from the philosophy of it, two practical
issues stand out. One is the working language, the
essential tool of trade. The two worlds, one, that of the Lord’s Law, the other
of Man’s Law, work on entirely different planes. The simplest way to put it,
one tongue was created by God, the other…could you guess it?! The police
vocabulary has by now been largely banished from my processes. As they say, c</span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">um
ianuam claudit Dei opens a fenestra - id est</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">, God closed a door and opened
a window, or still better, the other way round. In the ultimate analysis, aside
of prepositions, articles and conjunctions, I’d say the only word common to
Churchese and the police lingo is <i>Son</i>!</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The other conflict is more daunting, touching
upon the difference between ethics, Christian and Secular. Suppose someone from
the flock approaches the confession box and admits, within the Sacrament of
Confession, to a murder. The Lord’s commands are crisp and clear. If the subject is contrite and agrees to the
penance decided by the priest, the latter is bound to forgive the confessor in
Jesus’ name. Of course the confessor as a Catholic must abide with the
Catechism of the Catholic Church. No exception is made, whether you are an
ex-DSP or an ex-DGP or an ex-Sheriff or a Police Chaplain. I have myself spent
sleepless nights on the horns of one such dilemma, wondering whether the fact
of my being a recipient of Government pension would have any bearing on God’s
expectations from me. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, particularly 13: 1-7 is
quoted by many as the Bible’s word on obedience to earthly powers, but
according to many authorities, the interpretation is taken out of context to
‘bolster the bourgeois attitude of later Churches’, especially the Lutheran,
God bless the Lutheran brothers ! Commonsense would ordain that as Jesus made
such a huge sacrifice for us, civic rules should be held subservient to His
Gospel.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My referee Fr. Kunnankal of Our Lady of Remedios
Parish, Betalbatim, locally called the Malate
Church, also must have wrestled with the selfsame dilemma, vicariously, before
the Parish sponsored me for my ordainment at the Patriarchal Seminary of Rachol.
The first question he asked himself was <i>cur vis faciam?</i> Why should he want to do it, that too
abdicating a respectable Government service? Basically my own father had always
wanted at least one son of his to serve the Lord. Father Kunnankal adored the
sentiment, citing a…a Malay-alee proverb which roughly translates to “you will
earn equal dignity if you have a priest or an elephant in the family..” Yes, an
Elephant! I had faithfully attended the Mass, participated in Prayer Services,
received Sacraments, which helped. So, with His blessings, at Rachol I did the
three-year Philosophy course, with the Government of India chipping in with a
degree from IGNOU of Delhi, which I took as a good omen. From thence to my
parish at comely Betalbatim for my year-long Pastoral Praxis, ending with the
four-year Theology Course, finally emerging as a priest, sure, after a diaconal
stint at parishes, some near, some afar.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So why no Sicilian mafias in our Nation? Let me
don my old police hat for a moment then…Well!
In our great nation, thievery has been practised more as an Art, not as
a Science. The University of Chicago once commissioned a study of urban drug
syndicates of America, and were delighted, what else, to discover that they
were organised exactly like the McDonalds franchises, and in India one won’t be
surprised to be told that such and such McDonalds outlet is run like a Pa and
Ma store. That’s the West for you! The Orient, whether it is the spiritual walk
or the artistic sojourn, relies on Individualism. That interesting gentleman
Rabi Sankar could be sitting alone on the top of the Everest practising his
ragas, and enjoying himself in fullest measure. But a Western Classical
presentation works like giant clockwork, every cog and chime playing its part
without the isolated performer having a clue about the symphony as a whole! And
seriously I am sceptical as to the omniscience of the gentleman who waves so
frantically at the head of the whole caboodle…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Now permit me to lead you unto a<i>nno domini</i>
1961. The year of the liberation of Goa from the Portuguese yoke, or the
liberation of the Portuguese from the white man’s burthen, there are always two
opposing views. I hark back Maria D’ Sa, seven years of age, to this year of
turmoil. Here I plan to narrate my little story which as the papers of today put
it eloquently, ‘showcases’ the milieu dear Maria yearns for. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So
this happened in 1961, in the twilight period when India was rushing in to
reclaim the Goan bride, and the Portuguese were leaving Indian shores in haste.
To give an illustration of the scramble, on 9<sup>th</sup> December 1961 the
ship <i>MV India</i> arrived at Marmugao on her way from Timor to Lisbon : in
spite of the instructions of the Government of Portugal to the contrary, 700
European Portuguese broke into the ship even as the Governor General Manuel
Vassalo e Silva watched helplessly..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I was about the same age as Maria is today. It
was a great upheaval, when the old order changed, yielding place to a new
order, disorder, as many of my Catholic friends would aver. </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The mantle of western superiority our anglicised
set dons is matched only by the xenophobia the Brahmin community of Goa glories in... The
last word in this acrimonious discourse is what a perceptive Hindu Goan writer
notes: <i><span style="background: white;">I argue for a more layered
understanding of the concepts of mimicry, hybridity and resistance in relation
to identifications from these two communities</span></i><span style="background: white;">, so he proposes. I don’t know what sense this makes to
a non-Goan though..<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Returning
to our story, I don’t know what charm this childhood memory holds for me, but I
can never walk past it. Perhaps the brattiness of the kid in the story strikes
a chord, perhaps it has to do with the old Portuguese-Goan mystique, combined
with the insecurity and peril that pervaded the times. <span style="background: white;">Not that seven year old Julius had so much as an inkling of
the issues, he was a contented lad growing under the benign shade of his
grandparents.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Senhor Santiago Rebello and Senhora Ines Rebello
were the parents of my dad, my Vovo and Avo, all the three of Portuguese stock,
while my mother was a converted Brahmin. That makes me a Luso-Indian. The
marriage ended in a separation, and I, sole product of the marriage, went on to
live with my grandparents at Betalbatim, now known best for the Martin’s
Corner. Grandpa and Grandma didn’t hanker after Portugal’s hospitality and now
rest peacefully side-by-side in the cemetery at Our Lady of Remedios Church. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f20PJkbqOn8/XFVdWkO3UPI/AAAAAAAAKRI/_65yGv0A4X8dMwNFIh9SaplpFethSaIrACLcBGAs/s1600/filigree.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="500" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-f20PJkbqOn8/XFVdWkO3UPI/AAAAAAAAKRI/_65yGv0A4X8dMwNFIh9SaplpFethSaIrACLcBGAs/s640/filigree.jpg" width="640" /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">My Grandmother that is Avo Ines’s fond
possession was a priceless set of exquisite Portuguese filigree gold jewels, complete with
a viana pendant, which was supposedly now serving the fifteenth generation in
her female lineage, come to her as dowry. Pretty much of Betalbatim knew of its
existence. In an unguarded moment, given the troubled times, the set was alas,
stolen. The Police sergeant visited us <i>suo moto</i> but Grandpa, offered
help, politely declined. The moment the police left, he made a couple of calls
on the phone, and the phone replied soon enough. Grandpa spoke in Portuguese,
which was alien to me, to my generation in fact, such was the schooling. He
smiled grimly, donned his <i>jacqueta </i>and <i>sombrero</i>, and kissed Avo goodbye as he
hurriedly stepped out.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The phrase he uttered as he hung up the phone
sounded to me like “tram-carra-pour”, which rang quite exotic and amusing in my mind, and, as a kid would, I kept repeating it to myself, noisily wheeling and
carting a little metallic tramcar that was part of my toy collection. The words
had their own connotation for my Avo in the given situation and they apparently
made her tense. She asked me to cease that bratty chant of mine. In return I
asked what the words meant, she said “Lock the door”. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I discovered the significance of those words
years later when my Dad unravelled the tale to me. When the phone had rung back
that day, a friend of Grandpa had called, informing him that he was now
swigging <i>feni </i>at this small Portuguese café, and was witnessing noisy
bargaining between two men over Avo’s famous jewellery, spread-out on a corner
table. The exact words Grandpa muttered were “<i>trancar a porta</i>” which, intoned
in his rustic dialect, sounded like “tram-carra-pour”... The friend had been
instructed to lock the door of the café from outside.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The fate of the jewels became known to me
forthwith on the evening of the theft itself. Grandpa had returned home with
the missing jewellery in half-an-hour.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Hope that story assuages your curiosity to an
extent, Maria, though I am sorry I can’t detect a moral in the story the way you
so admirably spot in yours!</span><br />
<span style="background: white; color: #222222; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-71150711926090892472018-01-22T04:02:00.000-08:002018-03-02T02:12:04.368-08:00LOU: A SHORT STORY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">My
mentor in philosophy was the third Earl of Kingston, Bertie Russell, born </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">circa</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"> 1872, died 1970 oblivious of the
ardent affiliation of mine. What he once wrote is relevant to our story here-“</span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">..between
Theology and Science there lies a No Man’s Land…that’s Philosophy. Almost all
questions of most interest to the speculative mind are such as Science cannot
answer, and the confident answers of theologians no longer sound convincing...”</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">
The only improvement I have made upon his words consists in the capitalisation
of initials of some important words that are carriers of significant concepts… </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">It
was in bleak December, and Kong Beloris, my dear friend, and I were lounging at Swish, Shillong’s most
ancient café, waiting for the dense Meghalaya fog to run its course. Inside, it
was 4 in the evening, and outside, a dark freezing midnight. Bah Tito Syiem,
the Café Manager, carefully purring on a hot coffee while trotting back and
forth, waited patiently for the fog and the two remaining occupants of the café
to disperse. Kong Dr Beloris Lapang, D.Phil and I were sitting at our usual
corner table, debating the longevity of Philosophy, the subject Kong taught at
Shillong’s excellent University, NEHU, and Bah and Kong are not Khasi names,
but merely honorifics sans which gentlemen and ladies respectively may not be
addressed by you. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Kong
Beloris was lamenting the exponential decline in admissions to her Faculty,
seeking comfort in her approaching retirement from service. It was here that I dusted
and delivered the quote that forms the substance of our first para. Kong, said
I, theology and it’s surrogate, religion, are in retreat, their territory contracting
by the day. Simultaneously the canvas of science expands as she conquers territory
after territory. The scope for Philosophy is therefore that much less. That is
why philosophy as a discipline has lost fecundity and vigour. A day has to come
when the sum of annual admissions in your departments all over the country equates
itself with the sum of retirements…only replacement demand would remain! That
was certainly a prospect Kong failed to relish. I don’t expect such negative
vibes about </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">my</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"> subject from you, Carl, she said… pinching me in fun..</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">The
to-and-fro metronome movement of Bah Tito had continued in the background. All of a sudden Bah halted in his tracks,
turned around, placed his coffee mug on the mantelpiece of the fireplace which
hosted a crackling fire, rubbed his palms vigorously at the fringes of the
fire, and thus replenished with warmth, approached our corner with his Lajong
mug. Do you mind if I joined you, asked Bah,
and upon our nodding cordial assent, pulled a heavy teakwood chair.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Khublei
shibun, said he, I was listening to your conversation with some attention, an
act of mine which deserves your indulgence, for the mention of the word
Philosophy floods my mind with the memories of the delicate Lenore, Lou for
short, and Philosophy is the world where I seek solace when I try to come to terms
with her existence. Is it some kind of third-party-existentialism I felt like
asking, but the sun-and-shade of emotions that flitted across Bah Tito’s thick
brow compelled me and Kong to let Bah continue uninterrupted. Umm.. he said, in
that sense Philosophy which is perhaps a matter of theory for you, is for me an
article or a contrivance of daily use, like a bed-spread or a fishing-rod you
may say…Nevertheless, Bah Carl’s definition deals me a strange relief today,
how and why, I shall presently explain… </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Umm
I can’t help but begin with Lou’s eyes, said Bah Tito, for they had- note the </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">had</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">-</span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">
</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">had a special sparkle that lent a peculiar glow to her beautiful face,
which again, being a Khasi face, had a measure of strangeness in proportion
that Blaise Pascal would have commended- or was it Poe, or umm Poe quoting
someone in...Eleonora? Lou’s face had a
high recall quotient on account of her special eyes, and like beams of light
emanating from a car’s headlight they shone.
She was my youngest sister, 15 years in between, and when I went to fetch
her, as a little girl, from the Laitumkrah bus-drop, I would locate her easily
in the cramped Loreto school-van from a mischievous gleam of eyes sitting in a
corner, brimming with </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">joie de verve</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"> and an irrepressible curiosity about
the world in general.. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Well,
umm, Lou was the beloved of the household, and as you must have guessed, she
was the family’s khadduh- the youngest daughter, the inheritor of the family’s wealth.
Ka khadduh, amongst Khasis, is the family darling, not for any motive, but it
is a fact, simply stated, that ka khadduh is the recipient of much inquisitiveness
and adoration, and Lou was such a source of delight! </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">She
grew like the phases of the moon, blossoming into an exquisite beauty, tall,
delicate, and boys would sway when she walked down the undulating streets of
Shillong, on her high stilettos as only a Khasi girl can. Bright at school, she
was, and the Shillong Choir would sound incomplete without her. In short, a daughter
or sister to treasure, cynosure of all eyes wherever she went! A beautiful and
fulfilling future awaited her expectantly...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">She
had just turned 18 when that year’s Nongkrem arrived, the Khasi thanksgiving
festival celebrated at Smit in early winter, after the harvest, where the sacrificial
goats are offered to the Gods, and where Khasi virgins and boys congregate, to
dance in the steppe-like fields, scattering the golden hue of pure Khasi gold
ornaments and crowns to the skies, to the entrancing accompaniment of drums and
pipes...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Then
it happened. We lost Lou. She disappeared...simply vanished from the face of this
earth as it were, leaving no physical token of existence! Her friends saw her
last at the altar of Ka Pah Syntiew, on the fifth day of the festival. Frantic
messages went out to the head-men, the Lyngdohs, the Syiems...We combed the whole
of Khasi hills for her, from the heights of the Nohkalikai Falls, to the depths
of Dawki, to the wilderness of the Mawplang forest, where for 2 whole days in a
feverish trance we negotiated the arms of the castanopsises and the pinus kasia,
swaying and whistling wildly to the angry winds, side-stepping the poisonous cobra-lilies,
ferns and pipers that inhabit Lou’s beloved sacred forest. We then remembered
her obsession with Nohkalikai… </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Here
I blurted out something which I quickly realised was wholly misplaced, even as I
intoned my last word.. “ but what did the police..welll.. say”? Bah Tito gaped
at me, his mouth struck open and the only word there spoken by Kong was the
whispered word “Carl”, Kong Beloris looking at me half in disbelief, half in
amusement…a Khasi will rarely, if ever, approach the police force over family matters unless he’s sure
that an outsider was involved...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">..and..continued
Bah without allowing the sombreness of the narrative to flag...do you know how
the tallest waterfall in the world got it’s name? Poor Ka Likai had jumped in
anger and grief from the Sohra hill- that’s where the Noh comes from- when she
saw the severed fingers of her child! So..I even checked the green plunge-pool
half a mile below for our girl, to rule out the possibility of Likai having
permeated Lou’s mind..umm..</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Now
you know Sir what it is to try to come to terms with someone’s existence! One
day my dear child occupied the whole length and breadth of my world, and the
next day she was gone! Mamma and Papa were of course disconsolate. They waited
in vain all the time watching from our terrace the winding road that leads from
Laitumkrah to our abode in Lummawrie. Umm..Mamma visited various churches and
must have sacrificed at the very least a hundred roosters. Mamma hosted many a Khasi ritual, the chief being
the Egg Oracle, where the priest invokes the supreme God U Blei Nongthaw, breaks
an egg, and from the way the shell crumbles tries to divine His command. By all
indications she was very much alive and happy, so they said! How could she be
happy away from her family..duh...!Much as I wanted to share my parents’ plebeian
hopes, in the heart of hearts I feared the worst, though I must confess I would
see the likeness of Lou in every girl approaching from a distance. Philosophy
was my only succour and solace. Why did Lou go away? Ka tyrut? Khasi philosophy
never attributes a mortal departure to the will of God- the machinations of the
vicious spirit ka tyrut are believed to be behind every mortal event...and...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Umm..
Bah Tito paused, apparently in order to compose his philosophical
interpretation of the events, and also to allow the lump in his throat to
retreat....</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">”Strange
are the ways of fate” I mused absently.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Well
well, strictly speaking, we Khasis don’t believe in the way the Christian
religion treats the concept of Fate, Carl, said Kong Beloris, looking kind of
askance at me. Bah Tito nodded vigorously, for none other than NEHU’s
Philosophy department seemed to be certifying his world-view..ka kambhah
kambynta we call it, said Kong..and before she could elaborate, Bah, being
better prepared thanks to Lou, jumped the gun..Ka kambhah kambynta said Bah
Tito defines the way Fate is supposed to operate. The unborn child in her
mother’s womb is confronted by ka Lei Synshar, our equivalent of the Hindi
Brahma, with various kinds of fate and the embryo has to choose one, failing
which she or he will remain still-born. How and why had Lou chosen to
disappear? That was the question which we asked ourselves...</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">…Outside
Swish the weather was worsening, as further reinforcements of fog arrived from
the heights of Laitkor...Bah Tito’s mystery took on further lease of life..</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Umm..said
Bah years passed, the world went on and did what Father Marbaniang pompously
says- is it not ‘ </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">tempus edax rerum’</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;"> Kong? </span><i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Tempus edax rerum</span></i><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">...to be sure..Time
heals, but when..? </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Umm…about
three years after the unfortunate events, I happened to be in Calcutta. All
said and done, in spite of the emergence of Gauhati, Calcutta still remains the
umbilical cord that connects the north-east to the mainland...Umm…I had gone to
have a look at a second-hand frigidaire..there it lies in the corner... the
skies were overcast just like today, I had taken a morning-walk in the Maidan and was crossing the main-road near
Grand, when I saw a well-dressed girl emerge from the Hotel, and she..was it
Lou...? I missed a thousand heart-beats- the same stiletto-balancing walk, the
same profile and...”Lou” I yelled in spite of myself, keeping my best manners
under animated suspension. The girl froze, turned around, yes she was Lou
indeed, the same shining eyes, the same tall forehead, same garden-fresh complexion...a
bit taller…she had in the meantime covered her cheeks with her two palms like
the figure in that scream painting and exclaimed, to my surprise, “Dada”, which
is how they address an elder brother in Bengal. She regarded me most cordially
and with affection, as the whole of Chowringhee spun around me, and conscious
of the explosive potential of the situation, she hurriedly came across, held my
hand, and promised to explain to me everything once we reached her home in
Behala. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">We
clambered onto a rumbling tram, found seating easily, moving as we were against
the morning traffic, and looking out of the window I sat, the montage of the
past three years playing fitfully before me like an old movie print. Calcutta
was the only place in the world where such dénouement could have unfolded…I
consoled myself..</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Umm..Lou
was shaking nervously. We alighted at the Behala Chowrasta and reached her
home, on the second floor of a decorous building behind the Museum. There was
no one inside, seemed she stayed alone. The ambience bore the stamp of style
and affluence, to my great relief. It was unusually cold for Calcutta and Lou
was shivering. Bah Tito she asked, of course you have not given up smoking, let
me get a pack of cigarettes for you, there is a pan-shop across the street, she
picked up her purse and slid into the winding staircase. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">I
looked around the small house , it was neatly kept, as could be expected of
Lou. The memorabilia in the showcase evidenced a trip to South East Asia, with
those merlions and red-dragon images. A guitar hung beside the dresser in her
bed-room. Good, there was a picture of the Christ, which bore uncanny likeness
to the one back in our Shillong home, how this thing called habit works, I
mused. I ventured into the little balcony. It overlooked the pan-shop Lou spoke
about. I looked around but failed to spot our Lou wearing the red T-shirt with
the number 10 on the back I had noticed when I last saw her hurry down the
stairs…</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">And
that was also the last I had seen of her. The elements had again played truant,
and Lou had vanished. She never came back with the promised pack of Four
Square. </span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">We
sat in stunned silence, I and possibly Kong, trying in our minds to apportion
blame for the lost resurrection. I sighed, and just to relieve Bah Tito of the
sheer burden of misery that overtook his weather-beaten face, reminded him of
his resolve to explain the relevance of our Quote here, how it could provide
poetic relief to him.</span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"></span><span style="color: black;"></span><br />
<div style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><span style="color: black; font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace; font-size: large;">Umm..
said Bah Tito, you talked about the no-man’s- land between religion and
science, did you not? As I realise, the hand of dark-forces stands ruled out by
the fact of Lou’s reappearance. The territory of the known expands thereby, and
thence I derive peace and quiet…but Philosophy will always be there for me…my
bed and fishing-rod!</span></span></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><span style="font-size: large;"></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-47273857195832668502017-11-29T05:00:00.000-08:002017-11-29T05:00:50.151-08:00A NOBEL FOR FREAKONOMICS?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Most of us
have experienced the phenomenon of ‘time-dilation’, that is when an hour seems
endless, longer than what you’re used to, say while enduring a boring movie -or
the opposite, ‘time-contraction’- time flees and an hour seems to be over in a
jiffy, say in the company of the beloved. It’s definitely not on account of the omission of divinity to replace the ageing battery-cells of the Godly cosmic
clock…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We just
discovered that another temporal phenomenon that bugs us often, usually
ascribed to the advance of years, is but a manifestation of the same
time-ductility. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Suppose you
are reading the morning newspapers, say two or three of them, one after the
other. After the session, lasting maybe an hour, you have the urge to revisit
one of the bytes that you came across. I for one have to wrestle with the
broad-sheets in the replay, and usually the item surfaces further back in the
sequence of reading than the impression I carried. That is, it is buried under
a greater debris of time than one imagined, so to say. It may even involve
misremembering the particular newspaper you assumed carried the article..you
think it was the ET while it turns out to be the Express, which in our case
precedes other papers in the pecking order. Lots of our friends also have confessed
to that nagging feeling, though some have reported the reverse- lesser actual
time-debris than the perceived one. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Cut to
Alfred Nobel. As we all noje, the 2017 Nobel for Physiology and Hygiene (he,
he, he) went to Michael W. Young, Michael Rosbash and Jeffrey C. Hall for their
discovery of molecular mechanisms controlling our circadian rhythms, or put
simply, the biological clock. They isolated a gene (christened as the <i>Period
</i>gene) that controls the biological rhythm in the fruit fly, which was simply
the <i>causa est in manibus, </i> i.e.
case in hand, nothing special about fruit fly. The ‘Period’ gene in the fly’s
cells creates and accumulates during night, a protein named the PER, which
decays linearly, or may be exponentially, to almost ‘nil’ during the following
day, thus marking the passage of time. This is essentially the same principle
on which carbon-dating works. The accumulation of PER varies exponentially- the
rate of production of the PER dwindles as the protein accumulates in the gene,
ceasing altogether at the pre-determined full-tank level. Thus the process is
self-regulating. That in a nut-shell is what the discovery is about. Such a hullabaloo I sayyyy...! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Allied with
the discovery, we find, should be an explanation to the phenomenon of
‘subjective time’ vis-a-vis ‘objective time’. The latter is also called
‘external time’, such as the time kept by a clock, while the former is
progression of time as perceived by you, me or the humble fruit fly. The
process of decay of the PER can be affected by various extraneous factors,
impacting subjective time-lapse perception, and a possibility arises of a
divergence of the two ‘times’, for the march of external time is relentless and
unalterable. That is, for instance, why a boring college period seems to last
say an hour, when actually it was half an hour long. As college students we’d
think an Einsteinian time wave struck Don Bansal’s Determinants period, making
the passage of time so excruciatingly slow.
This shenanigan lies at the heart of the freakonomic discovery recounted
in this edition of our blog. Experts being experts call the phenomenon the
‘temporal illusion’. Literature on the
subject of TI lists illusions such as:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Telescoping
effect, wherein people tend to recall events further back in time that they <i>actually
</i>were (backward telescoping), no prizes for guessing what’s forward
telescoping,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Vierordt’s
Law</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">- shorter intervals tend to be overestimated while
longer intervals tend to be underestimated,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Time intervals encompassing numerically more
changes may be perceived as being longer
than those covering lesser numbers,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The
perceived time often shortens with motivation- boring tasks may appear longer
than they actually are,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">A
task may appear longer if the progress thereof is interrupted,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"> Between auditory and visual signals, the
former seem to drag on more,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Chronostasis</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">,
where the first impression following the introduction of a new task appears to
be extended in time. An allied effect is the <i>Oddball Effect</i>- humans
perceive duration of the initial event as greater, in a stream of identical
events,<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: Wingdings; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Wingdings; mso-fareast-font-family: Wingdings;">Ø<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Emotions
like awe, empathy, depression fear, or even age, drugs or diseases such as
Parkinson’s, tend to affect subjective impression of time elapsed.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-align: justify; text-indent: -18.0pt;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The above
elegantly explains why the <i>to </i>journey always seems longer than the <i>fro
</i> journey- check Chronostasis and
Oddball effect.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">We come back
to where we began. Our freakonomic streak suggests that in case of the
newspaper reading business, when the subjective time-continuum is projected or
mapped onto the objective time, what really happened, say, an hour back <i>appears</i>
to have occurred maybe a quarter hour back. Forward-telescoping at work. The
timespend on reading shortens in the imagination. Going by the fourth of the
foregoing bullet-points, we are relieved at the vindication of our ancient
belief that we enjoy reading papers and time has not yet taken toll of the
motivation and excitement of reading the morning paper, even though R.K.Laxman
is no more! So when trying to locate the article to be revisited, we should
rather begin at the beginning. People who look upon the task as WORK, will be
the ones succumbing to backward-telescoping, and will find the article closer
at hand! Here is a pictorial depiction of what happened: <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p> </o:p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nYV2C0y0cfjypAasi0Nat-UTSFv4iWm2M6ZJL-cNqiqKt2oH4LQTCqmeNrUVKdIiWKJS4aKM5QFnbd8wu51t4OiFMaB-d8qzuZ1TrF5a8DC3l4FymUGrCAgBWtEAK-II-6nO_18NebZJ/s1600/time-dilation.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="573" data-original-width="817" height="448" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6nYV2C0y0cfjypAasi0Nat-UTSFv4iWm2M6ZJL-cNqiqKt2oH4LQTCqmeNrUVKdIiWKJS4aKM5QFnbd8wu51t4OiFMaB-d8qzuZ1TrF5a8DC3l4FymUGrCAgBWtEAK-II-6nO_18NebZJ/s640/time-dilation.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<o:p>Amen!</o:p></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-85249593714459215932017-08-04T23:31:00.001-07:002018-09-10T00:00:42.040-07:00WHO KILLED KHANSAHEB ?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><b>Monday, 31st July 2017</b></span><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">"The figures in drama appear
predominantly as people who portray themselves rather than exist in their own
right- that is they generally appear in terms of the way they interact with
others rather than as solitary individuals"</span></i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">….wrote drama
critic Manfred Pfister, on the question of identity between the actor and his
or her Role. Vasantrao Deshpande in the role of <i>Khansaheb</i> of <i>Katyar Kaljat Ghusli</i> however remains a classic
exception to this belief. His identification with that role is so complete that
he is remembered by posterity more as <i>Khansaheb</i>, than as Vasantrao himself! For
admirers of the Marathi stage such as YT, reviling that figure would be murder-most-foul
of an icon residing in the minds of the people who care about the Marathi
theatre and classical <i>natyasangeet</i>. Alas
such a murder was committed in broad daylight, by our saffron friends in the
name of religion in a vicious and despicable manner, in the remake of the epic play
in movie form. <i>Katyar pathit khupasli-</i> dagger sunk into the back. <i>Khansaheb</i> who emerged a hero in the
Purushottam Darvhekar’s scrupulously secular play is tarred and feathered in
his movie <i>avatar</i> played by an over-rated and
over-grown child-star of Bollywood cinema. <i>O
tempora, o mores </i> is all that one can
say, and the film’s immense popularity at the box-office is simply a reflection
of the times we are passing through. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Provocative
as these antics are, we are here not to join issues with idiots, but to pay tribute
to Vasantrao on his death anniversary that went past un-noticed yesterday. VaRa
was the most unpretentious genius known to Indian Classical. He was sort of a
tiger in sheep’s clothing. This he did, not consciously or contrived-ly, but naturally
and nonchalantly, as a matter of being true to his own nature. He worked diligently
for decades as a clerk in the Central Government, last in Assam, till the great
Begum Akhtar, his soul-mate, prised him away from that <i>avatar</i>. If one
has to relate VaRa’s life to a movie, Forrest Gump it will be, the landmark
events of his life often narrated in the same droll manner as Forrest, by VaRa
himself. Who but VaRa can casually narrate this piece which concerns one of the
two greatest Marathi musical geniuses in its golden era :<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“<span style="color: #222222;">My uncle used to work in the Revenue Department (at
Kolhapur). He was on friendly terms with (artistes of) Dinanathrao Mangeshkar’s
Balwant Sangeet Mandali and would attend all of their stage dramas. I
too would accompany him. As I watched the dramas, I was gradually drawn to
the songs. Moreover, I began attempting to sing them. Inspired by
Dinanathrao’s musical style, I sang his songs in the same manner.
Everyone, especially Dinanathrao, was very appreciative of my renditions.
The road that led to his theatre passed by our house and I would
wait at the window for him (Vasanta was in his early teens then). When he
sighted me at the window, he would signal me with a wave of his hand
to join him. I would eagerly run to him and together we would go to the
theatre. On the occasions that he did not see me by the window, he
would peep in and ask, “Hey, aren’t you coming to the theatre?”</span></span></i><br />
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #222222;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="color: #222222;">[Translations: Veena from 'Vasantrao Deshpande: Ek Smaran']<br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></span></i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By
the way, Asha adapted to her father’s genre <i>natyasangeet </i>admirably and
she was coached by none other than VaRa.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">How
about this, where the name of one of the greatest composers of Hindi Cinema
crops up:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span style="color: #222222; font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“As a student of music, I had to occasionally participate
in a different type of activity. Reagent Talkies of Nagpur used to
be called “Birdie Picture House” in those days and it used to screen silent
films. Background music for the films would be provided by musicians
sitting near the screen and playing the harmonium and the tabla.
Sapre-Master would occasionally send me and C. Ramchandra for
this job. I played the tabla and Ram, the harmonium and together
we had a blast with the back-ground score. Nobody expected that the
music be suitable to the film situation...we sat there and just
played all the songs we knew.” <br />
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--></span></i><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Vasantrao,
Pu La Deshpande and Bhimsen Joshi used to be pals and would jam regularly in
Pune. When VaRa passed away, Pt. Bhimsen reputedly said “alas, <i>Marwa</i> is
no more!” <i>Marwa</i> and Vasanta were like twins and behind this lies another
of those unbelievable stories that strung together form Vasanta’s life.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">When
in his late teens, Vasanta was taken by his Mama (maternal uncle) to Lahore
where he served in the Railway, the object being to locate a <i>guru</i> for
him. An observant class-mate at school, one Khanna told young Vasanta about a <i>fakir</i>
who had made his home across the Ravi in Jehangir’s tomb at Shahdara. The <i>fakir</i>
sings the sort of things you do, so he was told. The boys trudged their way to
the <i>dargah</i>, where Vasanta heard the soul-stirring voice of the <i>fakir</i>,
who turned out to be none other than the recluse Ustad Asad Ali Khan of Agra.
I’ll teach you one <i>cheez</i> a day, but you have to give a paisa to each of
those five <i>fakirs</i> sitting there everyday, the Ustad jokingly told our
boy. Having secured the necessary financial sanctions from Mama, Vasanta would
pay the sum agreed upon faithfully, and would take down the wordings of one <i>bandish</i>
daily, the practice of notation not having arrived then. These untiring efforts
failed to impress Mama, what Vasanta was taking down were simply words, words,
and it was decided to change tack, for what was being done was no way to please
a <i>fakir</i>, Mama rightly felt. Vasanta therefore took a basket of roses, a
seer of sweetmeats and five rupees worth of <i>charas</i> to the <i>fakir</i>,
which coming from a delicate child really moved the Ustad to tears. The
customary <i>ganda</i> was tied, and Vasanta formally enrolled as a disciple. The
lessons commenced the same day. The six <i>fakirs</i> and Vasanta converged
under a dense clump of trees, sitting on the verge of the large prodigious well
there, legs dangling inside and Vasanta was asked by Asad Ali Khan to
demonstrate what he had learnt so far. Dusk had arrived by then and it was time
for a <i>Marwa</i>. Vasanta sang whatever he had learnt of <i>Marwa</i>, the
sombre notes resonating from the depths of the well. One by one, the five
companions of Asad were asked to sing <i>Marwa</i> after their respective <i>gharana</i>
tradition, and Asad Ali Khan rounded off the mehfil, landing the complex final <i>taan</i>
on the <i>sam</i> with such dexterity that the others could only bow down and
weep. Each of the five other <i>fakirs</i> was a consummate singer, having
surrendered to Sufism, abandoning the worldly way. For three months, everyday, they
sang <i>Marwa </i>and only <i>Marwa</i>, and when time came, the Ustad bade
farewell to the boy, with the words: “<i>Ek saadhe to sab kuch saadhe, sab kuch
saadhe to kuch nahin</i>!” You master one and you have mastered all…Only the <i>swaras</i>
differ, but essentially all ragas are comrades-in-arms, to be sung in like
manner. Go forth and apply the same methods to each raga, you are a most intelligent
boy, and by the grace of <i>Allah </i>you’ll go very far. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Uncanny isn’t it! Can you imagine a teen-aged seeker of music from Nagpur land on the
banks of the Ravi at Lahore, at the <i>mazaar</i> of Jehangir the Great, running
into six of the best Hindustani Classical vocalists who had renounced the world
and were now Lotus Eaters!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We’ll
talk again someday about VaRa, there is still so much to be said, but we’ll end
with another observation which relates to <i>Katyar</i>. There was hardly any money
in Classical those days, and some of the greatest of our singers such as Bade
Ghulam Ali Khan died in abject penury. Today we cannot imagine a Shreya Ghosal working
as a clerk in a bank and singing part-time, but the financial insecurity that
was VaRa’s constant companion stayed with him even after he retired, and he
took up the job of an accountant in a private business at Nagpur. On the eve of
the day he was to join, Purushottam Darvhekar, the great playwright who created
the fabulous <i>Katyar </i>approached VaRa at his residence, entreating him to
play the role of <i>Khansaheb </i>in this new play of his, in which Abhisheki<i>ji </i></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">was
rendering the music, and was keen on VaRa’s singing the lead in the play.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">This
Universe would not have been the same had Darvhekar not placed <i>Khansaheb’s
taaj </i>on Vasantarao’s humble brow!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">VASANTRAO AS KHANSAHEB</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">CHANDRAKANT LIMAYE: NOTICE THE SOFT LOOKS</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">CHARUDATTA APHALE</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CkZl5-teJ7U/WYViWUfgZ2I/AAAAAAAAHQY/tqNr6ojLlzQtdukpjnSktX6jljcJTskBACLcBGAs/s1600/rahul.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="360" data-original-width="480" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-CkZl5-teJ7U/WYViWUfgZ2I/AAAAAAAAHQY/tqNr6ojLlzQtdukpjnSktX6jljcJTskBACLcBGAs/s400/rahul.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">RAHUL DESHPANDE: GRANDSON OF THE GREAT MAN</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">MASTER SACHIN IN MOVIE: AUDIENCE <br />SUPPOSED TO THROW EGGS AT HIM</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">The awesome </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Ghei Chhand on Youtube</i></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/FIpEFqyv9YE/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/FIpEFqyv9YE?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">POST SCRIPT</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">The
only video recording of Vasantrao’s original version of the play ever made was
erased by Doordarshan in 1982 as they were running short of the medium on the
eve of Asiad. It survives only in the minds of contemporaries and all that will
be left physically for records will be the communal and divisive film, for that
is the general course on which our society is moving, and that’s a one-way
street...Chandakant <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X6RSKJURpss">Limaye's version</a> is on YT and is authentic...</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-30545298060619809812017-07-31T11:14:00.001-07:002017-07-31T11:14:57.509-07:00THE INVISIBLE HAND: SHORT STORY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">T</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">hat was a weird day- the 13<sup>th</sup> of May 2016 to be precise. It
was as if a Singularity in Time had struck Bhamori, the famous colony of
Indore, the Madhya Pradesh town where roads are plastered with the lemon-yellow
mouth-watering <i>Poha</i>, and
pavements cast in saffron, juicy <i>Jalebis</i>. Or was it that some wayward
eddies in Time had selectively lifted these cozy <i>bastis</i> and dropped them
plonk in the middle of the Bermuda triangle! Or that some invisible hand had
trained a prismatic refracting medium on the junction of two days, that is the
place where one day handshakes with the next…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">O</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ur Bhamori reporter understands
that 8 out of 10 employees of the 2 Public Sector banks in and around Bhamori did
not report for duty. Not that as a consequence the Managers coaxed the
absenting employees out of their beds or sent out the rest to drag the erring 8
to answer the call of duty, for these PSB are known to be determined to
preserve employee morale. Needless to state, the famous 8 certainly had their living
quarters in the vicinity, for the managements are alive and sympathetic on the
point of commuting woes. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">B</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ut the domino effect had extended
beyond Bhamori. On the liberally oiled jagged <i>cuddupa</i> stairs of the ancient
Malviya Nagar <i>Shani Mandir</i>, there was a moderate crowd, women bedecked
in finery, jostling for a foot-hold, gingerly holding on to bowls and cans and little
pails of oil with which they should propitiate the mighty Saturn God. A CCTV
camera, hanging above in the <i>malwa</i> skies like a bat or its Carrollean equivalent, the
tea-tray, recorded faithfully the perplexed expressions on the faces of
onlookers and passers-by wondering why so many people thronged the <i>Shani
Mandir</i> on a Friday. On their part, the <i>bhaktas </i>too were elated to
find so much elbow-room on what they believed was a Saturday or <i>Sanicchar</i>!
Witness how one man’s dynamic <i>Sanicchar </i>can be the colourless <i>Shukkar
</i>of another!</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">T</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">he epidemic of
delinquency had travelled beyond Malviya Nagar. School children of Vijay Nagar 452010 who were
supposed to be enduring their classes were found loitering on the <i>jalebi</i>
lined pavements, or sitting before their TV sets or negotiating their
playstation consoles- yessir, <i>Indori </i>kids<i> </i>are ever abreast of the
latest in technology! Mothers were the first to notice something amiss.
Although a Saturday by common consent, they could feel shades of deceit- hadn’t
Saturday arrived suddenly like an unwanted guest? Pest if you prefer?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">T</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">he tremors had wandered beyond
Vijaynagaram ha, ha. The Mechanic Nagar <i>kalali </i>, that is, the place
where the humble like you and me assemble to do what you and me would avoid
except possibly on <i>Holi</i>- imbibing in the morning- went viral as the sun
rose- a tribute to that special day called Saturday. Being a progressive place,
in Indore we observe a five day week, that is observe holidays on 5 days of the
week, he, he…joking! Nevertheless, the <i>kalali </i>was teeming with
customers, and waiters, who normally sleep on the premises were upbeat, for
they are on Saturdays mainly, at the receiving end of tips from the gentle folk
who invariably become large-hearted after a couple of pegs. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">nother place of interest
for us that quaint and curious day happened to be the nearby Bajrang Nagar
mosque where in the absence of any other mosque for miles quite a crowd assembles
for the Friday <i>Dhuhur Namaz</i>. The faithful are constrained owing to lack
of space, to spill out of the precincts, congregating on the pavements. One
could see volunteers spreading out neat <i>Namaz</i> <i>chatais </i>in
preparation for the arrival of the faithful. Passers by coming south-wards from
Bhamori and Malviya Nagar and Vijay Nagar were perplexed to observe this
frenetic activity on a <i>Saturday</i>. You will recall that Bhamori and
adjuncts formed the heart of the fragment of earth where the singularity in Time
had apparently struck this morning, refracting like a prism, a Friday to a
Saturday or vice-versa. Some cultural
event perhaps, the passers-by mused, since it was not the <i>jumma</i>. </span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">t around 11, when the May
Sun was huffing and puffing her way to the zenith, Badlu Ram and his caboodle
of 12, four sons, five daughters and three brothers-in-law, two losers, one
gainer, limped back to their homestead
in Bhamori. Assembling over tea, they evaluated the spoils: three litres approx
of oil against the customary average of 5 litres; 308 rupee coins excluding the
22 counterfeit ones, 15 five rupee coins including the counterfeit ones, three
kg of wheat flour, sundry eatables. As you rightly guessed, <i>paterfamilias</i>
Badlu Ram was a S<i>hani Maharaj, </i>the peripatetic intermediary between the <i>bhaktas
</i>and the malevolent God <i>Shani </i>or <i> Sanichhar </i>(not necessarily a <i>Brahmin </i>for
this is a market-led profession)<i>.</i> For those who came late, Badlu’s tribe
provides a sort of door-step service to the Saturn God, who by all accounts,
prefers oil and base-metal by way of offering.
The coins are reverentially cast into a small pitcher of oil carried
like a carrot on a stick by our friends, and coins being coins, tend to follow
gravity. To return to counting the currency, the haul was not even half of what
should have been found resting at the bottom of the 3 litres of oil even if you
make allowance for 5 fivers which had found way into Badlu’s gainer
brother-in-law’s trouser pockets, in anticipation of a glass of nectar served at
sun-down by the <i>kalali </i>described above. A hot debate between members of
Badlu’s team ensued. Four apostles out of the customary 12 confessed to a bit
of delinquency. There was no <i>notebandi </i>or Demonetisation to blame. The
will of <i>Shani Maharaj …</i>Badlu
thought as the pin-up of Sunny Leone on the calendar held his gaze seductively.
Eeeek! April 2016 said the folio- damn this girl, they had forgotten to turn the charmed page over- it
was May now maaan! Reaching for the newspaper he struggled to locate the date
for a while, then focussed on the date-line. Friday she said. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">A</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">nd that was the
singularity that had struck Bhamori that day.<i> </i>As the cock heralds the
morn, Saturday is the preserve of S<i>hani Maharaj </i>in our cow-belt. Their’s
is not to question why.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">L</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">ater on of course the
affected realised what a blunder-mishtake they had committed. However none else
than those had actually propitiated the Saturn God through the offices of Badlu
Ram and Co. could discover as to who the culprit in the whole episode was, so
ethereal and elusive was he!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Georgia, Times New Roman, serif; font-size: large;">R</span></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">emember someone who wrote
“Nobody ever sees a postman”. I’d add <i>Shani Maharaj </i>to Chesterton’s List.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tzSKWOfmwiU/WX9xODJSDWI/AAAAAAAAHOU/adqSSikH0Q8PfzBP7gRsmfnk9sTDP4lEwCLcBGAs/s1600/shani%2Bmaharaj.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="405" data-original-width="608" height="426" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-tzSKWOfmwiU/WX9xODJSDWI/AAAAAAAAHOU/adqSSikH0Q8PfzBP7gRsmfnk9sTDP4lEwCLcBGAs/s640/shani%2Bmaharaj.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: large;">SHANI MAHARAAJ!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-2095518575795016862017-03-26T12:06:00.000-07:002017-04-23T00:37:28.303-07:00REVOLTING PRUNES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Prunes
are dried plums. In Marathi they call them </span><span lang="HI" style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">जर्दाळू</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">,</span><span lang="TA" style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , "sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family: Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-language: TA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family: Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"> </span><span lang="TA" style="font-family: "arial unicode ms" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">சரிக்கரை பாதாமி</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> in Tamil,
</span><span lang="HI" style="background: white; font-family: "arial unicode ms" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">खुरमानी</span><span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> in Hindi and so on. This
rendering has to be qualified a wee- bit. Strictly speaking the trio refers to
Dried Apricots, whereas Prune is a dried sister fruit <i>aloo-bukhara</i> or Red-plum
and what goes under the name Prune in India is an import from California,
whereas the former set is produced locally. They share the same alleged health
benefits, being laden with Anti-oxidants, bursting with Calcium and all that.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">To cut a short story long,
the name ‘Prune’ decidedly sounds uncouth and hence in spite of a barrage of press-reports
about the newly discovered benefits the fruit confers, sales remained flat in
the US. A marketing study identified the appellation Prune as the chief
culprit, so the California Prune (not Prude) Board ‘pressured the FDA to change
the name of Prunes to the more inviting “Dried Plums”- and it worked’. This is,
<i>verbatim</i> as reported on NDTV.com, and not on aajtak.com, and hence one
may be pardoned for believing the same.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Names can be quite off-putting.
As residents on the North East we always had issues with such a beautiful place
being named ‘Guwahati’. Kamrup or even Dispur would have done more justice to
the ambience, Guwahati sounds gooey!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The disaffection with the
term Prune, in the estimation of YT, basically stems from the ‘disdain’ showed
towards the well-intentioned fruit by British Boarding School kids. Other
candidates of the ‘disdain’ could be the Broccoli and the Radio Malt which
famously, was administered to young Boarding School girls “in an attempt to
change skinny young girls into prettier roundness”. For the records, ‘as a fule
kno that’, George Molesworth, brother of the protagonist of today’s blog, Nigel
Molesworth, loved Radio Malt (which was a sort of treacle sold under the
proprietary name Syp Minadex, if seniors will recall). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PlS3Y-Shelc/WNfzVL5VHPI/AAAAAAAAEeI/2H69ytukTV8wMkrFr_mXqeps5YPKgNkzQCLcB/s1600/molesworth_400x400.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PlS3Y-Shelc/WNfzVL5VHPI/AAAAAAAAEeI/2H69ytukTV8wMkrFr_mXqeps5YPKgNkzQCLcB/s200/molesworth_400x400.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Nigel Molesworth</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Of
course ‘as a fule kno that’ is a Deep Purple hit. But as any fule kno, it’s the refrain of the adventures of the mythical boarding
school kid Nigel Molesworth, enshrined in the St. Custard diaries created by
the wayward writer-cartoonist duo of Geoffery Williams and Ronald Searle.
Searle in fact illustrated the books based on a series Jeff had been writing in
the late, lamented <i>Punch </i>magazine, in the late lamented 1940s, he, he,
he... ‘<i>Down with Skool- A Guide to School Life for Tiny Pupils and Their
Parents’ </i>is the flag-bearer of the series.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A rich genre exists in serious literature about life in British Boarding
Schools. This includes depiction of posh boarding schools as in Enid Blyton and
Angela Brazil, basically meant for educative purposes, and the satirical or
titillating variations considered by the authors of St. Trinians, St. Custards
(both Geoffery Williams and Ronald Searle), Harry Potter, Narnia etc. Any
number of movies have being made on the subject, some quite serious and
haunting like <i><a href="https://youtu.be/x05QuAhpq6o">Picnic on the Hanging Rock</a>.</i></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Nigel series belongs to the mid-1950s, when YT was born. Down with Skool fell
into his hands in the School’s History and Culture readings period when the slim
volume somehow got mixed up with the 30 identical copies of “Myths and Legends
of the Greeks” (not Geeks) which we sleepy kids were supposed to read in order
to familiarise ourselves with time-less European contexts like Hercules, Paris,
Troy, Athena etc. etc. The passage where Nigel contemplates the ‘Revolt of the
Prunes’, a word-play on the revolting taste of prunes left us rolling in the
aisle with laughter, leaving class-teacher Miss Parks wondering as to what Act
of Greek mythology could be the object of such mirth. We were caught with the
book but given the circumstances in which it befell us, she could only say “my,
my, what spellings and I don’t think words like ‘chizz’ are there in any
dictionary”….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You
can buy this book on Amazon today or borrow it from an online library like
archive.org, but as is said, the exploits of Nigel grow on you and you have to read
it at the right juncture of your life to find it hilarious, best when you are
sailing through troubled middle-school academic waters. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Let’s
return to the book’s last chapter Revolt of the Prunes. Nicholas Lezard, fellow
Molesworth enthusiast writes in the 1<sup>st</sup> October 2005 number of
Independent: ‘The school prunes, weary of the disdain they encounter among all
schoolboys stage a revolt’. Nigel in his nightmare conjures up the following:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rkCNYMUS-qs/WNgNbg373dI/AAAAAAAAEgE/CHVUGRDvNx4rYYYr4w8iZklNcj6rNNDrgCEw/s1600/Boi0yGnIgAAdh_i.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rkCNYMUS-qs/WNgNbg373dI/AAAAAAAAEgE/CHVUGRDvNx4rYYYr4w8iZklNcj6rNNDrgCEw/s400/Boi0yGnIgAAdh_i.jpg" width="237" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Prunes plan attack</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">“The
chief prune was a regular soldier and the moment the Revolt broke out, he did
what all generals do. He burrowed underground and established his
head-quarters. He had lot of relations and made them all staff prunes”.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Lezard
continues: ‘It is not, it may strike you, the most sophisticated of satires.
But if you read it at the right age, the Revolt of the Prunes- and just about
any flight of fancy on Down with Skool!...will stay with you until your
deathbed…whoever was behind the works, they knew what was going on in the mind
of a 10 to 12-year-old schoolboy..”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Contempt
for his younger brother George makes whimsy appearance even here: </span><span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">George is referred to as
molesworth 2 in the diary, and about his eating habits, prune number 4 says “
imagine being inside molesworth 2 with all those common lozenges spangles
carots radio malt and all other things he hav pinched”. Note the parsimony
showed towards the comon comma…</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So
Nigel uses phonetic spellings while writing the St. Custard diaries, doesn’t
capitalise initials of names, is very economical with punctuation marks, but
still often sounds sage beyond his years, though his interpretation of words
and events is sometimes misplaced. Needless to state, these are all reflections
of the rebellious mental make-up of Jeff, the original writer. But the
misspellings are so endearingly natural: foopball, peotry, anebode, lunatick,
fast blower (i.e. fast bowler)…look more authentic than the actual spellings!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Nigel’s
take on the subjects:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"> History</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">: <i>"History started badly and hav been getting steadily
worse” <o:p></o:p></i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><o:p> L</o:p></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">iterature</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">: <i>"Peotry is sissy stuff that rhymes. Weedy people say
la and fie and swoon when they see a bunch of daffodils."</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;"><o:p> </o:p></span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Botany</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">:<i>"Boo to birds beasts crows trees grass flowers also
cristopfer robin and wind in the wilows. Charge at the tinies and mow them
down."</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">Geometry</span><span style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: initial; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial;">: <i>"To do geom you hav to make a lot of things equal to
each other when you can see perfectly well that they don't."</i></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNoSpacing">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">
<!--[if !supportLineBreakNewLine]--><br />
<!--[endif]--><b><span style="background: snow;"><o:p></o:p></span></b></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Pythagoras
who uniformly comes in for criticism gets mixed up with Archimedes of the famous “eureka” episode. Nigel
writes : “ Whenever he found a new thing about a triangle Pythagoras who had no
shame jumped out of his bath and shouted ‘Q.E.D.’ through the streets of athens
it’s a wonder they never locked him up.” Then, critical of the Bible, he
remarks “Cain did his bro Abel which is enuff to give me an idea occasionally
about molesworth 2.”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Incidentally
this juvenile, cocky wisdom reminds one of the misinterpretation protagonist
Holden Caulfield places upon the phrase ‘catcher in the rye’ in the eponymous
book. As you’ll recall, Holden believes the phrase to mean ‘saviour of innocent
children’, in which role he fancies himself, the imagery being hundreds
children playing in rye fields, and Holden saving kids from falling off a cliff
as they play in abandon… In reality the 1782 poem by Robert Burns “<i>Comin’
Through the Rye</i>” is a middle-English poem with sexual overtones. Similar cocky
wisdom is also displayed by Huckleberry Finn when he describes his encounter
with ‘the widow’: “After supper she got out her book and learned me about
Moses…I didn’t care no more about him anymore because I take no stock in dead
people”! Incidentally, <i>Adventures</i> <i>of Huckleberry Finn, The Great
Gatsby</i> and <i>Catcher in the Rye</i> are considered the three most perfect
books in American Literature by top American critics…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">About
the illustrations by Ronald Searle in the series, Lezard writes..”I can think
of no work except perhaps <i>Alice in Wonderland.</i> Where illustration and
content are on such good terms with each other…take a look, that’s the way to
go:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5103ImWBRjo/WNf5IIOFxJI/AAAAAAAAEeY/JyK1_oDguvIIee7WPB9653AJ0NQOvujlwCLcB/s1600/skool3.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="512" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-5103ImWBRjo/WNf5IIOFxJI/AAAAAAAAEeY/JyK1_oDguvIIee7WPB9653AJ0NQOvujlwCLcB/s640/skool3.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maths with Pythagoras on my side</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1vwrU6ihk-k/WNf7933F3hI/AAAAAAAAEek/VYwx_mVgXbw8UvdCT_dUGd3QW--kbUJWwCLcB/s1600/skool1.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="252" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-1vwrU6ihk-k/WNf7933F3hI/AAAAAAAAEek/VYwx_mVgXbw8UvdCT_dUGd3QW--kbUJWwCLcB/s640/skool1.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Bet the images match your conception </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dKrGbjiemM0/WNf-yliuoSI/AAAAAAAAEfA/jrxgLz9KnvcQIqMubI_gh-tKNB0EYAwRACLcB/s1600/skool9.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="516" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dKrGbjiemM0/WNf-yliuoSI/AAAAAAAAEfA/jrxgLz9KnvcQIqMubI_gh-tKNB0EYAwRACLcB/s640/skool9.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">A Word about Aldous Huxley</span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>(wiki on St Trinians, another landmark):</b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b><br /></b></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;"><i style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"><b>St Trinians</b></i><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> was a British </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gag_cartoon" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration: none;" title="Gag cartoon">gag cartoon</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> comic strip series, created and drawn by </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ronald_Searle" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration: none;" title="Ronald Searle">Ronald Searle</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> from 1946 until 1952.</span><sup class="reference" id="cite_ref-1" style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 11.2px; line-height: 1; unicode-bidi: isolate; white-space: nowrap;"><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/St_Trinian%27s_School#cite_note-1" style="background: none; color: #0b0080; text-decoration: none;">[1]</a></sup><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> The cartoons all centre on a </span><a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Boarding_school" style="background: none rgb(255, 255, 255); color: #0b0080; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px; text-decoration: none;" title="Boarding school">boarding school</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 14px;"> for girls, where the teachers are sadists and the girls are juvenile delinquents. The series was Searle's most famous work and inspired a popular series of comedy films that has outlived the short-running cartoon series.</span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-68kZiQ7ZHgs/WNgCAQTgeBI/AAAAAAAAEfM/8YdNzhKWfW8vWFQFnz8kUy89oqp0AukwACLcB/s1600/01HFST.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="458" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-68kZiQ7ZHgs/WNgCAQTgeBI/AAAAAAAAEfM/8YdNzhKWfW8vWFQFnz8kUy89oqp0AukwACLcB/s640/01HFST.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Irresistible charm of St Trinians'girls'hostel</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v-DTprH-sds/WNgCLrBioII/AAAAAAAAEfU/GZCg_6DA91cut6ewD_6Lt2OrONViwSPIACLcB/s1600/07BTTS2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="478" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-v-DTprH-sds/WNgCLrBioII/AAAAAAAAEfU/GZCg_6DA91cut6ewD_6Lt2OrONViwSPIACLcB/s640/07BTTS2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Peace loving St Trinian girls!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvLMZ6pQ5UuMZG4FX_gZgYqGqYqZ9ygqj6f36HG1nmb_jQ3EB3ZKf1AKaPj5GIlN7r3qDZJZTmEzkPUga9uSkgPFpEP1BXEqKWXIeLdQVKDez7JEKozItngJLkm_3s4e5raGcu4-5meHD/s1600/15M%25C3%25A9disances.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="508" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqvLMZ6pQ5UuMZG4FX_gZgYqGqYqZ9ygqj6f36HG1nmb_jQ3EB3ZKf1AKaPj5GIlN7r3qDZJZTmEzkPUga9uSkgPFpEP1BXEqKWXIeLdQVKDez7JEKozItngJLkm_3s4e5raGcu4-5meHD/s640/15M%25C3%25A9disances.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">So persuasive!</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mnRCBoFgxhw/WNgCMSUPeII/AAAAAAAAEfc/lsWzGsHQ1eks5O2sQ4Dc6IYfbqdqwgv-ACLcB/s1600/21TSTS2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="424" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-mnRCBoFgxhw/WNgCMSUPeII/AAAAAAAAEfc/lsWzGsHQ1eks5O2sQ4Dc6IYfbqdqwgv-ACLcB/s640/21TSTS2.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Leading St Trinians' initiatives</span></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-31299773423743797602016-12-23T10:00:00.000-08:002016-12-24T08:26:23.802-08:00DANGERS OF A SINGLE STORY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Times
were when the population of Cartoonistan was relatively sparse. That was maybe
in the late 1950s and early 60s. Possibly famous cartoonists outnumbered prominent
Cartoon figures like Popeye, Mickey, Donald, Baby Huey, Tintin, Haddok, Archie
and Co., Blondie, Jiggs, maybe Tarzan, and on the Indian papers one recalls
Mandrake, Garth, Prof. Lumiere, the indigenous crop including Chotu and Lambu,
Tik and Tock- Chacha Chowdhary, Modesty Blaise, Simpsons belonged to a later
generation. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Toons vs Humans: watch the Movie Review columns in the Papers: animation films rule the roost-they 'garner' I sayyy...more stars than brick-and-mortar ones. Whattsmore-the world's two greatest Democracies are ruled by Toons!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cKy0wb20sNQ/WF1lEBN3ygI/AAAAAAAAD98/0rDADsewrfcCvHZbsyKzE5c8uXzcN4mwgCLcB/s1600/phantom.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cKy0wb20sNQ/WF1lEBN3ygI/AAAAAAAAD98/0rDADsewrfcCvHZbsyKzE5c8uXzcN4mwgCLcB/s320/phantom.jpg" width="226" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">So
there was this masked hood - the Phantom by Lee Falk whose ancestors set about in
the 16<sup>th</sup> century AD to save Africa from baddies. Our Phantom was the
21<sup>st</sup> in the lineage and was born Kit Walker*. There was one strip
about Phantom and the Aliens, invaders who were opening their innings on
various cartoon strips. This popular story shows a space-ship land in Bangalla,
and as luck would have it, the first human they run into is the Phantom himself.
Naturally he trounces the aliens with his usual heroics, leaving the skull mark
on the equivalent of their jaws, so that the aliens scurry back into space
assuming that the Phantom faithfully represented the inhabitants of this
planet!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">That
was a joke, OK, but the same inductive fallacy takes a heavy toll of humanity,
and wise and dumb are equally susceptible to this phenomenon of generalisation on
a single instance. You had a rowdy Punjabi neighbour, and you’ll pass a whole
life-time believing Punjabis to be an uncivilised lot. Not only that, you’ll leave
a legacy of the belief for your family, as also infect your extended family
called Facebook and Whatsthat! Kids, whose learning proceeds essentially by
observation are notorious generalisers, but so insidious is this tendency, that
your stoutest mental defence will permit of some invaders once in a while.
That’s thinking fast and slow for you (recall the famous book by Daniel
Kahneman). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Eem9JXokcos/WF1kUlNFYHI/AAAAAAAAD9w/6Oau5sTL-GwgvZnpMCdgpu2jaYWl0lq3ACLcB/s1600/26chimamanda-Ngozi-Adichie-.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Eem9JXokcos/WF1kUlNFYHI/AAAAAAAAD9w/6Oau5sTL-GwgvZnpMCdgpu2jaYWl0lq3ACLcB/s640/26chimamanda-Ngozi-Adichie-.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg792-5_f_Z-IGEVj748WImGLOF8LgTFg6GLU_WxxvCd7G2uFDWnkKD_fYhnH-OowuirHmsBjFHeTSm587kLlBsB0BdygnmqfLiUS4QpQkSddBam-nsy7vmodLptF3P97zuXjTTY5SfHRas/s1600/chimam.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="305" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg792-5_f_Z-IGEVj748WImGLOF8LgTFg6GLU_WxxvCd7G2uFDWnkKD_fYhnH-OowuirHmsBjFHeTSm587kLlBsB0BdygnmqfLiUS4QpQkSddBam-nsy7vmodLptF3P97zuXjTTY5SfHRas/s320/chimam.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">CHIMAMANDA</span></td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Chimamanda
Ngozi Adichie, the charming Nigerian writer-publisher recently created this
great TED Talks video, tellingly named “The Danger of a Single Story”. We tend
to get wedded to the first story about a person, place, thing etc., she says,
and confesses about her own acts of omission, cautious as she is. It’s like
this- you say ‘Bangladeshi’ and across your mind the visions that flash past are-
may be refugees from Bangladesh crossing over to Assam, or cheap labour, or
guys wallowing in floods. You have to go there and see with your eyes first. My
son recently visited Islamabad, attending a UN sponsored conference on Human
Rights. The first notable encounter with Pakistan will make anybody’s head
spin. Sporting a beard, he was received by clean-shaven hosts at the airport,
who apologetically requested him to occupy the middle in the pick-up car’s rear
seat. If you sit beside the driver or at the window sporting this beard of
yours, the car will be stopped and checked by Police at each nakabandi, he was
told. The Pakistani hosts confided how after each terror incident in their country, all bearded
men in the vicinity are rounded-up by police (not women, they can’t sport
beards, he, he, he..). Ditto, said my dumbfounded son, we are both like that
only, nice !<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Or
why not talk about Nigeria itself!? A Nigerian will be a drug peddler sending
fake lottery emails to the world, forgetting Nigeria is the 7<sup>th</sup>
largest oil-producing country in the world, whose per capita income is one and
three-quarter times that of India, and whose official language is English! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/D9Ihs241zeg" width="560"></iframe></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You
must watch this TED video, or you may like to read this transcript, which I
found worth being read many times over:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I'm a storyteller.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And
I would like to tell you a few personal stories</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">about
what I like to call "the danger of the single story."</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
grew up on a university campus in eastern Nigeria.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
mother says that I started reading at the age of two,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">although
I think four is probably close to the truth.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">So
I was an early reader, and what I read were British and American children's
books. I was also an early writer,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
when I began to write, at about the age of seven,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">stories
in pencil with crayon illustrations</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
my poor mother was obligated to read,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
wrote exactly the kinds of stories I was reading:</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">All
my characters were white and blue-eyed,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">they
played in the snow,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">they
ate apples, and they talked a lot about the weather,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">how
lovely it was that the sun had come out.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now, this despite the fact that I
lived in Nigeria.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
had never been outside Nigeria.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">We
didn't have snow, we ate mangoes,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
we never talked about the weather. My characters also drank a lot of ginger
beer,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">because
the characters in the British books I read</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">drank
ginger beer.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Never
mind that I had no idea what ginger beer was. And for many years afterwards,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
would have a desperate desire to taste ginger beer.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But
that is another story.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What this demonstrates, I think,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">is
how impressionable and vulnerable we are</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">in
the face of a story, particularly as children.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Because
all I had read were books in which characters were foreign,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
had become convinced that books</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">by
their very nature had to have foreigners in them</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
had to be about things with which I could not personally identify.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now,
things changed when I discovered African books. There weren't many of them
available,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
they weren't quite as easy to find as the foreign books.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But because of writers like Chinua
Achebe and Camara Laye,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
went through a mental shift in my perception of literature.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
realized that people like me,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">girls
with skin the colour of chocolate,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">whose
kinky hair could not form ponytails,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">could
also exist in literature.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
started to write about things I recognized.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now, I loved those American and
British books I read.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">They
stirred my imagination. They opened up new worlds for me.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But
the unintended consequence</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">was
that I did not know that people like me</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">could
exist in literature.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">So
what the discovery of African writers did for me was this:</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">It
saved me from having a single story of what books are.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I come from a conventional, middle-class
Nigerian family.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
father was a professor.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
mother was an administrator.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And
so we had, as was the norm,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">live-in
domestic help, who would often come from nearby rural villages.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">So,
the year I turned eight, we got a new house boy.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">His
name was Fide.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">The
only thing my mother told us about him was that his family was very poor.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
mother sent yams and rice, and our old clothes, to his family.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And
when I didn't finish my dinner, my mother would say,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">"Finish
your food! Don't you know? People like Fide's family have nothing."</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">So
I felt enormous pity for Fide's family.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Then one Saturday, we went to his
village to visit,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
his mother showed us a beautifully patterned basket</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">made
of dyed raffia that his brother had made.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
was startled.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">It
had not occurred to me that anybody in his family</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">could
actually make something.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">All
I had heard about them was how poor they were,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">so
that it had become impossible for me to see them as anything else but poor.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Their
poverty was my single story of them.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Years later, I thought about this
when I left Nigeria</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">to
go to university in the United States.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
was 19.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
American roommate was shocked by me.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">She
asked where I had learned to speak English so well,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
was confused when I said that Nigeria</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">happened
to have English as its official language.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">She
asked if she could listen to what she called my "tribal music,"</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
was consequently very disappointed</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">when
I produced my tape of Mariah Carey.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What struck me was this:</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">She
had felt sorry for me even before she saw me.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Her
default position toward me, as an African,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">was
a kind of patronizing, well-meaning pity.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
roommate had a single story of Africa: a single story of catastrophe.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">In
this single story,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">there
was no possibility of Africans being similar to her in any way,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">no
possibility of feelings more complex than pity,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">no
possibility of a connection as human equals.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I must say that before I went to the
U.S.,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
didn't consciously identify as African.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But
in the U.S., whenever Africa came up, people turned to me.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Never
mind that I knew nothing about places like Namibia.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But
I did come to embrace this new identity,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
in many ways I think of myself now as African.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Although
I still get quite irritable when Africa is referred to as a country,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">the
most recent example being my otherwise wonderful flight</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">from
Lagos two days ago,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">in
which there was an announcement on the Virgin flight</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">about
the charity work in "India, Africa and other countries."</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">So, after I had spent some years in
the U.S. as an African,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
began to understand my roommate's response to me.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">If
I had not grown up in Nigeria,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
if all I knew about Africa were from popular images, I too would think that
Africa was a place of beautiful landscapes,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">beautiful
animals,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
incomprehensible people,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">fighting
senseless wars, dying of poverty and AIDS,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">unable
to speak for themselves</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
waiting to be saved by a kind, white foreigner.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
would see Africans in the same way that I,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">as
a child, had seen Fide's family.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">This single story of Africa
ultimately comes, I think, from Western literature.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now,
here is a quote from the writing of a London merchant called John Lok,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">who
sailed to west Africa in 1561</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
kept a fascinating account of his voyage.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">After
referring to the black Africans as "beasts who have no houses,"</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">he
writes, "They are also people without heads,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">having
their mouth and eyes in their breasts."</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now, I've laughed every time I've
read this.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And
one must admire the imagination of John Lok.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But
what is important about his writing</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">is
that it represents the beginning</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">of
a tradition of telling African stories in the West:</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">A
tradition of Sub-Saharan Africa as a place of negatives,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">of
difference, of darkness,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">of
people who, in the words of the wonderful poet Rudyard Kipling,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">are
"half devil, half child."</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And so, I began to realize that my
American roommate</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">must
have throughout her life</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">seen
and heard different versions of this single story,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">as
had a professor,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">who
once told me that my novel was not "authentically African."</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now,
I was quite willing to contend</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
there were a number of things wrong with the novel,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
it had failed in a number of places,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
I had not quite imagined that it had failed</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">at
achieving something called African authenticity.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">In
fact, I did not know what African authenticity was.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">The
professor told me that my characters were too much like him,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">an
educated and middle-class man.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
characters drove cars.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">They
were not starving.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Therefore
they were not authentically African.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But I must quickly add that I too am
just as guilty</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">in
the question of the single story</span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">A
few years ago, I visited Mexico from the U.S.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">The
political climate in the U.S. at the time was tense,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
there were debates going on about immigration.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And,
as often happens in America,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">immigration
became synonymous with Mexicans.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">There
were endless stories of Mexicans</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">as
people who were fleecing the healthcare system,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">sneaking
across the border,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">being
arrested at the border, that sort of thing.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I remember walking around on my
first day in Guadalajara,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">watching
the people going to work,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">rolling
up tortillas in the marketplace,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">smoking,
laughing.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
remember first feeling slight surprise.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And
then, I was overwhelmed with shame.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
realized that I had been so immersed in the media coverage of Mexicans</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
they had become one thing in my mind,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">the
abject immigrant.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
had bought into the single story of Mexicans</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
I could not have been more ashamed of myself.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">So that is how to create a single
story,</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">show
a people as one thing,</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">as
only one thing,</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">over
and over again,</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
that is what they become.</span></i></span><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">It is impossible to talk about the
single story</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">without
talking about power</span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">There
is a word, an Igbo word, that I think about whenever I think about the power
structures of the world,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
it is "nkali."</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">It's
a noun that loosely translates to "to be greater than another."</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Like
our economic and political worlds,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">stories
too are defined by the principle of nkali:</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">How
they are told, who tells them,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">when
they're told, how many stories are told,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">are
really dependent on power.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Power is the ability not just to
tell the story of another person,</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
to make it the definitive story of that person</span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">The
Palestinian poet Mourid Barghouti writes</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
if you want to dispossess a people,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">the
simplest way to do it is to tell their story</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
to start with, "secondly."</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Start
the story with the arrows of the Native Americans,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
not with the arrival of the British,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
you have an entirely different story.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Start
the story with the failure of the African state,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
not with the colonial creation of the African state,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
you have an entirely different story.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I recently spoke at a university</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">where
a student told me that it was such a shame</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
Nigerian men were physical abusers</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">like
the father character in my novel.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
told him that I had just read a novel called "American Psycho" --and
that it was such a shame</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
young Americans were serial murderers.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But it would never have occurred to
me to think</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
just because I had read a novel in which a character was a serial killer</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
he was somehow representative of all Americans.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">This
is not because I am a better person than that student,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
because of America's cultural and economic power,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
had many stories of America.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
had read Tyler and Updike and Steinbeck and Gaitskell.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
did not have a single story of America.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">When I learned, some years ago,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
writers were expected to have had really unhappy childhoods</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">to
be successful,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
began to think about how I could invent horrible things my parents had done to
me.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But the truth is that I had a very
happy childhood,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">full
of laughter and love, in a very close-knit family. But I also had grandfathers
who died in refugee camps.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My
cousin Polle died because he could not get adequate healthcare.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">One
of my closest friends, Okoloma, died in a plane crash</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">because
our fire trucks did not have water.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
grew up under repressive military governments</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
devalued education,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">so
that sometimes, my parents were not paid their salaries.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And
so, as a child, I saw jam disappear from the breakfast table,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">then
margarine disappeared,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">then
bread became too expensive,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">then
milk became rationed.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">And
most of all, a kind of normalized political fear</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">invaded
our lives.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">All of these stories make me who I
am.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">But
to insist on only these negative stories</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">is
to flatten my experience</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
to overlook the many other stories that formed me.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">The
single story creates stereotypes, and the problem with stereotypes is not that
they are untrue,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
that they are incomplete.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">They
make one story become the only story.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> <span class="talk-transcriptfragment">Of course, Africa
is a continent full of catastrophes:</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">There are immense ones, such as the horrific
rapes in Congo</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">and depressing ones,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">such
as the fact that 5,000 people apply for one job vacancy in Nigeria.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">But
there are other stories that are not about catastrophe,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">and
it is very important, it is just as important, to talk about them.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I've always felt that it is
impossible</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">to
engage properly with a place or a person</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">without
engaging with all of the stories of that place and that person.</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">The
consequence of the single story is this:</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></i></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">It
robs people of dignity.</span></i></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">It
makes our recognition of our equal humanity difficult.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">It
emphasizes how we are different rather than how we are similar.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">So what if before my Mexican trip,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
had followed the immigration debate from both sides,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">the
U.S. and the Mexican?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What
if my mother had told us that Fide's family was poor</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
hardworking?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What
if we had an African television network</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
broadcast diverse African stories all over the world?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What
the Nigerian writer Chinua Achebe calls "a balance of stories."</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What if my roommate knew about my
Nigerian publisher,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Muhtar
Bakare,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">a
remarkable man who left his job in a bank</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">to
follow his dream and start a publishing house?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now,
the conventional wisdom was that Nigerians don't read literature.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">He
disagreed.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">He
felt that people who could read, would read,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">if
you made literature affordable and available to them.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Shortly after he published my first
novel,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
went to a TV station in Lagos to do an interview,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
a woman who worked there as a messenger came up to me and said,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">"I
really liked your novel. I didn't like the ending.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now,
you must write a sequel, and this is what will happen ..."</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> <span class="talk-transcriptfragment">And she went on to tell me what to write in the
sequel.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">I was not only charmed, I was very moved.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">Here
was a woman, part of the ordinary masses of Nigerians,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">who
were not supposed to be readers.</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">She had not only read the book,</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">but
she had taken ownership of it</span><span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment">and felt justified in telling me what to write in
the sequel.</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Now, what if my roommate knew about
my friend Funmi Iyanda,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">a
fearless woman who hosts a TV show in Lagos,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
is determined to tell the stories that we prefer to forget?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What
if my roommate knew about the heart procedure</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
was performed in the Lagos hospital last week?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What
if my roommate knew about contemporary Nigerian music,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">talented
people singing in English and Pidgin,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
Igbo and Yoruba and Ijo,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">mixing
influences from Jay-Z to Fela</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">to
Bob Marley to their grandfathers.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What if my roommate knew about the
female lawyer</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">who
recently went to court in Nigeria to challenge a ridiculous law</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
required women to get their husband's consent</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">before
renewing their passports? What if my roommate knew about Nollywood,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">full
of innovative people making films despite great technical odds,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">films
so popular</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
they really are the best example of Nigerians consuming what they produce?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">What
if my roommate knew about my wonderfully ambitious hair braider,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">who
has just started her own business selling hair extensions?</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Or
about the millions of other Nigerians who start businesses and sometimes fail,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
continue to nurse ambition?</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Every time I am home I am confronted</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">with
the usual sources of irritation for most Nigerians:</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">our
failed infrastructure, our failed government,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
also by the incredible resilience</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">of
people who thrive despite the government,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">rather
than because of it.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I
teach writing workshops in Lagos every summer,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
it is amazing to me how many people apply,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">how
many people are eager to write,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">to
tell stories.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">My Nigerian publisher and I have
just started a non-profit</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">called
Farafina Trust,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
we have big dreams of building libraries</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
refurbishing libraries that already exist</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
providing books for state schools</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">that
don't have anything in their libraries,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">and
also of organizing lots and lots of workshops,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">in
reading and writing,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">for
all the people who are eager to tell our many stories.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Stories matter.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Many
stories matter.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Stories
have been used to dispossess and to malign,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
stories can also be used to empower and to humanize.</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">Stories
can break the dignity of a people,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">but
stories can also repair that broken dignity.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="talk-transcriptpara" style="background: #F2DBDB; margin-bottom: 18.0pt; margin-left: 0cm; margin-right: 0cm; margin-top: 0cm; mso-background-themecolor: accent2; mso-background-themetint: 51; text-align: justify;">
<span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">I would like to end with this
thought:</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">That
when we reject the single story,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">when
we realize that there is never a single story</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">about
any place,</span></span><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"> </span></span><span class="talk-transcriptfragment"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">we
regain a kind of paradise.</span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">You
could count endless single stories we have in our own society. For the majority
of our majority co-religionists, a Muslim will be an enemy of the Nation and a
Dalit, a cadger of Government jobs at their cost. But can the majority survive
without their capabilities or talents? If they were not there, who would write
the Ramayana or the Constitution, or regale us with forms of literature and
arts that are unique to our sub-continent- <i>shayari</i> or Hindustani
Classical Music? <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">[*
For the Ghost Who Walks]<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-86886141761168709462016-06-15T12:16:00.001-07:002016-06-18T22:42:35.866-07:00THERE IS SOMETHING ABOUT MAINATAI*<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">YT
has been doleful witness to several events that have seared the nation. Among
them are: 1984 anti-Sikh riots in Delhi, 2008 M-Block Market, GK 1 bomb blasts,
and finally the 26/11 Mumbai attacks of the same year. Serendipity at work one
supposes, assuming serendipity is not always for the good. We happened to live
through a flash-back of 26/11 recently in a totally different context, which we
shall elaborate in the outrageously digressive traditions of this blog. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well,
the occasion was a music concert hosted in the august Yeshwantrao Chavan
Auditorium Pune. The sole performer was, hold your breath, <i>Swaryoginee </i>Dr Prabha Atre. She
sang <i>Shyam Kalyan</i> (35 mins), <i>Madhu <b>r
</b>kauns</i> not <i>Madhu-kauns</i> (34
mins), a <i><u>dadra</u> </i>in <i>Mishra Khamaj</i>,
and finally the hair-raising <i>Bhairavi</i>
sung famously at Durbar, UK- <i>jagatajanani
bhavtarini mohini tu navadurga</i>. The prayer is well on way to achieving iconic
status, with that stylised Arabic<i> </i>intonation
in the prelude. The 82 year <i>vidushi</i>
was suffering from a throat condition and had two <i>shishyaa</i>s ( <i>cf Shishya</i>s) for vocal support- one the promising Arti
Thakur, and the other an equally talented lady, wish her due recognition. Dr Atre relied on the vocal crutches
minimally, and the crutches failed her altogether when it came to <i>Madhurkauns</i>, which is understandable,
for that’s not a <i>prachalit</i> raga,
having been invented by Prabhatai yesterday. They say Kesarbai Kerkar would
plan all her concerts a whole year ahead, and rehearsals for the one coming up
would commence two months in advance, and for 12 hours a day she and the
accompanists would work exclusively on the presentation. You can’t say they
don’t make such artistes anymore, for the simple reason that there are only two
recorded instances of historical figures that took all this trouble: Kesarbai
and Bhimsen Joshi…! Yup, <i>Panditji</i> always said he learnt his
celebrated <i>taan</i>s from Kesarbai! <i>Gharana</i> is no more, good news!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/sRNg-v1Dg_4/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/sRNg-v1Dg_4?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
900 seat Yeshwantrao Chavan <i>Natyagruha</i>
in brahmin hotbed Kothrud was packed and overflowing, needless to state. In
Pune the meanest venue will fill up, whoever the artiste, and whatever the
calibre, he or she’ll be lustily cheered… Alas we noted that the average
audience age today definitely exceeds 60, and to our eyes YT @ 62, together
with <i>Missus</i>, appeared to be the babies
of the gathering! The country’s demographic dividend is not for Indian
Classical it seems, if even Pune is like that…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
most interesting feature of the crowd was that 80 % comprised ladies and only 20%
would be men. There is something about Maharashtrian women. The programme was
free, passes dispensed by a music shop opposite the hall. Bet everybody carried
their passes, but there were no attendants to check those passes, seating was
free, and at the appointed time, 5 PM, everybody was seated, and curtains went
up! The programme lasted three hours, few left early, and once thru, the
audience arose and filed out through the various exits silently, no
jostling..And yes- the <i>daad</i> was
measured, warm and delivered with precision, at the right ‘places’- <i>jaga</i>, they say in Marathi!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">We
certainly have important ideological issues with Marathi ladies, highly parochial, each of whom sees
herself in the image of Jizamata, <i>Chhatrapati</i>
Shivaji’s mother or Prabhat, Savarkar’s daughter... But there <b>is </b>something about their doggedness
when it comes to the call of duty. And yes, you cannot but generalise here. And
thereby hangs this tale which we set out to narrate in the first place... <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
<i>Chabiwala</i>-Bank-no-2’s Commercial Branch
we headed then used to be the second largest bank branch in the country, with a
business of over $ 5 bn, second only to CAG. It is housed in Atlanta building,
behind what was then Hotel Oberoi Trident. There are a couple of buildings in
between, but the back-side of the ill-fated Hotel is visible from Atlanta
through the gaps between buildings.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">By
the time the attacks started on 26<sup>th</sup> November 2008, we were home,
unaware of the unfolding tragedy. By nightfall, the entire Nariman Point area
was under curfew. We got a call from the Bank’s MD, anxious about the safety
and welfare of our men and women, some 70 in number. We were admonished against
going anywhere near our bank the next day, for the attackers were targeting
various buildings in the area, or could spill into Atlanta on the run. At 10 on
the 27<sup>th</sup> morning, the bank guard placed on the premises called us in
a state of disbelief. Five ladies, all Bombayites working in the Service branch
attached to the Commercial branch, had reported on duty. One of the old girls
took the phone and we were told about their journey in delightfully deserted
locals from far-away places like Panvel and Dahisar. After mutual consultation
they had concluded that though South Mumbai was closed, the rest of Mumbai was
not, and upcountry clients of branches will find their funds stuck, unless we
somehow open. How had they beaten the curfew? <i>Mama</i>s were very understanding, we were told. Besides though one
lane girdling the building, Vinay Shah Lane was curfew bound, the other cross
lane Jamnalal Bajaj was not, and they entered through the wicket gate! We would
never have called you up but for a little fly in the ointment. Vehicles are not
plying here and we cannot walk down to the RBI Clearing House 5 km away, so you
are requested to kindly make it convenient to come to the branch in bank car,
speak to the law and order machinery and arrange for curfew passes.
Blah…blah…blah…We were so embarrassed, we called up our driver Gopalan and the commands
of the doughty ladies were complied with. So there was no holiday for YT but
the terrorists’ evil designs upon Mumbai’s economy were properly foiled by the
ladies… In the bargain we got a ring-side view of Trident, for all day there
was nothing to do but to stare at those flames emerging from windows,
occasional terror-stricken faces, and to listen to the rat-a-tat of machine
guns …The snaps are there on our cell-phone, but cannot be published for
reasons of national security…joking he, he, he…they’re too hazy. But here are three
snaps displayed on <i>Aajtak</i> on 26<sup>th</sup>
night. They are supposed to be of the same scene- shooting of the CST attackers
near Girgaum <i>chowpatty</i>- <i>voila! </i>same place, same time, two scenarios!
They have been cited by independent Human Right agencies as evidence that
police rearranged scenes in order to foist the fiction that one of the
attackers (Kasab) was caught alive, after announcing for hours that all had
been killed! Allegedly, Kasab, a ‘stock terrorist’, was loaned to us by Nepal for
purpose of national catharsis, which would never have been achieved without the
hanging of a Muslim, anyone will do…If you remember that story <i>Andher Nagari Chaupat Raja</i>: a man- a
bearded man in the Indian context- is to be hanged. The MHA reports to the King
that the man is too tall for the gallows- the noose doesn’t strangulate. Idiots
says the King- catch a shorter bearded one and hang him…!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TTF5Ka--Hu0/V2GmEz8NNyI/AAAAAAAADEM/HjhOlXpfI4g4kOAaZJ-N_3AwA3dq44NcQCLcB/s1600/vlcsnap-6865-03-07-22h43m08s611.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-TTF5Ka--Hu0/V2GmEz8NNyI/AAAAAAAADEM/HjhOlXpfI4g4kOAaZJ-N_3AwA3dq44NcQCLcB/s640/vlcsnap-6865-03-07-22h43m08s611.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">SEEING NOT BELIEVING, SAYS AAJTAK: SAME SPOT, TWO PICTURES, COURTESY MUMBAI POLICE: THE SNAPS ARE OF THE SAME SPOT, TAKEN FROM TWO POINTS 90 DEG APART: THE LINE AND SHOES ARE COMMON</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--7CgzqRzpUI/V2GnIlMf2bI/AAAAAAAADEk/HTdDLG52VFUJz65nGTQkBMC4h4vwlggRQCLcB/s1600/vlcsnap-8781-04-15-01h07m19s567.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--7CgzqRzpUI/V2GnIlMf2bI/AAAAAAAADEk/HTdDLG52VFUJz65nGTQkBMC4h4vwlggRQCLcB/s640/vlcsnap-8781-04-15-01h07m19s567.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">AAJTAK BOSS'S PRESENCE IN MUMBAI ON 26-11 MATTERED TO AUTHORITIES: PYGMY PRESSMEN</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-st8JhVQqHzc/V2Gn5OxeevI/AAAAAAAADEs/EtoDE8_NR4MMHprnVbMUNaOdyXgb8bf-gCLcB/s1600/vlcsnap-5133-08-26-20h12m21s941.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-st8JhVQqHzc/V2Gn5OxeevI/AAAAAAAADEs/EtoDE8_NR4MMHprnVbMUNaOdyXgb8bf-gCLcB/s640/vlcsnap-5133-08-26-20h12m21s941.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">KITNE AADMI THE RE AAJTAK ?</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Congress
was in power, by the way, but IB is said to be long infiltrated by men in khaki
shorts! Congress or Jan Sangh- Gandhi or Golwalkar- they are all the same when
it comes to mis-educating the generations. Whoever bats for a group smaller
than humanity- be it cultural or national identities- Indians, Pakistanis,
Americans, or religious- Hindus, Muslims, Jews, Christians- ideological-
Communists or the Klan, businesses, linguistic <i>asmita</i>-licencees, <i>sanskritis,
</i>hobbits, drones- he or she wittingly or unwittingly bats for arms dealers, corrupt politicians,
crazy Generals, influence peddlers, drug-lords …in short, enemies of humanity…and
deserves to be certified…Unfortunately, in India, an asylum for the sane would
go empty (apologies, G.B Shaw)! <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cgUrqB879JQ/V2WBB1nGesI/AAAAAAAADGM/zijY78DluGkQ_Ti1-XpKKf_3z-5_076lgCLcB/s1600/img_1607.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="358" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-cgUrqB879JQ/V2WBB1nGesI/AAAAAAAADGM/zijY78DluGkQ_Ti1-XpKKf_3z-5_076lgCLcB/s640/img_1607.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">HOW MUMBAI GIRLS MAKE MOST OF HECTIC HOURS: ON FESTIVALS THEY'LL COME BEDECKED IN FINERY AND HOLD A HALDI-KUNKU IF IT GOES WITH OCCASION<br /></span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9pV4bZOrT5U/V2WCfL5z7WI/AAAAAAAADGY/nhgaYolhg1gbvyCdHylQLkqVumamqHh-ACLcB/s1600/20140529_191234%255B1%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="386" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-9pV4bZOrT5U/V2WCfL5z7WI/AAAAAAAADGY/nhgaYolhg1gbvyCdHylQLkqVumamqHh-ACLcB/s640/20140529_191234%255B1%255D.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">RANGOLI DRAWN BY A COLLEAGUE IN OFFICE: PLENTY OF ARTISTES</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jzpGF8i6KBE/V2WDhCBVc0I/AAAAAAAADGk/LLIJIMbN_pgQU1qRBl0L_sL44Dg9vIMvgCLcB/s1600/20141001_223843.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="384" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jzpGF8i6KBE/V2WDhCBVc0I/AAAAAAAADGk/LLIJIMbN_pgQU1qRBl0L_sL44Dg9vIMvgCLcB/s640/20141001_223843.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 12.8px;"><span style="font-size: small;">YOURS TRULY: DRESSED AS AAM AADMI FOR REHEARSAL</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">*Mainatai is a uniquely Marathi first name and vice-versa!</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-64297775439362034412016-04-30T01:39:00.000-07:002017-03-22T21:49:37.200-07:00USTAD AHJ KHAN HAUNTS DAVE BRUBECK<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Returning
to the topic of the Indian Connection in world music, we recall our post on pioneering
</span><a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2013/03/auchit-podlom-tujea-mogan-goa.html" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">Goan film music arrangers</a><span style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">, who drew heavily on western rock and jazz pieces
without anybody looking askance, simply because they, in the first place, were
co-creators of these genres.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In
the late nineteen-fifties, the American Government, in order to live down the
country’s reputation on racial discrimination, decided to show-case Jazz, a
product of Afro-American cohabitation, before the world at large, and the
greatest names of Jazz were paid to criss-cross the globe. The results were rewarding
to both sides, to say the least. Dave Brubeck was one of the greats of Jazz who
visited Bombay in that phase. The Dave Brubeck Quartet was responsible for
making ‘Take Five’ composed by Paul Desmond possibly the greatest Single in the
history of Jazz. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">A
word about Take Five. We had occasion to allude to the principal requisite for
a composition to qualify for the Jazz tag: the asymmetry between the rhythm and
the melody. The closest to the Indian Classical experience is the phenomenon
reputedly invented by Amir Khusro, wherein the melody breaks step with the <i>tala, </i>only to converge on a later <i>sam </i>after the least common multiple of
the two streams has been played out…The time signature symbol of Take Five is a
4 topped by 5, something like 5/4, which indicates that there are 5 beats to a
bar with <i>quarter</i> note-value in the
accompanying melody. In Indian terminology this roughly means that the <i>tala</i> is of 5 or 5*x <i>matras</i>, while the notes accommodated in each cycle are 4 in number.
As for ‘bar’, if we were to put down <i>teen-taal
</i>notionally on a music sheet, there will be 16 intervals bar to bar. Take
Five sounds incredibly sweet to YT:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.4px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/vmDDOFXSgAs" width="420"></iframe></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The
visit of Brubeck and friends and their extraordinary voyage of discovery has
been chronicled by Naresh Fernandes in his blog. In Bombay a Jam Session was
arranged in which <b><i>IK</i></b>’s sitar muse Ustad Abdul Halim Jaffer Khan participated.
Here is what Fernandes writes:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i>One evening the pianist Dave Brubeck and his
quartet gathered in the home of a jazz-loving industrialist on Mumbai’s Malabar
Hills to chat with a group of Indian Musicians led by the sitar maestro Abdul
Halim Jaffer Khan. They picked up their instruments and put their new knowledge
to work. The jam session, the American pianist said later, changed the way he
approached his art. “His (the Ustad’s) influence made me play in a different
way,” Mr. Brubeck told Jazz Journal International. “Although Hindu scales,
melodies and harmonies are different, we </i>understood <i>each other…the folk origins of music aren’t far apart anywhere in the
world.”<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Z2OqlaV9-Q/VyRuE3VdAUI/AAAAAAAACMA/HKgzz9pdtnA2yqU0By_dz_iZ1eTOkRhxACLcB/s1600/brubeck.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="422" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7Z2OqlaV9-Q/VyRuE3VdAUI/AAAAAAAACMA/HKgzz9pdtnA2yqU0By_dz_iZ1eTOkRhxACLcB/s640/brubeck.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">USTAD JAMS WITH QUARTET</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Ustad’s influence is lasting and cerebral, going beyond the cosmetic ‘fusion’ Param
Vir </span><a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2015/06/fusion-lakme-to-param-vir.html" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">talked about in this post</a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">. What a tribute to AHJK the Musician’s Musician</span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">as we once called him, be sure we shall
find out what the Ustad has to say about it when we visit him this </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Guru Purnima, </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">that’s when he is annually
feted by his disciples and fans….the article of curiosity will be the reverse flow- how was AHJK influenced by Dave...</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">PS: not to forget the insight offered by Brubeck on the Unity of the musical Godhead!</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-55995382286818832652016-03-04T07:02:00.000-08:002019-02-05T00:33:43.173-08:00JHINJHOTI: CINDERELLA RAGA<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">A</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">n abiding
belief of <b><i>IK</i></b> has been that all songs are great, some great by birth, some
which achieve greatness, and others which have greatness thrust upon them, ha,
ha, ha…The ‘boring ragas’ with bright prospects we talked about in <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2013/07/with-lata-around-dullest-raga-enthralls.html">this post,</a>of course, belong to the second category… <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Jhinjhoti </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">is
a raga not many would hold brief for. So
much so that a friend of Missus, a knowledgeable and fine <i>gayika</i> confesses ‘not having gone into’ the raga…! Ustad Abdul Karim Khan’s plaintive <i>Piya Bin
Nahi Aawat Chain</i> in <i>Jhinjhoti</i> (before which, says Pt. Rajan Parrikar,
others sound like schoolboy howlers) was a favourite with YT from times
immemorial, and therefore, not being a fine <i>gayika</i>, has ‘gone into’ the said
raga. <o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8DOjlHiAlHM" width="560"></iframe>
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Music
literature says <i>Jhinjhoti </i>and its kin raga <i>Khamaj</i>, the
paterfamilias, are bally ragas of ‘<i>kshudra prakriti</i>’! Loaded words, those, so <i>shhhh</i>…habits as old as <i>Mannu</i> die hard! The classification is
supposedly on account of their being rooted in the ‘folk idiom’. Pt. Bhatkhande
called it a light raga, fit for <i>thumri </i>and the like. <i>Nyet</i> for <i>dhrupad </i>and <i>khayal</i>.
What condescension I sayyy…! But wait!...Here is what a western expert writes about
<i>Jhinjhoti</i>…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">[<i>On recognizing the raga</i>]:…”In the ever
shifting wilderness of <i>aroha-avaroha...</i>the profuse orchards of the <i>raga-mala</i>...shadows
of the towering <i>thaats...</i>the neophyte will always have trouble telling
one thing from the other...but<i> </i>from any handful of notes, I can pick it
(<i>Jhinjhoti</i>) out at a hundred
yards…Such is the great tunefulness of its nature..”<i><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">[<i>Going rave, attending a US concert by Shahid
Parvez</i>]…”The first full touch upon the <i>chalan </i>sent a shiver down my
spine…It was unexpected and incomparably sweet!” (one would think Peter was
onto <i>Malkauns</i> or <i>Bhairavi</i>!)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then: “I was
experiencing visions such as I had known only a few times before…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(see </span><a href="https://petersonion.wordpress.com/2008/02/04/commentary-on-raga-jhinjhoti/"><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">https://petersonion.wordpress.com/2008/02/04/commentary-on-raga-jhinjhoti/</span></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">S</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">hujaat Khan’s
presentation of the raga on DD Bharati, especially the initial prose, is cited
as the best exposition of <i>Jhinjhoti </i>available
to the lay public. The Ustad calls it incredibly sweet, and talks about its
versatility, of how different combinations of its notes result in myriad moods,
like <i>shringaar</i>, <i>bhakti</i> or <i>gambhirya</i>. He sings and plays to
us the ancient <i>bandish “lakuti, chutki, ab bairan bhayi, Hariju jo diyo, sur
ma lagati” </i>. The context or the traditional <i>bandish</i> is how a ‘<i>lakuti’
</i>or a humble stick become divine music united with <i>Krishna’</i>s lips…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/e3v7C8so0Vk" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br /></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In very kind
words he explains how unbeknownst to the common listener, Hindi movie makers
have made unfettered use of ancient compositions, passing them, by default, as
their own. The first sample he sings for our benefit is: <i>Koi hamdam na raha,
koi sahara, na raha..</i>and what a great song that...<i>avantage navaneet
chauram </i>Kishore ! Shujaat hums the <i>lakuti </i>notes<i> </i>thus:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">[*]R P’ D’ S
R M M G R G S… P’ D’ S R G R M P’ D’... M D’ D’ P’ R G M n G S<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">From this,
it is but a short step for one to make out the Hindi song notes:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">RP-—---MGM-—G—-RG—--SR--
Sn’-- D’-- D’—P’-- S<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">koi-----hmdm--na--raha--koi---saha-ra--na---ra--ha</span><br />
<br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
Thus the
credit for this excellent piece goes not to the Music Director Kishore Kumar,
but to the song writer Majrooh..</span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">avantage </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Majrooh.. and the trail is deeper
into the woods than that:</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">The original
<i>koi hamdam </i>with different <i>antaras </i>was sung by Kishore’s Dada
Ashok Kumar in 1936 much before Kishore Kumar adapted it in the 1961 <i>Jhumroo..</i>
(Kishore was then a 5-ish commando in Khandwa) It’s said he forgot the source,
his intuition got the better of him...ha, ha…The original score was by
Saraswati Devi, who again was not Saraswati Devi, but Khorshed Minocher-Homji sailing
under the fictitious Hindu name! SD was the tops in her era, her other famous
songs being <i>Mai ban ka panchi ban ke...</i>and <i>Jai Jai Janani Janmabhoomi</i> ..</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/u4DWfMDGvlY" width="560"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">In the video you hear Dada Muni recall warning Kishore, the song is in "</span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">chaudah matra ka ada chautaal, tumse nahi hoga". </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">Kishore feigns ignorance about </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">ada chautaal </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">promising Dada his effort will be better than the previous avatar. And boyyy...the song scales new heights. </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Ada chautaal </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">yields place to 1-2,1-2,1-2 chords, strengthening our senior's conviction, <i>tabalchi</i> as he is, that <i>bol</i>s like <i>tirkit, </i>or <i>tin, </i>or <i>dha dha toona </i>don't matter, for they are anyway not very distinct in published audios- what matters is <i>matra </i>or interval between beats!</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><i> </i> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">A closer
approximation to </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">lakuti </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">is another </span><i style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif;">Jhinjhoti </i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;">film song sung by Hemant Kumar and Lata
Mangeshkar:</span><br />
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Bas ek chup
si lagi hai, nahi udaas nahi. <o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">It follows
the first <i>sargam </i>with precision...<i>avantage</i> Gulzar...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">A</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">bout its technicals,
this is a <i>sampoorna raga, </i>with <i>shuddha swaras, </i>save descending <i>nishad
</i>which is <i>komal...vaadi-samvaadi
</i>are <i>sa </i>and <i>pa, </i>though the <i>jhinjhoti </i><span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">soul</span> hovers between <i>re,
sa, </i>and<i> </i>(lower) <i>ni, dha, pa..</i>.comprehensively, it goes </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif";">M G R G S… R n D n D P M P D S… D S
R G D M P… R M G R G D S… S R G M G D S…. R M G R M P D…. N D P D M G R G S… R
n D P D S… <span style="background: yellow; mso-highlight: yellow;">S R n D P D S</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Cinderella
boards the pumpkin coach...there, there...! Listen to the consummation of <i>bhakti
rasa</i>:</span><br />
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Pati Devan Mahadev Shivshambhu (bada khayal </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">taught
in JA <i>gharana)</i></span><br />
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/dOLfAJRFIfk/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/dOLfAJRFIfk?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Then <i>karunya
rasa </i>for you:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tlOaMQrhI8">Chhup gayakoi re, door se pukaar ke</a> </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(Lata Mangeshkar, <i>Champakali)</i>; <i>Mera Jeevan kora kaagaz </i>(Kishore
Kumar, <i>Kora Kagaz)</i>; <i>Rehte
the kabhi </i>(Lata Mangeshkar, <i>Mamta</i>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">What versatality I sayyy...!</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">W</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">hat brings
us here is- why do <i>Jhinjhoti </i>compositions
go beyond the theoretically defined <i>‘prakriti’</i>?
If one calls it ‘the wrong question’, then we are consigning to the WPB the
concept of <i>prakriti </i>persayyy I
sayyyyy..(fun intended)! There our equation </span><b><i><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">e</span></i></b><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">=
(k*S)^p+(l*T)^q+(m*E)^r+(n*</span><span style="font-family: "mangal" , serif; font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">गंमत</span><span style="font-size: 13.5pt; line-height: 115%;">)^s</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
steps in…wherein musical consummation has been conjured up a product of 4
attributes, <i>raga vistara</i>, emotion
infused by singer, technique, and an unknown called <i>gammat </i>in <i>maiboli</i>, maximum
weightage going to ‘emotion’. However,
people have tried to shadow the <i>swaras </i>and
have come up with observations on how different combinations of notes engender
in the listener’s mind different emotions. <i>Pta</i>.
<i>Kishoritai’s</i> feel of the <i>swaras </i>has already been discussed in <b><i>IK</i></b>
<a href="http://here./"><i>here</i>.<o:p></o:p></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2014/10/can-caterpillar-ever-walkif-it-is-asked.html"><br /></a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">To begin with,
Dave of Dave Conservatory, a British music resource, believes that a note
followed by the sharp version of the same note creates an eerie and chilling effect.
This is illustrated by the background piano that plays when the white shark
attacks holidaymakers in <i>Jaws.</i></span></div>
<audio controls=""><source src="https://sites.google.com/site/ikmediafiles/mp3-1/Great%20White%20Shark%20%28Jaws%20Music%29%20-%20from%20YouTube.mp3?attredirects=0&d=1"></source>If you cannot see the audio controls, <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/ikmediafiles/mp3-1/Great%20White%20Shark%20%28Jaws%20Music%29%20-%20from%20YouTube.mp3?attredirects=0&d=1">listen/download the audio file here</a></audio>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 14pt; line-height: 115%;">A</span></b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">ccording to Marathi
magazine ‘<i>Sangeet Kala Vihar</i>’ of
Miraj, a <i>khayal</i> comprises various <i>‘sutras</i>’ (strings of notes). Basically they
say, there are two types of <i>sutras</i>, <i>jyeshtha </i>and <i>kanishtha </i>(major and minor). They are as under:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<table border="1" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoTableGrid" style="border-collapse: collapse; border: currentColor; margin-left: 33.75pt;">
<tbody>
<tr>
<td style="border: 1pt solid currentColor; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 197.3pt;" valign="top" width="263"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">JYESHTHA<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
<td style="border: 1pt solid currentColor; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 185.45pt;" valign="top" width="247"><div align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; text-align: center;">
<b><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">KANISHTHA<o:p></o:p></span></b></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr style="height: 12.05pt; mso-yfti-irow: 1;">
<td style="border: 1pt solid currentColor; height: 12.05pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 197.3pt;" valign="top" width="263"><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 54pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -36pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-fareast-font-family: Verdana;">(0)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">S G P<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: currentColor; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 1pt 1pt medium; height: 12.05pt; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 185.45pt;" valign="top" width="247"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(4) S g P<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border: 1pt solid currentColor; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 197.3pt;" valign="top" width="263"><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 54pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -36pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-fareast-font-family: Verdana;">(1)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">S G M<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: currentColor; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 1pt 1pt medium; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 185.45pt;" valign="top" width="247"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(5) M d S<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border: 1pt solid currentColor; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 197.3pt;" valign="top" width="263"><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 54pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -36pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-fareast-font-family: Verdana;">(2)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">M D S <o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: currentColor; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 1pt 1pt medium; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 185.45pt;" valign="top" width="247"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(6) P n R<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
</tr>
<tr>
<td style="border: 1pt solid currentColor; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 197.3pt;" valign="top" width="263"><div class="MsoListParagraph" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 0pt 54pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: -36pt;">
<!--[if !supportLists]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Verdana; mso-fareast-font-family: Verdana;">(3)<span style="font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal;">
</span></span><!--[endif]--><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">P N R<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</td>
<td style="border-color: currentColor; border-style: none solid solid none; border-width: medium 1pt 1pt medium; padding: 0cm 5.4pt; width: 185.45pt;" valign="top" width="247"><div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 0pt; text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
</td>
</tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">According to
the analyst (though we have not been able to get a hang of it so far):<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“1+
3= <i>Hamsadhwani/ Shankara</i>; 2+4+6= <i>Kafi</i>; 4+5+6= <i>Jaunpuri/ Darbari</i>; 0+3+Re <b>Ma
</b>Dha + Ni Re <b>Ma=</b> <i>Kalyan thaat
</i><b><o:p></o:p></b></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“The
basic principle of Hindustani classical music is that Ragas are created when <i>Samvadi swaramalika </i>of <i>Shadja </i>comes into a conflict with <i>swaramalika </i>of <i>vaadi swara.</i> The <i>swaramalika </i>of
<i>Shadja </i>will normally have 4-5 <i>swaras.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">“The
mood of a Raga is determined by the clash of <i>vaadi </i>and <i>samvaadi
swaramalikas. </i>The atmosphere of conflict can be felt most keenly in ragas
with <i>teevra madhyam</i>. In such ragas, ni
and <i>(komal) re </i>are found to be in
conflict with the basic sa in abundance. Ragas with re- dha conflict come next
in raw-power-status.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left: 36pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Quite
plausible, requires more research…. so more, later<i> paarkalam...chuddam.</i>..<i>nan se
piet…</i>. Not that it is strictly about <i>Jhinjhoti…</i>(#)
<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">
[*] ’ for
lower octave and n (i.e. <i>el nino</i>) for
<i>komal nishaad.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(#) “let’s
see” respectively in Tamil, Telugu and Khasi- so you can guess where-where have
we been, to look at the queen, in the service of the BTN!</span><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GiQkZMnuSd4/VtsvH5HY2eI/AAAAAAAACKU/UW5LJKCTBhw/s1600/Cinderella-2015-Lily-James.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-GiQkZMnuSd4/VtsvH5HY2eI/AAAAAAAACKU/UW5LJKCTBhw/s640/Cinderella-2015-Lily-James.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-73906512920216978332015-12-16T09:48:00.000-08:002017-09-18T04:17:51.508-07:00WHAT'S A SARGAM!?<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><strong><em>Tones
sound, and roar and storm about me until I have set them down in Notes-
Beethoven<o:p></o:p></em></strong></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "courier new" , "courier" , monospace;"><strong><em>
</em></strong></span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-size: large;">T</span>he
Jaipur Atrauli <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gharana</i> is all over
today, its farthest outpost 20 billion km. into interstellar space, manned by
the Grand Lady of JA Pta. Kesarbai Kerkar (check out <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2014/11/kesarbais-golden-bhairavi.html">Golden Record</a>). <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">JA
is sort of St. Stephen’s of Hindustani Classical. Aks Amitabh Bachhan how it
feels not to have studied or bunked or being debunked in St. Stephen’s. Having
studied in my Alma Mater Kirori Mal instead is a major existential issue with the
great man, he, he, he…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bhaya </i>had you not
been adopted by Frank Thakurdas of The Players c/o KM College, you would have been
selling soap-directly, I sayyy…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Panduranga, asude….</span></i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">So far as affiliation to JA is concerned, even Pt.
Bhimsen Joshi has gone on record saying he learnt his famous <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">boltaan</i>s,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gamaktaans</i> etc., if not <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">damsaas </i>from Kesarbai…<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
<br />
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-75dRRkQN1pU/VnGhzQXjDSI/AAAAAAAACJQ/7uSgbZW1n3I/s1600/alladiya%2Bautob.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-75dRRkQN1pU/VnGhzQXjDSI/AAAAAAAACJQ/7uSgbZW1n3I/s320/alladiya%2Bautob.jpg" width="234" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">AUTOBIOGRAPHY COVER</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The
Moses of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gharana</i> was Ustad
Alladiya Khan. Aficionados trace the JA lineage to a brahmin, Nath Vishwamber -and
Swami Haridas. A string of Ustads followed the brahmin ancestors, with more
than a dozen generations intervening between the Nath and our Ustad. The Ustad
was a genius and a very sensitive human being, easily towering creativity-wise <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>over all contemporaries, who in turn never
hesitated to acknowledge their fascination with his music and exhibited a
Catholic tendency to adopt the depth and the embellishments of the JA <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gharana</i>…In a sense the Ustad’s immense
talents dealt a death blow to the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gharana</i>
system. Even though pure (surviving) JA-ites can be counted on one’s fingers today, Vidushi
Amonkar, Dr. Arun Dravid, Vidushi Manjiri Asnare to name a majority, no one can
accuse Alladiya of not having left behind a caboodle of disciples in the Ustad
Allauddin Khan tradition- for Alladiya DNA today pervades the Musical Universe
at large….<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">For
the record, JA <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gayaki </i>was assiduously
developed by the Ustad from the grass-root, that is from <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dhrupad.</i> The style is distinct, with lots of alluring features like
intricate <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">taans</i>, and a complicated
grammar of blending <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sur, bol </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">laya. </i>The Ustad also invented many <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">jod-ragas, </i>particularly <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Nat </i>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kanada </i>variants which, in the language of Chemistry, are not Mixtures
or Colloids, but stable Compounds...<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> </i>The
Ustad was a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">pucca Namazi, </i>but was
also reputedly found wearing the brahminical sacred thread. This amalgam of two
Beliefs is omnipresent in the Hindustani Classical world, especially in
genealogies- for example Pt.
Sureshbhau Mane and Pta. Hirabai Barodekar were progenies of Ustad Abdul Karim
Khan, the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kirana </i>doyen. Music did not
really mesh with orthodox Islam, and in part, given the patronage of Kings and
Nawabs, the musicians’ foibles were left unaddressed by orthodoxy, while the
common Muslim merrily indulged in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sama</i>,
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">qawwalis </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>and <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">dargah-parasti</i>.
Alas, in today’s scenario, this fervour to embrace, instead of uniting people,
invites only derision from of the 2% <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Mahabrahm
</i>fringe, masquerading as guerrillas of ‘Hindavi Culture’. To take a recent
phenomenon, a delightful ancient Marathi play was made into a nasty movie with communal overtones! <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In the process, the benign albeit <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span><i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gharana-obsessed
Khansaheb</i>, a beloved character of the Marathi stage, is tarred and
feathered <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>as the movie progresses or
regresses…The greatest affront is to the memory of the Pt. Vasantrao Deshpande,
who resides in our minds as <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Khansaheb</i>!
(*)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But
our concern here is the doctrinaire approach of some JA stalwarts- are they not
emulating the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Khansaheb </i>so ably
portrayed by Vasantrao? In particular, let’s take the place of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam </i>as a staple ingredient of a vocal
recital. According to <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gharana’s </i>high-priestess<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"> Tai</i>, the JA vocalist sings only in a<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">akar</i> to the exclusion of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam. “</i>It’s a meretricious display of
your knowledge and prowess” says she. In a famous interview she demonstrated
the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Bilawal</i> <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">chalan Sa Ga Re Ga Ma Pa Ma Ga Ma Re Sa </i>in both manners, obviously
to the disadvantage of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam. </i>Where
does that leave great vocalists like Ustad Amir Khan who sang banderoles of <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam</i>, and took the trouble of
examining each of the 5040 <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">merukhands..</i>?<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well
if you set so much store by the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">swara</i>
over the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">tala </i>or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">bol </i>part, pray why do you shy from calling the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">swara </i>by his or her name? To the blinkered eyes of the writer, the
very purpose of articulating the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam </i>differs
from that of the melody. It serves to bring out the key to the emotional
character of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">raga </i>to the less perspicacious
listeners, who abound. It has a pay-off also for the vocalist – it reinforces in
his/her mind and exposition, the nature or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">prakriti
</i>of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">raga. </i>To repudiate the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam </i><span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>is to belittle the importance of notation.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Tai</span></i><span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">
has raved in the past about the pathos generated by Bageshri- where do they
come from one always wonders? From <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargams,
</i>one realises that poignantly evocative phrases are <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ma Dha Ni Dha Ni Dha</i> or <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Ga Ma
Dha Ga Ma Ga</i>- imitating <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">x y z x y x </i>.
This is the distilled nectar of Bageshri’s pathos. The <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">swara samoohs </i>are enough to dissolve the listener into a limp pool
of self-despondency. If your <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">aakars </i>do
not give a clue to the listener, he/she is so much the poorer, and the genes of
JA will terminate in Pt. Bhimsen Joshi like BT Cotton. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A singular disgrace to a great Creator…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam </i>is akin to English Grammar. Of
course one need not be a grammarian to write beautiful English. But one
certainly needs grammatical under-pinning, say, in order to explain to the errant
user the fallacy in the expression “I have slept the baby”. If you are abreast
of Wren and Martin, you’d be able to hold your own, and explain that the snafus
is on account of treating an intransitive verb as transitive…!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">No
one including <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tai </i>would question an
artiste’s right to present his or her own interpretation of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">raga</i>, choosing the ingredients and
measure thereof. That’s what we mean by <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">khayal.
</i>In fact Dr Prabha Atre researched the topic extensively and the title of
her Ph.D. happens to be “<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Sargam </i>in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Khayal Gayaki</i> ”. Ustad Amir Khan
related<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam </i>to ‘<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">upaj </i>‘ or spontaneous
improvisation in <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">khayal gayaki</i>. He firmly
believed that in order to improvise, say experimenting difficult combinations (<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">khandmeru</i>) of distant <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">swara </i>components of a <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">raga </i>or combinations of differing
octaves, the medium has to be the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">sargam</i>,
and if one tries bold combinations through the medium of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">akar</i>, one may founder. Dr. Ibrahim Ali
of Vikram University, Ujjain has gone deeply into this aspect of the <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">gayaki </i>of his fellow <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Malwi</i>…(see <a href="https://sites.google.com/site/alisuchi/home">https://sites.google.com/site/alisuchi/home</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0cm 0cm 10pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">But
one is tempted to end the discussion on a different note. One cannot but admire
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Tai </i>for stressing the neglected ‘Thought’
dimension in Music Criticism. She invariably shines the light on the sum and
substance of musical delight! Advertently or inadvertently, we have a rare
authority who always highlights the Theoretical side of Classical Music which
is the passion of your site <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">IK..</i>..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rfvynl7VmLY/VnGf0Kevv_I/AAAAAAAACJE/2NnM3bkgjg4/s1600/Jaipur%2BAtrauli.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="356" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Rfvynl7VmLY/VnGf0Kevv_I/AAAAAAAACJE/2NnM3bkgjg4/s640/Jaipur%2BAtrauli.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Atrauli to Jaipur: but the real action happened in Kolhapur: </span><br />
<span style="font-size: small;">They say the North made it and the Deccan listened!</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">(*)
More on this later…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana";"> -------*-------</span><br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">PS for the sake of completion: In Western Music, the equivalent of <em>sargam </em>is the <em>solfege</em>, which is not recounted frequently, but is used mainly for ear training and comes with hand gestures for each of the notes. It is said that the solfege in Western is an import from the Arab world: here is a kids' choir solfege:</span></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-52805638743625749842015-09-11T10:54:00.000-07:002015-09-11T20:00:24.146-07:00RAJA RAVI VARMA: PAINTER TO THE NATION (2/2)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Kilimanoor-the name has a magical ring no!- sounds
uncannily like Kilimanjaro, the highest peak in Africa!? That is a place
a tourist in the right mind should visit when in Kerala. It’s divine connect
matches that of Sabarimala or Guruvayoor. So when in Kerala a while back, we were
determined to pay our respects to the ‘Prince among Painters and Painter among
Princes’, Raja Ravi Varma right at his birth-place, the Kilimanoor Palace. Every
famous place in Kerala is located between two famous places, given the
linearity of the state. In our present case, Kilimanoor town lies off the MC/SH
1, mid-way between Kollam and Thiruvanathapuram, a stretch of 80 KM approximately.
Kilimanoor literally means “land of the parrot and the deer”…. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Reaching the place is tricky. While Sreebesh, our energetic young pilot and guide knows quite a
bit about Kerala history, Kilimanoor leaves him stumped. It is not there in
“Kerala guide-syllabus sirrh” he says jokingly. Maharaja Marthanda Varma however
looms large over his imagination, incredibly versatile as he was. Marthanda
Varma (<i>circa </i>1706-1758) was the greatest King of the Travancore state,
the only Rajah in the whole of India who bested a European army (Dutch).
Kilimanoor was under the sway of the Nair octet, the <i>Ettuveetil Pillamar</i>
(Pillamar= Lord, from which derives the Nair title Pillai) and when the local
tribal chieftain rebelled against Travancore authority, it was annexed by
Marthanda Varma, reigns of the Kingdom handed over to the matrimonially related
Koli lineage. The clan is supposed to be simply <i>Kshatriyas</i>, no ifs and
buts like other Kerala castes. As Vivekananda once said in exasperation, Kerala
is a ‘mad-house of castes’!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">So…there we are…come
heritage town Kilimanoor, and we are led to the Palace by tentative sign-boards, and alas.<i>.</i>.the
wicket gate and the massive doors are closed. The only photo-op seems to be this snap which
Sreebesh clicks.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yySsTsH3G3o/VfLTgOI03EI/AAAAAAAACGQ/tTIUDig3S2c/s1600/DSC00167.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-yySsTsH3G3o/VfLTgOI03EI/AAAAAAAACGQ/tTIUDig3S2c/s640/DSC00167.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>THE PALACE AND US</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">We allow for the
possibility of the monument being deserted, and stakes being so high, try to
force the wicket gate open, it swings inside with a rasping sound, and as we raise our
camera for another picture, out storms a tall, dark, handsome man with a regal
mien, expostulating that the estate is not a public place. We sheepishly
explain the design behind our visit, and acknowledging our erudition, he gives
us full marks, then invites us inside. He is none else than Rama Varma ‘Biju’ (the
appellation serves to distinguish him from his cousin, the renowned musician
from Ravi Varma’s direct lineage, Prince Rama Varma). The Palace wears white and radiates an old world beauty and charm...</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Biju Rama Varma a
constituent of the family, heads the Ravi Varma trust. He is a practising
classical musician, and sings and composes both Caranatic and Hindustani. Swathi
Thirunal, his legendary ancestor has hundreds of <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ih4_vrjh1t4">Hindustani compositions</a> to his
credit, we are informed. We apprise him of the musical pedigree of <i>Missus. </i>He
is thrilled and proposes an impromptu <i>mehfil</i> in the hallowed hall where
the Raja painted some of his most celebrated canvases. What a windfall says <i>Missus
</i>and she suspends the artiste’s innate disinclination to perform
unaccompanied and on the spur of the moment. BRV whips out his cell phone and switching
on the <i>tanpura</i> utitlity, seeks her base note, it’s the white sixth she
responds. Given the stature and seniority of Rama Varma, it is decided that <i>Missus</i>
will lead and BRV conclude. They keep it ‘light’ and <i>Missus </i>renders her
favourite <i>Ram ka gun gaan kariye</i> by the twin <i>Bharat Ratnas </i>Pt.
Bhimsen Joshi and Lata Mangeshkar, set to <i>Bhairav </i>by Pt. Shriniwas Khale.
The magic of the studio rubs off on her and she sings as if possessed. Dramatically,
BRV’s assistant emerges from inside and literally performs a <i>sashtanga </i>before
her! Leaves her flushed with gratitude really.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XIMh3iV5-Dc/VfLUk9KY8lI/AAAAAAAACGY/NZSUS2NiVIY/s1600/DSC00171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-XIMh3iV5-Dc/VfLUk9KY8lI/AAAAAAAACGY/NZSUS2NiVIY/s640/DSC00171.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>IMPROMPTU MEHFIL</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">BRV then sings his </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Madhymawati,
Anupama Sundara</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> as we reported in our previous dispatch. We are dumbfounded
by the rich timbre of his voice and his range, spanning three octaves. The </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">taar saptak </i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">finale is simply
grand.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/94IwVXJRk-s" width="420"></iframe></span></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><em><b>This video was uploaded by BRV's sister. BRV is a well-known composer, having given score to a number of Malayalee movies, and eminent singers, including Yesudas have sung for him.</b></em></span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><em><br /></em></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Conversation naturally
veers around to the topic of the Raja’s painting. The Raja’s painting is egalitarian…of
‘utility’ to everybody, rich or poor, he says, without distinction of caste,
creed or station in life. He thoroughed every scripture before he painted the
Gods, and went by the basic common denominators, lest orthodoxy raise a finger.
So much so that in the present day, the paintings are themselves pointers for
the Faithful (<i>chaddidharis excused, ha, ha…</i>)! He had a way with faces,
which are suffused with emotion and charm. But alas…BRV laments, in the original
home of the painter, there is no Original. The Raja usually painted in his room
on the first floor. Like a true blue Malayalee, he went all over the world, and
many of his major works, particularly those of the Marathi ladies in <i>nauwari
</i>sarees, were painted in Baroda, where he was invited by erstwhile Baroda
regent Sir Madhavrao, earlier the Dewan of the Travancore state. The originals
of Goddesses Saraswati and Laxmi, the Ram Durbar, the Shakuntala are among the
hundreds preserved at the Baroda Heritage Art Gallery. Ravi Varma paintings are
scattered as in a diaspora, and his originals are displayed in numerous
galleries, like the Modern Art Gallery, New Delhi and the Sri Chithra Art
Gallery, Thiruvananthapuram. The Trust under the dynamic leadership of BRV
arranges retrospectives and art festivals in Kilimanoor, and is engaged in the
effort to acquire at least some originals for the benefit of aficionados like
CVB who are prone to visiting the Palace. Paintings by the Raja are known to command
prices in crores at international auctions, BRV confides. The palace was
maintained by Ravi Varma with the sale proceeds of some of his paintings says
BRV…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xvKLGQuUvIg/VfLgXQHeQTI/AAAAAAAACG0/-NC-pwKNHB8/s1600/IMG_0399.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xvKLGQuUvIg/VfLgXQHeQTI/AAAAAAAACG0/-NC-pwKNHB8/s640/IMG_0399.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><em>LIVING QUARTERS AND OFFICE</em></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We ask for permission to
shoot in the sanctum sanctorum, and BRV has a hearty laugh. Believe us-his
words are- you and I are long lost brothers of a previous birth! Here is the
clip:</span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/ruEJ8ngP9ok/0.jpg" frameborder="0" height="266" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/ruEJ8ngP9ok?feature=player_embedded" width="320"></iframe><br /></div>
</div>
<div align="left" class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Finally, he takes us on a
guided tour of the palace (built <i>circa</i> 1753). We are shown the place where
<i>pujas</i> were performed (<i>kaavu</i>) and only family could enter-you
know- the caste requisites were more stringent in Kerala than anywhere else…We
love the small <em>mandapam </em>with carved doors and arches for windows, which BRV says has hosted
the greatest musicians of present day India.</span><br />
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PXjEwec81m0/VfLfJTaSAVI/AAAAAAAACGo/lTweJfIVC_o/s1600/IMG_0404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-PXjEwec81m0/VfLfJTaSAVI/AAAAAAAACGo/lTweJfIVC_o/s640/IMG_0404.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l5PWm9nmNVk/VfLhRbRgrsI/AAAAAAAACG8/iHGen1Hin-w/s1600/IMG_0406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-l5PWm9nmNVk/VfLhRbRgrsI/AAAAAAAACG8/iHGen1Hin-w/s640/IMG_0406.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">KAAVU <em>ENTRANCE</em></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">And finally, in spite of our words of dissuation, the Prince, in all grace and modesty, accompanies us right upto Sreebesh's Honda City and we wave a warm mutual good-bye...Senior and Junior are duly updated
about the day’s events with the anticipated seasoning. Senior’s tribute to YT for
the industry demonstrated by us in tracking down the Painter to the Nation’s
abode makes our day: “All sorts of things happen when you are around Dad!” says
he…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-684730105108918582015-09-01T04:05:00.001-07:002015-09-11T06:51:41.916-07:00GOD'S OWN PORTRAITIST: RAJA RAVI VARMA (1/2)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzE1F5TsmOGuAB5FJIUxQGxj7oVCQQncpV0fmQ4FSuipBRjpvmbA_-VzDWvEMPq1fsWtNhv0KZ-Yl17tX7cQE4SPW4tUqYM0yqHI3nEHxWNkl_DWpHOzSOZb5A-xuy_rTY0OmsBG5Bv8vt/s1600/ram01.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; font-size: medium; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: justify;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzE1F5TsmOGuAB5FJIUxQGxj7oVCQQncpV0fmQ4FSuipBRjpvmbA_-VzDWvEMPq1fsWtNhv0KZ-Yl17tX7cQE4SPW4tUqYM0yqHI3nEHxWNkl_DWpHOzSOZb5A-xuy_rTY0OmsBG5Bv8vt/s640/ram01.jpg" width="446" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THE RAMA DURBAR</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-49XDT3tkIvo/VeV-AlyAwGI/AAAAAAAACEI/Zw7ELERPI7o/s1600/Ravi_Varma-Lakshmi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-49XDT3tkIvo/VeV-AlyAwGI/AAAAAAAACEI/Zw7ELERPI7o/s640/Ravi_Varma-Lakshmi.jpg" width="451" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">LAXMI<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oUqxgnQP7Hw/VeV9sWn3LWI/AAAAAAAACEA/DcKGMQ6CDk4/s1600/raja_ravi_varma_oleograph_1_saraswathi.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-oUqxgnQP7Hw/VeV9sWn3LWI/AAAAAAAACEA/DcKGMQ6CDk4/s640/raja_ravi_varma_oleograph_1_saraswathi.jpg" width="480" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">SARASWATI</td></tr>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">That God created Man lies in the realm of conjecture, but the reverse is an empirically proven fact. Created Him in his, that is man’s, own image. An anthropomorphic God. Let’s undertake a little census. </span><br />
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The Hindu pantheon is said to be populated by 33 crore ( a third of a billion) Gods. As Sahir rightly pointed out the other day, the earth’s miseries result from the inequality ⁿG<ⁿH, i.e. the fact that the total number of Gods is less than that of humans: <i>aadmi hain anginat, devata hain kam….</i>he, he, he….</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">According to the 2011 Indian
Census, there are around 10 crore ( a hundred million) Hindu urban households in the country. We can
safely assume that each buys at least one of the above displayed pictures every year
(people call them photographs, which usage <b><i>IK</i></b> does not subscribe
to). Extrapolating, one can safely state that at least 5 crore of each of these
have been sold in the country annually over, at least five decades! So-over 2.5 billions have been sold since
these Gods were conceived by the Creator, painter Raja Ravi Varma (1848-1906). Far
more in number than the very population of Gods as per the Divine census! Undoubtedly
the Raja is the most sold painter ever, and <i>el Ni</i></span><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Arial","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Verdana;">ῆ</span></i><i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">a</span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"> Mona Lisa, the most
celebrated of paintings, pales into insignificance, going by the sheer number
of prints sold! More than that, the Raja
magically ignited and seared in the Hindu mind, the munificence of Goddess
Laxmi, the bright scholarship of Saraswati, the benign visages of Lord Rama,
Sita and Lakshmana, the upright loyalty of Hanuman, or the insouciant callousness
of one of our greatest <i>Rishi</i>s, when confronted by Menaka with his
love-child Shakuntala! The endearing images that flew from his mind to those of <i>bhaktas
</i>must have contributed in no small measure to the peaceful nature of Hindus,
till the spanner was thrown into the works with the sick images of Rambo Rama
and Sambo Siva who rather resembles Nandi! <i>Panduranga, asude</i>…!</span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7wOtd_CpCco/VeV_0AOiZfI/AAAAAAAACEc/jURazSpyWmU/s1600/treasures-04.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-7wOtd_CpCco/VeV_0AOiZfI/AAAAAAAACEc/jURazSpyWmU/s640/treasures-04.png" width="480" /></a><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">It will however be an over-
simplification to ascribe to the Raja’s two hands this monumental feat <i>in
vacuo</i>, sort of ignoring the Historical dialectic behind <i>l’ affaire des Dieux</i>…Behind
the benign Gods lie a host of determinants, such as the compulsive talents of
contemporary Malayalees in general, the
complex caste grid, British intervention, not to speak of the Neoclassical and
Romantic movements pervading the 18-19<sup>th</sup> century European art scene.
Bengal and Kerala apparently were the two states which picked up the best of
British tradition. It’s again not a coincidence that these were the two states
where Communist parties first came to power in the 1960s- speaks volumes for
the open-mindedness of the people there.</span><br />
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*****</div>
The Kilimanoor Royalty connections of the Raja, his wedlock into the matriarchal lineage of the great Chera King Swathi Thirunal, culminating in the present status of the Kilimanoor Palace, more about which later, is but the stuff of gossip…more important being the admixture of the swirling eddies of Indian theology and shades of major European art movement that played on the Raja’s colourful palette, bursting into a riot of images which are today cardinal to 'Hinduism'....<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Well, the British, represented whether by the Company </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Bahadur</i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> or the British Crown were historically on the same wave-length as the artistic Cheras ruling from Travancore. Swathi Thirunal (b. 1813) was the<i> ‘Garbha Sreeman</i>’, for he was proclaimed King while still in the womb, though it would be more accurate to address the baby as ‘heir to the throne’ to take care of both sexist eventualities of child-birth! The "<i>garbha sreeman</i>" stuff owes to </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">the East India Company’s Travancore representative Col. Munro who, in order to keep the doctrine of lapse at bay, informed the British Government</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> about arrival of the heir 4 months in advance... </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There is a tradition that none other than Munroe visited the Padmanabhasami temple to pray for the birth of a boy, matriarchal succession </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">not withstanding</span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">. </span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The regent of the unborn sovereign was the mother Gowri Lakshmi Bayi. When the child was merely 4 months old, she held a Durbar where Col.Munroe was invited, and there she handed over the child’s custody to Munroe, exhorting him to take care of the Prince and the State!</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Our protagonist Raja Ravi Varma was a scion of the Kilimanoor Royal house-hold, and in the absence of a regular teacher, learnt the basics of painting under the tutelage of the Travancore King, Ayilam Thirunal. The British administrator Edgar Thurston had a major role in carving the Raja’s destiny. The Raja’s painting style that emerged was greatly influenced by his training under contemporary British-Dutch painter Theodor Jenson (1857-1943), who had been then commissioned to paint a portrait of Raja Ayilam Thirunal. Jenson is known for the subtle interplay of light and shade in his oils, which is the distinctive feature of the Romantic style..</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">In the Europe of the day, the dominant style was termed ‘the Academic style’, after the beliefs obtaining in various European Academies. The ‘rebel’ Impressionism was to follow later on. The Academic style sought to achieve a happy union of the Neo-classical style, which stressed the prominence of the 'line', with the Romantic style’s romance with ‘colours’…The Classical, the Neo-classical and the Academic styles account for the overwhelming bulk of paintings displayed in the Louvre. Historically, Romanticism was the manifestation of Europe’s march towards Republicanism, from Monarchy, which in turn had incubated Classicism right from Michelangelo days. Goya’s ‘Third of May 1808’, commemorating the Spanish resistance to Napoleon’s armies, is a classic example of this association of the Romantic style with Nationalism and Republicanism. Some critics believe that the Raja’s works were superior even to some leading European Academic school painters. This is what </span><a href="http://franklycurious.com/LMNucleus/?itemid=8565" style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Frank Moraes</a><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"> says (not THE Frank Moraes but the British columnist of ‘Franklycurious’ fame):</span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">"What I appreciate about him is how he brings western and eastern traditions together. You might say he was the William Bouguereau of India. But much as I love Bouguereau, Varma is much more than that. His colour palette is far more intense. And his religious painting is far more interesting….”. This is Frank’s favourite from the Raja’s work:<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">):</span> there.</span></div>
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<tr><td><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEY82GDXG5I/VeWDq-ASQnI/AAAAAAAACFQ/1XZRpj7yQUw/s1600/20140429-murugan-varma.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZEY82GDXG5I/VeWDq-ASQnI/AAAAAAAACFQ/1XZRpj7yQUw/s640/20140429-murugan-varma.jpg" width="468" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">MURUGAN: FRANK'S FAVOURITE RAVI VARMA</td></tr>
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<span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%; text-align: justify;">Storming Kerala a few months back, we made it a point to visit Kilimanoor,
where we had a delightful tete-a-tete with Biju Rama Varma, a descendent of
the royal family. Biju heads the Ravi Varma Trust which is doing a lot to
preserve the Raja’s heritage. Our next dispatch on the high water-mark of our
tryst with God’s Own Country….</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"></span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ch0i9LJ1Rjc/VeWAXw4RPaI/AAAAAAAACEk/raNLEOeNLo4/s1600/pompeo%2Bbatoni%2Bdiana%2Band%2Bcupid.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="464" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ch0i9LJ1Rjc/VeWAXw4RPaI/AAAAAAAACEk/raNLEOeNLo4/s640/pompeo%2Bbatoni%2Bdiana%2Band%2Bcupid.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">NEO-CLASSICAL CUPID AND DIANA BY BATONI (1761) : NOTE THE ETCHED LINE FIGURES</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PRNW5XjChgA/VeWB33A7yeI/AAAAAAAACE4/38qxwRHcUIk/s1600/William-Bouguereau-paintings-La_soif_wallcoo.com.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="512" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PRNW5XjChgA/VeWB33A7yeI/AAAAAAAACE4/38qxwRHcUIk/s640/William-Bouguereau-paintings-La_soif_wallcoo.com.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ACADEMIC: THE THIRST BY WILLIAM BOUGUEREAU</td></tr>
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<tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHoEtJQtadx-I73YJpTCPVqavZBh0wilflPerpmlFHwr-j4HasLGvma8NspmL1IwptW8dU2JEpcAiwzf8Pyyg4TJLg6GF-pIii59OKDapTbNtRfeiHM22wcsSqpt00um7-1KWIS453NX5/s1600/rosa+harriet+lenox+by+theodore+jensen+1864.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuHoEtJQtadx-I73YJpTCPVqavZBh0wilflPerpmlFHwr-j4HasLGvma8NspmL1IwptW8dU2JEpcAiwzf8Pyyg4TJLg6GF-pIii59OKDapTbNtRfeiHM22wcsSqpt00um7-1KWIS453NX5/s640/rosa+harriet+lenox+by+theodore+jensen+1864.jpg" width="412" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="font-size: 13px;">ACADEMIC STYLE: ROSA HARRIET LENOX BY RAJA'S GURU JENSON (1864)</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sCK9VjKJPuc/VeWB3KvdHCI/AAAAAAAACE0/89xcjOmaA_M/s1600/William-Bouguereau-paintings-Le_Jeune_Bergere_1897_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="512" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-sCK9VjKJPuc/VeWB3KvdHCI/AAAAAAAACE0/89xcjOmaA_M/s640/William-Bouguereau-paintings-Le_Jeune_Bergere_1897_.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">JESUS MARY AND HER LITTLE LAMB: BOUGUEREAU</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NKs9eno6lxk/VeWDIIC_t8I/AAAAAAAACFI/WhEVqZiPsk4/s1600/800px-El_Tres_de_Mayo%252C_by_Francisco_de_Goya%252Cthird%2Bof%2Bmay.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="494" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-NKs9eno6lxk/VeWDIIC_t8I/AAAAAAAACFI/WhEVqZiPsk4/s640/800px-El_Tres_de_Mayo%252C_by_Francisco_de_Goya%252Cthird%2Bof%2Bmay.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ROMANTIC STYLE: THIRD OF MAY 1808 BY GOYA</td></tr>
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<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">By the way, 'Swathi' or 'Ayilam' signifies the '<i>nakshatra</i>' of birth (the Birth Star). Marathi for Ayilam is Aslesha.</span></span><br />
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<span style="line-height: 18px;"><b>KILIMANOOR SNAPS:</b></span></span><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">BIJU RAMA VARMA REGALES US WITH RAGA MADHYAMAVATI BRINDABANI SARANG) BHAJAN ANUPAMA SUNDARA</span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-27gi3703klE/VeWZCvDMg9I/AAAAAAAACFs/_GEDHNDtq00/s1600/DSC00166.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-27gi3703klE/VeWZCvDMg9I/AAAAAAAACFs/_GEDHNDtq00/s640/DSC00166.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">GATHERING BEFORE THE PALACE</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jyzv3iiyao8/VeWZ7OX9j6I/AAAAAAAACF0/kgEfmV4taBc/s1600/DSC00170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Jyzv3iiyao8/VeWZ7OX9j6I/AAAAAAAACF0/kgEfmV4taBc/s640/DSC00170.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">THE RAJA'S STUDIO</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"></span></span><br />
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="line-height: 18px;"><em><span style="color: purple; font-size: small;">THE SIMPLE MINDED SARDARJI CHARANJIT SINGH, HERO OF OUR 7TH JAN POST BREATHED HIS LAST THIS 5TH JULY; WE'LL NEVER FORGET PAAJI, FOR HE HAD A LOT TO PROUD ABOUT IN HIM, BUT HE NEVER CLAIMED GREATNESS. HOPE HE TEACHES DISCO FUSION TO THE 'GANDHARVAs' AND 'APSARAs' UP THERE ! CHEERS....!!!</span></em></span></span></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin;"><span style="line-height: 18px;">
</span><br />
</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-61845696613106889632015-06-27T10:59:00.000-07:002015-08-04T22:16:07.295-07:00FUSION: LAKMÈ TO PARAM VIR <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Some time back YT stopped watching Indian news
channels out of sheer respect for his own intelligence or whatever is left of
it. That leaves him with WWF and Nickelodeon … Therefore we are not in a
position to know whether at all World Music Day found a mention in the annals
of our august ‘channels’ this 21<sup>st</sup> June, or was the Muse muscled out
by the Yogi. About the print media, one notes that, alas, the yen for music is now
weaker that the Japanese ¥..Hha..Hha …Hhhaaa…., what a silly joke Carl.…<i>Panduranga…asude</i>.!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Reportedly, World Music Day was first celebrated in
1987, in the afterglow of the response to Paul Simon’s album Graceland, the
first consciously crafted confluence (wheww…) of various international musical
streams. Graceland ranks among the 20 top-selling albums of all times, keeping
company with Metallica’s <i>Metallica</i>
and <i>Hotel California </i>by the Eagles (selling
15-20 million albums). It also won the 1987 Grammy…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">On a more general plane, the term ‘World Music’ was
coined by Robert E. Brown in the 1960s. To recall our <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2014/11/kesarbais-golden-bhairavi.html">earlier piece on Pta.
Kesarbai Kerkar’s </a></span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2014/11/kesarbais-golden-bhairavi.html">Bhairavi </a></i><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">and the
Golden Record placed on the two Voyager space-crafts, it was Brown who compiled
the unique collection for NASA…</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We take a look here at the exchanges between Indian
and Western music, and possibilities and attempts of an Indian Western
‘fusion’, which in Ustad Amjad Ali Khan’s words, is more of ‘confusion’! It’s really
like trying to mix or fuse oil and water. IK has of course been talking about some
silent musical geniuses and their music, and also featuring the east-west interface
regularly, illustrating the exchanges with lesser known instances such as the
<a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2015/03/who-created-bond-theme.html">Bond Theme</a>..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The difficulty in reconciling the Indian music
system to the Western starts right at the level of <i>swara</i>s or notes. Around the times of the Renaissance, the scale
based on ‘equal temperament’ (ET) was introduced in Western Music, to take care
of the difficulty in tuning to a changed key-note in a particular exposition, which
befell the user of the prevalent scale based on ‘just intonation’(JI). The JI
scale is, simplistically put, a collection of a note struck on say a string, and successive
overtones. These will follow a mathematically fixed ratio. Making a scale is
something like choosing a cricketing squad for a one-day match vs that for a
test-match. Different stalwarts for different genres…The ET scale involves
choosing a set of notes having minimum mutual dissonance, so as to enable a
fixed note instrument like a piano to play the widest gamut of tunes. But the
Indian ragas require notes differing by subtle shades. In fact the <i>swara</i>s themselves are said to be imbued with
emotions- like the <i>komal rishabh</i> engendering
<i>ati karun</i> or <i>raudra </i>emotions. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kl6yfgly_Io/VY7c8NfpW0I/AAAAAAAACB4/Eob_E3Sium8/s1600/gang-of-three-420width.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Kl6yfgly_Io/VY7c8NfpW0I/AAAAAAAACB4/Eob_E3Sium8/s640/gang-of-three-420width.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">PV, right with Soumik and Conductor Stephen</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; text-align: justify;">PV, or Param Vir, the musical hero of our
adolescence has this to say about some of the celebrated fusion attempts, particularly
those of the sitar-gang led by Pt. Ravi Shankar:</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“When people look for so-called fusion music,
they’re looking for easy elements of musical gesture amalgamated into one
cultural artefact. This often involves surface features grafted from one
language onto another, and in my view this approach rarely works. I would like
to suggest that we might try to look at background structure to see what one music
can learn from the structure of another. For example, there is an element of
rhythm in Indian Music which also exists in Western Musical theory as a distant
relation. I refer to the marvellous parallel between the Indian concept of <i>tala</i> cycles (<i>tali</i> and <i>khali</i>) and the
medieval western idea of the isorhythm…”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">PV goes on to explain the philosophy behind his
latest offering <a href="https://instagram.com/p/vY5eKkvqdc/">‘Raga Fields’ </a>in which the excellent British sarod player
Soumik Dutta has the lead role:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“I made it clear to the western musicians in the
ensemble that there was no requirement of them to try to sound ‘Indian’ in
style…any attempt by a musician from western tradition to attempt to adopt this
identity merely by adding glissandi to the mix and approximately playing the
notes of the raga is probably doomed for inadequacy”. Thus, the whole is not
the mechanical or static sum of assorted parts...<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Here are the views of Ivan Hewett, writing in the
Telegraph:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">“No wonder those well-meaning concertos for sitar
and orchestra, beginning with Ravi Shankar’s trail-blazing effort in 1971 tend
to sound so lame. The narrative is always the same. To begin with, the sitarist
rhapsodises ecstatically, just as he would (if) on his own. The orchestra is
superfluous, but the composer hides that awkward fact by giving them a drone to
play…Later on when things get exciting, the tables are turned. The soloist may
seem to be in the lime-light, but the overpowering orchestra, the onward drive of
the harmony…tells you which side is really in charge...”<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This not to question Panditji's prowess so far as the purely Indian <i>vadya-vrunda </i>is concerned: it can be traced back to his Uday Shankar days and Maihar Band. Just listen to this: if this or that passage does not resonate incessantly in your head </span>like the bee in the bonnet, when you get up tomorrow morning , nothing will:<br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8yQTDi9J92w" width="560"></iframe></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Reviewing PV’s Raga Fields, he says things are now
changing, basically due to the adoption of new rhythms by western musicologist,
as opposed to the earlier ‘four square’ rhythms…opening the possibility of a
middle ground…three cheers for <i>Jazz </i>I
sayyy….! Taking the analogy of planting a tree, the present method starts from the fruit at the tree-top moving
downwards to the seed. But nature starts from the seed- hence the failure of
the plant to flourish. In the form of PV or his companions like Soumik, the
seed is now planted in the western soil- we are now on nature’s side…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Incidentally, the amazing piano skills of PV and
the operas <i>Kid Stuff, Mikado, Oliver
Twist</i> and <i>Jesus Christ Superstar</i>
created by Barry John-PV for Xavier School, Delhi boys (XOBAD) during the 1970s
were YT’s introduction to western genres. PV’s mother was a well-known
classical vocalist of Delhi in her day. And Shah Rukh Khan is the product of
Barry John’s acting school. In the 80’s PV migrated to UK and has made an
indelible mark on the music there…It’s an immense loss to us, but World Music
is a gainer…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">That brings us to the earliest round of musical
exchanges between the Indian music and Western. Back to the Vedas….The last
decades of nineteenth century and those of the early 20<sup>th</sup> saw great
curiosity and interest on part of leading western composers. However the attempts
adhered to PV’s concepts rather than to the burden of Pt. Ravi Shankar’s
hurried expeditions. The early western composers address the <i>feeling </i>generated by the Indian subject,
say a <i>‘tarana’ </i>they heard, or the story of the <i>Ramayana.</i> It’s like driving at the <i>bhavaarth </i>rather than the <i>shabdik-arth</i>. The Indian element is so
minimal in these compositions that forget fusion, one discerns only a soupçon
or ‘suspicion’ as the French say, of the Indian. But one does feel there is a
rustle behind the curtains, so to say…It’s like musical Impressionism. Remember individual ragas and raaginis being
likened to different Gods in our early music scriptures? Raga <i>swara</i>s were given some prominence
however, in the works of Kaikhosru Sorabji, the British-Parsi composer
(1892-1988). Some of the compositions ‘inspired’ by Indian themes have, however,
literally been world-shaking, such as the Leo Delibe’s ‘Flower Duet’, “Sita”
and “Choral Hymns from Rigveda” by Gustav Holst (1911), British composer etc…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/7UvEcfjJboE" width="420"></iframe></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">We end the story with the French opera ‘Lakmè’, and
the remarkable aria ‘Flower Duet’. The opera was written by Leo Delibes and
first performed in where-else-but-Paris in 1883. The story is about Lakmè
(French rendering of ‘Lakshmi’), daughter of a Brahmin priest, who falls in
love with a British soldier in India. Lakmè is one of the best known operas in
history. Likewise, the tune of <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Op0ZbmBrJyE/VY7hAxUfWVI/AAAAAAAACCE/_mJ1ZPeSGyA/s1600/leah_partridge_-_lakme_-_photo_deborah_gray_mitchell1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Op0ZbmBrJyE/VY7hAxUfWVI/AAAAAAAACCE/_mJ1ZPeSGyA/s400/leah_partridge_-_lakme_-_photo_deborah_gray_mitchell1.jpg" width="285" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Leah Partridge as Lakme</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
the ‘Flower Duet’, sung by Lakmè and her maid
Mallika in the opera is said to be one of the most recognised pieces of music
in the western world. The signature tune of British Airways and the boarding
tunes of some other airlines are based on the Flower Duet. Hundreds of
Hollywood movies, western TV serials and advertisements have drawn on two Lakmè
duets, the other one being ‘Bell Song’ - the list can be seen under ‘Leo Delibes’
on Imdb.com. The list contains such distinguished names as ‘The Simpsons’
series, and ‘Friends’, as also innumerable movies including ‘The Hunger’. The
Yanni composition Aria is nothing but the ‘Flower Duet’. On Youtube, the combined
hits for this duet exceed 3 crores today! Though the Bell Song makes an effort
to sound like a fast <i>alaap</i>, the other
compositions do not strain to sound Indian. And Yes! JRD Tata’s mother Suzanne was
French…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/8Qx2lMaMsl8" width="420"></iframe></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/YAj9R3BwhCw" width="420"></iframe></span><br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">This according to us is India’s contribution to humanity’s
journey, rather the <i>Pushpak vimana </i>or
plastic surgery…<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9CscZ_c6Uxo8KyS0mjy97dhNtLtTKYNsEb3WdRONS8g_4FM7BYpJvgODw5ZDZjDIfgcsb06oF9KL1OMQrThELvRzR00tFcBpwYIVUrMxZQj9H8FnHBlkjZxIQkDnWQJBtf27Is1zxHJv/s1600/barry-john-photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="270" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjd9CscZ_c6Uxo8KyS0mjy97dhNtLtTKYNsEb3WdRONS8g_4FM7BYpJvgODw5ZDZjDIfgcsb06oF9KL1OMQrThELvRzR00tFcBpwYIVUrMxZQj9H8FnHBlkjZxIQkDnWQJBtf27Is1zxHJv/s400/barry-john-photo.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">THIS IS BARRY JOHN</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-to6xa5A2ryQ/VZvmQMhU5CI/AAAAAAAACCo/3rjQwy-D69I/s1600/john-barry-1933-20116-1296465973-hero-wide-0.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="192" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-to6xa5A2ryQ/VZvmQMhU5CI/AAAAAAAACCo/3rjQwy-D69I/s400/john-barry-1933-20116-1296465973-hero-wide-0.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">THIS IS JOHN BARRY</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Matter of Order!</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-8114772551626915032015-04-25T06:15:00.000-07:002015-04-28T02:22:48.302-07:00SIGHT AND SOUND: THE POLITICS OF IT<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 11.85pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">(delayed instalment, kindly read in conjunction with <i>Seeing Voices</i> of 23.01.2015)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 11.85pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 11.85pt; text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Alam Ara </span></i><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">was shot in 1931 with a composite Tanar camera system set up by Wilford
Deming Jr of Hollywood , which simultaneously with the shoot, recorded the
sound. Shooting had to be done at night, ‘using microphones hidden in
incredible places to keep them out of the camera range’ in the absence of booms
</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">(<a href="http://www.medialabju.org/swf/sound.swf"><span lang="EN-US">http://www.medialabju.org/swf/sound.swf</span></a></span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">). The first Hollywood talkie <i>The Jazz Singer </i>(1927)
was shot using the Vitaphone system: in this case, there were two separate
celluloid films prepared for one cinema: the whole one shot in silence as in
the past, and talkie sections shot with Vitaphone which recorded sound orthochromatically
like Tanar, to be interpolated into the whole film in the editing. The
Vitaphone system could not be used uniformly throughout the movie as it led to
compromise on picture quality.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">As one can imagine, the time for the idea called <i>dubbing</i>
had arrived, and nothing, as our friend, </span><span lang="BN" style="font-family: "Vrinda","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-ascii-font-family: Verdana; mso-bidi-language: BN; mso-hansi-font-family: Verdana;">সেই
বন্ধু -</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">remarked, is as
powerful as an idea whose time has come. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 11.85pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">There is a small distinction between dubbing and
playback. Dubbing is superimposition of dialogue or song on a visual, where as
playback involves a visual being displayed with a sound-track in the background
(<i>vive la difference ha ha ha…</i>?!). ‘Playback’ took on an altogether
different hue in India, becoming reserved for song rather than dialogue. Upto
the point of the talkie, Hollywood and Indian Cinema were on the same page, but
with the musical playback, the two parted ways. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Dubbing was always a dirty word in the West. First
used perhaps in <i>Jazz Singer, </i>to critics and producers, it appeared to be
a tissue of deception, marring the sanctity and credibility of the narrative. A
contemporary ad in <i>Variety </i>magazine sees Warner Brother declare “ In
response to public outcry, Warner Brothers are prohibiting any other voice
doubling or substitution…”- ‘just kidding’, they should have added, given the
shape of things to come! The practice carried on in Hollywood, with the rider
that now the voice-lender had to execute a secret contract that he or she would
never bring out the fact to light-for that would compromise the credibility of the
experience. Never were their names to be mentioned in the Credits. One lie was camouflaged
with another- and this conspiracy of silence continues to haunt Hollywood to
this day. A tragic outcome, lamented about by us on an earlier occasion, was
the <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2013/03/thissaturday-we-had-surfeit-of-problems.html">denial of the Best Actress Oscar </a>to Audrey Hepburn for <i>My Fair Lady</i>.
Julie Andrews, being an accomplished singer performed the part of Eliza on the
Broadway. However the producer Jack Warner had chosen Hepburn over Andrews for
the <i>movie</i>, rightly so, because the she could do justice to Eliza’s elfin
personality better. But alas, Audrey in a moment of truthfulness gave the entire
credit for the singing to dubbing artiste Marni Nixon (Mother Superior in <i>Sound
of Music</i>) and Hollywood felt as if the cat was tactlessly let out of the
bag, compromising the holy cow of credibility…Hepburn had merely done what
Indian heroines do day-in and day-out with gusto, and Julie Andrews got the
Oscar for <i>Mary Poppins </i>brushing aside the unquestionable claim of
Hepburn…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KTnvlQr5W1I/VTuV0dWlTJI/AAAAAAAAB-s/gmS5cV02y44/s1600/mother%2Bsup.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KTnvlQr5W1I/VTuV0dWlTJI/AAAAAAAAB-s/gmS5cV02y44/s1600/mother%2Bsup.png" height="288" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">MARNI NIXON (CENTRE) AS MOTHER SUPERIOR IN SOUND OF MUSIC: SHE'S HOLLYWOOD'S LATA</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">On the contrary, Indian Cinema was less mealy-mouthed
about the fact of playback. Music in the Indian cine-goer’s mind dominates the
story-telling part of Cinema to such an extent, that the narrative in the
golden days of musical greats, was thought of as a mere adjunct to the music
part- an intrusion, to be indulgently put up with. So strong is the presence of
Music in our culture, it looms large over any other art. Talking about the
movie <i>vs </i>songs dichotomy, a film is like the almond plum: some
communities, like tribals in Chhatisgarh
savour the plum and discard the nut, while some junk the plum, consuming
only the nut. The explanation the Chhatisgarhis give for this preference is
that the nut is often poisonous, but the plum is always above board. In our
analogy this assertion amounts to saying that while the movie is bound to hold
some interest, the songs may or may not be good, ha, ha, ha…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PmMpSboXuds/VTuRaeNb2QI/AAAAAAAAB-g/fhlX9m7OJcY/s1600/IMG_6488-CE-Almonds-before-crack.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-PmMpSboXuds/VTuRaeNb2QI/AAAAAAAAB-g/fhlX9m7OJcY/s1600/IMG_6488-CE-Almonds-before-crack.jpg" height="386" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THE ALMOND PLUM: SOME PREFER THE FLESH, SOME, THE NUT!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">In India the touchstone of authenticity operates at
another level: <i>chhodo cinematics- </i> the tune should be based on the lyrics, and
not the other way round as was the wont of numerous talented duos like the OP
Nayyar- SH Bihari combo-meal, or the despicable Laxmikant-Pyarelal-Anand
Bakshi trio. It was sufficient that, if not
actually done, justice seemed to
be done to the movie’s musical score- and only Shailendra and Sahir could
sustain that illusion…And tell us frankly: which wing of Cinema can boast of arch
perfectionists like Lata Mangeshkar or Asha Bhosle or Mohd. Rafi- for the Hindi
cine-goers, their excellence is utterly compelling, to be taken for granted…. We'd beg pardon comparing disparates: is there an Indian Movie Director about whom it can be said that he or she is the Lata Mangeshkar of Editing-a Cricketer or Footballer for that matter...? Or a painter who's the Pt. BSJ or Lata or Asha of Indian Painting, or Literature? We'd exclaim Yo...!ahaa! to someone putting Spielberg in her class. So overwhelming and inundating were the artistic and political talents of Lata,
that she is credited by many as being the personality who led to the so-called
aberration in favour of Music, to the loss of cinematic excellence…something
the house does not agree with..<i>hamre liye to saari khudai ek taraf, Lata bai
ek taraf..</i>!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 11.85pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But it was not so always…<i>Ayega Anewala, </i>Lata’s
first hit song, as also others, did not receive credit in the titles of <i>Mahal</i>
- for the fact of dubbing was to be concealed following Hollywood’s philosophy
of nursing the illusion. Myrna Layton writes in her book quoting several
sources, that when the song debuted on <i>AIR</i>, the radio stations were
inundated with hundreds of letters seeking the name of the singer who had
rendered the song “so exquisitely’. The broadcaster sought the artiste’s name
from the producers of the movie, and by that time the song had become such a
craze that the studio had to reveal the name of Lata<i>bai…</i> In late Piloo
Mody’s words, AIR came to be the fiefdom of two ladies- Indira Gandhi and Lata
Mangeshkar! By the way Lata had debuted on the waves in her own name in 1942 at
the age of 13 on AIR Sangli, with a choice of <i>natya</i> songs…being heard on
radio was no big deal to her…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">Even in the West, the dubbing phenomenon had become an
un-put-downable putsch or a super buoy that could not be pressed under the
waters for long. Contemporaries will recall the <i>Milli Vanilli</i> scandal of
1990. The Grammy for the Best New Artist was withdrawn after Fab Morvan and Rob
Pilatus of <i>MV </i>were found to be lip-syncing right on stage! We cannot express the feeling of betrayal
Myrna personally encountered when she found that in the <i>same song</i>, (<i>mile
sur mera tumhara) </i> the <i>same</i>
voice- Lata’s was regurgitated by many a charming face! There were three beautiful
faces on the screen, Waheeda, Hema Malini and Sharmila, and the voice was only
one: that of Lata. There is in fact a worse aberration in the annals of Hindi
cinema which should leave Myrna disconsolate: one screen character singing in
two voices on the screen: yesss that is the song <i>raat bhi hai kuch
bheegi-bheegi</i> (<i>Mujhe Jeene Do)</i>. The song was tailored for Asha
Bhosle by Jaidev, but Lata Mangeshkar found the song so bewitching, that she barged
into the studios, throwing her hat into the arena. Jaidev is said to have been a
broken man that day, but as no one can say ‘no’ to Lata<i>didi</i>, the song became
a joint venture, sung largely by Lata, Asha mouthing a few lines, both voices
emanating from the <i>shreemukh</i> of Waheeda Rehman! The episode forms the
basis of a poignant scene in Sai Paranjape’s iconic movie <i>Saaz</i>, where
the part of a non-plussed Jaidev is enacted by our beloved Bhupen Hazarika! Asha
only manages to sing the <i>rum-jhum rum-jhum</i>, though she executes that
admirably. Devki Pandit sang for elder sister Mansi, and Kavita Krishnamurty
for Bansi. Pt. Suresh Wadkar sang for their father, and now you know why, invariably, he has
to preface his references to Lata<i>didi </i>with ‘<i>Maajhi Maa Saraswati’</i>
on the lines of <i>PBOH!</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4GGE-KVHP4sVAjEnhn3Hm_mbX9IdNror5pwUVrTxAgfq0i-KHzZDjgeP28gQrX1UtayuSyvSe-yqFr4btM7Q_q3DqRKK9vRzFy64qy35I7r3p1dXG-OlQ386uSSaz0nb7jb7vM2RC7d-9/s1600/Movie_Tape_clip_art_medium+-+Copy.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4GGE-KVHP4sVAjEnhn3Hm_mbX9IdNror5pwUVrTxAgfq0i-KHzZDjgeP28gQrX1UtayuSyvSe-yqFr4btM7Q_q3DqRKK9vRzFy64qy35I7r3p1dXG-OlQ386uSSaz0nb7jb7vM2RC7d-9/s1600/Movie_Tape_clip_art_medium+-+Copy.png" height="150" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaUf4a7lhQ4/VTuK94Xh90I/AAAAAAAAB-A/OU1-fK7q-AY/s1600/Movie_Tape_clip_art_medium.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xaUf4a7lhQ4/VTuK94Xh90I/AAAAAAAAB-A/OU1-fK7q-AY/s1600/Movie_Tape_clip_art_medium.png" height="150" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>BADAL CHANDI BARASAYE: </i>Bansi is left aghast at sis intoning all lines meant for her. The Music Director is a helpless spectator, who blesses Mansi while Bansi leaves in a huff!<i> </i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XoAb3UWJ-9s/VTuNCLdAq6I/AAAAAAAAB-M/BLpOfPKCTvQ/s1600/vlcsnap-2015-04-25-14h10m38s121.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XoAb3UWJ-9s/VTuNCLdAq6I/AAAAAAAAB-M/BLpOfPKCTvQ/s1600/vlcsnap-2015-04-25-14h10m38s121.png" height="384" width="640" /></a></div>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1kyEnG2m2vE/VTuNTjTxSnI/AAAAAAAAB-U/nWOO8vgEXWc/s1600/vlcsnap-2015-04-25-14h11m03s118.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1kyEnG2m2vE/VTuNTjTxSnI/AAAAAAAAB-U/nWOO8vgEXWc/s1600/vlcsnap-2015-04-25-14h11m03s118.png" height="384" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">Such a heavy-weight of a song: two top notch singers for one voice I sayyy...!</span><br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/KXic0pmpKcw" width="420"></iframe></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-size: small;">Listen to the song and you'll know it's stuff you'd kill for Maan...!</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">But all said and done, whatever the analysis of wise people, the two sisters have weathered all storms and are very much together, snatching pig-tails now and then, and as of now, have out-lasted any other music <i>khandaan</i>..!</span>
<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;"><br /></span></div>
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-US;">(…concluding instalment, shortly..)<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-62878825008127991832015-04-21T01:53:00.000-07:002015-04-29T09:34:12.820-07:00RARE RECORDINGS<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Our
ancestors, i.e. forefathers of YT and <i>Missus</i>
were in ancient times recipients of Royal temple grants in various parts of present
day Maharashtra and MP. The centre-piece of the in-laws’ household happens to
be a beautiful Rama temple at Sagaur in Madhya Pradesh, equipped with orchards
and greens. The ancestors of <i>Missus </i>were
more musically oriented, in fact, <i>kirtankar</i>s
who also used to be known as <i>bua</i>s
among Maharashtrians. Clever readers, <i>chatur
vachakani</i>, of the blog will recall the story so far: our father-in-law, Pt.
Balaji Pathak joined Pt. Bhatkhande’s band of faithfuls, became part of Gwalior
<i>Gharana</i>, and went on to join
Allahabad University as a Professor of Vocal Classical. After retirement he
served Bhatkhande Sangeet Vidyapeeth and routinely visited their centres
including those in neighbouring countries where the art is practised.<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Cut
to <i>Ramnavmi </i>2015…YT retired from <i>Chabiwala Bank </i>in the end of circa 2014
and was privileged to attend the Sagaur celebrations of the year. Of course, in the
three-and-half decades of our marriage we have visited the sleepy little town
several times. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uFKk2XNcizw/VTZA_J304bI/AAAAAAAAB9g/KxOANSuRTqE/s1600/IMG_0003.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-uFKk2XNcizw/VTZA_J304bI/AAAAAAAAB9g/KxOANSuRTqE/s1600/IMG_0003.JPG" height="640" width="478" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">THE SANCTUM SANCTORUM</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Oblivious of His Rambo version, our <i>Ram Mandir </i> owes allegiance to the gentle Rama . </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The temple and
the listeners of Sagaur have been delighted witness to many a classical </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">baithak </i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">in the days when it was not all
about money honey! and Masters regardless of their nominal religion -Pt.
Bhimsen Joshi, Ustad Ali Akbar and Ustad Abdul Halim Jaffer, not to forget Gwalior
greats including the Pandits and Vyases performed right inside the temple out
of sheer devotion. Lot’s of folklore about the </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">gunijan</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> @ </span><i style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Ram Mandir</i><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">, about
which later…</span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">What brings us
here really is the treasure that the temple holds. No, nothing like the <i>Padmanabh </i>temple….no tales of
descendants knocking walls for hollows or descending with metal-detectors…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="background: white; font-family: Verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">The real treasures
here were nurtured basically by Pt. Sharad 'Nana' Pathak, the previous care-taker of the
temple who struck the Right Exit of the temple at a ripe old age, and joined <i>Rama </i>in 2014… He was the eldest cousin
of <i>Missus</i> and a silent recorder and
collector of recordings of small gatherings where the Pandits and Ustads let their
hair down reputedly being in their elements. Nana, the quintessential <i>Milind </i>of Marathi <i>Natyasangeet</i>, the hoarder of <i>makrand: </i>nectar! All recorded with the
artistes’ blessings of course, which is apparent from the tenor of the pieces..,Among
the siblings, Nana was absolutely the most passionate about Classical,
including Caranatic, and would <i>drive </i>to
concerts like <i>Tansen </i>and <i>Sawai Gandharva</i>…Here is Nana at SG 1975
listening to none else than Pandit Bhimsen Joshi:</span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n8Hnxe-NIE0/VTYPEruIkmI/AAAAAAAAB9A/WzK_s_EkLNc/s1600/vlcsnap-0189-08-20-08h35m53s880.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-n8Hnxe-NIE0/VTYPEruIkmI/AAAAAAAAB9A/WzK_s_EkLNc/s1600/vlcsnap-0189-08-20-08h35m53s880.png" height="320" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The
picture is taken from the excellent Asavari <i>drut</i>
on Youtube …<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">So…
we cornered the enviable task of exposing the recordings to the classical
loving public of course with the consent of the present <i>mathadheesh</i>! <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The
collection has seen around 70 years now. The compilers were working on senior
posts with the Government, nursing the intent to organise and disperse the music
freely in the open skies post-retirement, but the resolve was hardly aided by
the durability of the media….As you can imagine, originally most of the
recordings were on spools. Over the years many relatives attempted collation,
particularly Col. (Dr.) Vija<i>bhau</i> who
managed to convert many a recording into mp3, but pen-drives lose themselves so
often I sayyy…and hence the task, in large parts, has to be repeated. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">Alas..!
when the spools were initially converted to cassette tapes, the written notes
accompanying the spools were lost in many cases, although many have thankfully
survived. The first two pickings of the harvest, assumed more than 60 years old
(the universal copyright period) were recently published by <i>Missus</i> who is directing the task, being
the expert. She calls her Youtube channel “<i>Yamini
Kalyani”</i> after her favourite raga <i>Yaman
Kalyan. </i>Some of the noise emanating from tapes could be eliminated with the
help of Audacity, but it turns out that there is a trade-off between elimination
of noise and amplitude (i.e. loudness). Here are the vintage BSJs:<o:p></o:p></span><span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/HFkfP-0gaiM" width="420"></iframe></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/4FloM4iV-Lc" width="420"></iframe></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">The
reception amongst aficionados has been most encouraging but as of now beg pardon, we have
no reply to the queries about the location or names of accompanists. Hopefully
someone may step in with clues. We hope to publish at least 50 recordings in
due course! Mostly vocal, but including Dr. Rajam, MSG and KV on violin and Pt.
Hari Prasad on the flute..<o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-18405997199174400942015-03-08T07:19:00.001-07:002017-04-19T22:26:32.837-07:00BOND THEME:INDIAN CONNECTION<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">We had occasion to talk
about someone called an </span><a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2013/03/auchit-podlom-tujea-mogan-goa.html" style="font-family: verdana, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">‘arranger’ </a><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt;">in the context of film music, and the
confusion was sought to be dispelled in the entry on Goan musicians. Here we
seek to further confound the confusion, he, he, he…</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Sometime ago we came
across an anxious query about this legendary creature on a music-group and a
contributor wisely referred everybody curious to that excellent channel <i>sudeep audio </i>on Youtube. However the
group continues to debate the role of the arranger, and confusion continues to
reign, leading to the conclusion that it’s somehow a ‘subjective’ issue. The
following lines will demonstrate exactly how. The story is something as wacky as
the protagonist of the concerned movie (James Bond) himself, and when CNN put
it out on Youtube they called it the ‘Amazing story of the James Bond theme’! This unique piece of music charts invariably amongst the top 5 film-background themes of all times. Just imagine: the original for that theme was an Indian sounding song, “Good
Sign, Bad Sign” from the aborted movie ‘A House for Mr. Biswas’ played to the sitar at
that! The following is Monty's 2005 re-rendering of <i>Good Sign, Bad Sign </i>by way of nostalgia, in which the sitar is played by Ustad Mehboob Nadeem, and tabla by Pt. Dimesh. Note the <i>swarsamooh P D S^S^D P g R S S</i>, reminiscent of <i>Shivranjani.</i><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/g6EuzGhIyRQ" width="420"></iframe></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/Ii1tc493bZM" width="560"></iframe></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">Well Dr. No, the first
Bond movie was produced in Great Britain in 1962, on a shoe-string budget, as
the concept found few takers in Hollywood. As the shooting went on, stars
turned favourable for James, and the producers could cadge another $ 100,000 for
funding the scene where Dr. No’s pad
blows up, on top of the $ 1 mn. initially placed on stakes by </span></span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">financers</span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">United Artists.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The musical score of Dr.
No was with the Jewish Monty Norman, who wrote the melody for the Bond theme, basing it on
the above-said song created by Monty earlier for the Trinidadian movie which came unstuck.. It did
not sound convincing, and the celebrated John Barry, was engaged to ‘arrange’
its score, offering him a princely sum of £ 250, with three days at his disposal! The
famous rock guitarist Vic Flick then replaced the sitar with his guitar, and
the rest is cinematic history. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/F05E2zo0Ylg" width="560"></iframe></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Not that history ended
there. John Barry went on to score music for the next 11 Bond movies, and thus identified with Bond-music, the glory and credits associated with the theme came to be cornered by him. Considerable acrimony grew between
Monty and Barry, with a libel case slapped by the former on the latter. The
copyright royalty battle ended in court, and the victor was Monty, who was
awarded all royalties since 1962, the sum being in excess of £ 600,000 upto the
year 2000!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Well, the court preferred
the melody over the arrangement, but the two versions need to be checked out at
leisure by the reader, to decide whether the content is more important or the
packaging, whether he or she would like to split the honours, or whether the medium
is the message, that is whether the form is itself the content, as most
listeners in England seem to believe! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">In the Indian Bollywood context, the arranger has to be awarded additional points at the cost of the Music Director, however. The MD i.e. the melody maker usually starts with a <i>raga </i>suitable to the mood of the song, or frequently sifts through the endless procession of western songs, 'adapting' tunes from here and there. Thus in more than 75% of the cases, the melody is a given, the arranger then rendering the notation and fleshing out the melody, giving life and form to the song. In such a case, the lyricist's contribution will also be more substantial.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">The comments about Monty that embellish the following musical saga of the song depict <i>youtubiana</i> at its crappiest. The comments seem to have racist overtones really...guys, music knows no boundaries, I sayyy...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/LYLbVS-QyZA" width="420"></iframe></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;">The following is an utterly refreshing example of what Surinamese kids are capable of. It's Pt. Madhup Mudgal's <i>Jogkauns-</i>based <i>Charishnu, </i>conducted by his student Pta. Rita Bokil (not my cousin, he, he, he...):</span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , sans-serif;"><span style="line-height: 18.3999996185303px;"><br /></span></span>
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/gRLGD0zm3hg" width="420"></iframe><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">[Incidentally, in the
American Film Institute’s list of top cinematic heroes, Bond ranks at no. 3,
Atticus Finch taking the first place. Mahatma Gandhi (21) is ahead of Superman
(26), Tarzan (34) and The Tramp (Chaplin: 38)]...!<o:p></o:p></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "verdana" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">[Also, <i>House for Mr. Biswas </i>figures in the <i>Time </i>list of the best 100 English novels for 1923-2005]</span></div>
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<br /></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-27514655728452859542015-01-23T06:56:00.001-08:002015-01-23T06:56:47.969-08:00SEEING VOICES<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<i><span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">With or without much science or knowledge,
people try to solve problems they run into during their daily lives. As a
by-product, they create Technology: tools and techniques that help keep solving
the problems efficiently without having to re-invent the solution multiple
number of time... -Eduardo
Escardo-Raffo<o:p></o:p></span></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">(Contd from Sound…Music...Cinema...)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">So, initially at the instance of the pioneers
like Edison, the film was buttressed by sound created in the pit, as there was
no known expedient for putting the same in the horse’s mouth. The sounds would
vary with each performance and the public had to stretch their convictions, and
pretend that the illusion was real. In general, all authorities are in
agreement as to the purpose of Cinema: creating a credible and sustained
illusion. Cinema pioneers doggedly went after problems that beset the fledgling
craft. Columbus stumbled into a new continent and in the process created
avenues that enriched human existence immeasurably. Likewise, cinema pioneers
created a whole new Culture, a major component being the technology of Sound in
Cinema, which is now one of the most critical disciplines associated with
cinema, next in importance perhaps, to Editing. </span><span style="font-size: large;"> </span><span style="font-size: large;">Before we see how sound was wedded to vision,
a covert and hitherto unsuspected association between the two needs to be
highlighted.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">The process of evolution of the talkie and how
sound and vision interact, is quite instructive. McGurk and MacDonald (1976:US)
experimented exhaustively with the phenomenon, producing their paper “Hearing
Lips and Seeing Voices” wherein the McGurk Effect-how the sum of vision and
sound differed from merely the sum (vision+sound) - was unveiled. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/olgqCSYk300" width="560"></iframe></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;">McGURK EFFECT</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">The burden of the song is this: “vision is the
primary sense for humans but sound is <i>multimodal</i>, involving information
from more than a single sensory modality, more particularly from <i>audition</i>
and <i>vision</i>… when it comes to recognize speech or sound, the brain cannot
differentiate whether it is seeing or hearing the incoming information”
(Wikipedia). By throwing sound into the arena, the players changed the very
complexion of the cine-experience. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">As a small illustration, take the example of synchronous
sound: one that emanates from the screen visuals, and asynchronous sound, which
is disembodied. Asynchronous sounds impart
an unexpected dimension to the visuals. For instance a couple fights on-screen
and in the background we hear the siren of an ambulance. This could imply that
the fight might result in a medical condition, or could go on to enhance
realism of the scene by underscoring an urban setting. All this, without being
saddled with a separate visual, achieving the desired outcome in an economical
and a more subtle manner. Similarly the <i>Akashwani</i> signature tune has conventionally
become a surrogate for day-break- the audio obviates the need to show the Sunrise,
people brushing teeth, birds scurrying to get the worm for their chicks- and
remember, initially there was no colour to embellish the morn… Likewise a
tell-tale musical track could be used in the background to indicate the feelings
fleeting through the mind of the on-screen character or sought to be engendered
in the minds of the audience. Battleship Potemkin was a silent movie, but released
with an original background score in Germany. The score supposedly had a
‘crushing effect’ in Germany, so much so that in many places the German
military command passed the film but banned the musical score. Goebbels
reputedly said about the movie ‘it is a marvelous film without equal in
cinema…anyone who has no firm political conviction could become a Bolshevik
after seeing the movie..’<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Another interesting instance of the secular
interaction between vision and sound is
quoted by Ashish Rajyadhyaksha from Keshavrao Bhole’s book <i>Majhe Sangeet:
Rachana ani Digdarshan. </i>Bhole composed music for V.Shantaram’s initial
talkies like <i>Amritmanthan</i> and <i>Andhalyanchi Shala</i>. Keshavrao Bhole
wrote:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 10.0pt; margin-left: 1.0cm; margin-right: 11.85pt; margin-top: 0cm; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">During rehearsals I timed every sequence with a stop-watch and composed
my phrases to given durations. And then to demonstrate the effect to the
director, as much as to actors and musicians, we would play to the action in
the rehearsal. But we had a remarkable and unforeseen result. The actors
started choreographing their performance to the music, finding a rhythm that
they matched with their movements, speaking their lines to the curves of the
music….<i>the pace of the performance was bound to the music…..</i>I got new
ideas about the music itself. We could exercise greater control on sound volume
than ever before…The pitch and qualities of the spoken voice helped us to
choose our instruments as well, so that there was no interference in frequency.
It helped us choose our octaves… <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 11.85pt; text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Putting sound into cinema was easier
said than done. The noises of whirring cameras, lurching trolleys and overhead
cranes could not be overcome and the best that could be done was nocturnal
shooting. But so what- during dance-shoots the costumes would create their own
noises. Microphones would be stationary,
restricting movements of characters. Voice delivery, for instance pitch of
singing, would be affected by vigorous movement of characters. Retakes had to
be done constantly, adding to costs. Songs posed their own challenge. The
rhythm had to be synchronous with the action in case of real-time recording-
imagine what would happen to an <i>Ayega Anewala </i>in such conditions…and indeed
song would prove to be the thin edge of the wedge which was destined to prise open
the can of Dubbing…</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-25926596487661412312015-01-14T02:02:00.001-08:002015-02-06T11:09:04.985-08:00SOUND...MUSIC...CINEMA....!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">One thing that always mystifies us is the interplay of the
triumvirate of Film, Sound, and Music- which is largely a technical matter. We were trying to figure out how and why
Sound becomes Music (posts like <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2013/01/blog-post.html">Remembering Nobody</a> and <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2014/10/discord-over-harmony.html">Discord over Harmony</a>)
and found Cinema becoming an inextricable part of the study, presumably because
the auditory and visual senses are lasting companions in man’s aesthetic journey.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">To elaborate, while
reviewing various posts in the blog <i>IK</i>
we were startled to discover a thread running in such a manner that the whole
blog takes the form of the Ariadne’s Thread. This, in formal Logic, is an
algorithm for solving a problem with multiple routes of proceeding, wherein the
records created at each stage allow for backtracking and adopting an
alternative route towards the solution…the starting point could be <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2015/01/nobody-builds-acid-house.html">Charanjit Singh’s experimentation </a>with the Roland TB 303 which led to a revolution in
dance music…it could start with our discussion on <i>chhand </i>(*) where we probed <a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2014/10/can-caterpillar-ever-walkif-it-is-asked.html">Pta. Kishoritai’s theories regarding </a><i><a href="http://www.indrayanikaathi.com/2014/10/can-caterpillar-ever-walkif-it-is-asked.html">chhand-swara</a> </i>kinship…or we could start
with Satyajit Ray’s skepticism about the capability of Indian Music to support
emotional content in Cinema..or the phenomenon of Playback Singing in Indian
Cinema vs Hollywood…or we could tee off with Ritwik Ghatak’s experimentation
with cinematic sound…it’s a richh topic germane to an endless series of
exciting intellectual eddies..</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Since the issues
are related rather loosely, we shall write this as a series of short posts, to
spare readers and the writer of information overload.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">It transpires
that good old Schrodinger’s Cat is our <i>hamsafar
</i>on this terrain too. In our post Universe and Three Blind Men, we talked
about quantum mechanics and how the state or position of a fundamental particle
changes in the very process of measuring or assessing the same. The same thing
happened in the evolution of Cinema. To the world’s surprise, in the process of
experimenting with sounds and music, seeking enrichment of the Movie, all the
three underwent unexpected and revolutionary changes, leaving them
unrecognizable from what they initially were…</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Our first silent
movie, <i>Raja Harishchandra</i> was
released in 1913, and it took 18 years for cinema to spout words, which
happened in <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2V9Rkvn1NwM/VLY7lmXwpNI/AAAAAAAAB6w/jCiWE9nETWg/s1600/alam-ara.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-2V9Rkvn1NwM/VLY7lmXwpNI/AAAAAAAAB6w/jCiWE9nETWg/s1600/alam-ara.jpg" height="320" width="242" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">ALAM ARA POSTER EMPHASIZES<br />THE SONG</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
the shape of <i>Alam Ara</i> of
Ardeshir Irani ('all talking, singing, dancing'). In between, the silent movie being screened would be
accompanied by an impromptu background sound created by a small band of
musicians sitting in the orchestral pit, equipped with maybe a harmonium, a <i>tabla</i>, cymbals and at times served by a
good singer who’d be prepared with traditional <i>bandishein </i>like <i>Raghupati
Raghav</i> (Gulzar writing in <i>Encyclopedia
of Hindi Cinema</i>). Cinema pioneer Edison always saw ‘sound and vision as a
pair’ (American musicologist Myrna J Layton in her doctoral thesis <i>“Illusion and Reality..Playback Music</i> …”,
quoting Altman) …It is said that when Edison released his silent movie <i>Martha</i>, he made some very sage
observations in the flyer, instructing the user to procure a church quartette
‘to remain behind the scenes and sing the parts and produce a very fine
entertainment, besides giving a local interest to the same by utilizing a local
talent’ (<i>ibid</i>)</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Cine enthusiast
Ashish Rajyadhyaksha once wrote on the views of two eminent Indian personalities
who had reservations about Indian Music taking over as the ‘sound’ of any
cinema. Pt. B.R Deodhar (Kumar Gandharva’s <i>guru</i>)
believed, and AR explains “..as long as we could not produce, say, the rumble
of thunder <i>through</i> our music, we
could never produce useful sound..” Likewise Satyajit Ray rued absence of an Indian
Musical tradition that could illustrate as background score, the length and
breadth of audience emotion. An obvious illustration from Western Classical is
the Beethoven’s 5<sup>th</sup> symphony, the 4 dramatic initial notes of which
formed the life and soul of the background score in so many WW2 movies, that
the symphony itself came to be known, by and by, as the Victory Symphony. </span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/_4IRMYuE1hI" width="420"></iframe></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">If that piece
does not give the listener goose-bumps, nothing will…There is no equivalent <i>misaal </i>in Indian Music is what’s meant
by Ray and Deodhar. But we shall see as we go along, the best Indian
directors work their way around, creating all to the better, musical paradigms
that would render deadly emotional support to poignant cinema situations. For
instance in Ray’s <i>Jalsaghar</i>, the
death of Biswambhar Ray in the final scene is accompanied, very effectively so,
merely by the anguished neigh from his beloved horse <i>Toofan.</i> Similarly, the auditory background in Sita’s suicide scene
in Ghatak’s <i>Subarnarekha </i>is an
indeterminate sound, but very telling.</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"><span style="font-size: large;">Contd…</span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US">___________________________________________________________________________</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span lang="EN-US"> * (</span><span lang="EN-US" style="font-family: "Mangal","serif"; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi;">छंद)</span></div>
</div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-161636706503115222015-01-07T11:24:00.001-08:002016-07-27T07:11:33.331-07:00CHARANJIT SINGH KI AJEEB DASTAAN<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Roland Corporation Japan launched their TB 303 bass synthesizer
and sequencer in 1982. Only 10,000 pieces were manufactured and sold, that is,
it proved to be a flop. The equipment was marketed as an accompaniment for guitarists
practising alone. In 1987 Chicago electro-musicians discovered a major application
for the 303- it worked as a unified console for creating psychedelic disco music, producing heightened
basses and squelching sounds- the funky sounds in Bappi Lahiri’s ‘I am a disco
dancer’ or R.D. Burman’s ‘<i>Dil lena khel hai dildaar ka</i>’ came from this
equipment. The genre was later named Acid House music, the discos where it
resounded being LSD joints. The <i>Guardian</i> listed the machine as one of the 50
key events in the history of dance music. The major hits created with the
machine really date to 1987. In 2002, there was a sensation in Western music
circles which is best described by <i>The Guardian</i>:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 9pt 10pt 22.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">“In 2002, record
collector Edo Bouman came across Ten Ragas in a shop in Delhi. “Back at my
hotel I played it on my portable player, and I was blown away. It sounded like
acid house, or like an ultra-minimal Kraftwerk.” But it was the date on the
record that shocked Bouman. Released 1982, it predated the first acid house
record – often regarded as Phuture’s Acid Trax – by five years. Bouman tracked
down Singh to Mumbai. “He was most friendly and surprised I knew the album. I
remember asking him how he got to this acid-like sound, but he didn’t quite get
my point. He didn’t realise how stunningly modern it was.”</span><span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">(Louis
Pattison writing in <i>The Guardian</i> in April 10: <a href="http://www.bombay-connection.com/en_gb/site/page/2/reviews">http://www.bombay-connection.com/en_gb/site/page/2/reviews</a>)<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin-right: 9pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On his part, Edo Bouman
wrote:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 9pt 10pt 22.5pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">"This is so absolutely
brilliant and bonkers, that when we first heard it, we thought it must be fake,
some modern day Rephlex artist putting everyone on, taking the piss, with a
“raga-techno” album supposedly from the early ’80s. But, no joke, this is the real
thing! In 1982, Charanjit Singh, a famous Bollywood composer (he was featured
on Sublime Frequencies amazing Bollywood Steel Guitar compilation), had a plan
to translate ancient traditional Indian classical ragas to the synthesizer.
Using the very synths that would later define Acid House (Rolands TB-303 and
TR-808!), Singh unwittingly created a proto-acid masterpiece, </span><i style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">before the
techno genre ever existed</i><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">! Since only a hundred or less copies were made
originally, this release was mostly a rumour since its creation.</span></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5DgaQ57UhvE/VK19CfFWXmI/AAAAAAAAB5Q/f2B5XfiNCXM/s1600/TB303_Front_View.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="306" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-5DgaQ57UhvE/VK19CfFWXmI/AAAAAAAAB5Q/f2B5XfiNCXM/s1600/TB303_Front_View.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">THE MACHINE</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xPzTYhyQEdo/VK19z_w_gyI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/PENkhWlaypM/s1600/vlcsnap-7141.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-xPzTYhyQEdo/VK19z_w_gyI/AAAAAAAAB5Y/PENkhWlaypM/s1600/vlcsnap-7141.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">THE MAN</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-93XsyeXhIQI/VK1-QTfPkbI/AAAAAAAAB5g/SHtgWuNC9SA/s1600/vlcsnap-10666.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-93XsyeXhIQI/VK1-QTfPkbI/AAAAAAAAB5g/SHtgWuNC9SA/s1600/vlcsnap-10666.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">AS A <i>KESHDHARI</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The record in question is called ’10 Ragas to a Disco
Beat’ created by Singh with the TB 303, a TR 808 drummer and a Jupiter 8
keyboard. According to him, the <i>glissando</i> functionality (gliding between
pitches) is particularly conducive to playing of Raga melodies. <i>Kalawati</i> (spelt in Punjabi as Kalvati here) is one of the best- rest assured, all are devastating..just read the Youtubites' comments below the video.."unbelievable...can't stay sit.." says one expert...</span></span><br />
<span style="line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.39px;">In each composition, a set of the <i>raga's swaras</i> forms the basic rhythm. It sounds almost like an <i>ostinato. </i>For instance in 'Kalvati' it goes:</span><br />
<span style="line-height: 18.39px;"><br /></span><span style="line-height: 18.39px;">S G S/G P G/PP DD</span> nn SS.<br />
<span style="line-height: 18.39px;"><br /></span>
<span style="line-height: 18.39px;">The artiste has admirable command on the raga melody-<i>palle pai gya</i>, as we say <i>i</i>n Punjabi:</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwxk7e4AwgtTKDVDyQolZuejZsBPYq_SMSRkYNcoLYhTx17sfVtH1sFhR6LBMWRqHzVtcjZMP7lLc1q1Uhm1A' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>
<br />
<span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">For records, Charanjit (now 73) on guitar was part of the
original score in many </span><span style="font-family: inherit; line-height: 115%;">many celebrated Bollywood
numbers created by Music Directors like Shankar-Jaikishen and S.D. Burman. His
son Raju Singh is now a major arranger in the film industry, having arranged
scores for Traffic Signal, <i>Pagalpan, Kisi
Se Na Kehna</i> etc. Charanjit now plays mostly overseas single-handed, and
rarely if ever locally, apparently to escape from demands and machinations of local <i>neta-</i>types. You can judge his caliber from the following solo:</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 18.39px;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/HU3qR8mIyOY" width="560"></iframe></span><br /></div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 370.4pt; text-align: justify;">
<div style="text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">On Youtube, one can watch
how Rana Ghose tracked him down in Mumbai in 2010 and took a lovely interview
with affable clean-shaven Sardarji and his plain-speaking Bengali wife Suparna
(Rana Ghose channel). The efforts of friends like Rana have resulted in offering
Indian audiences a chance to admire his music and the 10 Ragas release has been
relaunched. Singh enjoys an iconic status all over Europe and US. Here's a man whose ideas transformed a dud instrument into one of the top devices responsible for transforming dance and music styles of the age. Our Ministers
would do well to recognize the live phenomenal talent amidst us rather than
launch on a wild goose chase after the <i>rishi</i>s who allegedly were the
original inventors of the Pythagoras theorem or the flying machine. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
</div>
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<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 370.4pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">RANA GHOSE’S ALBUM:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="tab-stops: 370.4pt; text-align: justify;">
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="line-height: 115%; mso-bidi-font-size: 11.0pt;"><iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="//www.youtube.com/embed/tT64B6vs9Mc" width="560"></iframe></span><br />
MAN ON A MISSION</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzxNMOoS3Oo/VK1_Q7NYfiI/AAAAAAAAB5s/fGYmKAUsk6k/s1600/vlcsnap-5970.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzxNMOoS3Oo/VK1_Q7NYfiI/AAAAAAAAB5s/fGYmKAUsk6k/s1600/vlcsnap-5970.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">RANA LOCATES THE HOUSE</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G5Up3NhKtXU/VK1_oHbBv7I/AAAAAAAAB50/7bhHbSshdrU/s1600/vlcsnap-6414.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G5Up3NhKtXU/VK1_oHbBv7I/AAAAAAAAB50/7bhHbSshdrU/s1600/vlcsnap-6414.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;"><i>TERE DAR PE AAYA HUN</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BwjF3KkdcvE/VK2BkqcetNI/AAAAAAAAB6A/-3Y6NT4atFk/s1600/vlcsnap-156708.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-BwjF3KkdcvE/VK2BkqcetNI/AAAAAAAAB6A/-3Y6NT4atFk/s1600/vlcsnap-156708.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">SUPARNA JI BELIEVES IN <i>MOTICHUR LADDUS </i>NOW: <i>SHESH HEGACHE ROSHOGOLLA!</i></span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k4mKluXMYx0/VK2CcGKcn3I/AAAAAAAAB6I/r-4LHfwWEag/s1600/vlcsnap-5013.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-k4mKluXMYx0/VK2CcGKcn3I/AAAAAAAAB6I/r-4LHfwWEag/s1600/vlcsnap-5013.png" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">REST IS FORGOTTEN HISTORY</span><br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAo43K5pXn3rc7hYyA2aLxM6k_L9S7oFaGAaIhSicZZemqrE0XEU1Un0IigZVDd4sOl7zGQ5x5F_Dko8phXp7LA-CQTB1LJx8MZMh8GnBw7AXETDQXFfrfzW7mublA_HKbE0fmdeH4eNv/s1600/vlcsnap-54190.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjbAo43K5pXn3rc7hYyA2aLxM6k_L9S7oFaGAaIhSicZZemqrE0XEU1Un0IigZVDd4sOl7zGQ5x5F_Dko8phXp7LA-CQTB1LJx8MZMh8GnBw7AXETDQXFfrfzW7mublA_HKbE0fmdeH4eNv/s1600/vlcsnap-54190.png" /></a></span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<span style="font-size: small;">PLAYING TO ANTWERP AUDIENCES: THEY KNOW DIAMOND BEST</span></div>
<span style="font-size: small;">
</span>
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<em><span style="color: purple; font-size: small;">CHARANJIT SINGH BREATHED HIS LAST THIS 5TH JULY; WE'LL NEVER FORGET PAAJI, FOR HE HAD A LOT TO PROUD ABOUT IN HIM, BUT HE NEVER CLAIMED GREATNESS.</span></em></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-71060761242938651442014-12-04T10:08:00.000-08:002016-05-20T06:43:24.331-07:00ODE TO MAJULI<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">Majuli,
near Jorhat in the East of the North East, is the largest riverine island in
the world, area standing today at 422 sq. km, (roughly the area of Mumbai, as
under BMC) down from 1250 sq.km. in mid-18<sup>th</sup> century, as a result of
sustained erosion caused by the mighty Brahmaputra. It awaits UNESCO’s World
Heritage recognition, which may come posthumously….Majuli will dissolve like
the lozenge in your mouth in another 20 years. The word Majuli keeps reminding
one of Mauli who drowned herself, <i>mince </i>himself
<i>Indrayani Kaathi </i> at a tender 21 after creating one of the most
exiting languages in the world- Marathi! Symbolic…ehh..?!!<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">The
island is home to 144 villages, population being 1.5 lac, comprising largely
the <i>Mising</i> and <i>Deori</i> tribes. Lots of Sonowals hail from the island.
It doesn’t have a single factory, hence pollution free air is guaranteed. The BTN,
our employer, has reached the shores, needless to say…this makes the taks of exploring the island a part of your
duty, a very sweet and enchanting duty at that…. The island is known for <i>Muga</i>
silk, the migrant avian life, but principally for the <i>Vaishnavite Sattras </i>(ety.: <i>Chhatra</i>
<i>of Chhatrapati</i> fame), which are
essentially <i>Mutt</i>s. The sect was
formed by the immigrant 15<sup>th</sup> century saint <i>Srimanta</i>
Sankaradeva, who introduced <i>Vaishnav</i>
to the tribes as a monotheistic form of Hinduism. The heart of the religious
life amongst Assamese ‘Hindus’ is not the <i>butkhana</i>, but the <i>n</i><i>amghar, </i>which is an idol-less
congregation hall for believers. The <i>namghar </i>priests are called Pathaks
(Readers) who will most likely be non-brahmins..hence the devoid of pecuniary interest
in idolatry...<o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: left; margin-right: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aOzxSZD5XeE/VvYrA-1qw1I/AAAAAAAACK8/DvnMitEGc64YkPQ8QN-RcC6idK93uQRKw/s1600/02.gif" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-aOzxSZD5XeE/VvYrA-1qw1I/AAAAAAAACK8/DvnMitEGc64YkPQ8QN-RcC6idK93uQRKw/s320/02.gif" width="231" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">BIRBAL PLACES PITCHER ON <br />
PUMPKIN FLOWER</td></tr>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">As
an entrant to the North East in 2010, the challenge before YT was to sort out the mystery
of how and wherefore the 1.50 lac denizens took the trouble of crossing the 8 km wide, 100 metre deep
Brahmaputra…The solution to the conundrum lies in the Birbal-Akbar story wherein someone produces an earthen pitcher
say two feet across with a six-inch mouth, an adult pumpkin, say 55 inches across
nesting or resting inside…The Emperor is challenged to duplicate the feat,
which smart alec Birbal does in a
breeze....how?...:the pumpkin was inside the pitcher from its infancy, and the
population was on the territory before the island formed I sayyy….!</span></div>
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ApaDXlRM2k8/VKTbJTo5LcI/AAAAAAAAB4k/rNRRbqBrJ08/s1600/20150101_103148.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-ApaDXlRM2k8/VKTbJTo5LcI/AAAAAAAAB4k/rNRRbqBrJ08/s1600/20150101_103148.jpg" width="240" /></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif; font-size: large;">Majuli
will go The Way of All Good Things… Shankar’s Weekly, founded by the spirited
K. Shankara Pillai ‘Dolls’ Museum’, to
coincide with India’s Independence from the British, downed its shutters in
1975 to coincide with the Emergency for obvious reasons. The farewell Souvenir
(the yellowing volume with a blue cover is a prized possession) sports a
parting shot from Air India in the shape of an insertion that displays Bobby
Kooka’s iconic creation, the Maharaja, the heralding lines ominously
announcing: <i>Shankar’s Weekly Goes the Way
of All Good Things…</i>and ending with the wry and good-humoured line: <i>Straight to a Special Niche in My Heart! </i> That’s where Majuli will one day end up,
unless China damns (sick) the Tsangpo...(Tibetan for B’putra)…he, he, he…</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"><o:p></o:p></span><br />
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<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dG-KDJ_u6sw/VKTb4FJ0G2I/AAAAAAAAB4s/P4Zi7gp8Q2Y/s1600/20150101_103318.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-dG-KDJ_u6sw/VKTb4FJ0G2I/AAAAAAAAB4s/P4Zi7gp8Q2Y/s1600/20150101_103318.jpg" width="384" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">Well,
to return to <i>sthayi,</i> Majuli was formed as a result of the Great
Brahmaputra Flood of c. 1750. The river split into two formations, the Burhi
anabranch and the Lohit or Luit Xuti. The lower confluence Burhi re-united with
the Luit Xuti 190 km downstream, creating the island of Majuli. The Luit is
supposedly called Zayu Qu in Tibetan, after the Tibetan district over 1000 km
away, so far reaching was the Creation!. Subsequently, Burhi confluence became
the main Brahmaputra, which is around 8 km wide near Jorhat, from where one
catches ferries for Majuli. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">In
December 2013 we planned a trip to Roing, AP with Senior and Senorita but due
to unfavourable weather conditions had to terminate the effort at Saikhowa
National Park, only 85 km ahead of Roing!
Tinsukia is only 90 km away from the Ledo
on the Burma border. The place names here are straight from myths, if not
legends- they are however known more by the commercial interests they denote...</span><span style="background: white; color: #252525; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> Ledo Tea quotes at Rs. 70 and “</span><i><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%;">Ledo Road</span></i><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> (from<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ledo,_Assam" title="Ledo, Assam"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">Ledo,
Assam</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">, India to<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Kunming" title="Kunming"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">Kunming</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">,<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Yunnan" title="Yunnan"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">Yunnan</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">, China) was built during<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/World_War_II" title="World War II"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">World
War II</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">so that the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Western_Allies" title="Western Allies"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">Western
Allies</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">could supply the Chinese as an alternative to the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burma_Road" title="Burma Road"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">Burma
Road</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">which had been cut by the Japanese in 1942. It was renamed
the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span><i>Stilwell Road</i>, after
General<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Joseph_Stilwell" title="Joseph Stilwell"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">Joseph
Stilwell</span></a><span class="apple-converted-space"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"> </span></span><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">of the<span class="apple-converted-space"> </span></span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/U.S._Army" title="U.S. Army"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">U.S.
Army</span></a><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;">, in early 1945 at the suggestion of </span><a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Chiang_Kai-shek" title="Chiang Kai-shek"><span style="background: white; font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: 10.5pt; line-height: 115%; text-decoration: none;">Chiang
Kai-shek</span></a><span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";">” (Wikipedia).
Tinsukia to the China, i.e. Tibet border is around 120 km to the Tibetan Zayu
district.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">Well,
it’s December the 23<sup>rd</sup> of 2013 and we make the Normandy landing in
our ferry, which plays host also to our Innova, at around 7 PM (the service normally terminates at 5 PM). <i>Mince </i>it is already dark, and a gibbous moon
greets us, accompanied by <i>Chabiwala</i>
Bank staff. The skies are crystal blue and stars twinkle at us garrulously is
spite of the bright presence of the moon. In deference to Mom’s wishes, we
straight head for the ‘Resort’…<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">Our
living quarters are modest and each family gets a double room, Mom getting a
specially appointed little suite! In our entourage are, leaving the two of us,
Major Sharma and his family, and Senyor Senior and Senorita. The principle
interest of Major and Senior coincides- star-gazing- and they just drop their
luggage on their room-mate’s feet and leap for the terrace of the tall building
next door, under construction. After a preliminary recce of the skies, the duo
throws open the Heavens to the public. Precariously we inch for their perch,
and survive the trap laid for us. The sky above Majuli is unlike anywhere else,
in fact you are reminded of the synthetic clarity of a planetarium. The
astronomy primer for those who came late runs into refreshing hours. If one remembers
aright, we are asked to behold star Bellatrix near Orion, Mirach in Andromeda
and somewhere in a corner there lurks Jupiter. <o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif"; font-size: large;">Morning, and the Spanish couple (he, he, he…) heads for the South East bank for bird
watching, and reports a spectacular catch…After a hurried breakfast in the local
bachelor pad, we are whisked to a major <i>Sattra,
Gadmur,</i> founded in the 16<sup>th</sup> century. Till the 19<sup>th</sup>
century the <i>Sattras h</i>ad no <i>pucca </i>buildings. The <i>sattra </i> building we visited was originally built by
Sri Pitambardeva (1885-1962). Pitambardeva was the physical type, and set much
store by fitness and martial arts. You
can see a cache of armaments in the building….The apostles of <i>Vaishnavism</i> were dynamos housing a
variety of talent, namely musical, dramatic, terpsichorean…you name it. The song
sung by Bhupen Hazarika at his first public appearance at the age of 12 was a <i>borgeet </i>created by Srimanta Sankardeva. In
his songs you will find authentic echoes of Sankardeva, Bhupenda used to say. The best known Assamese classical dance <i>Sattriya</i> (<i>Bihu </i>being folk) is also
credited to the Srimanta. Now you know why the Assamese are such an artistic
community! Let the visuals speak now:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "sans-serif";"> <span style="font-size: large;">A video of the present day <i>Gadmur sattra</i> shot by Missus:</span><o:p></o:p></span></div>
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THRU 360 DEGREES</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sJEcBDiCLWY/VICh-8w_2jI/AAAAAAAAB28/LsEKJbTagCw/s1600/Satriya_dance_performance_at_Guwahati_Rabindra_Bhawan_2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sJEcBDiCLWY/VICh-8w_2jI/AAAAAAAAB28/LsEKJbTagCw/s1600/Satriya_dance_performance_at_Guwahati_Rabindra_Bhawan_2.JPG" width="634" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">MODERN SATTRIYA</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmVhPPd_9yA97SVmeTlkhRnoPwvMx1KpXArmsy9m2ZsHKepM3y1gT3YVnVhBfmhSHjtH_RS1LXSWMyMbgrFPh9OSuU6xmEBrSK2exqbjcSRGFlF7EDYe3J3JrgNB2FISHfRNm6heyZ998F/s1600/30dfr_Sattriya_jpg_1_10101e.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="640" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhmVhPPd_9yA97SVmeTlkhRnoPwvMx1KpXArmsy9m2ZsHKepM3y1gT3YVnVhBfmhSHjtH_RS1LXSWMyMbgrFPh9OSuU6xmEBrSK2exqbjcSRGFlF7EDYe3J3JrgNB2FISHfRNm6heyZ998F/s1600/30dfr_Sattriya_jpg_1_10101e.jpg" width="340" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">SATTRIYA MUDRA</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t1_tk4eFwiE/VICcfMEWjnI/AAAAAAAAB2k/amCU6LjsltU/s1600/i'm%2Bone%2Bwith%2Bthe%2BGoddess.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="371" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-t1_tk4eFwiE/VICcfMEWjnI/AAAAAAAAB2k/amCU6LjsltU/s1600/i'm%2Bone%2Bwith%2Bthe%2BGoddess.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">MOONSHINE</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KDD_mcG2Nhg/VICRwovTYYI/AAAAAAAAB2I/a2XPMDxRc5o/s1600/mobile%2Bpic%2B316.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KDD_mcG2Nhg/VICRwovTYYI/AAAAAAAAB2I/a2XPMDxRc5o/s1600/mobile%2Bpic%2B316.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">RAJINIKANT ON BOARD FERRY, SEEN WITH CUTE FAN</span></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qdJAXBy0otk/VICTK-ullQI/AAAAAAAAB2U/Gw1WU7bmArc/s1600/mobile%2Bpic%2B321.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qdJAXBy0otk/VICTK-ullQI/AAAAAAAAB2U/Gw1WU7bmArc/s1600/mobile%2Bpic%2B321.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">SHY GUYS ABOARD INS MAJULI</span></td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SD4ifWuafVI/VICQfIhM34I/AAAAAAAAB18/ZFvd61jwr9o/s1600/mobile%2Bpic%2B320.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="480" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-SD4ifWuafVI/VICQfIhM34I/AAAAAAAAB18/ZFvd61jwr9o/s1600/mobile%2Bpic%2B320.jpg" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-size: small;">FERRY HOSTING TRANSPORT</span><br />
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6697075311562717030.post-87769540652260763612014-12-03T12:14:00.000-08:002015-08-15T08:02:19.572-07:00DELHI IS LIKE THIS ONLY<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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<span lang="EN-US" style="font-size: large;">A while back we watched
this movie, <i>Ankhon Dekhi</i>, directed by Rajat Kapoor. He dedicates his
maiden directorial venture to his gurus Mani Kaul and Kumar Shahani, who in
turn were disciples of Ritwik Ghatak. Movie was liked by viewers and critics
alike, save a muggle writing in India Yesterday! As you can imagine, this does
not purport to be a movie review, save the fact that we rejoiced in the simple
straightforwardness of the narrative, and what a simple name..! But most importantly
for us:<o:p></o:p></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;"><span lang="EN-US">Did anyone notice
Delhi’s heart which throbbed and trilled in the movie’s bosom? One defining
motif we can vouch for is the amusing relationship that subsists in the friends
circle. </span>Camaraderie is a special Delhi trait. As an elevated quality, it
really pervades the North-west continuum, starting Afghanistan. Remember the <i>Zanjeer</i> song <i>“yaari hai imaan mera, yaar meri zindagi”?</i> <i>Yaari</i> has been part of our local cultures for ages and ages, and
has something to do with the threat perception that obtains in the treacherous
terrain of the North West. For centuries empire makers and looters alike would
swoop down, often over-running Delhi. The warlords who spilled out of the
Khyber Pass include Genghis Khan, Nadir Shah, Mahmud Ghazni, Muhammad Ghori
etc. etc. <i>Yaari </i>was therefore at
premium and this ensured a non-threatening, warm circle of kin-ship and mutual assurance.
Look at this picture of <i>Bauji</i> and his
gang…</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PGz513siLQs/VH9sXovX7rI/AAAAAAAAB1Y/aq2CQFzuCGw/s1600/sanjay-mishra__725404.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PGz513siLQs/VH9sXovX7rI/AAAAAAAAB1Y/aq2CQFzuCGw/s1600/sanjay-mishra__725404.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">they are off to actually experience a tiger-roar. This also happens only
in Delhi- friends in the midst of debating the power of a tiger-roar, suddenly proposing
to witness a roaring tiger, and making a beeline for the Delhi Zoo at <i>Purana Qila</i> pronto…Who knows the poor
boy who lost his life in tiger Vijay’s cage was on a similar Dehlavi mission...<span lang="EN-US"><o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Another Delhi situation in the
movie we can recall is when <i>Bauji </i>angrily
expels all buddies from his home. </span></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DjcsmBpCj3Q/VH9uE-3Y2-I/AAAAAAAAB1k/lne8GqAi3mA/s1600/ankho-dekhi-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="302" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DjcsmBpCj3Q/VH9uE-3Y2-I/AAAAAAAAB1k/lne8GqAi3mA/s1600/ankho-dekhi-1.jpg" width="640" /></a></div>
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T-HSEN5CQ5A/VH9uSEXl61I/AAAAAAAAB1s/e3nrMhDv0bg/s1600/sanjay-mishra__725406.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="426" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-T-HSEN5CQ5A/VH9uSEXl61I/AAAAAAAAB1s/e3nrMhDv0bg/s1600/sanjay-mishra__725406.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">They are all there, rest assured, at the
wedding, first cribbing at the arrangements, then grieving at the girls
departure. And how about the excitement that initially engulfs the company when
their leader, that is <i>Bauji</i>,
announces his determination to believe only in the <i>ankhon dekhi</i>...just see how they jump at the novelty of it all and
egg on, cheer on,<a href="https://www.blogger.com/null" name="_GoBack"></a> the propounder to prove himself right!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Delhi is different- it works on a…an
…should we say- obverse if not perverse- <i>counterintuitive</i>
, one may concede…-<i>logic</i>. How do you
beat thissss…it’s factual-</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">Suhasini, an Iyer girl from
Mumbai, daughter of a close friend of ours, fell in love with a sober Punjabi
class-mate from Delhi Sunil Kapoor, and vice-versa…They exchanged vows and were
to be wedded soon, when one evening Suhasini was informed by class-mates about
a road-rage incident, which left Sunil and friends bleeding on the road side…they
were taken to Kailash in NOIDA and Sunil was just endlessly praying for Suhasini,
who, in a state of shock, rushed with her brother to Delhi. Police had
mercifully admitted them all, the assailants and the victims, to Kailash, and
they were fighting for their breath in the ICU.
Sunil was one of the less threatened, but Suhasini could also witness
the enemy struggling for life, for Sunil’s own comrades were blessed with some
fire-power. Through her tears she could espy accusingly, one of the antagonists
in a handlebar moustache, another, a Sikh with a trimmed beard, and a
pot-bellied <i>neta</i>-type. With God’s
grace they were all saved, and wedding came in due course, held at Tivoli
Resort. Suhasini’s bright eyes noticed a bevy dance to <i>tequila </i>in Delhi frenzy. The men and gals and kids seemed so
familiar…to cut a long story short, they included a handlebar moustache,
another, a Sikh with a trimmed beard, and a pot-bellied <i>neta</i>-type, with their families…the antagonists of the very fateful
night’s road rage! Confronted, Sunil in the midst of his <i>tequila </i>contortions had this to say: <i>Yaar jo hua wo to ho gaya…jinhone ICU mey hamare saath pandrah din
khaya piya, roye hase, pulis ko payment kara, who hamari shaadi mey na naache
to kaun nachega, Bulle Shah!!???<o:p></o:p></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large;">This case-study is administered
by us as an acid-test by us to anyone claiming to be a Delhiite, and the true
blue <i>Dilliwala</i> invariably chuckles in
delight!</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: large; text-align: justify;">Now you should know why <i>Aam Aadmi</i> Party resonates in the Delhi
heart and nowhere else! </span><i style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">Je vi hoye, aapni
party hai jaar! Chak de fatte, nap de killi..swerey Jalandar, sham nu Dilli…!</span></i><br />
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<span style="text-align: justify;"><span style="font-size: large;">By the way if you want to see the scientific truth behind the title 'seeing is believing', you must see this video about the McGurk Effect:</span></span><br />
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<i>(For the record: this is the second movie review written in this blog aged 5 years)</i></div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0