Die Another Day

It has been two years since the conception of this blog and over the years it has grown like a potato shrub would even when watered and manured religiously. Well, the religious part is an exaggeration because this blog has been as regular as a std VII spoilt brat doing his social science homework. I agree. But beginning the third year with such an enviable record of hits (I did once have a sincere list of well wishers who took pride in their friend’s endeavour), I feel as contended and applauded as a Shakti Kapoor would have doing a write up on India’s Nuclear Policy or an Arjun Rampal speaking to a packed audience on child labour.

Looking back, I wonder what could have gone better to give this site a decent number of hits as would a lady’s of the age of 19 penning her day to day activities (today my earring got locked in my bf’s eyebrow piercing when we embraced each other for the 119th time; I woke up at 11:15 in the morning only to find my cutie little pie Bruzo peeing on my Ritu Kumar) and getting a 67 comments on the masterpiece in an hour with 27 ‘can we be friends’ messages. Alright, the reason is clear but hey, am I entitled to justice?

Okay, the topics aren’t as researched as the analysis of the balance of body weight on a cover drive by Sachin, or as popular as a review of the latest flick of SRK, or as sensitive as a Nandigram and as thought provoking and worthy of debate as the Gujarat riots. I have however tried and succeeded to keep my writings away from personal mumbles(I loooooove my vanilla ice with a kiss of hot choclate), accusations (today as always my boss dug his nose and emptied the contents beneath the conference table while I was on the projector), and daily chores (Ooiee ma, today I managed to add salt to the tea instead of sugar and my MIL turned into a gas balloon). The point is, if the the same is written by a lady (irrespective of age) the response is understandable. But even an acquaintence would be as interested in reading a languidbeckonings by a 29 year old asinine onh how he spent last weekend, as he would be in watching a Krishi Darshan on a Friday evening.

Over the years I have tried several gimmicks aka marketing strategy. As innocent as sneaking it beneath my e-mail signatures, as blatant as sending links of my latest writes through mail with addresses in the bcc so that recipients do not comment on reply all’s but on the official comments page, as brazen as picking up a topic on the lunch table only to end it with - I have put my thoughts on my blog that I think you should check out, as desperate as leaving comments on unknown blogs and as creative as changing the background and font of the page every other day to keep readers enthused.

But sometimes I contemplate, what is it that keeps one to writing, despite the meager response? Is it the desire again to see readers appreciate a good write and feel encouraged, or a 67 comments on your post in an hour, or is it the sense of accomplishment when given oneself the gift of a good and humourous write. I think it is safe to pick up the last one and contend myself.

This blog is close to dying a premature death, but I shall give it one more chance in its third (but nascent year) to live, see the light of eminence and Die Another Day.

The Newspaper Man

He was assiduously energetic in delivering his lot. Sundar had seen the dark side of life in his early years which had made him humble. He now immensely respected life and took all adversity in stride. Having to deliver newspapers at door steps was how he started his mornings. The first light saw him on his bicycle with a bundle tied up the at the back of his seat, each day every day.

Being from a lesser privileged background and losing his parents at an early age had brought him the gritty predisposition of character and will with which he now held is head high. As he pedaled his way through the streets in Mysore, Sundar saw all grades of life at sunrise as he had seen so as a child. He crossed the blatant streets with people in misery living in dilapidated brick houses who did not have the luxury of a newspaper, to the streets where he delivered his lot. He threw the paper in the plush lawns and there came running the pet carrying the newspaper inside to his master. He watched the money plants and crotons rising through the walls of the bungalows which had its bricks polished impeccably and windows with shining glasses. Seeing this he pedaled to the next house.

The uphill ride on his way back was a strenuous task. Every pedal stroke reminded him of the pains he had been through in the days gone by. The strokes however were no more a pain to him. It was like a daily endeavor that he mastered to perfection with his breath synchronized to his rhythm. After he reached the top he always halted and took a deep breath as a mark of celebration and accomplishment. The morning was over here and the day took over. Over the years he worked on several moderately paying jobs with equal aplomb but never quit his morning job. This was a work he was born to do. Little did the man reading the newspaper on his easy chair, sipping the hot morning coffee realize that the payment at the end of the month for the thirty rounds of paper went to the self righteous man who had once had to work at his kinfolk’s place to earn the next hours meal and who left them bidding a thank you. He was all of sixteen when he took the job and continued since.

It was on a Sunday morning with the breeze flowing gently on his face. Sundar stopped by the modest yellow house with a rose shrub mounted on a usually closed window. The walls had become pale over the years but the rose on the window pane were incredibly red. There was not a day that he saw the shrub without a flower or a bud on it. But today the shrub had been pale too with no flowers to boast. Instead of throwing the newspaper above the gate, he went in towards the window. Before this he collected some water in a container from the garden. As he was watering the plant, the window opened and there stood Savitri on the other side with a container too. She said that she had no idea why the plant was dying. They watered the plant together. As he was leaving he handed over the paper to her and said, don’t worry, times will change. The sudden breeze blew her hair back and he saw the glimmer in her eyes.

They watered the plant together for the next few days and when delivering the next Sunday Times, he saw the plant boasting a bud. That day he talked to her for over an hour and got late to work. He didn’t mind though.

Years passed by and Sundar now has two bright children. He was decisive that his end of studies after the eighth grade will never be repeated again. The children visit reputed schools in the city.

As he returns home today after delivering newspapers, a home which does not have polished bricks, shining glasses on windows or crotons rising up the wall, has Savitri waiting for him at the door with a hot cup of coffee and has the same twinkle in the eyes he had seen for the first time fifteen years ago. The rose shrub blossoming implausibly red roses in the entire town looks in awe.

[Inspired by a real life, but exaggerated at places for reader’s fervor]

Moments

The brevity of the moment
that lasted a beat of her heart,
was nothing short of a lifetime
that changed her apart.

The conceit of the erudite
the ostentation of the juvenile,
the beauty of a thousand smiles
was quietly falling apart.

She watched her reflect
and she saw her ethereal self
for once she fathomed
what the moment meant.

~Suprabhat

O Venus, I am thy Slave!

Sultry Saturday afternoon. Perfect day to grab a post lunch drink and settle on the bean bag and surf for mundane programs. I go surfing and reach the fag end of the entertainment channel band. The ice is slowly melting.

Zoom TV (isko dekho!). Bejan Daruwala is covering most of the TV screen and sermonizing in his atypical ishtyle. Scroll at the bottom reads [Court refuses to accept Amitabh Bacchhan as a farmer] and [Yes, I am married and expecting – Mahima Chaudhary] and [Shilpa shetty to be honoured by Radio Mirchi’s achievers forum]

Alright, looks interesting enough to hold on for a few more minutes.

If you haven’t heard of Bejan Daruwala, you ought to bang your head with the first stone that you can see around. Alright, hold on before you do so. Because the sermon today is all on stones, precious in this case, and a concealed marketing gimmick which the viewer will require the intelligence of a Mr. Holmes to crack.

Comes the turn of Taurus and this interests me further.

“Vrishab rashi ka grah shukr hai. Aap ki zindagi mein shukr ka bahut prabhav hai. Yadi aap apne karobar aur nizi zindagi me khushali chahte hain to Global sky shop ki nirmit Topaz stone bayen haath ke choti ungli mein pahene” - Bejan

[And a footage shows thereafter]

“Main ek businessman hoon aur kayi saalon se meri zindagi mein koi samridhi nahi thi. Main pareshan ho gaya tha. Meri biwi ke saath aksar anban hoti thi. Phir maine Global Sky shop ka Topaz pahana. Ab mein bahut khush hoon. Meri biwi se ab mere relations bahut acche hain. Mujhe karobar mein din dugni, raat chauguni munafa hua hai. Thank you global sky shop products”.

This continues with a recommendation of Turquoise for a Sagittarius, a Ruby for a Virgo …

The candor of the “real life people” shown in the footage impresses me beyond a doubt.

I too now realize the importance of Shukr in my life. Venus, in other words, influences me a lot. I realize that my daily chores, work and relationship is visibly affected by its presence. As I think about this, I recall an episode from Turning Point (Doordarshan) where queries were taken up by Prof Yashpal Sharma, the eminent Scinetist. He said that the gravitational pull that a person 1 ft away exerts on you is more than that exerted by a distant planet or even the Moon by several multiples. That way the person should influence you more than any of the planets in the solar system. I being a believer in the scientific school of thoughts agreed with this. But having watched the charisma and fame of Bejan, I now differ. I can actually feel Venus attracting me every minute and guiding me to say what I say, do what I do, feel what I feel and achieve what is destined for me.

O, mother Venus. I am thy slave.

The first thing I shall do next is call up Global Sky Shop (I made it a point to nore down the number and product code) and order for a Topaz and decorate my little finger on the left with its shine which will guide my life to prosperity and well being.

Ab meri zindagi mein bhi dher saari khushiyan hongi aur main bhi kaamyaab banunga.

Sourav on Saris

And if you thought MS Dhoni in an engine oil advertisement with propaganda of his nuances of drinking milk everyday was a well thought ad campaign (selling both the product and supplementary milk products), you have not seen it all.

Dada is being featured on the Bengali Tanter Sari in Katwa, Burdwan. "We are making about 150 pieces with Sourav Ganguly in action featured on those. We hope the Sourav saris would be in demand," said a handloom weaver at Katwa. You sure do, and I see all ladies rushing to the shops to catch the latest sensation in action depicted not in posters and banners but the all humble sari. Now, this is what is considered to be a bright selling proposition. “Aam ke aam, guthliyon ke daam”, the saris selling like hot cakes and ladies holding their head high in Pride and Honour, in support of their beloved Dada.

O Sourav, a salute to your uncompromising fan following! I am sure you will be all pleased, wrapped around beautiful ladies, which will add to your passion and belief to win matches for India. We shall support you in this WC and always by wearing the 6 yards religiously in all your forthcoming games.

The Silver Lining

She walked on the road like an impassive being and knew not what lay ahead. The clouds were turning darker by the minute. Trees swayed in the wind and the dust took over the lingering visibility. She walked withholding a lifetime in her palms which held a fistful of perpetual thoughts.

She walked across the wall much visited. The wall had a different and atypical look to its colour today. The bricks were beginning to loosen. The cementing between the bricks had turned into a lump of faded adhesive and was trying hard to hold on to the blocks. The colour had turned from a bright red to a depressing shade. The chameleon on the wall had attuned its colour too. She recalled the defining moments of her life spent inclining on the very wall. Hours of words, touch and feel that were sewn through the bricks were now splitting apart with the dilapidated wall.

The clouds meanwhile were getting darker and mysterious. There was a vitriolic rumbling in the thunder. The thunder shook the ground below her feet and she felt the earth reciprocating the sky through her. And then it poured in a sudden vehemence. The water fell and wet the dry earth in a hurry. Rivulets begun flowing and soon turned into a canal of restless water. It was ominous but there was a characteristic softness in the flow. The water made its own way traversing the most convenient path.

The specs of dust and sweat on her face were washing away in a hurry too. The tears slowly became difficult to distinguish from the water on her face. Her lips were slowly giving way to a slight upward curve and a contended smile. The droplets accumulated on her brows and then dried away.

She looked at her empty palms and she ran. And ran, like she never did before. The anklet on her left leg broke away and so did the embedded beads. The beads spread accross the sand in all quarters sparkling along with the solemn droplets. The air started smelling fresh again.

The sun was now peeking bright, through the dark billows. She was Debanjana, the silver lining in the cloud.

Profound thoughts ... You and I

Like an aaloo to a vada
And a vada to a pav
like the pav to a bhaaji
You are to Me.

Like a tree to the air
and the air to a nose
Like the nose to a Himesh
You are to Me.

Like a fuel to an engine
and an engine to a car
like the broken car to a mechanic
You are to Me.

Like a key to a lock
and a lock to a house
like the house to a robber
You are to Me.

Like cotton to a pillow
and a pillow to a bed
Like the bed to a lazy bum
You are to Me.

Like the water to the grass
and the grass to a cow
like the cow to a milkman
You are to Me.

Like the fire to a match
and a match to a bidi
like a bidi to a smoker
You are to Me.

Like the carbon to a diamond
and a diamond to a stud
like a stud to a cool dude
You are to Me.

You mean more to me ...

than a fish to a Cat
and a bone to a dog
the hay to a horse
and happiness to a remorse.

Let's be happy forever. I Love you. Sayonee.

~Suprabhat
(a letter to a Loved one)

Shallow Waters

Living in shallow waters
among the comfort of the knowns
breathing the same breath
today once more.

The falls are far
and rapids are none
ripples are rare
and the tranquil water beckons.

I see a bright silhoutte
somewhere round the horizon
only to fall again
inside the shadows of my own.

~Suprabhat

Honesty with a Twist

“Ideals are important and you should stick to them but to be in a position of choice sometimes ideals have to take a back seat. The world is a difficult place, make sure you get into the position of choice. Do not sell your soul but keep it locked for a while if need be. Once you are in a position of choice and you are successful, do not ever sell your soul or make the wrong choices. Then god, or your own conscience will never forgive you.” - SRK

Message from SRK to the youngsters of today! Integrity personified.

Well, straight from the horse’s mouth. How very true a counsel. God and your own conscience will forgive you if you do so on the path of success and climbing the ladder but once you are The Achiever and sitting atop, and you indulge yourselves in the same act of loosened disposition then God and your conscience will be belligerent. Words of immense wisdom that I will stick to my heart and soul till I die. In other words “honesty with a twist”! Right, and thou shall excuse.

I am sure this message will lead our youngsters to the path of integrity and credibility and a positive approach towards things at large.

The World is indeed a difficult place. O youngster of the day, follow the message religiously and you shall be as successful as a pack of hyenas chasing the loan deer, as satisfied as a Seamer clinching the tail ender and have a soul as clean as a Harpic cleaned WC!

Don - the chase fails

Don ko pakadna mushkil hi nahi, namumkin hai. These words echo in the ears and would do so for years to come, thanks to the immortal character sketched in the yesteryears.

The classic had three singular characters played by Amitabh. One where he plays the Don, the second being the simpleton Vijay and the third a surrogate enacting the Don’s characters. The incorrigible rogue with his suave mannerisms and sinuous acts of crime; the naïve simpleton with his country side roots and a soft corner for the children; and the precocious surrogate who dons the Don’s shoes were like three sides of the same coin! The most difficult of the trio was playing the third character where the audience visualizes the simpleton in him and realizes that he is actually enacting a character, whereas the gang in the cinema is to believe that he indeed is the Don. An amazingly complicated acting portfolio which was acted to perfection.

The revised Don had this aspect completely missing in the movie. This however may be pardoned considering that the protagonist is played not by Amitabh but SRK and because of the twist in the storyline. Even if the storyline was kept the same I have my doubts if it could ever have been played even a trifle close to the original. In an attempt to add sophistication to the character Farhan misses on “developing” the Don’s character and rather devotes in style content. For instance the scene with Don in the tub and grin to the takes of Tom and Jerry adds nothing to the character but only reflects an incomplete attempt to establish a non existent character. The style factor could not however outweigh the poor characterization. The imperative character of JJ leaves no impact whatsoever in the new version. Somebody once said that Arjun Rampal can be replaced with a chair in all his movies. An example is Don.

Impressed by the sheer prominence of the character (that one has perhaps revered in his childhood) does not entitle him to remake a masterpiece. But hold on. Farhan in his televised interview stated that this is not a remake but his “interpretation” of the movie Don. If at all this is an interpretation then why are the key monologues from the original version lifted like Roma airlifts the entire van to add vanity and style. To top it the entire soundtrack is copied with minor variations adding techno beats and a few added stanzas. And if it indeed is a remake then why the original plot is tinkered with beats me.

An earnest attempt has been made by Farhan Akhtar to impart his interpretation of Don which falls flat on its back. No doubt he was taken in by the audacity of the character, the immortal dialogues and the amazing soundtrack and got lured to interpret it on his own. But sorry Farhan, your interpretation is abysmal to say the least and any attempt to vindicate your plot through post release interviews will add no value to your misadventure.

Salute to Salim-Javed for the screenplay/dialogues, Chandra Barot for the direction and Kalyanji-Anandji for the music of this 1978 masterpiece.

Don banana mushkil hi nahi, namumkin hai.

This is not a movie review or the nuances of acting and the histrionics of the actors, but an “interpretation” of the idea behind Version 2.0

Shore Temple - Mahabalipuram

KshatriyaSimhesvara and RajaSimhesvara collectively called "Shore Temple".

Built by King Narasimha Varman II (AD 700-728) of the Pallava Dynasty.

Location: 45 Kms south to Chennai.

The two sanctorums are dedicated to Lord Vishnu and Lord Shiva. The east facing KshatriyaSimhesvara also has the santum enshrining Somaskanda (Lord Shiva/Som, Goddess Uma/Parvati and son Skanda)

A beautiful place overlooking The Bay of Bengal that was built to catch the first rays of the rising sun.

Behind the Wheels

What more can one ask for? Behind the steering wheels of your favourite car (ambassador), listening to your favourite music in repeat mode (Aashiq banaya aapne remix version) and with the best of friends/family to accompany on a 100km stretch of 6 lane highway. Nothing more indeed. However one is disheartened if the above arrangement is not to the avail. Well, you don’t mind settling for a subtly less glamourous Audi convertible and Dire Straits/Kishore playing in the background do you?

Glamourous it may be, but not always, considering the several woes that are invariably associated with driving on city roads. Some universal truths and best practices:

If you believe a lady (irrespective of age, and ofcourse beauty) driving a two wheeler in the front, you ought to have a paradigm shift in your beliefs. This elite class tends to change directions (mirrors are a ladies best friend, but not on road) and accelerate that will put a F12 fighter pilot to shame and make him go back to the training sessions. Beauty and brains converge to reflect the above truth while they drive.
Best Practice: With all due respect to the lady, cautiously overtake with an occasional horn so you don’t have to panic when the inevitable turning happens.

Senior citizens crossing the roads tend to cross looking straight ahead and never to their left or right. They need a lesson in the same class as nursery students, learning the basics of crossing a road.
Best Practice: At any point of time, of them crossing the road, do not blow the horn, else they would stop right in the middle and look at you with an enviable benevolence. The wise thing to do is to slow down, let them pass by and you are clear.

Kids do not differentiate between crossing a road and a 100m athletic sprint. They are guided by the constant motive and urge of beating the vehicle. To give the passing vehicle some footage they start the dash as late as possible (They are a fair game after all) and as abruptly as a gun shot.
Best Practice: The farther away you spot the kids’ gang, the better. They are likely to cross anytime before you reach them but not thereafter. So take off your toes from the accelerator and lay them on the brakes till the kids have crossed.

Nearing an Auto rickshaw should be avoided like a fuel from a wild fire. There is every chance that they corner you and give your new and precious car the need for a nice little face lift. The extent of use of an indicator in an auto or the signaling by hand is as frequent as the use of water in a European WC/toilet.
Best Practice: Keep a distance from the flying object as much as possible from the behind or while overtaking sideways. They are deaf to horns and incessant honk will have absolutely no impact, other than your partner getting down and taking the auto instead.

Other than these, there are other traveling woes which you will or would have faced sometime or the other in your driving career!

Back seat driving – Watch out there is a hump ahead; why don’t you put the indicator here; there is a lorry in the rear; there is a lorry in the front; I can see some kids ahead; the lights are red, halt; go slow, do not overtake; okay, now you should overtake, you can put on the high beam now. And the likes. Makes one feel like opening the door and jumping out.

Traffic lights are still counting 3, 2 ... and the driver in the rear vehicle honking like his pants are on fire.

Traffic lights are still orange and the vehicle on your front already sped away only to slow down a while later and you conveniently overtaking it (I choose to forgive these impulsive drivers).

Your partner constantly skips your favourite music playing (Himesh) with some weird choices of soft romantic (how very unromantic).

Vehicles coming off the opposite with high beam and if not on high beam then with only their left headlight on (who will take the trouble of fixing it as long as one of them glows!).

Vehicles on the front moving at the speed comparable to a grandpa walking with his grandchildren and not bothering to take the efforts of changing lanes.

---------------

Inspite of the despair, driving shall nevertheless be a pleasure as long one drives his choicest cars, can listen to good music, chat with close ones and drive to his favourite destinations.

Candid Conversations with Capil

Category: Personal

Following is an intensely personal post and any resemblance to persons in real life may be coincidental. Readers not able to correlate with the ideas may please choose to ignore the post. Others may choose to browse through the mostly harmless contents.

The protagonist Capil is an imaginary character marked with immense wit, wry humour and an occasional characteristic baloney dialogue which you will love nevertheless.


Scene: Project party with the unit heads and drinks on the menu to go with.
(Question addressed to Capil from one of the unit heads as he is sitting next to him)
FG: What does RS do?
(Intended question is, I have heard lots about RS, what does he work on?
(RS is a manager of high repute in the organization)
Capil: RS does his own work!
(A splendid answer indeed after a couple of margaritas!)
Follow up: FG gulps down the rest of his drink and has an expression that tells he doesn’t know how to respond, but looks in admiration at Capil.

Scene: Capil leaving for work with a non-ironed shirt (trademark)
SM: Capil, your shirt is crumpled from behind, I guess it needs an ironing.
Capil: Cool hai, I am taking my car, it will get pressed by the time I reach office.
[I leave the rest (ironing the front side) to your wild imaginations]
Follow up: SM decides to buy a car and save on the efforts of daily ironing.


Scene: Hanging out with friends over casual talks. Topic of discussion being how do we know the extent of ones hanging belly.
Capil: See, if the Emp id tag hangs at an angle from the vertical reference, be sure that you have a protruding belly, else if hanging vertical you are on the safe side.
Even a structural engineer will have goosebumps hearing this and think of his incompetence in coming up with such ingenious ideas.
Follow up: Everyone tries to immediately straighten their tags as much as possible, taking a deep breath!


Scene: Capil driving home during twilight and rides a buffalo on his car bonnet, inspite of being a driver extraordinaire.
The next day:
Capil: Yesterday, during the night I could not see very well, though I was driving very slow a black coloured cow came in front of my vehicle and I couldn’t see the cow (since it was black) and drove right through.
Follow up: The cow thanks Capil for the warm gesture and moos away!
Such an animal lover he is, giving free rides to cows in the night. How noble.


Scene: At a party (in a much frequented restaurant) with AJ who is getting married shortly.
Capil: What will happen of you when you are married and are here. You will have a tuff time. What drink are you going to order then, cos he invariably brings your fav drink without ordering ;)?
(during normal times AJ orders alcoholic beverages)
AJ: When I get married and come over here I would order for two mango lassis.
Capil: He he, then the owner would ask “Kya aapki wife do do lassi piyengi”?
Follow up: AJ thinks it is a valid point and he has to come up with a different idea now!


Scene: Antakshari, letter “Ka”
Capil: Kajrare kajrare tere kaale kaale naina ...
Scene: Antakshari continues, letter “Ma”
Capil: Mera chain wain sab ujada ...
Follow up: Junta is inspired by the innovation and tries the same funda over other songs!


Orkut: Favourite cuisine.
Capil: Long drinks/cocktails/Whisky On the rocks

Orkut: Favourite tv shows.
Capil: Sansani, Vardaat, Kaal Kapaal mahakaal, Kahani Ghar ghar ki, Kussum, KSBKBT, Kumkum, Koi to hai, kora kagaz, Kavya-Anjali
(Capil has a great fascination for the letter K, though his name starts with C, doesn’t matter though, the phonetics are the same)
Follow up: the TRP ratings of the above has soared since Capil has published his likings!

Orkut: About Me
Capil: I m a good boy with bad habits and bitter taste
(Capil has put up the above caption in his matrimonial column, and the ladies are pouring in lrc, bowled over by his honesty)

Capil also has three look-alikes and the four hang out together most often. Not all of them are as smart as Capil though. On the frame below (a painting that shows how the Capil’s would have looked in real life). Capil, our hero, is at your extreme right, smiling as there is no tomorrow.

Readers are welcome to add to this imaginary script and pour in their ideas. And do remember that “Sab bakwaas hai”.

Watch out this space for more. Coming up sometime soon: Candid Conversations with Candya.

The Singing Sensation ...

and the phenomenon called Himesh Reshammiya has indeed done a greater good to the Indian music arena in the last eight years than perhaps all the music directors put together. With implausible vocals and a non- cacophonic music score, he is the darling of the music aficionados and the masses alike including me. The composure in the voice and with its wide range has earned him laurels throughout and will do so down the years. We ought not to question the cult status he has achieved harboring the immense and unique talent of his.

He started off producing tele serials like Andaz (Zee TV) and had the noble idea of composing for his own serials thus gifting the Indian audience the opportunity to enjoy his work. How noble was the decision is apparent today after he has entered the world of movie background score and also lend his impeccable voice.

Naam tera tera ... is one of his recent chart toppers. Undoubtedly so. The genuine and original add of the nasal septum to the voice is unparalleled. Imagine a bull roaring through the nostrils in melancholy. Sad and outrageous at the same time, with a reiteration of the main “raga” time and again reminding the audience of the depth of the song and lyrics like a hypnotic act. Go to any hip pub in the city and you wouldn’t be back with a remix version of Aashiq banaya apne and Woh lamhe and watching the maddening crowd dancing to his tunes. Oh, those lamhe’s are a bliss.

Do not be surprised if he takes to acting sooner or later. He is sure to get a break after his outstanding performance in one of his compositions Tu yaad na aaye aisa koi din nahi. The partisans of Vijendra Ghadge of yesteryears, Atul Agnihotri and Arjun Rampal of recent times and a Mohit Alawat(James fame) off late may beware, Himesh will give them the run for their money once he is into his acting shoes. I am waiting for a movie with the lead actor adorned by Himesh more than I wait for the next Karan Johar flick.

“If I am saying that it is the best music of next year then see I have to face you people also. So, I know ki joote bhi pad sakte hain. So, itne confidence se kah raha hoon to sure hoon to kah raha hoon. (I know I can be a flop. But I am saying it with so much confidence as I know I will be a hit)”. This is what he had to say about his release “Namsate London” next year.Such is the confidence of his that he predicts the popularity of his forthcoming releases with such ease. No doubt he has understood the pulse of the audience more than Sameer has realized the audience’s love of his lyrics.

Just let any other singer of the high league sing the song Love you unconditionally Soniye and he is bound to take a hundred tries just to get the mukhda right. But Himesh sings it with such ease and finesse that you remain glued and avert all your desire to change the channel at once.

What have you done to me? I remain eternally glued to the television on hearing a Ahista ahista and a tera suroor and it requires a Shivvardhan Trivedi(of Sansani fame) to get me back on track to the real world! Thank you. Love you unconditionally.

The Pride of a Man !

The tuft of hair that adorns the upper lip of men is often debated to be the highest echelons of Pride in him. No doubt it is, and will be for ages to come. Of what else can a man be identified more, than this beauty of a god’s creation that sits candidly on his lip and hangs around him equally in times of elation and distress?

What a pen means to a paper, an icing means to a cake, a stereo to a dash board, and a key to a safe? So is also Man’s beauty, which is incomplete without this phenomenon known as a Moustache. Hairs and the government come and fall, skin and the trees wrinkles, memory and friends die, relations and beliefs break, jobs and money are lost, the woman leaves, children forget, times fly but the Moustache clings on to the man till he dies. And all this without a thing sought in return except an occasional trim here and a whisk there. This dogged persistence through ages and the humble part it plays in enriching a Man’s appeal makes it the object of pride and possession. Without doubt.

The women with the clichéd rant that the tache of a Man is a bottleneck to the second best thing their lips are made for, are vehemently selfish. How they would like a man to do away with his lifetime possession for a momentary bliss is beyond belief. It is strange but true that they do admire their father and grandpa who sport one, but when it comes to their love interest the views are the opposite. Now the ladies may argue why the king of hearts is the only one without moustache and what makes him the “King of hearts” different from the rest. Well, they do not realize the difference between a man in flesh and blood with his golden heart and a sincere moustache and the hearts of a pack of filthy cards designed to gamble the last blood of him. Reprehensible.

Mahatma Gandhi, Adolf Hitler, Charlie Chaplin, Nietzsche and Einstein are a few names to reckon when it comes to this debate. Some of these great men are known for their distinct styles of moustache. Can one imagine an Einstein or a Nietzsche without his moustache at any point of their lives? Never.

Some of my personal favourites are the handlebar sported by Mangal Pandey(that I would have loved to wear if not for this hard and cruel corporate world that mocks anything which is out of the league and draws attention) and the Nosebeard sported by a young Einstein (and which I sport now). Apart from this the other styles worth a praise are the Walrus(Nietzsche) and the toothbrush(Hitler and Chalpin). Some of the other common ones are the Pencil(looks like a draw with a pencil) and the Manchu (flowing like a stream down the sides and long like the roots of a banyan). Incredible aura.

There are several advantages other than to embellish a Man’s look. The mouth is guarded from a perennially running nose or tears flowing the cheeks (yes, the strongest of men do cry), a baby in arms gets the pleasure of playing with it and a heart warming tickle in the cheeks when kissed (one does always see the jubilation on the face of the baby when this happens). It is a neighbour’s envy (who does not own one) and the owner’s pride. Beep -> Some men have a better source to play with and caress at leisure <- Beep. The list goes on and will require a book to do justice.

This aura and pride will continue with mankind as long as noble and great men will choose to take this legacy of growing a moustache and teach the generations to come of its virtues. Long live such men and their legacy!

Todays, how I wish were yesterdays.

The days were glorious when learning was all that easy. Be it a new song, derived formulae, a new game of cards or board, a new lesson in music, a new language or a new script. It came all naturally enough not to pay a wee bit of second efforts in gaining the master hand. And definitely it was the master hand and not something half hearted and abridged. The days of sinuous fingers, precocious grey matter and a zealous mind. The syndicate of the three was indeed glorious.

I am not so sure if the same holds any good today. Time takes its toll and fast does it do. It now takes twice and more of sustained efforts to reach the same level of subtlety. The zealous mind isn’t all that zealous, the grey matter precocious but not at the same briskness, and the fingers not all that dexterous. All this flashes in my mind when I am playing an instrument today, trying to play with a clinical engineer's mind rather than that of an artist's soul. I am feeling the lack of skill and the desire, I once boasted like a virtuoso.

Todays, how I wish were yesterdays.

Close to Nature

Beneath the falls I strive to rise
rise high above and lone,
a look so resolute, makes them think
is it Me, or the nature beckons ?

[Gagan chukki falls, Kaveri at Sivasamudram]

Travelogue - Namdroling Moastery

The clouds were just sublime enough to give us a head start for the trip to Nisargadhama and the Golden Temple near kushalnagar, Coorg, in Karnataka. The day was cool and the Sun was just starting to gain its way through the thick clouds. A journey of 2.5 hours in the bus was mostly spent singing, though sporadically I was stealing a glimpse to look for any scenic landscape through the ways. The landscape was mostly barren throughout with little or no signs of vegetation. Having reached Kushalnagar I was expecting some Tibetan cuisine nearby to have lunch at but our group settled for the ubiquitous South Indian thali that was safe and devoid of the likely pains of experimentation.

The Golden Temple was our second halt of the day after the fun at the Nisargadhama bamboo forests. There are numerous Tibetian camps in and around bylakuppe around 5 kms from Kushalnagar. The place of interest for us was the Buddhist Golden temple, Namdroling Nyingmapa Monastery, in one of these camps. This was my first ever visit to any monastery. The air was of an absolute serenity with the monks carrying on their daily rituals as we entered the premises. Wondering how the feeling would be to be part of a community or camp with people visiting all the while and throughout the day studying the temple architecture the life style and the religion, I moved on. The residents as I saw were not distressed by the demeanor of the tourists taking out camera shots at every possible opportunity and studying with curiosity.

The main temple is decorated richly both from the exterior and the interiors in the sanctorum. The outside hosts a beautiful garden maintained to perfection, but it is the interiors that leaves one amazed.

The sanctorum houses the three immense deities of Lord Padmasdambhava, Lord Buddha and Lord Amitayus. The statue of Lord Buddha is 60ft in height and the height of the other two statues are 58ft. They are made of copper and plated with Gold. Inside the statues are scriptures, relics, small clay mould stupas and small statues. The dazzle from the statues illuminates the entire dome producing an air of colossal tranquility and one can sit hours on end admiring the work or meditating. The walls are adorned with huge paintings depicting the religious rituals traditions and myths. The dome is held by magnificient works on the pillars leaving an opening on the top for sunlight to wash the statues.

The campus is huge and stages another temple on the front. The rear of the campus is elaborate with hostels and playgrounds where children can be seen playing cricket in their traditional dresses.

The entire periphery of the temple premises is surrounded by scriptures and religious texts on flags and turning cylinders (Could’nt gather what these are called). These are supposed to be turned and read once a day by the residents.

This was a short superficial take on the Namdroling Monastery . It is a regret that we could not get enough time to interact with the inhabitants and get an insight into the life style and living (missing the tibetian cuisine too earlier!). We left the temple in an hour or so with thought lingering on what the monks and priests do for a living, how do they entertain themselves, what is their religious texts like, do they study physics or metaphysics, who is their favourite actress, what is their language like and above all what is their favourite dish !

Please be visiting this place at leisure with time to look around and interact with the residents. Else you have to return admiring only the immense statues and the desolate rose in the garden.

This happens on a bad day ...

One fine day two friends a Constant and e^x are walking down an alley and see a derivative operator walking from the other end.

Constant : Oh, I should run for my life as he will reduce me to nothing.
[saying this he runs away]

e^x : Well, I have nothing to worry about!

And he walks to the derivative and says...

Hi, I am e^x

Derivative : Nice to meet you, I am d/dy.

The Last Autumn Leaf

Those were the times
when you looked at Me,
and then you smiled
for the last you could see.

What kept you from falling?
I was waiting,
Waiting for a new horizon
the birth of another spring.

And the last hold on your branch
the last moments at your death,
was like holding eternity
in My very own breath.

Those were the moments of truth
the moments of life,
the moments of grief
yet the desire was all Mine.

You still looked at Me
and smiled at My death,
for there I lay, seeing you
holding My last breath.

Then I realized
that the smile was only Mine,
as I knew
that I too shall have to die.

In those last moments
I could see a New Horizon,
the deep red sky
and the fire again.

And then you fell to the ground
to give birth to The New Spring,
as you are
The Last Autumn Leaf.

And I was born again ...

~ Suprabhat