If Only...

In this universe there are two kinds of people - those who are music lovers and those who are not. The second lot are more or less off our radar. They are after all deprived souls who have missed being tuned into most vital frequency of all and we will let them be (after expressing our gloating sympathy ofcourse). It is the second category of homo sapiens, the music lovers, that are of interest on MPA.

Music aficionados of this world come in various sizes and packaging - from Kumar Sanu to KL Saigal, from Adnan Sami to Asha Bhosle, they all have their admirers. But in essence all music lovers can be safely categorized into two broad bands - the listener and the critic. The first is the fellow who will listen to a song, relish it and then move on. He is person who is wholly and solely satisfied by mere activity of listening to the song. The who/what/wheres of the song hold no interest for him, only the song does. Now isn't that boring? But as the old proverb cheerfully reminds us God's abode might harbour delay but no darkness (der hai andher nahin...duh!). And so to brighten up the world, he created a second category of 'sangeet premis'- the critic. The critic is a music lover who does all that the first type does but, in addition, he has a parallel track running in the mind that provides constant annotation to his basic experience. Eg..'Note Rafi took three breaths in this line whereas Asha took only one', 'Lata's voice is thins out just between 2:34 and 2:36 portions of the song', 'did you know Kishore sang this song on June 12 1952 at 2:00 AM ?' and so on and so forth. For this creature, the music experience is never complete without being tuned into every little detail and nuance of the object of his fancy. He simply has to focus in on every electron, proton and neutron that comes within his aural space.

A favourite pastime of this microscope friendly tribe is the 'If Only..' activity. The 'If Only...' activity is nothing but an exercise in fantasy, where a music lover tries to sneak in his own sense of aesthetics into any musical piece that catches his fancy. 'If Only, SJ used a modest orchestra', 'If Only Lata sang this in a lower scale', 'If only RDB used less Lata instead of Asha', 'If Only Kishore...' , 'If Only Rafi...', 'If Only.....'

The 'If Only...' activity is the Viagra for a dreamer of any hue. Nothing is more stimulating than dreaming up the most perfect... well anything - perfect vacation, perfect song, perfect relationship, perfect anything. So what if it will never happen. It has already happened in your fantasy. I indulge in this activity quite often, esp. musically. Most of the time the thought is fleeting and disappears before I am even finished with the song. But many a time it persists and becomes wishlist. Here is a collection of some of my pet 'If Onlys'.

Cick on links against the song to view it in youTube.

1. Jab naam-e-mohabbat (Kala Pani, Majrooh Sultanpuri, Asha Bhosle)

If Only : Geeta Dutt sang the mellow part.

This thought crept into my mind when we were discussing this Kala Pani beauty sometime back and now it refuses to leave my head. Asha Bhosle admittedly does a fine job at alternating between the mellow and exuberant moods of the song. But the thought of Geeta Dutt singing the melancholic part is irresistible. It is a tune composed for her voice and she has many such scintillating songs in her kitty. This would have been a prized jewel, if only she had sung it...

2. Sanjh dhali dil ki lagi (Kala Bazaar, Shailendra, Manna Dey & Asha Bhosle)

If Only : Mohd Rafi (and Geeta Dutt - optional) sang the song

Whenever I hear this song, I feel Manna Da is so not with it. Manna Dey was a great singer, but summoning flamboyance was not one of his strong points, which is the primary reason he did not get to sing for the hero that often. He was fine singing for the hero when he was mellow and romantic, but a chhed chhaad song? Nah! Whenever I hear him sing aa jaa aa jaa aa bhi jaa to Asha Bhosle, I think of the neighbourhood uncle taking a chance with the local pataka. It is impossible to imagine Dev Anand with Waheeda. Let me then suggest that Rafi be used in this song (since the composition is in that mould). I don't have a problem with Asha Bhosle. She is more than adequate. But since she is in her 'imitate Geeta' phase in this film, why not just Geeta? So a Rafi-Geeta duet it should have been...I am swooning already!

3. Teri dhoom har kahin (Kala Bazaar, Shailendra, Mohd Rafi)

If Only: Sahir Ludhianvi wrote the song

This song somehow falls through the sieve whenever one thinks of the legendary songs in this great soundtrack. A pleasant tune, smooth singing by Rafi and a deft picturization by Vijay Anand, yet it did not make it. One then realises that the lyrics in this song fall flat. The song was meant to be a witty social comment on the love humankind harbours for vitamin M, but it turned out to be regular and run of mill song. Shailendra is clearly not in regular form here. However, this is just the kind of song that Sahir could take up and sear with his characteristic straight-talk. I would have so liked to hear what Sahir had to say on the topic. If only this song was written by Sahir Ludhianvi...

4. Dil ki umangen hain jawan : (Munimji, Shailendra, Hemant Kumar, Thakur & Geeta Dutt)

If Only : Kishore Kumar & Asha Bhosle sung this song

This song brims over with the masti quotient. However, Hemantda by nature is a little sombre for the mood of the song. He makes a gallant attempt but just does not get there. I remember a music lover once slyly commenting, 'the only attempt Hemantda makes at some masti is to sing 'jeet liyaaa' in a slightly affected style'. Geeta Dutt is in far better form, but she too does notflow into the dialogues part effortlessly. Her Bengali accent is too heavy. Thakur (who gossip mills say was Pran himself incognito!) does the finest job here. A song like this begs for Kishore Kumar and Asha Bhosle, the emperor and empress of the whackiland. Infact if Kishore was around Dada Burman could have dispensed with Thakur's services too. It would have been a real blast. If only....

5. Chanda re chhupe rehna (Lajwanti , Majrooh Sultanpuri, Asha Bhosle)

If Only : Geeta Dutt sang the sad version.

Another song that I am convinced was created for Geeta. Asha is wonderful in the happy portion, but cannot summon enough pathos in the sad version. Also she sings it in a fake affected style that takes away from the song. Geeta was the natural choice for this lori. If only Dada gave her this song, it had a good chance to surpass the 'Nanhi kali sone chali' legend.

6. Dhalki jaaye chundariya hamari : (Nau Do Gyarah, Majrooh Sultanpuri, Asha Bhosle)

If Only : Lata Mangeshkar sang this song

At the outset let me say that this is a sparkler of a song. Asha Bhosle does a fine job with delivering it to near perfection. Yet, it is near perfection and still not perfect. Let's play with the thought of introducing Lata to this song. What would we lose by letting Asha go? The emotion with which she sings the song is it's selling point and then there us the wonderful modulation that only Asha could do. What do we gain? We let go of an Asha whose voice is still a little shrieky in higher octaves and we get a Lata in her finest form. This is 1957 and her voice is beautifully nuanced and pristine as the snow. The emotions would be restrained, delicate and fragile. I am beginning to imagine something to rival 'Phaili hui hain sapno ki baahen' or 'Saiyan kaise dharun dheer'. I wish Dada should have given Lata this song or in the least got her to do a tandem version. Who knows, we would have another 'Phaili hui hain sapno ki baahen'?

7. O mere Bairagi Bhanwara : (Ishq Par Zor Nahin, Anand Bakshi, Lata Mangeshkar)

If Only : Asha Bhosle sang this song

One has been snatching one legendary song after the other from Asha Bhosle's kitty and doling it around, it is time to give her some stuff back. This is one song that would have sprung to life in Asha's voice. Lata, even though she tries her best, does end up sounding a little like a school teacher dispensing a biology lesson on pollination. Asha would have given this song the subtle sensuality that it begs for. And some of the legendary OP Style voice modulation? Sone pe suhaaga

8. Rehte the kabhi jinke dil mein (Mamta, Majrooh Sultanpuri, Lata Mangeshkar)

If Only : Asha Bhosle sang this song.

This is one song that I love to hum and always remember it fondly. Yet everytime I listen to it I am left dissatisfied. I finally figured out that Lata's voice quality at that point in time that does not let the tune flower. I wish that a throaty singer had sung this - someone like Laxmi Shankar or Shobha Gurtu, but they might have taken away from the accessibility level of the song. I would then settle with Asha singing in a lower octave a la 'Umrao Jaan'. This song would have hit the moon if that happened.

(Note: I am not very familiar with Runa Laila's range but from a voice quality perspective, her voice could have given the song an interesting dimension)

9. Neend churaaye chain churaaye (Anuraag, Anand Bakshi, Lata Mangeshkar)

If Only: Suraiya

Anyone who has heard Dada's own Bengali version of this song, will find it near impossible to take to Lata's version. In comparison it seems sterile - too clinical and studied. This song requires a spontaneity to live up to if not rival Sachin Dev Burman. A tall order. Given the Bengali roots of this song, Geeta Dutt would be the natural choice. But, Suraiya's voice could pick this song from the realm of the humdrum and give it a flavour that would be quite exotic. Yes, we all know Suraiya was not singing at this time in history, but as if fantasy cares.

10. Loote koi man ka nagar : (Abhimaan, Majrooh Sultanpuri, Manhar & Lata Mangeshkar)

If Only : Kishore Kumar & Asha Bhosle sang this song

This song is sung with so much of disinterest that if I did not understand Hindi I would have thought they are singing about bus timetables. Manhar got his big break with this duet. But I do think he tamed it down a bit too much. It is supposed to be a song where a couple are playfully teasing each other. It requires some attitude, some pizaaz to sound real. Yes, Kishore and Asha are the candidates of choice. As a soundtrack too Abhimaan would have benefited with Asha's presence. If only Dada was not such a Lata-bhakt in his autumn years.

11. Aie mere man mein hoon magan: (Us Paar, Yogesh, Mohd. Rafi)

If Only : Majrooh wrote this

This sountrack has considerable statistical value. It was the last outing of Mohd Rafi with SD Burman, a giant association coming to an end. Alongside it also was the first outing of lyricist Yogesh with the maestro. It is a charming collection with a variety and freshness that was typical to Burmanda. The only song that stands out as a tad ill-fitted is the song in question. If you take a tune that reminds you of the zany 'Chala jaata hoon' and then put lyrics like', 'Aie mere man, main hoon magan', the end result is akin to Bharat Bhushan dancing on 'Chahe koi mujhe junglee kahe'. This song cries out for Majrooh Saab. The flamboyance of his quill could have made it the merry bouncer it was meant to be.

12. Mitwa...Piya maine kya kiya : (Us Paar, Yogesh, Manna Dey)

If Only : SD Burman

I can never resist the temptation of dreaming up a new SD Burman song. Given the drought that Hindi Film Music has for songs in his voice, I hope I be forgiven for my over zealousness. This piece is one of Mannada's finer moments. He sings this song with a lot of feeling. Folk has always been his strong point and he's in complete control. Yet, the basic structure of the song is cut in the SDB mould. If Dada had sung this song, he would have given it the heart-breaking intensity that only he could give. What a song it could become. At the risk of being mauled I do wish this song was sung by SD Burman.

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For some strange reason all but one song in the list are by SD Burman. It was not by design, but just happened. This could be because I am intimately tuned into his output or it could be that it is possible to imagine Dada Burman's music with a variety of alternatives which sets the mind down the 'If Only' path. Whatever be the reason, bottomline is that may the good Lord and Old Monk in heaven forgive my transgressions..

That ends this edition of the If Only series, another day we shall have another list. Till then keep reading and keep writing!

P.S 'Old Monk' is an affectionate way that some of my music lover friends like to refer to SD Burman. Dada Burman was often mistaken for a Buddhist lama.

Kalpana Kartik : Luck By Chance

In the recent past I have made an interesting observation. The greatest truths of life dawn upon me when I am indulging in my favourite guilty pleasure - you Tubing. The last time it was the discovery of the phenomenal talent called Dr Chaudhury, this time it is the realisation of the phenomenal luck of Kalpana Kartik.

For those who have been weaned on the trivia of Indian cinema it is a known fact that Kalpana Kartik was a one-time actress who ended up as screen legend Dev Anand's wife. For those who are tuned in to me and my preferences it is a known fact that I was a one-time fan of the same screen legend Dev Anand (before you put two and two together, that is not the luck factor that I allude to here). For those who are not tuned in to either to my whims or to the bylines of Indian cinema, this will not be making much sense, so to un-complicate matters I shall start at the very beginning.

We can start in the 1949-50 frame. Mona Singha was a student of the prestigious St Bedes college in Shimla. In her graduation year, she participated in the Ms Shimla contest, and as luck would have it she bagged the trophy and also the attention of a struggling film-maker from Bombay . The director was an erudite man and he managed to convince her otherwise elitist family to allow her to accept his offer of joining his fledgling film company as a leading lady. Thus, Mona Singha was re-christened Kalpana Kartik and she moved to Bombay. Film history tells us Kalpana Kartik was the wrong person, in the right place at the right time. It was Chetan Anand who brought her to Bombay to join his film company Navketan, that he ran along with Dev Anand, his younger brother. Her first film 'Baazi' was a huge success and went on to become a landmark in Indian cinema. 'Baazi' was a gamble that defined the destinies of many luminaries all of whom got a career boost from the film. All this was about the 'right place' and 'right time' part of it. The 'wrong person' part of it is that Ms Kartik's contribution to the success or legendary status of the film would probably count at #50, (after spot boy #5).

Anyway, the year was 1951. Six years, six films, a marriage and a baby later, Kalpana Kartik had retired from limelight forever. She settled into her role as Mrs Dev Anand and her only contact with films was in being credited as 'Associate Producer' for all Navketan Films (which, I think was a good excuse to keep an eye on her husband). In the later years she completely disappeared from public life and became a recluse. It was rumoured that the Anand marriage ran through many problems driving her towards religion with the zeal of a fanatic. She is still married to Dev Anand but keeps a strong distance from his public life.

So that is her story. Now you would ask, where is the luck there? Surely being the most forgettable component in some of the most unforgettable films is not 'lucky'. And however much the smitten grandmother might disagree, being Mrs Dev Anand is not really a piece of fantastic luck either (a woman who has a husband who wears orange trousers and a yellow shirt cannot possibly consider herself lucky - look left).

So then where is the luck? This is where a little musical bent of mind comes handy.

Kalpana Kartik, became a part of Navketan when it was beginning to spread it's wings. She was associated with the film company during it's most momentous years. She started with 'Baazi', the debut of Guru Dutt and ended with 'Nau Do Gyarah', the debut film of Vijay Anand! Between these two films came 'Taxi Driver', which was the 'coming of age' film of the Navketan banner. It was Navketan's first super-success and also the film on whose sets Dev Anand secretly said 'I do' to Ms Kartik making them Man and Wife (an event that apparently still haunts her, see 'Taxi Driver still haunts Kalpana Kartik' ). Her time in Navketan saw four different directors take reign - Guru Dutt, Chetan Anand, Mandi Burman and Vijay Anand. Musically it was the period of the mighty SD Burman and his memorable partnership with Sahir and Majrooh. She was also the heroine of the only two films for which the sarod maestro Ali Akbar Khan composed music. If one sets out to make a list of songs picturized on Kalpana Kartik, it is likely that the count would stop before fifteen. The wonder is that the top ten of those fifteen songs could give any legendary song a run for it's money.

That is what makes Kalpana Kartik extremely lucky. For an actress whose acting skills were less than adequate, screen charisma quite limited and filmography a mere six films, her visibility from a musical perspective is extremely high. Unwittingly she has landed up with a bite-size of musical history that is not backed with justifiable talent or charisma. There have been other lesser actresses down the ages who gained a lot of visibility because they became the muse of a great director. Sandhya of 'Jal Bin Machhili Nritya Bin Bijli' fame is one such case, Priya Rajvansh is another such case (Actually Sandhya and Priya Rajvansh had a genius of their own, that only a priviledged few, such as yours truly, can spot, but that is a topic for another day). For now, lets be content to cite them as examples of not so popular actresses getting a large bite of cinematic history thanks to the over-active hormones of some otherwise legendary directors. Sandhya was V Shantaram's muse and Priya Rajvansh, as we know, Chetan Anand's. But Kalpana Kartik is different. She was not the muse of any of the great directors she worked with, Dev Anand gives no indication of her even being his 'produceral' muse . (the only real muse Dev Anand has ever had as a producer-director is himself), talent she lacked in great quantities, yet she managed to garner such an enviable booty!

To prove my point I showcase ten gems that will ensure Kalpana Kartik a permanent place under the sun. If this is not 'Luck by Chance' what else is?

Click on the links to view the songs on youTube

1. Phaili Hui Hain Sapno Ki Baahen (House # 44) - This song arguably is the finest effort from the SDB-Lata team. If I were Ms Kartik I would be honored to be within sniffing distance of this song. And she actually had the song created for her!. Though most people who have watched this song wish they had never seen it. Her PT exercises tell you that some people stretch their luck too far. In his auto-biography Dev Anand mentions of hallucinating about his wife singing this song in a far away meadow long after the romance had gone out of their life.

2. Aakhon Mein Kya Ji (Nau Do Gyarah) : A fine Asha-Kishore duet from the pen of Majrooh Sultanpuri, this is a sizzler. The chemistry between Dev Anand - Kalpana Kartik on screen and Kishore - Asha off screen sizzles as does the chemistry between Dada Burman and Majrooh Saab in the music room.

3. Aaja Panchhi Akela Hai (Nau Do Gyarah): When it comes to Nau Do Gyarah, the choice between the duets is always a difficult one. If we have a vibrant Kishore-Asha in one end we have this extremely cute Rafi-Asha duet on the other side. Dada Burman shows another ace up his sleeve.

4. Kali Ke Roop Mein (Nau Do Gyarah) : Even though this duet is lesser known, it is not any less of a delight. With a deft picturisation by Vijay Anand and spirited performance by Dev Anand and Kalpana Kartik, the duet is a joy to watch. Majrooh saab is cheeky and classy all at the same time.

5. Dhalki Jaaye Chundariya (Nau Do Gyarah) : Even though this song does not get that much air-time, it is a good candidate for the best songs that Dada Burman ever composed for Asha. With beautiful sitar interludes interspersed with whistling, the song is breezy and extremely romantic. Vijay Anand’s picturisation plays on the romance between the newly married Dev Anand and Kalpana Kartik making the song extremely endearing.

6. Peeche Peeche Aake (House # 44): A lovely and breezy Hemant-Lata duet that is a quiet winner.

7. Teri Duniya Mein Jeene Se (House #44) : No Hemant Kumar list could be complete without this song. Hemantda at his swoony best, the little humming by Asha in the beginning is picturized on Kalpana Kartik

8. Jaayen to Jaayen Kahan (Taxi Driver): The crowning glory of the Taxi Driver score that got SD Burman his first Filmfare award. The Talat version is the more famous one, but the Lata one endures (in my opinion ofcourse). Ms Kartik, does an adequate job with the on-screen depiction. 'Adequate' was actually her keyword. It worked well for Dev Saab as well, since it did not take the focus off him.

9. Aaj Ki Raat Piya (Baazi) : Tender and romantic, sung by a young Geeta Roy. This song is from Baazi a film that not only launched many faces, but also launched many romances. Guru Dutt and Geeta Roy behind the screen and Dev Anand and Kalpana Kartik in front.

10. Ghanshyam ke hain ghanshyam nayan (Aandhiyan) : Even though this song and the film have disappeared from public memory, the vintage film buff still holds the soundtrack in very high regard. One of the two forays of Ustad Ali Akbar Khan in film music (the other being Humsafar, also featuring Kalpana Kartik) the music befits the legendary status of the ustaad. This song is sung by Lakshmi Shankar and the beautiful lyrics are by Pandit Narendra Sharma. Ghanshyam ke hain ghansyam nayan, man mora bana man mor sakhi - only Narendra Sharma could write lyrics like these.

See Also

Dev Anand at 85 - Triumphant!

IMDB Filmography of Kalpana Kartik (incomplete)

Right or Left?

One side-effect of the economic downturn is that the blokes left hanging(on a single thread if I may add!) on Wall Street like yours truly have a lot of time to while away. Projects have been scrapped and funding withdrawn and the few people that are being tolerated, because some critical element is linked to them, are usually just waiting around(and hoping) for some disaster to happen so that they can be jerked out of their boredom into doing something constructive.

So what do you do in your spare time apart from reading depressing news on Yahoo finance and discussing US elections ?

Yes and No!

Yes - Faltu surfing on the net is the activity of choice.
and No - That does not include MSDN and other technical sites(alas! I could never be the model IT person)

So then what do we surf? Apart from exchanging health articles, (the resident obsession of my workmates), and reading up abstract concepts on this world(my past-time exclusively), we take a whole lot of quizzes. You know the types that explain all screw-ups in your life by giving it a fancy medical term? Or the really insightful ones like - What you were in your previous life (guess who I was - Pablo Picasso!)? What is your personality type? What colour are you? etc. etc.

Facebook has a bulk of the quizzes and the rest are at tickle.com. They are quite amazing and a good timepass.

I took an interesting test yesterday that determines which side of the brain is dominant in your personality. The left is the analytical and logical side of your brain and the right is the creative, abstract and emotional side. The left is more detail oriented and the right looks at the larger picture. In most people one side dominates. But there are a small percentage that work with both sides. It seems that I belong to that rare tribe of people with balanced brains. This means that the left side and the right side of my brain are equally dominant.

To pause for a minute, isn't it fascinating? The brain is analyzing the brain!

Anyway, that explains a lot of things. It explains the dichotomy between an unsatiable desire to seek the larger picture, to expand the canvas and put things, people and events into their true context and a constrasting fetish of seeking and analysing minutes details. I am a lefty(with the hand and not politically- duh!) yet I use the right hand for a large number of my tasks. I write and eat with the left and play badminton/tennis and harmonium with the right. It also explains why I am always on the 'other' side in any kind of grouping . For emotional people I am too analytical and practical and for analytical people I am too emotional!

What really strikes home though in the last part of the analysis. Here is what it reads

"The down side to being balanced-brained is that you may sometimes feel paralyzed by indecision when the two hemispheres of your brain are competing to solve a problem in their own unique ways."

Aha.. now it all makes sense. The fence-sitters of the world are redeemed. I can now happily blame all my indecision on the balanced brain. So all you folks, if you spend 20 minutes deciding which toothpaste to buy and 20 hours deciding what you want to do on the week-end and 20 years deciding what to do with your life, do not despair... it is just a very balanced brain that sits in your skull!

Here is test : http://web.tickle.com/quizzes/compare/3022

I have setup a poll. I would be curious to know if the visitors on my blog are left brained, right brained or (off)balanced like me!

Here is my brain analysis

Balanced-brained

That means you are able to draw on the strengths of both the right and left hemispheres of your brain, depending upon a given situation.

When you need to explain a complicated process to someone, or plan a detailed vacation, the left hemisphere of your brain, which is responsible for your ability to solve problems logically, might kick in. But if you were critiquing an art opening or coming up with an original way to file papers, the right side of your brain, which is responsible for noticing subtle details in things, might take over.

While many people have clearly dominant left- or right-brained tendencies, you are able to draw on skills from both hemispheres of your brain. This rare combination makes you a very creative and flexible thinker.

The down side to being balanced-brained is that you may sometimes feel paralyzed by indecision when the two hemispheres of your brain are competing to solve a problem in their own unique ways.

Apna Kaam Swayam..?

I walked into a sparkling clean house today. It was the cleaning service Monday. As on all the other Mondays, when I stepped in I felt a pang of guilt. Guilt? Yes, you heard me right. Guilty pleasure.

For this to make sense I need to rewind back and play this from the beginning.

My mother suffers from OCD (Obsessive Compulsive Disorder). She cannot tolerate untidiness or mess of any kind. Our house is dusted twice a day, all things are neatly in place and it is sparkling clean. It is not only my mom, her sister is afflicted by the same disease. It runs in the family. We refer to it as 'Safai Ka Mania'. Needless to say my mom and my aunt are very house proud. And however much they might rubbish it, I suspect cleaning is the most cherish able part of their existence.

Now, to this genetic composition add some conditioning. My mom was raised in a large, well-to-do family with Gandhian values. Along with many other things they were taught to be self-reliant. That translates to - do your own chores. Keep your room neat, make your own bed, put away the dirty dishes etc. etc. If my grandfather had not passed away before I was born, I would have surely asked him what was the point of having a battalion of servants if each member had to do his own chores. Ah well....

Everything was hunky dory for my mom till her world turned upside down... I came into it(upside down of course). By some quirk of fate, I escaped the oppressive cleanliness gene that ran in the family. I am deliciously dirty and lazy. My desk was always cluttered, my room had things lying all over and my cupboard resembled a laundry bag (mom's words not mine - if you ask me, I think a laundry bag is a very respectable thing). Needless to say, I was the biggest challenge to my mom's value system.
Help came to her in form of a standard three Hindi lesson that comprised of a story called 'Apna Kaam Swayam Karo' (Clean your own Crap). While the details of the story have faded from the memory, the lesson remains as fresh. Mom made sure, that it would not fade away - Do not leave your work onto others. Even though we had help at home I was supposed to do my own chores. The same set of outdated values that she learnt from her folks. So I grew up basically cursing my fate, trying to do my chores and shirking away from them whenever possible, convinced that as soon as I would escape my mother's tyranny I would live like a pig.

However, God has a terrible sense of humour. Growing up, is basically about being a butt of this sense of humour. It was when I first escaped home to live in a hostel that the curse of my conditioning dawned upon me. I made the dreadful discovery that I had not escaped the family affliction. I too hated mess. It was true that I was lazy about cleaning, however I now realised was that while it was fine for me to create a mess, but once there was no one to clean it, the mess got onto my nerves. It was shattering moment when I discovered that to be completely relaxed I needed a clean place! My perfectly normal gene had been rendered ineffective with constant conditioning.
My life has never been the same after that. There has always been that tussle between giving in to my inherent laziness and to keep my environment the way I have been used to having it.... clean.

When I moved to US, the 'Apna kaam swayam karo' motto took on a whole new meaning. Actually, it is a very Gandhian thing... as they say 'Majboori ka naam Mahatma Gandhi' [loosely translates to 'Necessity thy name greatness]. There is no other option. In addition to the personal chores now one had to run a house. In the early days when I shared an apartment with friends everything was great fun. Even cleaning was fun. We would spend every Saturday morning scrubbing away at the bathroom floors, vacuuming the house, cleaning the kitchen and getting everything in order. After that we would venture out to Olive Garden for a good meal and then for a long drive into the countryside. Doesn't that sound too good? Now, even I wonder if we actually did enjoy the cleaning or is my memory coloured by the good food and good drive that followed it.

However, as time passed cleaning was becoming a bigger and bigger and finally a monstrous chore. Busy schedules would leave me too tired to clean and a dirty house sat on my conscience like an overweight chipmunk. Finally a couple of weeks back, while scrubbing the bathroom floor I decided I had had enough. I was not born to clean bathrooms I declared to myself. Time has come for me to relieve myself of my janitor duties and the conditioning of my upbringing... I called the cleaning services.

The first time Cleaning Unlimited came to clean my house it was a disaster. The truth is that the maternal OCD genes were just dormant not dead. When I walked into the house after the cleaning, the first thing I did was lift things off the floor and scrutinize corners to make sure they had been cleaned properly and then threw a fit to find that they hadn't (and later went faint when I realised how much I really am like my mother).

The second time, they promised me a thorough job and truly, when I walked in this time, my house was sparkling clean. And then I felt it....yes, the guilt. The guilt that someone had actually walked in and seen my mess. The mess that I zealously clear away if I am expecting someone in my house. Not only had someone seen my mess they even cleaned it for me. The guilt of having shirked from good old, hallowed hard work. It made me feel less virtuous somehow. The 'Apna Kaam Swayam Karo' motto flashed before my eyes in a manner that is remniscent of the way the weighing scale flashes before your eyes after consuming a large bowl of decadent chocolate sundae topped with whipped cream.
Today was the fourth time that my house was cleaned by someone else. I must confess, the guilt is somewhat ebbing as the benefits of the exercise are showing up. I find much more time for more constructive things. I don't spend the entire week-end doing chores (or feeling guilty about not doing them) and feel far more at ease with my constantly neat and clean living space.

Those annoying words still flash before my eyes. But slowly and steadily they are altering. Let me see what I read now..

Apana Kaam Swayam ....... Kyon Karo?
P.S Sorry Gandhiji, I do think you are out of fashion now.

The God in Small Things

I went for a walk to the waterfront today. Ever since, I moved to New Jersey, the waterfront has been a high-point of my summer life. The delightful discovery of its existence right behind my apartment complex was a moment of serendipity. The waterfront is a cosy little park, hidden behind a giant industrial storage area. The 'water' it faces is a narrow causeway that is used to ferry ships across to the various ports that dot this region of Jersey. It is a quiet place, with a small deck, some recreational facilities and a walking path alongside the reeds that mark the shores of the waterway. An evening walk at the water-front is the best way to get my spirits soaring and my friends..... smirking.

"So, did you visit your nala recently?"
"It's not a nala, it is a waterway"
"Are you considering cross-channel swimming?[smirk, smirk]"

The modest nature of its existence, its limited clientele and my exuberance over something this modest is the main cause of mirth amongst the blimps I consider as friends. My humble waterfront is no Atlantic City boardwalk after all.
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Robin Bhai is my dear 'internet' friend and fellow music lover. He and I have spent many delightful keystrokes debating over our musical proclivities. We usually arrive at a somewhat amicable agreement on most points... except one.

"Jaidev is far superior to Laxmikant Pyarelal (LP), Robin Bhai""
How? Jaidev has the music for barely 50 films to his credit, LP have 500."
"But the 400 of those films have pedestrian music"
"Yet they have 100 worthwhile ones. That is still more than Jaidev’s entire output""
Where is 'Allah Tero Naam' or 'Bansuriya Man Har le Gayi' in that count?"
"How many times can you admire a single dazzling goldfish in your little pond? The larger lake throbbing with marine life is likely to give more pleasure.
"Not if 90% those fishes are a dull grey in colour"
"One needs to appreciate the sheer effort required to build an edifice of 4000 songs"
"I can acknowledge it but I only appreciate genius"
“But there is a genius in numbers”
"Quality"
"Hits"
"Class"
“Elitist”
Thump
Alt-Ctrl-Del [That was Robin Bhai btw]
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My visit to the Valley of Flowers was my first real brush with spiritual India. The Himalayas are home to sadhus and babas of various hues. Little shrines dot the mountains and devoted men of God look after these shrines with an asceticism that seems to flow into anyone who spends time at those heights. I had a pleasant encounter with a twinkly- eyed baba who looks after a small hanuman shrine at the entrance to the valley. He invited us to his tent for a visit. I spent a rewarding hour sitting around the fire, sipping sweet hot tea and listening to fascinating tales of the mysticism of the mountains. As we left, I made a modest offering at his altar and my gesture was met with heartfelt wishes for my well-being. I came away feeling richer.

Two days later I am down in Haridwar, just in time to catch the famous aarti on the banks of the Ganga. Chaos, crowds, confusion. Someone pulls at my hand. "Pooja karni hai madam", another man jostles with him "aap log mere saath aaiye madam". A third man, a fourth, a fifth.... 'Madam!’… ‘Sir!’... 'Hello’... I want to scream.

Jostling with the crowds I find a footing on the banks of the river just as the aarti starts. A spectacular moment unfolds before my eyes. The fire in the lamps held aloft by the priests light up the dark waters of the river in a celestial glow. With the aarti over, I put my sentiments and some money into a little pooja contraption ready to offer it to the river. I reverentially hand it to the pandit who has finally won the battle to our clientele.

'Sirf itne rupaiye madam?". [Is that all mam?]

As I let my contraption with the little diya float down the river, the only thing that throbs in my mind - How will we get out of this chaos?
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The aarti on the Ganga at Haridwar is a much sought after experience. The five minutes during which it is performed are undoubtedly magical and uplifting. However, those five minutes of a higher experience come packaged with fifty five minutes of strife, chaos and frustration. The effect is all but diluted. In direct contrast, the little shrine up in the mountains does not provide any spectacle, only quiet reflection. Yet, the serenity and sense of purity surrounding the place strengthens its impact. The experience lingers till long after.

The tussle is between the established and the obscure, the grandiose and the unassuming. The established side of the line packs any well known entity(place, monument, art, idea etc.) that has built a reputation based upon the testimony of a huge section of the population. The ‘obscure’ comprises of little known entities that offer limited but potent enjoyment. The famous, is usually famous because there is some larger than life element associated with it. The reputation of the 'established' is in essence its aura. For e.g visitors to Taj Mahal are of three kinds - first that admire the Taj, second who admire the fact that they visited the Taj and the third who don't care. The famous usually attracts all these kinds of people. And that is what proves counter-productive for them.

The profusion of humanity at the doorstep of such entities dulls their aura. When so many people jostle for a share of the pie, everyone gets only a minuscule nibble. Little known places on the other hand hide only a slice of life, but to the traveler that seeks them, they generously hand over the entire slice. These places offer a sense of exclusivity, ownership and discovery. The experience is unadulterated and satiating.

I often wonder, if the sense of discovery of a modest entity is so rewarding, imagine the exhilaration of the explorer who discovers a grand edifice. How would Hiram Bingham have felt when he discovered the grand Machu Picchu or what was Neil Armstrong's state of mind when he set foot on the moon. (We all do know how Archimedes felt in his moment of Eureka in the bath tub). The first sip of the nectar that the cosmos offers to those who discover its secrets must have nirvanic potency. Yet, this effect starts ebbing with each subsequent sip and for long established wonders; it is nothing but stale wine.

For many who derive pleasure from reading, art, traveling or discussing ideas, evaluation is an enjoyable exercise. Take for instance the Desert Island concept. The process of choosing a set of artists whose work you would like to be marooned with provides an interesting insight into your own proclivities. What will sustain you for longer? A set of ten works all rated 5/10, or only one that is rated 9/10? Which artist do you rate higher? The one who creates a large body of work with more indifferent and some excellent output or the one who creates a smaller body of work mainly with excellent output?. Will you give credit to an artist for being prolific or will you take credit away for indiscriminate prolificacy?

Over the years I have discovered I belong to the tribe that gravitates towards the unassuming. I will gladly choose the one 9/10 work and devour it to it's minutest nuance. The artists I revere are the ones have a smaller but individualistic repertoire. The places I frequent are far from the maddening crowd. At the end of the day, a rose in the garden is magnificent in its preening glory yet it has to be shared with the world , the small wild-flower that pops it’s head from the undergrowth, is all but mine. There is a certain romance in obscurity, the romance of discovery. The world might run after the rose, but the nectar in my life comes from these tiny wild flowers.

My God - he lives in small things.

The Heat, the Mosquitoes and New York Times

Ever since I started working in New York City, my disposition with regards to this aspect of my life, has been grumpy at best. Take a passionate crusader for the country-living-high-thinking kind of life-style and thrust her into the rat race of the finance captial of the world, the end result is grouchy frump. Playing daily dodge-me with a teeming mass of people, chasing 'walk' signs at pedestrian crossings, running up stalled escalators and spending an hour every morning admiring the environs of New Jersey turnpike(NJTP). That is working in NYC for you. Contrast this to the daily delights of beautiful vistas, spring flowers, fall colours and rolling fields, the staple of suburban Pennsylvania, my last residence. The Big Apple has a remote chance of tempting me to bite.
Yet, the City(New York) is devious. It has a slimy way of creeping up from behind, trying to lure the unyielding outsider in its web. Take for example, the New York subway - a subterranean ant colony of humanity. However, within its folds, half-concealed, sits the wayside musician. Playing his own thing and completely oblivious to the indifferent pattering of feet crossing him every second. Once in a while he will play the most compelling piece you ever heard. Then there is that 'perfectest' linger-in-your-mouth Tiramisu that you discover in an innocuous hole-in-the-wall shop. Serendipity at it's benign best. There are also the occasional newsworthy scares like a fire outside Grand Central Station and the ensuing excitement (and lots of stories to tell people later. The I-was-there-on-that-day kind of stories). That is fun, I admit. The only exciting thing that ever happened in PA was a convention of Jehovah's witnesses.
So as you see, the City's guiles are numerous. The indifference, pace and godlessness of the teeming metropolis throws up a surprising counter-balance of culture, humanity, passion and a wanton display of human quirks and courage.
It was at Times Square a couple of days back. I was footing my way from work towards the Port Authority bus terminal. Times Square was jam-packed, a little more than usual. "These tourists", I muttered grumpily to myself. "I should have taken the subway". With the recent devaluation of the dollar, tourists have descended upon the city like a swarm of locusts. They are everywhere. It was only the other day that I had a run-in with an extremely endearing Japanese variety in the subway. She was taking a video film balanced on the narrow escalator that leads down to the platform. I am proud to have provided her with a wonderful panorama of expressions for her film. Starting with amazement (WTF, a film here!), to urgency (my train.. it's here), frustration and impatience (get out of the way, I need to get to it) and finally... resignation (the train has left). I could not disappoint her, after all I still retain all my Indian 'Mehmaan bhagwaan hai' values.
Back to Times Sqaure, inching forward towards the next block, I realized 8th Avenue was closed to traffic. As I neared the crossing I noticed something strange. Everyone was looking heaven-wards. I looked upwards too duly expecting a fireball. I was relieved .The sky was clear. No signs of airplanes. (Note: however, important you might feel narrating first-hand tales of disasters in comfy family rooms, it is never as exciting to be there at the time of action). I steered my vision in the direction the crowd was pointing. It was the fifty two floors tall New York Times building. My eyes darted around for a bit and then settled in on a figure..... a man. Yes, a man hanging on to the building some half-way up. He seemed to be stuck. Who was he? A window cleaner who got a unlucky? Someone escaping some problem in the building? Who? A little asking around brought to light this interesting story of two men.
The first, Alain Robert, a stuntman with a fetish for climbing buildings. A Frenchman to the core, he thinks buildings are like mountains, only difference between the two is that new buildings get constructed regularly (how perspicuously French!). For a while he has been in the realization that the heat in the South of France is getting unbearable. And no, it's not because Bollywood with all the B(ee)s(and fly Amar Singh) have descended en masse in Cannes. Even the Ms Non-Recyclable Plastic Rai and her Ms World contestants know the green-house gases are the culprit. 'Global Warming' has long replaced 'World Peace' as the mantra for the crown bearing activists. The US, undoubtedly takes the blame for all ills ailing mankind, esp. from the French point of view. Think of it, not only did they pick the most un-evolved item of the French cuisine, the pomme frites, and brand them as France's most identifiable contribution to the world cuisine, they now are adding 'gas' to the fire through green-houses gases. How long would the self-respecting Frenchman tolerate all this?
Alain decided it was time to something. The only 'something' that he is equipped to do is scale buildings. So a building it was. His zeroed in on the NYT building in Manhattan. (A clever choice, I would add. It is fun climbing over the media's head). One fine morning he started his ascent. Being an old hand at it, in a couple of hours his act was performed. As per routine, he was discovered, the police called and a welcoming committee was waiting for him at the top of the building. Point made, Alain happily made his way to cool his heels in jail thereafter.
But the story does not end here.
Another man. Renaldo Clarke a denizen of the City . He had spent a particularly restless night punching mosquitoes in his Brooklyn quarters. The natural side-effect of heat is mosquitoes and mosquitoes carry Malaria. So Mr Clarke had dreamt a dream, he wanted to do something about Malaria. What better to do than climb a building?. But then Clarke watched the afternoon news. He saw Alain Robert waving into the screen. The march was obviously stolen. "Damn these French! Even after we declared 'Freedom' from their fries and threatened to return the Statue of Liberty, they continue to be a nuisance." Clarke knew it was time for action - Now or never. At 6:00 PM he started his ascent.
When I looked up from my vantage point at around 7:00 PM, he had made his way up to the 30th floor. But now he seemed stationary. Probably tired. Clarke, unlike Roberts was not a professional. He had never climbed a building before. He had no technique or training, just guts and gumption. His fate was hanging precariously from that NYT building. My country genes held me there for a while, wide-eyed and mesmerized, silently rooting for him. But then suddenly something within lulled me back to reality. The 7:00 PM bus missed, the 7:20 bus about to leave, the charming NJTP awaiting my passage, I had to leave.
And so, I disengaged, turned around and walked away…. just like a New Yorker would do.
As the bus emerged from the bowels of Port Authority, the NY Times building loomed up in front. And there he was, that small figure, hanging on for his dear life. He hadn't moved an inch since I had left. The bus wound out of the city into Lincoln Tunnel and I wondered what his fate would be. I was slightly perturbed with the indifference that seemed to have surreptitiously taken root within me, but alongside I started perceiving a new sensation, a knotty warm feeling in the gut that told me he would get there. That seemed to be the only possible ending to his act. NYC was the stage where his drama decided to unfold. A little heat, a few mosquitoes, an idea and tenacity (in tons)...... That's all it takes to scale a height here.
The Big Apple....it spins its web, I sense the shadow of a silvery yarn over my being, Am I getting entangled?
Post Script :Mr Clarke did make it to the top, totally exhausted, but victorious. After his moment of fame in front of the cameras, where he revealed his concern for Malaria, he too went to join his French friend to cool down in jail. They were both freed a couple of days later.

Amar Prem

The new VODAFONE Advertisement
Wherever You Go Our Network Follows

















































The Bachchan family's exemplary 'Amar' Prem continues to inspire contemporary creativity. Some suggestions to the VodaFone folks on the background song for their new advertisement.

• Tu jahan jahan chalega mera saaya saath hoga
• Jahan hum jaate hain wahin chale aate jo
• Akele akele kahan jaa rahe ho, hamen saath le lo jahan jaa rahe ho

Thanks to Savita for emaling this picture