All right, its been long. To those you who have been asking me when my next blog shall be released, here it is.
The writer's block seems to be a thing of the past- for now.
The last 2-3 months have been pretty eventful. Some happy, and some distressing. This one is going to look more like a diary in brief.
I have finally shifted to Dwarka- my parents are likely to join me in the next 10-15 days. Also was on tour to Ladakh.
The last few weeks have shown me some deaths- 2 of my friends lost their fathers while yet another lost his mother. It is in these moments that one feels helpless- so helpless that words fail to come out of the mouth. One stands there- by the side of the one who has lost- and feels helpless- What do I say and What can I say to assauge the loss? However, in these moments, one also tends to forget any negative emotions that one has nursed against the other. Both the ones become one in such times.
Even as I write this, I also remember those words my Dad quoted to me in Malayalam a few years back- "The death of a relationship can be more painful than the death of a relation himself/ herself". During a rather low juncture in life some years back, I thought this made a lot of sense...
I sense and fear the end of yet another beautiful relationship around the corner. I wonder when would I be able to get over the petty constraints of ego, attachment and expectation?
There are those other life giving factors that have made life interesting- a trip to the Triveni Sangam where the Ganga and the Yamuna meet- explicitly and the Saraswati joins them as the Antarvahini (making me philosophize how many times do we tend to ignore/ overlook the Antarvahinis in our lives) and a trip to Ladakh with close friends. (More on these in other travelogues).
Anna got engaged. Parived got engaged and so did Shilpa. Feel very happy for these people.
Some very close friends left Delhi in the last few weeks- to places as varied as Hyderabad and Bangalore and Canada. As usual, it was not easy to say Goodbye.
Life is like that. It is like a river that meanders through different curves- some that you expect and some that you don't- this suspense making life more exciting.
Even as I write all this, there is a part from my past that beckons me- my heart says, listen to the call. If I follow my heart, my life shall see yet another turn that I shall not have expected- even 2 days ago.
Somebody very special in my life often quotes a shloka which talks of the almighty as "Sarvamangala Sadgatiprada" (roughly translated, giver of things that will be good for you and will happen only at the right/ good pace). For once, let me also try and follow something else this person tells me-
"I shall seek not; I shall avoid not..."
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Oh Kolkata!!
There is this path marked with artificial footprints that marks the route Netaji Subhash Bose took- to escape from his house (from Brit Custody) way back in the 40’s. I stood there- in his study- spent a few quiet minutes for I was the only visitor at the Netaji memorial at Elgyn road in Kolkata. These minutes marked the defining moments in this trip of mine to Kolkata.
Etmad, Ittefaaq and Qurbani so remarkably define the spirit that Netaji lived for and died for. I left the place with a choke in my throat.
May I request you to go through this before you read the subsequent paragraphs. Maybe the lines in the referred blog will tell you about my love for Bengal- and anything/ anybody related to Bengal.
I landed on a lazy hot afternoon in Kolkata. Kolkata was still sulking from the insult meted out to Ganguly by Kolkata Knight Riders. The cab driver had plenty of nice words for Saa-Rooq-Kaahn.
This was my opportunity to try out the dancing-coffee at Udupi hotel near Esplanade. This one is at CR avenue. The experience was more wonderful than was described by very dear friend- RawBean dada, a most wonderful Bongo-bondhu from Kolkata.
Once the snack of special sada dosa (ney-roast) was over, I proceeded to visit the bhurld-phamose K.Shi. Das at the Esplanade junction, a stone’s throw from Udupi. The rosogullas were good- but a trifle lower than my expectations. I would strongly recommend the dahi wada there- never had better dahi wada anywhere and the Roso-Moloncho and the Malpua- ekdOm mOst hOi.
I had planned my evening out- a repeat trip to Dokkhineswar and Belur Math. The experience was as lovely as I’ve mentioned in my other blog. Standing at Vivekananda’s samadhi-sthal can give you goosebumps.
To those of you traveling for the phorst taim too Kolkata, I would recommend that you take a tram ride- from nobhere in porticulor to nobhere in porticulor. I did Esplanade to Dalhousie Square and I was the only one on the tram besides the driver and the conductor. Delightful!!
The next day began early with a visit to Kalighat. The pandits can get on to your nerves here too. The temple may be jam packed on holidays- or so I was told. The streets or Saranis around the tame-pal are bustling with flower sellers and sellers of Puja materials. One does run into the occasional vegetable seller. A walk trip around the area is highly recommended.
I move on to Victoria memorial. I am going there after 19 long years.
As I saw a child walking around there with a straw hat, I had a sense of déjà vu. My parents had gotten me one such hat there and I’d gleefully forgotten the hat in the train on the way back to Kerala. Very vivid memories also of the white pebbles in the complex.
The memorial has a wonderful collection of Angrezon ke zamaane ki artifacts. My personal favourites were the paintings of the Jantar Mantar and Jama Masjid in Delhi in the early 1700’s. The paintings are both very descriptive and it is hard to imagine the surrounding areas minus the modern day Connaught Place and the sights of Purani Dilli.i closed my eyes visualizing Jantar Mantar without CP around- I failed. Another interesting one was a snap of Pt. Nehru and the family of Chiang Kai Shek enjoying a Bengali Thali sitting on the floor. A very recommended drink is the masala cola (and the masala shikanji) sold outside the complex.
The MP Birla planetarium is a 5 minute walk away; the taramondal show there is a major let down though. It is interesting to watch the kids play football in the sprawling Moidan in the area. The jhaal muri sold outside the planetarium along with masala soda is highly recommended.
Bengal has a rich history of art and sciences. The Birla technology museum serves to enhance the scientific awareness in children. A visit to the mock coal mines and the 3D theatre is recommended- even for adults.
There is this place called Kew Pees at Elgyn road- my friend Suhrid (pronounced as Shu-hh-wreed) calls it famous. (Lonely Planet agrees with him) He called it an awesome place. The expectations were high- the food is good, but a trifle overrated and very over-priced. The place serves authentic Bong Phhood. All said and done, worth a visit.
As I leave Kolkata to come back to Delhi, I come back with plenty of beautiful memories- again. Kolkata beckons me again… I shall come back soon again.
This one is dedicated to all the wonder bongs in my life.
Etmad, Ittefaaq and Qurbani so remarkably define the spirit that Netaji lived for and died for. I left the place with a choke in my throat.
May I request you to go through this before you read the subsequent paragraphs. Maybe the lines in the referred blog will tell you about my love for Bengal- and anything/ anybody related to Bengal.
I landed on a lazy hot afternoon in Kolkata. Kolkata was still sulking from the insult meted out to Ganguly by Kolkata Knight Riders. The cab driver had plenty of nice words for Saa-Rooq-Kaahn.
This was my opportunity to try out the dancing-coffee at Udupi hotel near Esplanade. This one is at CR avenue. The experience was more wonderful than was described by very dear friend- RawBean dada, a most wonderful Bongo-bondhu from Kolkata.
Once the snack of special sada dosa (ney-roast) was over, I proceeded to visit the bhurld-phamose K.Shi. Das at the Esplanade junction, a stone’s throw from Udupi. The rosogullas were good- but a trifle lower than my expectations. I would strongly recommend the dahi wada there- never had better dahi wada anywhere and the Roso-Moloncho and the Malpua- ekdOm mOst hOi.
I had planned my evening out- a repeat trip to Dokkhineswar and Belur Math. The experience was as lovely as I’ve mentioned in my other blog. Standing at Vivekananda’s samadhi-sthal can give you goosebumps.
To those of you traveling for the phorst taim too Kolkata, I would recommend that you take a tram ride- from nobhere in porticulor to nobhere in porticulor. I did Esplanade to Dalhousie Square and I was the only one on the tram besides the driver and the conductor. Delightful!!
The next day began early with a visit to Kalighat. The pandits can get on to your nerves here too. The temple may be jam packed on holidays- or so I was told. The streets or Saranis around the tame-pal are bustling with flower sellers and sellers of Puja materials. One does run into the occasional vegetable seller. A walk trip around the area is highly recommended.
I move on to Victoria memorial. I am going there after 19 long years.
As I saw a child walking around there with a straw hat, I had a sense of déjà vu. My parents had gotten me one such hat there and I’d gleefully forgotten the hat in the train on the way back to Kerala. Very vivid memories also of the white pebbles in the complex.
The memorial has a wonderful collection of Angrezon ke zamaane ki artifacts. My personal favourites were the paintings of the Jantar Mantar and Jama Masjid in Delhi in the early 1700’s. The paintings are both very descriptive and it is hard to imagine the surrounding areas minus the modern day Connaught Place and the sights of Purani Dilli.i closed my eyes visualizing Jantar Mantar without CP around- I failed. Another interesting one was a snap of Pt. Nehru and the family of Chiang Kai Shek enjoying a Bengali Thali sitting on the floor. A very recommended drink is the masala cola (and the masala shikanji) sold outside the complex.
The MP Birla planetarium is a 5 minute walk away; the taramondal show there is a major let down though. It is interesting to watch the kids play football in the sprawling Moidan in the area. The jhaal muri sold outside the planetarium along with masala soda is highly recommended.
Bengal has a rich history of art and sciences. The Birla technology museum serves to enhance the scientific awareness in children. A visit to the mock coal mines and the 3D theatre is recommended- even for adults.
There is this place called Kew Pees at Elgyn road- my friend Suhrid (pronounced as Shu-hh-wreed) calls it famous. (Lonely Planet agrees with him) He called it an awesome place. The expectations were high- the food is good, but a trifle overrated and very over-priced. The place serves authentic Bong Phhood. All said and done, worth a visit.
As I leave Kolkata to come back to Delhi, I come back with plenty of beautiful memories- again. Kolkata beckons me again… I shall come back soon again.
This one is dedicated to all the wonder bongs in my life.
Monday, March 23, 2009
dheere dheere chal...
Aye Musafir dheere chal, manzil toh aa hee jaayegi”
This one keeps screaming at you every half an hour on the Rishikesh-Badrinath road.
Aye musafir dheere chal… dheere chal… have I been walking a trifle too fast? A very special friend recently asked me where my nonsense of humour, that perhaps never existed, has disappeared. I had resolved that that which never perhaps existed, would be rediscovered. Shubhasya Sheegram!! The earlier, the merrier.
Every time it rained in Delhi, during those unexpected months; or it poured in those usual months, I’d send an sms to some select special friends- “its raining; go out, get wet, enjoy…”
I still have this one stored in the “drafts” of my old cell phone.
Its been long since I sent that out to people.
Yesterday morning, I woke up to the sight of snowfall outside my room in Garhwal; a light drizzle followed. And like the K serials, it just went on…on… and on!!
Have you seen those pretty ladies
As your eyes meet theirs, they shy away.
For a moment the eyes meet,
And then they look astray.
These mountains today displayed a glow- head to toe, covered with snow; veiled, sometimes, behind the clouds moving slow- forming their own nice shapes. The dancing stream behind me lent music to make the beautiful morning beaoootiful.
Yesterday had to be good. Just as day before yesterday was. Was traveling on the route after exactly 5 years and 8 months. The sight and sound of Ganga, in her various avatars, all along the route through Rishikesh to Devaprayag to Rudraprayag to Karnaprayag to Nandprayag and eventually to Vishnuprayag. Ganga looks most beautiful on this route. The water is pristine blue-green. The sound is pure magic.
As I drove on this road day-before-yesterday, Vairamuthu’s words played on in my mind- “nadiye nadiye!! Kaadal nadiye, neeyum penn thane…”. In the entire song he compares the river with a woman. Amazing song- set to tune by Rehman himself; do listen if you can lay your hands on it. It is from a film called “Rhythm”.
Yesterday was good too. After the amazing morning view and a decent workshop and an amazing lunch, I was chatting with this very good friend who has a special knack for poetry in Hindi/ Urdu. She writes-
Na koi dost hai na kareeb hai,
Tera shehar kitna ajeeb hai,
Kiska chehra padhoon main,
Yahaan kaun itna kareeb hai.
I was in a mood for poetry too- I modified this and massacred it.
Kiska chehra padhoon main,
Dikh nahi raha hai mujhko kuch yahaan,
Mera chashma hai kahaan?
Dhoondh liya maine saara jahaan,
Par chashma nahi hai mera yahaan,
Aur chashma nahi hai mera wahaan,
Kahaan hai mera chashma, kahaan?
And more such nonsense-
Kitne ajeeb hain ye raaste,
Kabhi seedhe hain ye jaate,
Kabhi daayein,
Kabhi baayein!!!
And more and more!!
My friend pleaded that I stop. She said she had not seen me in such a nonsensical mood for long. She was frustrated to see this mood back. (The sadist smile is back on my face folks)
Maybe the snow had had the effect.
Its not just the poetry. Had a snap clicked of mine- arms outstretched against the mountains- as if flying. Spent an evening with the Vedapathashaala kids at the Shankara-Mutt in Joshimath. Walked the slippery slopes in the village barefoot singing aloud. Enjoyed the rains drenching me. Enjoyed my feet grow numb with cold. My body crying for want of a sweater/ jacket (that I gleefully forgot in my Gurgaon room)- was now prancing along those meandering slopes- like Shammi Kapoor in Junglee.
Suhaana safar aur ye mausam haseen; hume dar hai hum kho na jaaye kahin.
Only that, kho jaane ka dar nahi laga.
Garhwal-especially Rishikesh was a place I visited every quarter- well, almost; except for these last 12 months. I visited this place for I felt it rejuvenated me each time. I guess the snow and Garhwal have had their effect on me- rejuvenated that nonsense within me.
The beautiful mountains, the beautiful rivers, the beautiful trees, the beautiful people. Garhwal truly is beautiful…
AJ… is back, peoples!! The nonsense that some (actually quite a few) of you had gladly come to accept as dead- is back.
Here’s one to celebrate guys…
Mujhe fiqr ki ab kya fiqr hai padee,
Wo kahaani yaad hai na of the legendary dandee,
Kahin Khadi, kahin padi aur kahin gadhee.
NB- Gadhee is not she-donkey here. Gadhee is something that lies buried..
This one keeps screaming at you every half an hour on the Rishikesh-Badrinath road.
Aye musafir dheere chal… dheere chal… have I been walking a trifle too fast? A very special friend recently asked me where my nonsense of humour, that perhaps never existed, has disappeared. I had resolved that that which never perhaps existed, would be rediscovered. Shubhasya Sheegram!! The earlier, the merrier.
Every time it rained in Delhi, during those unexpected months; or it poured in those usual months, I’d send an sms to some select special friends- “its raining; go out, get wet, enjoy…”
I still have this one stored in the “drafts” of my old cell phone.
Its been long since I sent that out to people.
Yesterday morning, I woke up to the sight of snowfall outside my room in Garhwal; a light drizzle followed. And like the K serials, it just went on…on… and on!!
Have you seen those pretty ladies
As your eyes meet theirs, they shy away.
For a moment the eyes meet,
And then they look astray.
These mountains today displayed a glow- head to toe, covered with snow; veiled, sometimes, behind the clouds moving slow- forming their own nice shapes. The dancing stream behind me lent music to make the beautiful morning beaoootiful.
Yesterday had to be good. Just as day before yesterday was. Was traveling on the route after exactly 5 years and 8 months. The sight and sound of Ganga, in her various avatars, all along the route through Rishikesh to Devaprayag to Rudraprayag to Karnaprayag to Nandprayag and eventually to Vishnuprayag. Ganga looks most beautiful on this route. The water is pristine blue-green. The sound is pure magic.
As I drove on this road day-before-yesterday, Vairamuthu’s words played on in my mind- “nadiye nadiye!! Kaadal nadiye, neeyum penn thane…”. In the entire song he compares the river with a woman. Amazing song- set to tune by Rehman himself; do listen if you can lay your hands on it. It is from a film called “Rhythm”.
Yesterday was good too. After the amazing morning view and a decent workshop and an amazing lunch, I was chatting with this very good friend who has a special knack for poetry in Hindi/ Urdu. She writes-
Na koi dost hai na kareeb hai,
Tera shehar kitna ajeeb hai,
Kiska chehra padhoon main,
Yahaan kaun itna kareeb hai.
I was in a mood for poetry too- I modified this and massacred it.
Kiska chehra padhoon main,
Dikh nahi raha hai mujhko kuch yahaan,
Mera chashma hai kahaan?
Dhoondh liya maine saara jahaan,
Par chashma nahi hai mera yahaan,
Aur chashma nahi hai mera wahaan,
Kahaan hai mera chashma, kahaan?
And more such nonsense-
Kitne ajeeb hain ye raaste,
Kabhi seedhe hain ye jaate,
Kabhi daayein,
Kabhi baayein!!!
And more and more!!
My friend pleaded that I stop. She said she had not seen me in such a nonsensical mood for long. She was frustrated to see this mood back. (The sadist smile is back on my face folks)
Maybe the snow had had the effect.
Its not just the poetry. Had a snap clicked of mine- arms outstretched against the mountains- as if flying. Spent an evening with the Vedapathashaala kids at the Shankara-Mutt in Joshimath. Walked the slippery slopes in the village barefoot singing aloud. Enjoyed the rains drenching me. Enjoyed my feet grow numb with cold. My body crying for want of a sweater/ jacket (that I gleefully forgot in my Gurgaon room)- was now prancing along those meandering slopes- like Shammi Kapoor in Junglee.
Suhaana safar aur ye mausam haseen; hume dar hai hum kho na jaaye kahin.
Only that, kho jaane ka dar nahi laga.
Garhwal-especially Rishikesh was a place I visited every quarter- well, almost; except for these last 12 months. I visited this place for I felt it rejuvenated me each time. I guess the snow and Garhwal have had their effect on me- rejuvenated that nonsense within me.
The beautiful mountains, the beautiful rivers, the beautiful trees, the beautiful people. Garhwal truly is beautiful…
AJ… is back, peoples!! The nonsense that some (actually quite a few) of you had gladly come to accept as dead- is back.
Here’s one to celebrate guys…
Mujhe fiqr ki ab kya fiqr hai padee,
Wo kahaani yaad hai na of the legendary dandee,
Kahin Khadi, kahin padi aur kahin gadhee.
NB- Gadhee is not she-donkey here. Gadhee is something that lies buried..
Friday, February 27, 2009
The last week musings
Picture this- a new moon day, rather night; the sky is filled with stars- wherever the eyes can see; it is pitch dark outside. I'm driving a bolero and mine is the only vehicle on the road for a good 80-90 minutes. There is absolutely no vegetation outside- but for a few shrubs here and there.
Welcome to Kachchh- again. (For the lucky uninititated ones- here's the link http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/08/earth-is-flat.html )
Never before have I witnessed silence so beautiful. Was humming Jagjit Singh's "soona" as I was driving. I remember, in one of his concerts, Jagjit Singh, while singing this, gave us his own take on soona-pan. He talked of physical soona-pan, mental and emotional as well.
This place is truly lonely.
I was also fortunate to visit Ahmedabad during this trip; I managed a visit to the Gandhi Ashram at Sabarmati- thanks to my friend Nidhi. The place is absolutely peaceful. Consider myself blessed to have visited this place- so close to Gandhiji's heart and of course, a result of his own heart. We saw a stream of school kids visit the place- excited and bubbly and following in tow was the teacher who had the unenvious task of bursting the bubble once in a while.
I guess, when one is a child and takes in whatever is taught in the schools, one tends to believe that Gandhiji is God himself- as he is portrayed in our books. As one grows up, Gandhiji may become Gandhi and by the time one is in the teens, one may totally dismiss the views and philosophies of Gandhi. And then, maybe, one does come across certain events in life wherein Gandhi becomes Gandhiji- again.
I guess, I'm living phase #3.
Back to the drive- even as I was humming soona... these words were playing on in my mind... Godwilling, this will be complete some day and the song shall be sung- someday....
Under these shining stars,
Amidst the marshlands that surround me,
I can hear a melody.
I drive on- on this lonely road,
No trees around, no people to see,
The melody I can hear and it overwhelms me.
After a few minutes I reached the railway station in Bhuj- back to the "civilized" world. Hopefully, the song shall be sung someday.
The Melody lingers on,
The rhythm has set in,
The song remains unsung...
Welcome to Kachchh- again. (For the lucky uninititated ones- here's the link http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2008/08/earth-is-flat.html )
Never before have I witnessed silence so beautiful. Was humming Jagjit Singh's "soona" as I was driving. I remember, in one of his concerts, Jagjit Singh, while singing this, gave us his own take on soona-pan. He talked of physical soona-pan, mental and emotional as well.
This place is truly lonely.
I was also fortunate to visit Ahmedabad during this trip; I managed a visit to the Gandhi Ashram at Sabarmati- thanks to my friend Nidhi. The place is absolutely peaceful. Consider myself blessed to have visited this place- so close to Gandhiji's heart and of course, a result of his own heart. We saw a stream of school kids visit the place- excited and bubbly and following in tow was the teacher who had the unenvious task of bursting the bubble once in a while.
I guess, when one is a child and takes in whatever is taught in the schools, one tends to believe that Gandhiji is God himself- as he is portrayed in our books. As one grows up, Gandhiji may become Gandhi and by the time one is in the teens, one may totally dismiss the views and philosophies of Gandhi. And then, maybe, one does come across certain events in life wherein Gandhi becomes Gandhiji- again.
I guess, I'm living phase #3.
Back to the drive- even as I was humming soona... these words were playing on in my mind... Godwilling, this will be complete some day and the song shall be sung- someday....
Under these shining stars,
Amidst the marshlands that surround me,
I can hear a melody.
I drive on- on this lonely road,
No trees around, no people to see,
The melody I can hear and it overwhelms me.
After a few minutes I reached the railway station in Bhuj- back to the "civilized" world. Hopefully, the song shall be sung someday.
The Melody lingers on,
The rhythm has set in,
The song remains unsung...
Monday, February 16, 2009
Inspirational Aspirations...
Till y'day you were my aspiration. Today, you are my inspiration."
So says one of K Balachander's characters in a yesteryear movie when he realises that he cannot marry the girl of his choice.
A couple of days back, I had the privilege of listening to some elevating music in Delhi. My good friend-Ajesh had taken me along to Siri Fort where some jazz legends were playing in the evening. He said it would be a good opportunity for me to get introduced to Jazz.
We went there without the passes and were lucky enough to get some spare passes from some DUdes (dudes from DU).
The pass mentioned something about commemorating the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King's visit to India. As we stepped into the hall, we saw some celebs there- one could make out that it was an "important" concert.
Recorded music was being played. Ajesh enlightened me that these were black gospel songs. Then they played the speech... i mean THE speech...
... I have a dream... that one day, man shall not be judged by the colour of his skin, but by the content of his character... i have a dream today... i still have a dream....
This was one hair raising experience... What power...and what amazing articulation of dreams...
Fittingly, the concert began with a rendition of "We shall overcome" by Dee Dee Bridgewater and Chaka Khan. Martin Luther King III, who was present in the hall commented that to a large extent, we have overcome.
Then came the masters- Ustad Zakir Hussain himself... George Duke and Herbie Hancock. Ajesh says (I now know this also from the internet) that Herbie Hancock is a living legend...
I could sense why this is so true- during the 120-150 odd minutes.... Those moments, I cannot describe... those feelings i cannot describe... and when they finally played Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram, my eyes were moist...
A visit to the Russian market for a Tibetan dinner acted as icing on the cake (or sauce on the chowmein).
The theme for the evening was obviously dreams...and realizing dreams.
Incidentally, I've been reading this book- "the last lecture" and somewhere the theme in the book is rather similar.
All of us know our time here in this Janma is limited. But, if we knew that "X" is the number of years, months and days we have left to live, would we continue to lead our lives the way we do today? If we were asked what proportion of our aspirations have been fulfilled to our heart's content, would we have an answer? And what are we doing about these aspirations?? What am I doing about mine...
That dream to do this and this dream to do that...bahut nikle mere armaan... lekin fir bhi kum nikle.
Paush says, irrespective of whether we attain a dream or fail in the attempt, the attempt itself changes us for the good. I completely agree.
Well well well... I'll sign off on these thoughts. Have a concert to catch up with today at Nehru Park- Ust. Zakir Hussain and Pt. Shivkumar Sharma...
I still have a dream...
So says one of K Balachander's characters in a yesteryear movie when he realises that he cannot marry the girl of his choice.
A couple of days back, I had the privilege of listening to some elevating music in Delhi. My good friend-Ajesh had taken me along to Siri Fort where some jazz legends were playing in the evening. He said it would be a good opportunity for me to get introduced to Jazz.
We went there without the passes and were lucky enough to get some spare passes from some DUdes (dudes from DU).
The pass mentioned something about commemorating the 50th anniversary of Martin Luther King's visit to India. As we stepped into the hall, we saw some celebs there- one could make out that it was an "important" concert.
Recorded music was being played. Ajesh enlightened me that these were black gospel songs. Then they played the speech... i mean THE speech...
... I have a dream... that one day, man shall not be judged by the colour of his skin, but by the content of his character... i have a dream today... i still have a dream....
This was one hair raising experience... What power...and what amazing articulation of dreams...
Fittingly, the concert began with a rendition of "We shall overcome" by Dee Dee Bridgewater and Chaka Khan. Martin Luther King III, who was present in the hall commented that to a large extent, we have overcome.
Then came the masters- Ustad Zakir Hussain himself... George Duke and Herbie Hancock. Ajesh says (I now know this also from the internet) that Herbie Hancock is a living legend...
I could sense why this is so true- during the 120-150 odd minutes.... Those moments, I cannot describe... those feelings i cannot describe... and when they finally played Raghupati Raghava Raja Ram, my eyes were moist...
A visit to the Russian market for a Tibetan dinner acted as icing on the cake (or sauce on the chowmein).
The theme for the evening was obviously dreams...and realizing dreams.
Incidentally, I've been reading this book- "the last lecture" and somewhere the theme in the book is rather similar.
All of us know our time here in this Janma is limited. But, if we knew that "X" is the number of years, months and days we have left to live, would we continue to lead our lives the way we do today? If we were asked what proportion of our aspirations have been fulfilled to our heart's content, would we have an answer? And what are we doing about these aspirations?? What am I doing about mine...
That dream to do this and this dream to do that...bahut nikle mere armaan... lekin fir bhi kum nikle.
Paush says, irrespective of whether we attain a dream or fail in the attempt, the attempt itself changes us for the good. I completely agree.
Well well well... I'll sign off on these thoughts. Have a concert to catch up with today at Nehru Park- Ust. Zakir Hussain and Pt. Shivkumar Sharma...
I still have a dream...
Sunday, February 8, 2009
An when I'm grey and rocking in my chair...
For those of you reading this- would request that you read
http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2007/08/e-pank-bar-and-dil-chahta-hai.html
http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2007/08/breaking-news-e-ngaged.html
These would help you get a better context.
“Kal phir aayenge… kya mast thi aaj ki shaam”
One of them said this, as the 5 of them, hand in each others’ hands, slowly and steadily walked down the slope at the entry/ exit point of Puraana qila- supporting each other so that none of them slipped down.
The people in question were all at least 70 years old. Bodies frail, voices trembling- with age and the cold, faces smiling after an enlivening evening enjoying Hariprasad Chaurasia and Shiv Kumar Sharma create magic in the ramparts of Delhi’s old fort.
Seeing their camaraderie I was reminded of that old poem, “…. And when I’m grey and rocking in my chair…”. The context of the poem was love between a man and his lady; I thought it fit the bill for this situation as well.
The last few weeks have been a celebration of friendship for me. First, a visit to Kasauli with some very close friends- having the time of our lives doing nothing. They say familiarity breeds contempt; sometimes familiarity also gives you a sense that you are not really as familiar with somebody as you would have imagined. There are aspects of the person that you were completely unaware of; and you set off on yet another voyage of discovering the other person. I may have subconsciously known this- but this thought crystallized post my visit to Kasauli with my friends. I guess that is what makes friendship so special. I guess this is what makes the friendship between those 70 year olds so young.
The next was a visit to E’s house to celebrate E’s 1st wedding anniversary. Spent about 3-4 hours recounting the same old jokes, pulling the same legs- the same way as it has been these 9 years. Nothing has changed. Those anecdotes from our past seem to gain some new spice each time they get spoken about. Buzz, the grand old one remains as old as ever, E remains as infantile as ever, Doctor remains as Harsh as ever, Pank still can’t bend his knees, Bihar remains…well… Bihar.
Nothing has changed. Touché’.
This blog is dedicated to Sheetal and Vibha, the most recently inducted members of the bit@kmc family. This blog is also dedicated to my friend Doctor cha…
Some questions on friendship have crossed my mind at different times. I wonder, for example, can a man and a woman be intimate friends- just intimate friends? Maybe I’ll write a blog on this sometime…
http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2007/08/e-pank-bar-and-dil-chahta-hai.html
http://ajithessence.blogspot.com/2007/08/breaking-news-e-ngaged.html
These would help you get a better context.
“Kal phir aayenge… kya mast thi aaj ki shaam”
One of them said this, as the 5 of them, hand in each others’ hands, slowly and steadily walked down the slope at the entry/ exit point of Puraana qila- supporting each other so that none of them slipped down.
The people in question were all at least 70 years old. Bodies frail, voices trembling- with age and the cold, faces smiling after an enlivening evening enjoying Hariprasad Chaurasia and Shiv Kumar Sharma create magic in the ramparts of Delhi’s old fort.
Seeing their camaraderie I was reminded of that old poem, “…. And when I’m grey and rocking in my chair…”. The context of the poem was love between a man and his lady; I thought it fit the bill for this situation as well.
The last few weeks have been a celebration of friendship for me. First, a visit to Kasauli with some very close friends- having the time of our lives doing nothing. They say familiarity breeds contempt; sometimes familiarity also gives you a sense that you are not really as familiar with somebody as you would have imagined. There are aspects of the person that you were completely unaware of; and you set off on yet another voyage of discovering the other person. I may have subconsciously known this- but this thought crystallized post my visit to Kasauli with my friends. I guess that is what makes friendship so special. I guess this is what makes the friendship between those 70 year olds so young.
The next was a visit to E’s house to celebrate E’s 1st wedding anniversary. Spent about 3-4 hours recounting the same old jokes, pulling the same legs- the same way as it has been these 9 years. Nothing has changed. Those anecdotes from our past seem to gain some new spice each time they get spoken about. Buzz, the grand old one remains as old as ever, E remains as infantile as ever, Doctor remains as Harsh as ever, Pank still can’t bend his knees, Bihar remains…well… Bihar.
Nothing has changed. Touché’.
This blog is dedicated to Sheetal and Vibha, the most recently inducted members of the bit@kmc family. This blog is also dedicated to my friend Doctor cha…
Some questions on friendship have crossed my mind at different times. I wonder, for example, can a man and a woman be intimate friends- just intimate friends? Maybe I’ll write a blog on this sometime…
Thursday, December 4, 2008
Yet Another Big Fat Punju Wedding
Have you ever driven to a marriage where the only person you really know is the groom. Not too many common friends, just a couple of old old acquaintances that you had met long years back- who you don’t know if are attending the marriage. You don’t even know if you can recognize them after these years and vice versa. But, when the friend has been so good, there is no way you can just walk into his marriage, say hi, wish him all the best and just move out.
As with most Punjabi marriages, there’s always this pleasure of watching some very pretty girls and some trying to look pretty. But, the fun gets lost somewhere in the absence of friends to engage in serious ornithological discussions. Despite being alone, I chose to pursue my favourite activity.
While scanning through the hall- bright with the light, rocking with the music, fragrant with the choicest of perfumes and of course, beautiful with the beautiful people around, my eyes stopped at this gorgeous lady with a charming smile. I’d seen her somewhere… (or is this the feeling that one gets after conducting Development centers and individual discussions with loads and loads of PYTs in different BPOs)…
This lady was my senior at school. Probably 2 or 3 years my senior. I think I was in 8th or 9th standard. To a boy from the (literally and culturally) distant Thiruvananthapuram, this lady was no less than an angel. This is typically an age in a boy's life when he really starts wanting/ trying to impress girls or just wants them to get impressed- just like that.
Shy that I was (scared, actually), never really mustered the courage to ever go and talk to her. Even as these memories were coming back to me, and amusing me, the bride entered the hall. In typical filmi style, the right songs were being played. The lights were dimmed in the hall, the bright light focusing only on the bride entering the hall, flanked by her folks, and the groom eagerly and impatiently waiting for his girl- passing on flying kisses in the air- for added impact. As my friend held out his hand to help his bride on to the stage, the DJ played “mere haath mein tera haath ho”. To the quintessential south Indian reader, all this may sound exaggerated and loud. I can imagine the scandal it would create if any of my cousins or friends in the community (or even me sometime in the times ahead) were to break into an impromptu jig before garlanding the bride- as my friend did.
Even the groom and bride settled down for the photo sessions, my eyes started scanning the attendees again. The lady was missing. (I couldn’t meet her through the rest of the evening/ night). I’d missed the chance to ask her name at least. I console myself saying that such memories feel sweeter when a name is not associated with the memory and the face.
Eddy, my friend- the groom, had warned me, that the principal of my college for undergrad studies might come in. And I ran in to him at the wedding.
It was like…old sparks flew… lightning struck… thunder bolted…
His eyes looked at mine and mine into his.
Circa November 2000. The time is one- one thirty in the wee hours of midnight. A bunch of students have gheraoed the Vice Chancellor’s office in Delhi University over an issue close to their hearts (and pockets). The passions are running high.
The professors and the powers that be, trapped in the office are desperately trying to use their rapport with their students to let them out. Out comes the princi, looks at me and beckons me to come to him. Here’s the conversation as I remember it.
“Humko ghar jaane do. Humaare bachhe humaara wait kar rahe hain”
“Sir, humaari baat maan jaaiye aur phir hum aapko ghar jaane denge”
“Gharwaale wait kar rahe hain”
“Sir, humaare bhi”
“Beta hum ghar jaayenge. Rok sako toh rok lo.”
“Sir, main toh aapko rokoonga nahi. Par jo mere saath hain, unka mood zara theek nahi hai. Wo shaayad jaane na de”
I smile at him… like Nana Patekar smiles at Manisha Koirala in Agnisaakshi.
He looks around and senses the anger and beats a retreat.
I smile triumphantly at my mates like Kapil Dev did after lifting the world cup.
We had plenty of such showdowns over the next three and a half years.
Circa, yesterday.
I could guess he remembered the same moment as I did.
Two to three uncomfortable seconds of silence later, I touched his feet, shook hands. He said he was happy to see me. Thankfully, he didn’t know/ remember my name.
My next brush was with an ex-boss of mine. To his credit, he still remains in touch and is as courteous and friendly as anybody I have seen. It was a real pleasure meeting him and spent some very nice minutes with him. Also, thanks to him, I had company for dinner ( I had thought that aaj toh akele hee dinner karna hoga). More so, for he had friends there and he could sense I was alone.
To the quintessential southie, the biggest difference between our kinda marriages and the ones that happen here is that ours happen in the mornings. Here, but for a few select sects, they have it from evening to late in the night. Also, in south, typically the food comes to you- typically in my community, it is served on banana leaves. Here, it is a buffet. There is a different charm about each of the systems I suppose.
As I stepped out of the wedding yesterday night, that scene from the film- “Gandhi” flashed before my eyes- where Kasturba and the Mahatma enact the saptapadi (saat phere) to their English friend and explain to him the significance of each of these.
This one is dedicated to my good friend Eddy and his lovely wife, Nidhi who got married yesterday. I have known Eddy as a gem of a guy- gentle, intelligent, sensible and sensitive. I pray you have a great life together Eddy and Nidhi.
This one is also dedicated to all my other chums who lose their bachelorhood/ spinsterhood this month.
Amongst others, to Varsha, my friend since class 11th, who gets married later next week. I’ve known Varsha as a very simple, yet elegant lady; very modern, yet with a bharatiya naari touch. Wish her a great married life.
And to my friend Shefali who is getting married in a few days from now. One of the more mature individuals I met at D-school, Shefali also happens to be one of the most sincere people I’ve known and a person of extraordinary emotional strength. Wish her a great married life.
PS- The definition of a spouse as my friend says “She, who stands by you through all the trouble which would never have happened, but for her”
As with most Punjabi marriages, there’s always this pleasure of watching some very pretty girls and some trying to look pretty. But, the fun gets lost somewhere in the absence of friends to engage in serious ornithological discussions. Despite being alone, I chose to pursue my favourite activity.
While scanning through the hall- bright with the light, rocking with the music, fragrant with the choicest of perfumes and of course, beautiful with the beautiful people around, my eyes stopped at this gorgeous lady with a charming smile. I’d seen her somewhere… (or is this the feeling that one gets after conducting Development centers and individual discussions with loads and loads of PYTs in different BPOs)…
This lady was my senior at school. Probably 2 or 3 years my senior. I think I was in 8th or 9th standard. To a boy from the (literally and culturally) distant Thiruvananthapuram, this lady was no less than an angel. This is typically an age in a boy's life when he really starts wanting/ trying to impress girls or just wants them to get impressed- just like that.
Shy that I was (scared, actually), never really mustered the courage to ever go and talk to her. Even as these memories were coming back to me, and amusing me, the bride entered the hall. In typical filmi style, the right songs were being played. The lights were dimmed in the hall, the bright light focusing only on the bride entering the hall, flanked by her folks, and the groom eagerly and impatiently waiting for his girl- passing on flying kisses in the air- for added impact. As my friend held out his hand to help his bride on to the stage, the DJ played “mere haath mein tera haath ho”. To the quintessential south Indian reader, all this may sound exaggerated and loud. I can imagine the scandal it would create if any of my cousins or friends in the community (or even me sometime in the times ahead) were to break into an impromptu jig before garlanding the bride- as my friend did.
Even the groom and bride settled down for the photo sessions, my eyes started scanning the attendees again. The lady was missing. (I couldn’t meet her through the rest of the evening/ night). I’d missed the chance to ask her name at least. I console myself saying that such memories feel sweeter when a name is not associated with the memory and the face.
Eddy, my friend- the groom, had warned me, that the principal of my college for undergrad studies might come in. And I ran in to him at the wedding.
It was like…old sparks flew… lightning struck… thunder bolted…
His eyes looked at mine and mine into his.
Circa November 2000. The time is one- one thirty in the wee hours of midnight. A bunch of students have gheraoed the Vice Chancellor’s office in Delhi University over an issue close to their hearts (and pockets). The passions are running high.
The professors and the powers that be, trapped in the office are desperately trying to use their rapport with their students to let them out. Out comes the princi, looks at me and beckons me to come to him. Here’s the conversation as I remember it.
“Humko ghar jaane do. Humaare bachhe humaara wait kar rahe hain”
“Sir, humaari baat maan jaaiye aur phir hum aapko ghar jaane denge”
“Gharwaale wait kar rahe hain”
“Sir, humaare bhi”
“Beta hum ghar jaayenge. Rok sako toh rok lo.”
“Sir, main toh aapko rokoonga nahi. Par jo mere saath hain, unka mood zara theek nahi hai. Wo shaayad jaane na de”
I smile at him… like Nana Patekar smiles at Manisha Koirala in Agnisaakshi.
He looks around and senses the anger and beats a retreat.
I smile triumphantly at my mates like Kapil Dev did after lifting the world cup.
We had plenty of such showdowns over the next three and a half years.
Circa, yesterday.
I could guess he remembered the same moment as I did.
Two to three uncomfortable seconds of silence later, I touched his feet, shook hands. He said he was happy to see me. Thankfully, he didn’t know/ remember my name.
My next brush was with an ex-boss of mine. To his credit, he still remains in touch and is as courteous and friendly as anybody I have seen. It was a real pleasure meeting him and spent some very nice minutes with him. Also, thanks to him, I had company for dinner ( I had thought that aaj toh akele hee dinner karna hoga). More so, for he had friends there and he could sense I was alone.
To the quintessential southie, the biggest difference between our kinda marriages and the ones that happen here is that ours happen in the mornings. Here, but for a few select sects, they have it from evening to late in the night. Also, in south, typically the food comes to you- typically in my community, it is served on banana leaves. Here, it is a buffet. There is a different charm about each of the systems I suppose.
As I stepped out of the wedding yesterday night, that scene from the film- “Gandhi” flashed before my eyes- where Kasturba and the Mahatma enact the saptapadi (saat phere) to their English friend and explain to him the significance of each of these.
This one is dedicated to my good friend Eddy and his lovely wife, Nidhi who got married yesterday. I have known Eddy as a gem of a guy- gentle, intelligent, sensible and sensitive. I pray you have a great life together Eddy and Nidhi.
This one is also dedicated to all my other chums who lose their bachelorhood/ spinsterhood this month.
Amongst others, to Varsha, my friend since class 11th, who gets married later next week. I’ve known Varsha as a very simple, yet elegant lady; very modern, yet with a bharatiya naari touch. Wish her a great married life.
And to my friend Shefali who is getting married in a few days from now. One of the more mature individuals I met at D-school, Shefali also happens to be one of the most sincere people I’ve known and a person of extraordinary emotional strength. Wish her a great married life.
PS- The definition of a spouse as my friend says “She, who stands by you through all the trouble which would never have happened, but for her”
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