A glass of steaming milky syrupy tea is best served cut. One by two or two by three, it embodies the spirit of sharing and camaraderie (and more significantly a resource crunch). Come, have a sip.
Mesmerising. That's the music of AR Rahman. His Oscar nominations wins have brought his music to a bigger world stage. But is Slumdog Millionaire Rahman's best? You don't even need to think for the answer.
As a salute to the Mozart of Madras, I've picked up some of his best works and compiled them into a single video.
Since it is very difficult to be selective about songs from Rahman's oeuvre, I followed a simple procedure (though technically faulty):
Only his Hindi songs, or songs dubbed into Hindi, have been included. Because that's what I've listened to the most.
One song from each selected movie. With the exception of Dil Se, arguably Rahman's best work yet. How can you choose between a Chaiyya Chaiyya and a Dil Se Re?
Video - The Best of AR Rahman
The videos are in no particular order. If you disagree with my list (which I believe many would) please leave your suggestions (the songs that I've missed out on) in the comments.
List of songs included in the video (in order of appearance): 1. Dil Hain Chota Sa (Roja) 2. Humma Humma (Bombay) 3. Kabhi Neem Neem (Yuva) 4. Saathiya (Saathiya) 5. Azeem-o-Shaan Shahenshah (Jodhaa Akbar) 6. Mangal Mangal (Mangal Pandey - The Rising) 7. Roobaroo (Rang De Basanti) 8. Ye Jo Desh Hain Tera (Swadesh) 9. Rut Aa Gayi Re (1947 Earth) 10. Chaiyya Chaiyya (Dil Se) 11. Maa Tujhe Salaam (Vande Mataram) 12. Yai Re (Rangeela) 13. O Re Chori (Lagaan) 14. Tu Fiza Hain (Fiza)(This isn't a Rahman composition, as pointed out by Lyrical Craziness Personified) 15. Hum Hain Is Pal Yahan (Kisna) 16. Dil Se Re (Dil Se) 17. Masakkali (Delhi-6) 18. Jaage Hain Der Tak (Guru)
I can't say anything that hasn't already been said, but growing up in a post-Independence India devoid of heroes, he was one of the few our elders taught us to adulate.
I studied for a few years at the Kendriya Vidyalaya (Central School) at Happy Valley, Shillong, which is set amidst the 58 Gorkha Training Centre (58 here stands for 5 and 8). And there dedicated to the now departed Field Marshall and honorary Gorkha is a museum. The next time I visit home will make it a point to say hi to Sam Bahadur memorabilia.
But, the political leadership and the top military brass do not seem to share similar sentiments.
Continuing with the guessing game tradition, guess who? (and for those hooked to television comedy talent shows - pehchaan kaun?) Not very tough I think, or maybe it is. I'm sure some of you would have seen this photo, even though it isn't as popular as that of a a wavy-haired little Sachin.
Got it? If not, this is the original Little Master when he was actually little.
This photo of Sunil Manohar Gavaskar is sourced from his 1976 autobiography Sunny Days. And the caption accompanying the photograph reads:
Gavaskar 'the baby' cricketer, in leg-guards stiched by his mother and sweater knitted by his grandmother.
And this photo is when he grew up a little more and tied the knot with Marshaniel.
Ask any random Hindi film music buff who his/her favourite playback singer is, and there is a strong possibility that most of the time you'll hear one name over and over again like a yodel - Kishore Kumar (born Abhash Kumar Ganguly). There might have been many who were more gifted, but Kishoreda ruled the hearts (and still does). I like millions of others have a huge collection of Kishore songs, songs for every mood. And adding to my Kishore collection is this reader's contribution to Vintage Indian Ads:
This 1955 Brylcreem ad featuring the inimitable Kishore Kumar has been sent by Kaustubh Pingle. It appeared in the pages of Filmfare. "This was the time when Kishore Kumar was gaining popularity and eventually becoming the most-wanted actor of the decade, having 12 silver jubilee and three golden jubilees - one of his movies running for continuously 30 months!" says Kaustubh.
It seems that my internetwallah read the last post. I'm now reconnected to the online world from the comfort of my home.
It is not very difficult to understand why the dear Dr Kalam didn't get a second stint. After all integrity isn't an asset in our democracy, sycophancy is.
Khwaja Ahmad Abbas' Saat Hindustani might not be the most watched of Indian films, but it marked the beginning of the career of Amitabh Bachchan, arguably the most watched Indian film actor. In this 1969 film Amitabh played the role of Anwar Ali, an Urdu aficionado from Ranchi, Bihar, who along with five different men from across India joined hands with Maria from Goa against the Portuguese rule in Maria's home state.
Cricket is a beautiful game, especially the longer five-day version. But earning a livelihood does no longer allow me the privilege of watching a Test in total. I cannot even watch a One-Day if it goes on till late in the night (haven't watched a single Twenty20 match till date). There are some extraordinary cricketers who add more beauty to this beautiful game. Brian Charles Lara is one such cricketer.
In an anti-climax of a climactic career, often as the lone ranger, he was run out for a lowly 18 in his last international appearance. But that wouldn't take away any credit from the man and his abilities. Often accused of being a selfish player, like another contemporary great Sachin Tendulkar, Lara amassed a lot of records. Some of which will take a long while to break.
Often during my school and college years, friends would call up at odd hours and ask me to turn on the TV to watch Lara play. And I religiously did, because it was a real pleasure watching the master in action. But that magic was waning. And he was right to rest his bat.
Many feel that Sachin should also follow Lara's act (and also Inzamam's, but Pakistani cricketers have a reputation of coming out of retirement), but India's injury-ridden-and-fickle-form sensation still has a few years left in him, so does Saurav Ganguly. But Ganguly is not at the same level as Sachin and Lara.
Lara should now focus on grooming talent for West Indies, where the game is dying a slow death, and ensuring that he is not the last cricketing great to emerge out of the amalgamation of islands.
Now I'll have to watch archival footage of the Prince in play to say "Lara, kya hain mara!"
That photograph in the history book didn’t look into my eye, but I felt something. The face had an appeal about it, I remembered seeing the face somewhere else, but it was difficult for me to recall. So I read what was printed along with - it said, I think, Ernesto Guevara de la Serna or simply Che Guevara. Che, because in Latin America, Argentines are addressed as such. It was about two decades ago (I already feel old writing 'two decades ago'). Today a later edition of the same book (I believe) doesn’t have that picture. Another victim of the saffronisation or the following detoxification of school texts?
The film based on his iconic travel diary - The Motorcycle Diaries - had been airing for quite some time on one of the movie channels, but I avoided watching it. I wanted to read the book first. Had somehow managed to not read that all these years and recently when I was bestowed with the responsibility of getting a gift for a colleague (who also happens to be a childhood friend), I got that book for him and rushed him to have his obligatory first-read and snatched it away. The long journey that I undertake everyday to work provided the non-so-ideal setting to read through the translated sentences that Ernesto wrote years before he became The Che. I didn’t think that I’d be able to finish off reading the slim volume (176 pages) as I have a modest collection of half-read books lining my shelves. But then it was Che, he went beyond my expectations (kudos to the translation by Alexandra Keeble). I boosted my ego comparing my thoughts with the 23-year-old Ernesto’s. His and his friend Alberto Granado’s escapades across South America is full with realistic humour and an understanding of the things happening at that time. The dislike for imperialism and the USA, the concern for the exploited and a zeal to live life in fun.
Occassionally politically incorrect (but always witty), shows a man of flesh and blood, not another iconic avatar created by panegyric biographers. Not only did I learn about the man whose image would inspire radical youth around the world and also provide a fashionable emblem (thanks to Alberto Korda) to clueless youngsters, I knew more and refreshed the little that I knew about Latin America, its culture, people, history and conflicts.
I also discovered a few other truths. For instance mighty names do not necessarily match the performance as La Poderosa II (The Mighty One), a Norton 500 motorcycle that they (Che and Alberto) set out to travel around in proved. The bike gave away midway through the arduous journey, somewhat discrediting the title of the book. Mate is not just another synonym for friend; it is also the Argentine national drink (a tea-like beverage made from the herb mate). Another is a quote attributed to Oscar Galvez (a champion Argentine rally driver), "When a piece of wire can replace a screw, give me the wire, it’s safer." And you also do not shoot anything which growls and has glowing eyes in a puma infested area; it just might be your hosts’ pet dog.
Travelling initially on the motorbike, occasionally on foot, in trucks, trains, vans, a ship, a raft, I went on a wonderful journey across an unknown world with an asthmatic biker who is also a photographer, writer, orator, doctor, leader, fighter… The writing style is not revolutionary, it is humane, more like the man himself.
[Video sample from the documentary El Che: Investigating a Legend (1998)] This video and other downloadables (videos, photos, MP3s) about Che Guevara are available here.
A suggestion: If you intend to read the book for the first time, read the introduction by Cintio Viter only after you’ve finished with whatever Che wrote. Knowing some things beforehand takes the fun away from the read.
Image credits: Photo 1 Scanned cover of the book, The Motorcycle Diaries Photo 2 store.che-lives.com Photo 3 Scanned from the book. Copyright Che Guevara Studies Centre, Havana
As the Gaizabonts pointed out "we haven’t done tags in a long time," and put this my way. I'll first go along with the tag, since it requires immediacy and then will explain the intricacies.
There was a loud murmur in the crowd and Zauq sat with a complacent look on his face counting the beads of his pearl necklace. "Is it true, Mirza Nausha?" the king emperor wanted to know. "Yes, huzoor," Mirza Ghalib admitted, "It's true - it is the first verse of the concluding couplet of my new ghazal." Zauq let the necklace go from his hand. The expression on his face was reduced to one of curiosity.
[From Mirza Ghalib - A Biographical Scenario by Gulzar]
Ten sentences:
Why is it that great abilities come piggybacking on equal egos? It is the mastery of ability over the ego that defines greatness and Mirza Asadullah Khan Ghalib possessed that. His spontaneous wit got him out of numerous cornered situations which he got himself in. Great that he was, was acknowledged in his lifetime, albeit a little late. But hailed he was, after his demise. Heard about him since childhood, only now that I'm getting to him better.
Ye masail-e tasawuff ye tera bayaan Ghalib Tujhe hum wali samajhte jo na baadaa-khwaar hota
(Ah Ghalib, the magic of your words and your ways with mystics! You would have been a saint - if you were not addicted to drink)
I didn't cheat (except for the concluding couplet). This book was the closest to my PC as it was the last book that I read. Was planning to write about the Mirza for sometime and this tag coincided.
I don't remember exactly where I got these from, but when Picasa discovered them for me on my hard disk last night I was pleasantly surprised. Maybe some of you have seen the photographs before (if you recollect where - a book, magazine, website - please pass on the info here). The initial photographs are a lot of fun. So let me play a little game.
Can you identify who this cuddly little six-month-old baby is?
[Click on the images for a bigger view]
Here are some more
And more
Not yet? Let me bring in some colour.
Okay, a cricket bat (If that helps).
This one should remove all doubts (The title of the post is also a big clue).
Here's he with his mother
And with his father
Those who are still lost, let me add to the confusion. Here's he (sixth from the left standing) with his hockey teammates.
I think that's enough. Rahul Sharad Dravid has grown up a lot, and has always been the quiet type (as the photos reveal) since his childhood. Always strived to reach for the heights (see third photo from the top). And he did. He might be at the helm of an underperforming team at the moment, but that doesn't take any credit away from his ability as a cricketer. He's been one of my favourites, even though he remains an unexpressive gentleman in the towers of triumph or the depths of defeat.
Many years ago, a cousin of mine came visiting. He was just over a year old and armed with a bladder that went off precisely at the time when there wasn't any diaper to guard the cushions against his wet assault. He was just beginning to talk, and I never heard him say 'Maa' or 'Baba,' as kids usually do. His tongue had a distinct liking for the name, "Daa-bid" and he jumped with excitement every time Rahul Dravid was visible on the television screen. Haven't met him ever since. Putting this post together reminded me of him and his infantile Dravid attraction. To you, perhaps the youngest ever Dravid fan.
More bricks from the wall:
With classmates
Athletic ability: School sports day
With brother Vijay
During his and his brother's thread ceremony
Jammy with Sunny: With Sunil Gavaskar
With fellow House Captains at St. Joseph's Boys High School, Bangalore
South Zone Under 15 Cricket team (December 1986, Cuttack)
Trophies galore
On the field
And off it (with the gear intact)
With family
With friends
With a python (it looks like one)
And as a Chinese
There were more photographs in that forgotten folder. But that's what you usually see in the papers whenever India is donning the blues to play in the greens.
When I was first told about Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi, it was with the emphasis that he never told a lie. My little mind wondered that, he was a prominent freedom fighter and the British could have easily got all the confidential information about the clandestine activities of the revolutionaries just by asking him. My idea of a freedom fighter was someone who fought with guns and bombs. Ahimsa was only about Gautam Buddha. Then in primary class I first read about him in a chapter where he couldn't spell the word 'kettle.' It felt good; the Father of the Nation was also orthographically challenged like me.
Not everyone agreed with his 'offering the other cheek' proposal - the school bullies were more hard-hearted than Lucky Singh (played to the hilt by Boman Irani) in Lage Raho Munna Bhai (LRMB). Now that I have mentioned the film, I would like to mention the one thing that I liked the best about the movie. It attempted to dispel a few superstitions, which deserves applause in the stone obsessed, star possessed and name processed desi film industry. For me it is difficult to idolise someone. Not everything about them appeals to me. My father, a proponent of good handwriting, compared my handwriting to the Father of the Nation. Not a complimentary comparison, but that was similarity number two. Other similarities might be in the physical structure, a slowly receding hairline and the eyeglasses (though there is a considerable difference in style). That's where the similarities end. Any way I never did sit down with a weighing scale to compare myself with others. You should never undertake such an exercise.
Today is October 2 - a national holiday (and a 'dry day' as Circuit in LRMB puts it) - and also Bijoya Dashami or Vijaya Dashami (depending on the tongue you speak in). A day symbolic of the victory of good over evil. Ravana with his ten heads or Mahisasura masquerading as a buffalo went down on this day ages ago. Today is different, even different from first half of the 1900s in which the Sabarmati ke Sant lived in. History books tell us Hitler was evil (attempt to glorify/defend him at your own peril), so was Mussolini and to some extent Stalin. For Indians the Union Jack didn't exactly symbolise the good. Who is the evil today, Osama with his kamikaze squad or the oil-thirsty occupant of 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, or the war mongering general in the nearby country who now preaches peace as innocent Indian citizens continue to get blown to pieces? The evil also resides within us. In this world of grey, there are no blacks and whites. Even Ravana wasn't all back or Lord Rama detergent ad white.
Gandhi is long gone. The practicability of his ideas and practice in todays world is merely in the realm of academic discussion. Movies don't impress us much. Decades of senseless cinema has made us numb. All we seek is paisa wasool experience. The coincidence of sharing his surname is still reaped and also venerated. In this currency-less world even his face is fast vanishing. Credit cards have our own photographs instead. He's there today in the newspapers. A few ads in the newspapers show reverence to him on his 137th birth anniversary (Rajiv Gandhi occupies more column-centimetres on his birth and death anniversaries).
For me Gandhi resides on my T-shirt (accompanying pic), which is neither black nor white but olive green - the colour of the military uniform.
Extensive archival material (including different renditions of his favourite prayer songs Raghupati Raghav Raja Ram and Vaishnav Jan to Tene Kahiye) is available here.
