For those who don’t know: Sawai Gandharva is a music festival started by Pt. Bhimsen Joshi as a dedication to his guru – Sawai Gandharva. It’s now a 56 year old tradition. The greatest of musicians perform here. The genre is purely Indian classical. About 15000 people attend the festival every year, but it could be much more. The festival has grown to be larger than life. It’s also interesting to hear the conversations of people around you, they know their artists and talk about their idiosyncracies, they also know their music. It’s an experience worth taking and revisiting.

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Thank you A & H for introducing me to this.

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While there, i wrote a few music scapes. Haven’t edited them much. So execuse the mistakes.

Here they are:

During the performance of the brothers Rajan & Sajan Mishra (vocals)

The casual droning of the tanpura muffles the voices of a soulless melody that emanates from the heart and reaches the Fingertips.
God lets man supersede him at times. Reluctance of being a man falls apart. Bit by bit it becomes the beats of a tabla. Accompanying the tanpura they leave the man they occupy. They become what lesser mortals will never be.
Ants – They Crawl over what remains, releasing a sigh that grows into a moan. A moan that slowly grows wings and flies. And in its flight it meets another bird, another bird that’s emanated from dead skin, a hint of desperation and a rhetoric gone mad.
Together they fliy over a sea, a sea that has been thirsty for years. They are the bashirs of a never ending rain. But it is still far – the droplets will take their own time to come. For now there is only hope. But unlike before, this hope comes with a promise. The birds Slowly land on to the parched land. And wait in peace.
For only when war is over, will man see who he really is.
The rain will come.

During the performance of the brothers Rajan & Sajan Mishra (vocals)

The dust gathers dust
It’s been a while since someone has even been here
Centuries may be
Seth was last seen here
May be this is what he saw
And decided to be the progenitor of mankind
He too had seen hatred
brother killing brother
He Foresaw The bleakness
he also foresaw the beauty
A Beauty that
Even Methusaleh couldn’t have managed to see in all his llfetime
A beauty that would need at least a billion lives
And yet
The eyes would be hungry
The ears unsatiated
He would have to risk a hundred  Kanes
Killing a billion Ables
For the few SethS
Who would assimilate this beauty
And use it
To recreate paradise
The few Seths who would die a billion times
And a hundred More…
And Survive..

During the performance of Ronu Muzumdar (flautist)

The bird soars high
Slowly but surely
Sure of  What it’s doing
Sure of the eventuality
Sure of its proximity to the sun
Sure of its descent
Sure Of its eXtraordinary fate
UnKnowing of the outcome
the higher it flies
The lonelier the illusion
The emptier the arena
What it seeks?
A desert  in the sKY
For its death is foretold
But its life still a mystery

During the performance of Pandit Jasraj (vocals)

An opening in the sky
A ray of light passes through
Banished from the Kingdom
It seeks to find a meaning
A meaning so ordinary
So simple
That
The puzzle is solved
But what mystifies the man whose eye it enters is the need for demystification
Thus the puzzle is passed on
Only its form changes
an incessant cooing of the cuckoo catches the man’s ear
In an attempt  to find the beholder
The ray of light leaves his eyes.
It travels thru the branches of a tree
Who embraces its very being and breaks it into a million pieces
Thus the puzzle prospers
It blooms and bears pollen
Travels on the back of a bee
And discovers honey
For what it thinks is sweet death
Is but humiliation
A theft of freedom
It desires to break free once again
It counts a million moments
And then jumps into a cup reluctantly
Trying to enjoy its freedom between two cages
The last it remembers is hot water flowing over it and the gentle aroma of camomille
Which picks its burnt soul
And rises
And resuscitates it
The awakening-
The cloud opens up…
An angry demeanor hides the wisdom
And lets A ray escape
Another puzzle bears wings
A potter awaits,
the clay is wet …

Pune is a charming city and it has much better weather than Bombay but I will never fall in love with this city. My heart lies in Bombay. I realized it this weekend.

I went for the Strand book sale on Friday to Juhu. It was a weekday and there were hardly any people there. It was a hall filled with books and without the hustle bustle of too many people. Perfect. I spent a couple of hours browsing through the titles. I had to stretch myself at times to prevent my back and body from getting stiff. I bought a lot of books too. I am extremely excited about them. Books are the best company. I may not travel too far away from the place I was born and books are my only source of reaching worlds that I have never seen, will never see, and those that don’t even exist.  As usual I have veered.

Towards the end of the book buying session, I met a friend who is recently back from studying in the US. She gifted me the book – The Film Club, which has a very interesting premise. So you see, I was feeling very rich.

We then headed for coffee at Prithvi. Sooner or later am going to take a sabbatical and spend my time sitting at the Prithvi cafe writing. Unlike other cafes it doesn’t have artificial noise and there is a constant colour about the place. At the cafe we spoke about a particular idea that I had for project10tothe100.com. I may never end up putting it on Google but interesting perspectives were shared and questions raised.

Post coffee I dropped my friend home, and after dropping her as I was returning home in the car, I realized how much Bombay is ingrained in me. How familiar the roads are, how in spite of sitting in an airconditioned car, I could feel the air of the city. How the radio made me feel with the vibe of the city. There was nothing foreign about it.

The car I was driving – the black wagon R – the family car, it was beautifully responding to my touch. I have driven it extensively and have fond memories of it. That drive back took me back to the numerous times I have been in the car on the Bombay roads. Driving on the western express highway, or through the sahar airport, or in the lanes of juhu or crossing the dreaded saki naka – it all seemed so much fun. And everything outside seemed so picture perfect, especially after I had muffled the outside sound with the airconditioning. I was in a happy bubble.

The rest of the weekend was as good, catching up with friends, spending time with folks. Saturday lunch was had at a place called Banana Leaf at 4 bungalows, good south indian food. The best part of it was the dessert called Gadbad. Nice restaurant but be warned that the quantity is huge and is tough for one person to finish it.

Am back in Pune now. Like I said it has its charms, but this city has no reason to love me.

We did most things right but we ignored the demons. The demons came back strongly and today we are back in turmoil. We have constantly been manipulated by political parties for THEIR power struggle. What is it about wanting to rule the country that makes them do vicious things? What have they become?

Gandhi failed to see these demons. It was probably his biggest failure. Even Batman of Dark Knight failed to see these demons.

These demons build in a false sense of patriotism within us. This patriotism is sometimes of the country and sometimes of religion. They look into history books and pick out topics and point to us about some gross injustice that has happened ages ago. We can’t then think. Our sanity is lost and we are ready to die or kill. They have been extremely successful over the years.

Every day we build relationships, with friends and people around us. So much of effort goes in making this relationship happy and meaningful. You begin to start accepting the culture differences, in fact even valuing them. The foods they cook, the clothes they wear. The add so much value. But then we forget all that… as soon as an old grave is dug out. We become monsters.

Are we just trying to be politically correct then. Do we still feel that it is ‘Us’ and ‘Them’ and the twain shall never meet? Are we just tolerating each other?

India as a democracy let’s you think and practice what you want to. But why does a rightist philosophy have to mean that we only care about people of our religion? Isn’t Hinduism or Islam in its truest principle as socialist as it can get? Why do the communist parties believe that if we don’t all progress together we must not progress at all. A lazy communist and a religious fanatic are almost in the same league I would say. It’s just a question of which side of the river they are born on.

And yet, today… there are many people amongst us who see these demons. Who fight them everyday. It’s a silent revolution of sorts. Their numbers are not very large and their thoughts and ideas are too simple for people to take seriously. They do not carry flags or have agendas. They do not sport beards or rudrakshs, or even if they do, it does not characterize them. The change they are looking to bring will not happen overnight, it might not happen ever. They may get disillusioned and retract in their shell. They are after all humans. Yes they are humans and they never forget that.

I was talking earlier about ‘Us’ & ‘Them’ thing. A very interesting incident happened to me recently. I was in a rickshaw. And the rickshaw driver was wearing a skull cap, it was easy to say he was muslim. Though there was no way for him to know I was one too. I stirred up a conversation with him and asked him if there was something like the Mohammedali road food extravanza that happens during Ramzan in Pune, during Ramzan. He started telling me about where I would get these things. And then guilelessly he said that there you will find more people like ‘you’ than people like ‘us’. It was fun to talk to another muslim like i was a hindu. We still had great conversation.

I have never been a Hindu or a Muslim in the sense the world views them. But I am both. I am also a socialist. I love the agnostics and even the antheists. Communism has its own charm for me. And it should be noted that being Muslim, I have subscribed to everyone from Adam to Noah to Moses to Jesus to Mohammed. Of course I am an Indian, a Maharashtrian, a Bombaiya, a Punekar. I can go on for days not eating onion, garlic, potato, or killing cockroaches. I am complete believer of peace and non-violence.

I do not believe these are exclusive clubs. For me everyone is ‘Us’ but strangely the way life has played out, most people will categorize me as ‘Them’. Not everyone though.

Here’s something interesting -

From wikipedia – Lennon composed this song by combining three songs he had been working on. When he learned that a teacher at his old primary school was having his students analyse Beatles’ lyrics, he added a verse of nonsense words.

If the teacher comes to me, I will be able to tell him what the song exactly means. Here’s a snippet from the lyrics….

I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together.
…….

I am the eggman, they are the eggmen.
I am the walrus, goo goo g’joob.

There are very few things in this world that are free and yet so beautiful. The open source community aims at creating such things and Firefox is probably it’s best flagbearer.

I have come to love the browser and I don’t think I can use any other now. It has grown on me with time and it continues to make the browsing experience better. The other day I added a plugin called Zotero, which helped me to do a twitter post about the song I was listening on my PC.

Firefox 3 is being released on Tuesday and they aim to create a record for the highest downloaded software in a day. So if you love Firefox, do add to the tally. If you haven’t used it so far, it’s time you gave it a shot.

And to the woman, who held my hand when the Beatles’ sang “I wanna hold your hand” (missed you guys)

On our first day in Goa, we visited the Stone House Cafe, in Candolim on the road to Taj Aguada. We were a gang of 11 and we thought the music was amazing. The food was good too as was the cocktail called rocket fuel. We ate and drank and went back to our respective rooms.

On third day, some of us had already left, we decided to go back to the place. It was the beginning of a night that I won’t forget forever. Pasqual – the crooner and the master guitarist – was sitting in his seat, playing his songs. We fortunately got a seat right in front of him. He acknowledged us, and dedicated the next song to Harish and his gang. Harish – spikey – the wall nut – had his face filled with happiness. And the song was “Wish you were here.” There have been few better starts in the history of the evenings I have lived. And all of us were remembering all the people we have loved and shared a bond with, particularly in relevance to music.

Then he sang “Light My Fire,” I had been mouthing the song all along in Goa. It was probably some kind of happy intuition. Pasqual was in my head. Choosing artists and songs that I have loved and adored since eternity.

When we started making requests like Dylan and Beatles, Reginaldo, a friendly British man came up to us like an excited 20 year old and asked us, how we knew all these songs. And then we went on to bond on artists like Leonard Cohen and Rolling Stones. Soon everyone was mouthing the classic rock platter that was served to us. Pasqual had become larger than life and even if he stopped singing, everyone around was singing. Chris the bartender joined Pasqual for American Pie. Chris the gracious man gave us a huge discount on our bill.

But the two songs, that rocked the most that evening were songs by the Beatles. The da-da-da-da…. part in Hey Jude was sung over and over tirelessly. The Stone House had ceased being a cafe and had become a Beatles concert, which is an almost impossible event to witness today.

As the night was coming to a close – Reginaldo dedicated ‘Paint it Black’ for the Bombay gang. Looking at Reginaldo gave me a strange feeling of traveling in time and seeing how I looked and was in the future.

When Pasqual played, ‘Smoke on the Water,’ I realized that the evening (or for that matter life) couldn’t get any better, and I was ready to die. And boy and me realized that if there was a moment of beautiful death, it was now.

But it got better, the evening was polished of with ‘Yellow Submarine.’ Which for me signifies Utopia….

As we live a life of ease
Every one of us, has all we need,
Sky of blue and sea of green,
in our yellow submarine.

We all live in a yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine,
We all live in a yellow submarine,
yellow submarine, yellow submarine.

There weren’t people, whom I would take in the yellow submarine. But there were a few whom I would love to be with on the yellow submarine, you know who you are.

When I look at back, I realize that I am not there.

Post also dedicated to all who I promised to see the Yellow Submarine (movie) with but which hasn’t happened yet.

Great performances  by the cast, I hope the troupe keeps performing. A few shows more and the crew will grow in chemistry thereby making it a totally outstanding play.

Post play, when I had a few minutes to myself, I began to think…

If I had the chance to live life again. Will I want to change anything about it?

My father studied Urdu as a child, something that I never did. But Urdu is very similar to Hindi and I realized that with a little bit of effort I could understand it. And so began my relationship with the language. I would read Urdu ghazals and short stories and would love how they would sound to the ears. The language has a rhytm of its own and it really is the language of love. If someone shouts or abuses in Urdu, it’s as sweet as an “How do you do?” (The way the English say it, without any real concern or expectation of an answer.)

I realize all that the English language has given me and understand how it has provided for my living and comfort. I do love it too and yet when I look at people who perform in Urdu, and how they make it seem so extraordinary, I can’t help but feel a little jealous. I could have been them, you know.

You would say, “it’s never too late to start.” But frankly I know I am someone else, a happy someone else maybe. But I think it would be interesting to go back in time, take to the language more keenly so today I wouldn’t be the person in the audience clapping in glee, but rather one on the stage performing. And may be I could write a few things of my own, fight for daily bread, wallow in penury… sigh!

I guess the circle of life has caught up with me, I have loans to pay.

1. Write a book (done)
2. Write 3 more
3. Make a movie
4. Write and sing my own songs
5. Do a cartoon strip (at least 50 bits)
6. Travel and write about it (constantly)
7. Make doodles for a living
8. Manage and own a restaurant that does unique things (also cook occasionally)
9. Write & act in a play (acting is probably my toughest challenge)
10. Own a bookshop and do interesting things in it

Well I think I have some clarity now.

I had a great time, yesterday, at the cafe. The only coffee that we drank, was towards the end and it was just a drop of San Andre’s Coffee Liqueur. I had some really fine people around me. And ever since yesterday, people have been asking where I found them. Well I could say that like people collect coins and stamps, I collect people, and then I show off. Or I could tell you the truth, I bumped into them and it has been a happy accident. And yet there are those who don’t believe in serendipity.

There were a lot of things going around. The punch – Sangria – with lots of people helping in to cut the fruits. And all of it got over, almost all of it. Almost all of the 4 litres of it. And then the cafe didn’t require coffee. Things were spoken. People said things that would make Aristotle, Plato and Nietzsche proud. Of course, most world problems were solved. No problem is too hard to solve in the Philosophy Cafe. I am not kidding. Na na, I really ain’t kidding. In fact if you find two fighting fools, send them to the Philosophy Cafe, we’ll screw up their heads for good. All they will then think about is peace and love.

Yes, it probably reminds you of the 60s era, the hippies, rock and roll, and stuff like that. But the essential difference is that the people here are not rebels. They could be if you give them shit, but mostly they aren’t.

Of course being in there is a little bit like being in a bubble of reality or unreality. And when you are out of it, the things are different, way too different. No one really wants to take your solutions. But then again, it is a long road ahead. The Philosophy Cafe does not care about ultimately living the thoughts discussed, it only thinks about selling coffee, which is not really served. A weird paradox but that’s how it is.

So when are you turning 30?

It isn’t a metro station.
It’s a giant painting. a painting that is alive.
The trains come and go, the people change.
Sometimes it is crowded, sometimes it isn’t.
It’s a painting that allows you in,
Let’s you be a part of the landscape, And let’s you go…
When you want to.
Not me, I am not you, I am forever here.

I swim past the words, the waves, the hills, the trees.
I swim in the rivers.
I disintegrate, and integrate as words.
The sketches, they imitate my form,
They know who I am, they smile at me.

And the people, they stumble, against me,
They walk past me without recognizing who I am.
They don’t know me, they have forgotten.
I feel offended but I forgive them easily.
They ask me for directions.
Of the outside world,
But I can’t help them, I never could.

It has been years but no one’s asked
For the direction to a poem.
No one has asked.
If someone did, I could take them there,
And show them my worth.
Sigh!

But do come to Rabindra Sadan,
Pay me a visit.
I will be waiting for you.
Right across the lines that say  -

An unknown flower in a strange land speaks to the poet: “Are we not of the same soil, my lover?”

The movie has had its effect on me. My eyes welled up during the movie and for a moment I thought I had survived the Total Perspective Vortex and come out of it alive and with greater wisdom. While that’s a contentional statement, the movie has indeed made me a different person.

It touched me in several ways. Firstly it’s about a rat, who aspires to be a chef. Which I think is a metaphor for a person wanting to do something away from the rat race. I am fascinated by culinary arts, and my eyes have always lit up with the idea of cooking and presenting to the world. I have aspirations of having a restaurant of my own. It’s a very fascinating idea, if you feel like hearing about it meet me over coffee.

It also categorized cooking under art, something that I too strongly believe in. and every person who cooks brings his or her own flavour to the stew. So the movie addressed the art angle and the constant struggle of pursuing art versus pursuing the struggle to earn a good livelihood.

And finally it spoke to the critic in me. Or rather had a drink with the critic in me, spoke sounds too much give and take. Amazingly two of the best dialogues in the movie are voiced by the supposedly antagonistic character, who is a critic. I would have put them here, but I would rather you hear it in the movie itself.

Some movies have defining moments. But very rarely does there come in a life – a defining movie. Go see it.

It has humour of the best kind, the kind that you will talk long after life has passed you by. And on idle Tuesdays when you have nothing to do and feeling a little heavy about life, you can remember this movie and make yourself happy.

And if you still want more from a movie, it’s a movie made with a lot of love and care. It’s tasty and is garnished well with a cherry on top.

Cheers! to Pixar and Walt Disney, and everyone else who is a part of the movie in any little way, even if you were just a garbage boy.

My grandmother told me that today’s night is a big one, God apparently writes the fate of us people for the whole of next year on this night. Many muslims pray the whole night to please God. I told my grandma that I should butter God up too, she found my statement funny. Thinking about it, the night does have a good feel about it and may be God-willed that I see the movie today. Must thank God for being such a wonderful God and willing such good things for me.

And all you people remember that the annual performance appraisal is not a recent HR invention but is as old as the hills.