Sawai Gandharva Fest - A first timer’s experience
December 15, 2008 | Filed Under Poetry, Point of View, Theatre & Movies, life's answers | 1 Comment
And I almost missed it. Thankfully there were friends around who kept talking about it and it generated enough curiosity for me to experience it. To confess I hadn’t heard about the festival before, there had been passing mentions of it in my life earlier, particularly by a friend called Vishakhadutt, but nothing had prepared me for it. I was amazed.
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 …
In retrospect - Writers’ Game Garage Sale
July 23, 2008 | Filed Under Poetry, Theatre & Movies, writers game | 4 Comments
Writers’ Game was born on 6th March 2005 as an offshoot of Open Theatre, which is not around anymore.
It doesn’t seem like 3 years and the group in a way has experienced everything that a group of people does. But it’s still alive. 9 almost strangers came together and the only thing that bonded them together was writing.
Amongst us we cover the four corners of India and amongst us we have traveled to various parts of the world. We are largely an underground group but surface once in a while. Last weekend we surfaced at the Prithvi Cafe, showcasing some of our writings in an interesting manner.
Personally for me, it was a great privilege to be in the lap of Prithvi Theatre, not as an audience but as an artist. To talk to people about writing, share my writing, and try to sell it. I met a number of interesting people - from beautiful women who asked me to write poems for them to playwrights who expressed the possibility of working together. I discussed my fascination with the moon with a girl whose folks could never understand her fascination for the moon. Yes, one waits for conversations like that. I spoke to Dharini about how we could do this for a living. It didn’t feel real.
I am someone who procastinates till the last moment. I was rescued by my friends - Dahlia, Haribabu, Boy, Chandni & Neha, who not only helped me get my stuff ready by working all through Friday till early Saturday but stood like pillars when we faced a mini crisis. And amidst all this they would push me to do interesting things. The standards were raised and I for a while felt like the protagonist of a Hollywood sports movie, who literally rises from nowhere.
The days of the sale I felt numb. I wanted to feel happy and elated but I knew I had to wait for the event to get over to truly experience the elation at peace. It’s almost 3 days post the event and I am finally writing this post. I do feel the elation and a sense of achievement. But more than that I feel fulfilled that I was at Prithvi and I called myself a writer. It needs guts to stand in that mosque and call yourself a believer. Saturday morning I spoke to Sanjana Kapoor as some things needed to be sorted out and I was curbing my excitement of talking to a lady that I have admired for a long time. She is a wonderful person - exceptionally wise and reasonable. I have seen Shashi Kapoor many a times at Prithvi and have whenever I smiled at him have always got one in return. It’s easy to fall in love with such people.
For the garage sale, we had put up many interesting pieces for sale. One of the things we had come up with was a poetry jhola, which consisted of poetry written by us. It was only thing that people could not pay and take away with them. For people to draw out a poem, they had to drop a 5 Rs coin in a jar. If they didn’t like the poem they could have the coin back. I would love it when people would draw out poems again and again.
The poetry jhola is still with me. I have kidnapped Dharini’s bag which is serving as the jhola. But I didn’t have the heart to separate the poems from it. I think they are comfortable in there. On an idle evening, it will be great to sit with a glass of wine and draw random poetry from it and read.
Ode to Nano
May 27, 2008 | Filed Under Poetry | 3 Comments
Hey kiddo, welcome to the world.
I can’t help loving you
And you can’t help but think
That my palm is too long
In your little world of giants
Life is still simple
I will try to be your friend
I hope to be nothing else
When you are little older
I will treat you to cold coffees
And ice creams
I can’t warn you enough
Of what’s going to come
All I can tell you is -
Life is happening right now
And no one even knows
Sometimes I won’t make any sense
I am wired like that
Sometimes U won’t make any sense
Don’t get too upset
I will still hear you out
See the mornings, take the Vitamin D
Sleep as much as you can
Sleep by the window at nights
And get to know the moon
He is our friend
Don’t lock yourself behind doors
Don’t ever hide your face
And I will tell you a secret
There is a God
And it loves to sing
Welcome kiddo, welcome to the world
It’s not such a bad place
And you make it a little better
Make yourself at home
In my arms
I have not done anything so far,
But I promise - when i go -
to leave you a better world
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On another note - Wordpress has turned 5 years old. Happy Birthday Wordpress, you are older than Nano, be a good brother to her.