Iktara.

The Iktara is an ancient North Indian single stringed instrument, capable of deep bass and sharp treble, and hence produces all seven notes distinctively, symbolizing  life in its myriad hues.

Few months back I heard one of the most soulful songs I've heard in many, many years, and these late spring nights when I stay up preparing for exams, in the silence of an otherwise maddening place nothing seems more beautifully haunting.



Rooh ka banjaara re parinda,
(Rooh- spirit, Banjara- nomad, parinda- bird)
The spirit, like a  nomad bird,

Chad gaya dil ka re gharonda
( chad- left. gharonda- shackles)
has broken  the shackles of the heart.

Chad gaya dil ka re gharonda tod ke
Has left, breaking the shackles of the heart,


Re gharonda tod ke, gaya chod ke.
Breaking the shackles, has left.







Je naina karun band, band,
(naina- eyes; band- close)
And everytime that I close my eyes,
Beh jaaye boond boond.(2)
(Beh- wash boond- drops)
Pain is washed away in droplets.

Tadpaye re, kyun sunaye re, geet malhaar ki,
(malhaar- a classical north Indian raaga, sung with the coming of monsoons, the source of life)
Then why do you make me listen to the anguishing  monsoon raagas?



Chorus:
Be malang tera Iktara (8)
The iktara has lost its melody and now continues without any symphony.






Itra tu baasi baasi,
(Itra- dialectical for Itr - a perfume made of herbal scents, popular only in the  northern parts of india. : baasi- stale)
Perfume, you are stale now.

Padi hai sirhane,
(sirhane- the area along the head of the bed, often, in india, a place to keep things.)
and lie uselessly along the head of my bed.

Band darwaaja dekhe, lauti hai subah,
(darwaaja- dialectical for darwaaza, or door)
 My closed doors see a morning return.

Thandi hai angeethi seeli, seeli hain diwarein,
( angeethi- a crude mud oven, used in the extremely chilly winters of north India to warm homes.)
The angeethi lies cold, and so are the walls.

Goonje takrake inme, dil ki sada
(goonje-echo)
And the dirges of my heart echo from these walls.

goonje hai re( 2) dil ki sada (2)
Ah, the dirges echo.

Je naina karun band, band,

(naina- eyes; band- close)

And everytime that I close my eyes,

Beh jaaye boond boond.

(Beh- wash boond- drops)

Pain is washed away in droplets.

Tadpaye re, kyun sunaye re, geet malhaar ki,

(malhaar- a classical north Indian raaga, sung with the coming of monsoons, the source of life)

Then why do you make me listen to the anguishing  monsoon raagas?

Chorus:

Be malang tera Iktara (8)

The iktara has lost its melody and now continues without any symphony.

Waiting for Tomorrow.

Years ago, in the junior section, when we were introduced to the concept of having "bests", it was an extremely faishionable trend to have a best of everything. best colour, best food, best toy, best book, obviously best friend and extremely faishionably,best actor.It almost rivalled having a senior as your friend.And so, One fine day,extremely thrilled and exhilarated after having watched Baazigar, I pronounced my favourite actor to a selected group of friends, whose parents I knew did not allow them to watch anything apart from a couple of hours of cartoon aired on doordarshan in the early evenings.
"Shahrukh khan."
And to prove that I had even brought along a 50paise postcard with his picture on it, which , because of some jealous elements in my class was duly reported and confiscated.

This was of course, way, way before he started writing his name as Shah Rukh Khan.And also way way before our english was good enough for us to understand a movie in english.

Then that summer turned into winter and some more besides. My best actor changed into my favourite actor, but he was still the same.I hardly saw his movies, but obviously that should not be a factor when you are talking favourites.

Then along came another trend: Hollywood.This was something I did not understand, and the fact that we didn't have cable in our home did not help. The photographs I saw in the newspapers all looked the same.So,even risking appearing dumb, my favourite actor refused to change.Now,movies were classified good and bad instead of just liked or disliked, I became aware of the fact that movies had to be directed and produced and that a Shahrukh khan movie did not mean that Shahrukh got together with kajol to make a Kuch Kuch Hota Hai happen.

The leaves continued their yellowing, falling and growing freshly green,and the good lord knocked some sense into most of us. Thus crept in pseudo-intellectualism.Wierd movies were in the vogue. Critics awards were talked about instead of popular ones. I stubbornly refused to accept that Mr and Mrs Iyer was better than Mohobbatein.(and even looking back now,I think you had to be pretty precocius to have grasped that movie at that age.)

And then it started.

The superior smiles and condescending looks everytime I mentioned something I was habituated to stating. And people scorning the wonderful, wonderful songs that breathe the life of a nation.Because that is what it is: An entire nation defined by the movies they make blockbusters.It was then that I realised the symbolism of what I had held as a favourite for nearly a decade now.

Its the pulse of a nation that wants to believe in the beauty of dreams. Its the heartbeat of a nation that, covered in sweat and grime while returning home in a bus, wants to believe that a sangh-e-marmar ka farsh is achievable.Just like a boy from Delhi found his sangh-e-marmar. And more than anything else, It is also a nation who wants to believe in the innocence of romance among sarson ke khet. Perhaps foolishly so, but what does it matter to me?

I will wait for tomorrow, when on a perfect spring day I will witness the story of a painfully ordinary man undertaking an extraordinary journey for love, and a  magic will be re-kindled.

Free Fall -2

Read Part1 Here.

Hurling headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, With hideous ruin and perdition, His eyes opened as the brief prayer on his lips began to fade away into gibberish, and a familiar cloud began to steal over his senses.

He had been falling for nine times the space that measures day and night to mortal men, though he understood  it not. It was just as well as eternity.

Another fragment of theWorld, another lifetime, and the same, uncomprehensible task. He tried to clear the mist enveloping his mind, but found it too heavy. Somwhere in the recesses, he was aware of a severed divine thread- The one thread of light that ran across all of Lord's angels. The thread, that in heaven, still illumined Vivacious.

And so, defeated, haggard and a weary mortal, he found himself, this time, in the heartland of a torn country. Not quite unlike the previous times, for every time it had to be a scene of torment.

But as he looked across the strifed land, he knew it was another age. An age of awakening, and an age of terrible despair. People massacaring each other to claim God's land.

"Fools!"  Said the dying Arab. "do they not know where god resides?" "Do their scriptures teach nothing?"
"Fools!" Said the Fallen angel. "Were they not told of the Eternal Throne?" and turned to look at the dying man.

"Perhaps it will take another age to tell them so." And the glimmer in his eyes turned vacant.

"Tell them so"


Had those eyes still been alive, they would have seen a miraculous sight. A light spreading through the soiled man, spreading, as it seemed, from the center of his being, and drawing,invisibly, from a hallowed  source.

And a prayer, though now in a different vein,  was renewed on his lips:

"....that I may assert eternal providence,/ And justify the ways of God to men."

Antaheen - The endless struggle.

I've been meaning to watch it for a long, long time now and when I finally did, it was worth all the wait. This movie is perfect balm for sored eyes.I say perfect, but ironically this movie is an exploration of how there is no perfect. Ever.

It's also an exploration of relationships, and the dilemma that you face at a cross-road : Of wanting to stay back, yet wanting to move on. Three relationships, three different pains. And a common struggle to find that perfect.Its a beautiful movie on how perfection is confined only to the unknown.

The struggle is not only that of trying to look for perfection, but even that of trying to look for beauty and meaning. That is what humanity essentially believes in. A struggle, always, of something beyond. Something on the horizon of tomorrow without which today is futile.That is also, perhaps, why so many of us are incapable of living today. Today is what it is in relation to the test tomorrow.

But even besides, very strangely, it brings out quaint yearnings. Perhaps it was the music, perhaps it was imagery- you have to see it to believe it. Rain splattered window-panes and wind chimes in the rain.  Dark Clouds gathering over the Calcutta skyline.Droplets mingling on a Lotus leaf.  Rahul Bose gazing away into that Beyond.  The city twinkling away at night as its inhabitants fall into restful sleep.Old homes with mats drawn on strings in the verandah. And Radhika Apte is a revelation. Those eyes speak a million words and then some more.

This movie is a Canvas sensitively painted. And life is all of the things described above.

It is also the Red Kite with a Blue tail stuck in the antenna, struggling to free itself and fly away in the quest of that horizon and till the end, still struggling.

Random Musings on A free Sunday.

I made a life-changing decision today. And the life of my 8 yr old cousin will never remain the same.It was the decision of making a caravan for his yearly exhibition rather than an Igloo, which, he elatedly informs me, is "smart." Imagine jealous stares and covetous looks as he walks in with his treasure a fine Monday morning. And being entitled to an entire day of righteous bragging. Sweet.

There are few things in the lives of students better than a host of movies waiting after an Exam. I watch Hollywood almost indiscriminately, but for Bollywood, the To-be-watched must pass screenings first.

a) Who are the actors. If its Shahrukh Khan, all further screenings are automatically discarded.

b)What is the soundtrack like. If it is brilliant, then the non-presence of Shahrukh can be tolerated.

c)What is the Storyline. If it promises deep explorations, the top two can be negated.

Kurbaan Passed the last two screenings, and so I found myself, staring, for the second time in the last 4 months, at the clothes of Kareena Kapoor. (note: That's Akki Narula). Feels astonishing to think that she is the same person who played a 'Poo.'

I maintain that there is a better movie made on terrorism behind what we see.And it is Khuda Kay Liye. Kirron Kher did manage to portray brilliantly the pain of a ravaged country. But if you want to glimpse how a country terrified after witnessing a terrorist attack on its soil reacts, watch KKL.It is a movie on confused and pained human minds, minds that are washed and hardened till they can scarcely be called human.More than anything, it terrifies you with a display of what degradation humanity is capable of, before ending with a call for prayer, and symbolically, as you realise, a call for hope and reason. But I am writing a review on Kurbaan. So, the stark realism and pain there mutes Kurbaan significantly. But for people who haven't watched KKL, this must have been a good watch.

After exams, as I had mentioned, there is always an overwhelming feeling of Idiocy that lingers in the general atmosphere.Excuse enough to watch the touted "Best Movie of the decade." Its an extremely entertaining take on our education system. And although I have my moments,overall, I personally have little problems with our system. Yes, I despise the rote-learning made mandatory and I acknowledge that introduction of original thinking is imperative,but To give a small example,you must have the letters of the Alphabet blind before you can move on to words.And so much  of what was taught compulsorily till the tenth level seems matter-of-fact now, it surprises me that I sat to learn them once. It is as a reader of my blog commented once: I know spitting out the rote material seems meaningless; but you know as well as I that To get to the challenging, exciting courses of study you must first pass the boring and inane. I find it extremely difficult to attach labels of 'Best' and 'worst' so I shall refrain.More than anything, this movie is an assimilation of numerous small, beautiful moments.And a story of friends setting out in search of another friend: one who taught them about life, love and living.But as for this being the highest grosser of all times, just hang around till My name is Khan blows away the theatres. 


Rocket Singh should have been marketed more aggressively, I think.It's one of those rare feel-good movies that does not try to thrust the feel-good factor into your face.


Be Honest. Like people.


P.S: Due to all the template-changing I had done in my initial days of blogging, the configuration seems to have gone permanently haywire. But this, more than a blog, is a chronicle. So I shall make every effort to keep the post date and time always accurate. 

The Indian Twilight.

* There will come a time when you will be old enough to start reading stories again. Then perhaps, you shall take this off from some dusty, upper shelf and remember me. *
                                                                                                        - C.L Lewis.

There was a time, in the Samvat Era, when India was young, and still called Bharat Varsha, or the land of Bharat.

In those days, people would send their cows each daybreak with a cow-herd for grazing.There they would stay, under the watchful eyes of their caretakers, till it was evening, and time to return home. Perhaps, while travelling through trains, and with eyes that were young, you have, a lone time, seen them return to the villages. It is a pretty sight : the coming home of Indian cows.

One cowherd at the head,  another behind- and cows in between. Black, white, spotted. Making a quaint tune with bells that tinkle on their necks and the rustle of thick undergrowth beneath their feet. As they go, it is always dusk, and in the fast fading light they move- through the sun-baked pathways not yet paved, so that their hooves kick up dust, till at last they are enveloped in a cloud, and the last rays of the sun filter through it against a scarlet background. In that moment that sight seems ethereal- and you can glimpse, as if through swirling mist, the creatures that a country holds sacred.

And so, the Indian people call twilight,  "The hour of cowdust" or, Godhulibela.

A Hangover.

I should have done the mandatory evaluation of the past year this year end too, but I didn't. But now, even with the new year in full throttle and resolutions all around, I find that I still have the 2009-hangover. I find that this is what usually happens when I try to leap over unpleasant stuff. Just like when in the junior school if I tried to leave out one of the nastier problem sums so that I could proceed with the rest of my home work, there was no way I could have done the rest of the homework in peace. There would be a continuous nagging, nagging, nagging.
Being a perfectionist has its own problems. But I digress.

Also, there should be some Calendar system in which, every new year begins on a Monday. I don't think that starting a Brand-new-year on a Friday is entirely nice. But I digress again.

So even while I agree with the historians who say that assessment can only be done after you put yourself at a distance because perspective and detachment is necessary, I found that I must sit again with a diary and a pen to my yearly ritual. What came out of it is not important, but what I realised of it is.
Its important to close the gates to past before moving on to the present, and the doorways to the future must forever be open, always holding dreams to keep stealing  glimpses of.

To wishes being realised this new year:
Cheers.