freebird

The On / Off Journalist - Interview with The Strings

astralwicks — Sat, 17 May 2008 13:07:37 +0000

I once was a journalist. Studying in Delhi (1994-99), it was one of the earliest potshots at a career. Writing in college for a newspaper also meant having arrived in one’s meager opinion. So, I wrote a couple of articles for The Statesman for their college beat; one on the relevance of Gandhi and 2^nd and final one on the ‘never-changing’ English Literature syllabus of Delhi University. The syllabus was eventually corrected, reflecting 20^th and 21^st century literary trends and developments, after some 35 odd years!

After that I landed in Mumbai. Tried to make a short film, failed and then the imperatives of survival seduced me once again…to journalism. Dotcom was the buzzword in 1999-2000 and a million start-ups took birth. I joined Dhadkan.com.

It was a place of 4 people. Sidharth (Taparia) owned it. There was Sarika who wrote on Indian classical music and Ghazals. I covered Hindi films and Indi Pop, Purshottam was the techie and Santosh was the peon. Sarika left to be replaced by someone whose name I forget. Later on we had Koshy and Prashant as the graphics guys and a couple of data entry operators. I was a part of Dhadkan from Jan 2000 to March 2001.

In it’s early days we used to have a small office at Fort; it was behind the Handloom House/Bori Masjid. I used to travel from Versova village in Andheri (w) to the station and then catch the local train to Churchgate. Get off and then walk to the office buying a vada pav along the way.

My job was to review new and old Hindi film music and the recent upstart - Indi Pop. During this time I also met or spoke to a number of the old timers, for interviews. Some of them were memorable.

I quit Dhadkan and it too shut down after another year or so. Its search doesn’t yield any results. All my work, I thought, had disappeared. Recently, I discovered to great happiness, some features, interviews and reviews that I had done for Dhadkan.

I have decided to upload some of the interviews so that everybody can read them, again and I don’t lose them. Hope nobody has a problem.

The Strings

Strings still reverberate in the ears of the early 90’s generation. The Pakistani band made a remarkable entry in the still nascent Pop scenario with the help of a single song ‘Sar Kiye Ye Pahar’. Inexplicably they took an eight-year break before the studios beckoned them once more.

With the release of Duur (Distant), their Indian debut, the duo of Bilal Maqsood and Faisal Kapadia has arrived. At the right place at the right time. With the slow decline of Bhangra and an ambiguous genre called ‘Hindi Rock’ trying to survive, Duur is the proverbial ‘knight in shining armour’. Seamlessly assimilating the western structure with sub-continental lyrics it stands sure, independent and most importantly - INDIVIDUAL.

The answers are given both by Bilal and Faisal, mostly Faisal.

Q. I liked your video. What’s the format?

A. Thanks. It was shot in DG – beta.

Q. And who is the director?

A. It’s our friend Jami. We shot the video in the deserts of Baluchistan. The place is called Gwadar. Close to the Iran border and the cleanest seas that one would ever see.

Q. Where was the album recorded? Excellent recording.

A. Entirely in Pakistan. Most of the people who worked were our friends. Jami is a student of film and mass media. We also knew the others.

Q. What is the pop scene in Pakistan?

A. Very good. The college circuit is brimming with bands. Unlike India where films exert so much influence, Pakistan doesn’t have much of a film industry. Indi – Pop is the only big entertainment market there. It has a huge following and there are some very good bands there.

Q. What have been your musical influences?

A. So many. Both of us (previously we were four in number) have a varied background. Indian Classical has played an important part in our upbringing. Ustad Amir Khan is my favourite. Then the Hindi film songs have had such an important influence on everybody in Pakistan. We were brought up on them. Plus western music with their styles and attitude, so it’s been a very collective influence.

Q. Why did you take so long to release this album? ‘Sar Kiye’ was a famous song when I was in the 11th or 12th?

A. That was in 1992. It gave us a huge fan – following, success and fame. We were big then all across south – east Asia. Then we had to settle down personally and gradually everyone got busy during this period. We however were doing music, but not commercially or to release an album.

Finally we got together again one and a half years or two years back and started working together. Now we were just two. It was never our intention of making it a eight year break, but that’s how it happened.

Q. Would you compose for Hindi films given an opportunity?

A. Oh yes! We are big fans of Hindi film music and have grown up on a staple diet of it, so it would be exciting to compose for any Hindi film.

Q. How would you define the music of Strings? What is its USP?

A. We can’t say much about our music, it’s difficult to be objective. But we have a distinct style that doesn’t sound imitative. Its touches you, at least us, because it is straight from the heart. The melody, instrumentation, and lyrics they are all of a certain kind, mood that appeals to everybody across genres. Not just the romantic sort, boy – meets - girl type of crowd.

Q. What are your views on remixes. Do you want to do them?

A. Personally we don’t favour remixes. Most of the attempts are to just cash in on the existing popularity of the song. Over a period of time, a beautiful song might get completely corrupted and the original will be forgotten. We stay away from it.

Q. O.K. then given a chance what would be the one song that you would like to remix?

A. Faisal: Very difficult to say. (Thinks for a long time, confabulate amongst ourselves) The song from Guide, S. D. Burman’s ‘Tere Mere Sapne’ by Mohd. Rafi. That would be the one song I would like to remix.

Bilal: (Again a lot of talk amongst ourselves to find the name of the song) Another S. D. Burman song. The last song from Abhimaan ‘Tere Mere Milan Ki Yeh Raina’ is my choice.

Q. How did you get the Magnasound deal?

A. We recorded the album and the music video was made we approached the music companies with the album.

Q. And you were accepted without any censorship in the form of creative inputs from the audio companies?

A. That’s the reason we don’t sign contracts and then work under its binding. From the very beginning we have recorded the album first and then approached the record companies. The reaction of our college audiences and fans to songs makes them aware of what is good and is being appreciated, so we know where we are going.

Q. Do you think the otherwise you would have had to face some bother?

A. Of course, that’s inevitable. Everybody has his or her own idea of what will work and what will not. This is the only way we can work and it’s working.

Q. How did you hone on Magnasound?

A. They had the reputation of bringing new artistes and some of the most successful Indi – Pop artistes have come from their rooster, so they were the natural option for us.

Q. What was the reaction in Pakistan when Nusrat Fateh Ali Khan collaborated so extensively with western music, the remixes with Michael Brook, Pearl Jam and other such artsites?

A. There was not a hue and cry about it. People appreciated his hand in popularizing the Qawwal in the western world. Sufism became popular and a whole new audience grew accustomed to the wonderful music he produced. Even his serious Qawwalis grew in audience across the world.

Q. Who among the Pakistani bands do you consider closest to the roots of Pakistani music?

A. Junoon according to us is the closest in that aspect. They use lyrics that are more of Pakistan, like that of Bulle Shah and other Sufi saints. They incorporate more such elements local to Pakistan than most other bands.

Q. How have you grown in these many years?

A. First and foremost and which I think is the most important is song – writing. When we were young we used to write almost anything as long as that sounded good to us. As we grew we became more cautious of it. Then my father, Anwar Maqsood was given the responsibility of writing the songs as we thought we would not be able to do justice to it.

Q. He writes just for you?

A. He is an acclaimed playwright in Pakistan and has been writing for a long time. He has penned all but one song in the album so he plays an immense role in our music.

Q. Do you think that as the aesthetic of music has changed, now we see music instead of listening to it, the music video has damaged the song in itself?

A. Frankly I don’t like the music videos that are being made in India. Jami’s video for ‘Duur’ doesn’t have a story line. The music videos have their own story, and most of the time they are tangential to the song. They have no link with each other and that in my view makes you lose concentration. ‘Duur’ has a mood that is typical of the song and the video too is like that without a narrative or plot.

Q. Are you working on your next album?

A. Yes, we are.

Q. Not eight years this time?

A. No, not this time.

Interviewed at the Magnasound offices by Srikant Malladi circa 2000-01

Terror Terror on the Wall…Who is the Worst of All

astralwicks — Wed, 14 May 2008 12:49:57 +0000

The pink city of Jaipur was the target of terrorists yesterday. More than 60 people are reported killed and many are still battling for survival. I too went into panic for certain personal reasons. Otherwise I would have been a couch potato, cannibalizing on the thousand ‘breaking news’ scrolls and second to second increases in the death toll. I was scared to know the news yesterday.

Today Jaipur is under curfew as a precautionary measure. There will be enquiries and assessments. In the midst of all the tragedy 1 question came up time and again – why Jaipur? Personally, I think it is the dumbest question I have ever heard. Why Jaipur? Jaipur – doesn’t that provide an answer in itself? It is probably the most important tourist destination in India. Whoever lands in India goes to the city. Well, almost.

All such places are potential targets. What do people think? That the gentle neighbourhood terrorist will give such places a go-by? That they will be busy targeting Bombay (I as a rule will never write it as Mumbai; thank you Thackeray’s) Delhi and other Metros?

Common sense dictates that emerging cities become tomorrow’s targets. Why the surprise? What have we done? We don’t have a history of communal violence, we are peaceful, we are simple…such self-pity is playing into the terrorist’s hands.

We all are under threat. I spoke to my father in the morning today. He ordered me to not board the crowded Bombay local trains, avoid the buses; to take the auto or cab and to stay away from all crowds. I said yes to all, all the time wondering how childish he was being. Loving no doubt, but as the rules were being laid down I realized immediately that no one and nothing is safe. We are susceptible to attacks everywhere – at a bus stop, in an auto, outside a mall, at the temple. We are all possible victims of collateral damage.

Metros, small towns, villages, nothing is safe. I sound like a doomsday theorist, but it is true. They can strike anywhere. Does hate argue with pity? Does it share the bed with sympathy, reason, love, and understanding? No. We are numbers, statistics - the more the merrier, helpless the better.

It’s a wonder we are all living…with so many weapons and so many stupid brains to use them. So salute, this might be the last. Carpe diem, for who knows…

Who is Binayak Sen?

astralwicks — Tue, 13 May 2008 04:45:10 +0000

People Union of Civil Liberties link

Nobel Laureates petition the Indian State.

The Maestro’s Death

astralwicks — Thu, 08 May 2008 08:41:24 +0000

I just learnt the news that Kishan Maharaj passed away on Sunday. Today is Wednesday the 8^th of April. His death was not front page news. Like IPL or inflation or the censure of our Members of Parliament. It figured nowhere in the news channels that I regularly surf, not even in the bottom scroll. It probably figured on Monday but not after that.

Kishan Maharaj was one of the greatest tabla exponents from India. The cliché ‘passing of an era’ can be applied to him without any hesitation to him.

During the years at Hindu Collge, Spic Macay (Society for Promotion of Indian Classical Music and Culture Amongst Youth) did a great service to the vagrant youth who passed time in smoky cafes fighting over diluted ideology or some girl. They made available to us the greatest musicians from the Indian classical pantheon.

Because of them I have watched Hari Prasad Chaurasia, Zakir Hussain, Gangubai Hangal, L. Subramaniam, Ravi Shankar, Amjad Ali Khan, Bismilla Khan, Kishori Amonkar, Shobha Gurtu, Ajoy Chakraborty, and a host of other greats. It was all for free and the degree of intimacy made it all the more rewarding. You were at a distance of 10 feet from the artist! Not always but mostly. It was a lesson for any serious music or I might say life enthusiast.

I had heard a lot about Kishan Maharaj. Had also heard a few cassettes in which he featured. A blurry picture emerged of a man passionate about his music and uninhibited about expressing his emotions. As luck would have it, Maharaj ji was coming to play at St. Stephens that year. I think it was 1998. I was all eager to watch the maestro perform.

It is said that Hindu and Stephens share a road between them and nothing else. The auditorium of Stephens was full. The stage was set for Maharaj ji to come and perform. It was not a ‘Lec Dem’ or Lecture Demonstration in which the musicians play, sing and talk. It was billed as a concert.

In entered Maharaj ji. There was applause. He greeted us by folding hands and sat down. There was no tabla in sight. He was also chewing paan. He is from Banaras and people chew a lot of paan.

He boomed on the mike. His voice had a timber and quality that demands attention and silence when uttered. He began, in Hindi ‘I am not going to play today. Only talk. If you want to listen to my talk, please stay. Otherwise you know where the doors are.’

Nobody left although they were disappointed. We wanted him to play. He gave the reason. ‘I am just coming from … (some foreign place the name I forget) and at the airport I met a fan. He wanted something from me and I had nothing but my tabla. I could not refuse him and gave them away as a gift. And I play only the ones made in Banaras by this particular guy. So…’

He spoke as a friend. An elder friend who knows the affectations of youth; its impatience; ability to make mistakes; taken by fancy and sound and spectacle; youth still unable to form its opinion; a youth that doesn’t know the value of experience.

Maharaj ji began with the history of tabla and its journey. How from being an accessory it gained in prominence to become an instrument that took the centre-stage at various concerts. He could sing also and sang he did giving examples.

Panditji also spoke of the importance and over-importance of celebrities like Zakir Hussain. People who popularized the tabla but gave sole importance to the technique of playing fast so that the jugalbandi, (two musicians act as lead players, and a playful competition often ensues between the two performers) the most popular feature of a concert, hits the high notes.

He was critical of the emphasis on speed and laid emphasis on the slow build-up, the gestation, the slow simmer over the boil, the teasing journey to the climax.

He had many a paan during his talk of 2 hours. He made me see the culture and ethos of Benaras, the role of the mightly Ganga, he shared trivia about life on tour, the basics of tabla, its history, the art and technique of tabla. I saw a man completely in love with his craft and profession. A man who brooks no interference. A musician who doesn’t compromise. A critic who knows his criticism. A purist whose point of view made sense.

Maharaj ji without playing a single note made me his lifelong fan.

Long Live the Sparrow

astralwicks — Wed, 07 May 2008 09:50:44 +0000

The sparrows are dying. The headline grabbed my attention. Things you took for granted some years back are now on the verge of extinction. The pigeon population has plummeted. The crows too are going down. Similarly the sparrow. Living in Bombay/Mumbai news about the life and death of another species doesn’t touch me. It hardly does when the representative is of my own kind. So the sparrow was left to its own fate.

I reached Jamshedpur on the 24^th of April. I woke in the morning and stood on my feet when a whoosh greeted me. My hair whistled and almost scared me out of my sleep I jumped to avoid the intruder. It was a sparrow!

My house is quite a zoo, comprising of people and animals. We have pigeons and sparrows nests inside the house. Some years back, when we had a big guava tree and a curry leaf tree we had many more nests. A particular family of crows hated all of us kids no end, and might I add, with no reason. Many a time have they attacked us when we were playing badminton using our gate as the net. Now those trees have disappeared. The new trees are not strong because the soil inspite of replenishment doesn’t have the same nutrients.

So the birds have shifted indoors. Now these birds have lived with us for long. They know our time-table through and through. They know when we get up, what we eat and our time for bed. The sparrows and pigeons live peacefully. They don’t attack each other or fight over food that is offered generously by my old grandmother and my mother. They nibble some and carry some for their kids.

Sometimes I get the impression that my folks can speak to them. They scold them if they hover too close to the running fan or when they create a racquet for no apparent reason. The crows, pigeons and sparrows similarly seem to get angry if lunch is delayed, which means that their routine too gets shaky. Humans, they seem to sigh!

So I saw sparrows in my living room and in my dining room. Whizzing past me, reminding me of the good old days.

Why Scarlett Why?

astralwicks — Tue, 06 May 2008 09:59:53 +0000

It’s an unqualified tragedy. Scarlette Johansson has gotten engaged. To a fellow actor, who else? What does this mean – will she be lost to the fantasies of all the other bachelors? That’s stupid of course. She is just sporting a rock. She is not yet married. And additionally she is still very very young. Miss Johansson is not a 40 something for the amour to die.

But not in India apparently. In Bollywood, any actress (note only actress; the female of the actor) who announces their engagement or worse still, marriage, suddenly loses her market value. By how much is debatable, but a loss is definitely on the cards.

Actresses are known to prolong their careers, dodge the perennial question, loose boyfriends in the process but keep the dreaded rock off their hands.

What about Aishwarya, you might say? She is married into the Big B family. She will get roles one way or the other. But there is a perceptible shift even in her choices. She has just refused a film in which she is supposed to play a woman who is confused between 2 men. She said how can she be, she is married now! Cannot Aishwarya differentiate between her screen roles and her personal life? Does she belong to an acting school that believes in interiorizing roles to such an extent that their reel and real life becomes confused and blurred? Does she walk this thin dangerous line? Rejecting scripts that demand so much of emotional investment that the poor girl just has to say yes to all the banal, ordinary and regular fare that she dances and cries to with so much gusto? Doesn’t seem so, but…

Madhuri, the Dhak Dhak girl who moved and never left the hearts of Indian cine-goers. Look at Mrs. Nene’s fate. All her moves in Aaja Nach Le were washed away. Sridevi is still waiting for her ideal re-launch pad. I don’t think she is ever going to make a com-back. Raveena, Zeenat. Nobody comes back in India. Not as a heroine.

If you are married to somebody else then? Even a superstar doesn’t help much. Look at Namrata Shirodkar who married a Telugu superstar or Amla who married Nagarjuna. Dimple married Rajesh K at the peak and yet.

‘Namak khatam ho gaya’ people say or the sex appeal has disappeared…at least dwindled. Why does marriage result in such a big turnaround? How does a sex goddess become an epitome of motherhood and saintliness overnight just because she has married? Just happens so in India.

Distributors, exhibitors, producers, casting agents and even fellow actors, they flash the know-it-all smile, with a tinge of sympathy which says ‘it is all OVER’. Why did she ever take the plunge?

But Scarlett has done it. Congratulations.

Tashan - A Late Review

astralwicks — Mon, 05 May 2008 12:02:46 +0000

I watched Tashan a few days back. Since then some people have been waiting for my review of it. Not that people are dying to read it but general friendliness I guess. Also they want to save a few hundred bucks, I feel.

Anyways I was accompanied by very generous friends. 3 of them had already watched it and encouraged me through the week to watch it, so that they can accompany me. Strange, but I am grateful to them.

It was playing at Chandan. Everybody in Mumbai knows about Chandan. A mammoth single-screen theater with close to 1300 seats per show. If it runs at Chandan we know it’s a hit. Simple.

I was told that the film was not doing good at the window. It has a stellar cast. The twosome of Saif – Kareena, Akshay and Anil Kapoor. Nowadays you either love or hate the Yash Raj banner and their kind of films.

The grime, angst and violence of papa Yash has been replaced with the aesthetic of an India shining. Papa Yash also liked white chiffon, which has been updated with you-name-it yuppie Brands of a shrinking world. There stories are of a successful India or of an emerging India. India of the small town or village with dreams in their eyes. A Kanpur here or an Indore there. Lovable rascals from small town India whom you can laugh at initially and then laugh with is the new Yash Raj formula. Banti aur Babli being the zenith.

Coming back to Tashan. Tashan means ‘attitude’. Tashan’s one line is ‘attitude’. It is also the sacred ‘one line’ of the film. The one line that runs through and through the script, from beginning to end, through the 3 Acts. Therein lies the rub.

A film about attitude still has to have a story. Here is the story. 3 people each in love with the other, have to cheat each other to survive. Interesting! Very gripping in fact. Could have been fodder for great cinema. But doesn’t happen in this case.

Tashan doesn’t work because – it is not a story of lost and found love (Akshay and Kareena).

It doesn’t work because it is not even a buddy movie (Akshay and Saif) in the mould of Main Khiladi Tu Anari. Saif in Tashan is reduced to a side-kick.

It is not a revenge drama (Kareena’s story).

It doesn’t work because it is not even a ménage a trios (Saif falls for Kareena; Kareena cheats Saif; Kareena wants to cheat Akshay; Akshay falls for Kareena; Kareena realizes her love for Akshay; Saif realizes that Akshay and Kareena are old, childhood lovers).

Why does this happen? We as audiences in the dark are always sympathetic to people, in this case, heroes and heroines, in love. But not in this case. Is Tashan projecting a world view where there are no morals, only self-interest. Yes. We cannot deny that the world we currently inhabit is ruthless. Is it a nihilist film? Obviously not. Because the film makers don’t know what nihilism is!

The realization of love in a selfish world is a great moment in the sacred dark of the cinema hall. Akshay Kumar, in fact, moves us, briefly, in the boat scene, because, he makes us see his humanity, his weakness. It never happens again.

That is the fatal flaw of Tashan. Attitude has to have an audience. And Tashan has none. Because Tashan’s attitude is borne out of the film maker’s conviction that ‘attitude is all’. It has no reigns, no dynamics, no parameters, other than the Yash Raj paradigm of glitz, glamour, oomph, pyrotechnics and loudness.

Growing up, we believed in heroes and villains. Even the cardboard kind with their ‘addas’ and molls. In Tashan the over the top is defined as ‘attitude’. It is so over the top that it becomes spoofy. You don’t believe in any of them. Not the heroes or the villains. Till the end the audience might be fooled that all of them, including Anil Kapoor are on the same side or playing a stupid game to fool us - the stupid audience.

Mr. Acharya had previously written the two immensely successful Dhooms. Films that have no semblance of a plot, movement etc. Star driven vehicles that work because of no particular reason.

Well there are reasons – Aishwarya in a bikini, Bipasha in a bikini and the two of them in a semi-naked state in the rest of the film. Not to forget the males – Hrithik and Bachchan. Then there is action, which is good by Indian standards and bad internationally and the ever-present songs. These hits don’t stay with you. It is not even like Jab We Met, which still makes you smile, laugh or cry honestly.

In one way Yash Raj has perfected the art of the emotionless Blockbuster, just like Hollywood. No memories after the exit and popcorn.

Tashan might not even be a success. Time to evaluate the stable’s weaknesses. Time to step down from the pedestal. Time to realize that small and subtle can have attitude also. Time to realize that attitude doesn’t need to be rammed down. If it’s real, it will stick.

Tirupati Travel Notes

astralwicks — Fri, 02 May 2008 08:59:45 +0000

I have been traveling a lot. Bus, Train (ac and non-ac), Plane…I have been liberal with all modes. A fortnight back I had to reach Kalahasti. My parents are convinced that I and also the family are under some influence and the only way to rectify this would be to visit the Rahu-Ketu temple at Kalahasti, which is 60 kms from Tirupati.

Tirupati is one of the holiest shrines in India and the richest. People go there, give their hair as an offering to the Lord. That hair is exported to other countries also…to make wigs. The ‘ladoos’ of Tirupati are famous. People can eat them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Another think very famous about Tirupati are the serpentine queues. If you have still not visited the place you have missed a grand logistical exercise, considering the traffic it falls prey to every day.

Like all other signs of peoplekind have evolved, so has the darshan ritual at Tirupati. There is the ‘dharma darshan’. This is free of cost and takes the most number of hours. Anything from 6 to 16 or 18 hours or heavy-traffic days. Then there are various ‘special darshans’. People with more money to spend buy these, get a less crowded route till a distance and then the line merges with the general ‘dharma dharshan’ line. Saves some hours for the impatient devotee.

Then there are various other ‘sevas’ for the Lord that you can buy. And miracle of miracles…as the ‘seva’ denomination increases so does your darshan time decreases.

Anyways I had to go to Kalahasti. For that I had to reach Tirupati. So, I tool a flight to Chennai. Took a pre-paid Ambassador cab to Koyambedu. Through out the journey I noticed two things – the driver who was driving very fast and the fact that even in traffic stalemate, most of the riders were patient and silent. A lesson for the horrible Mumbai drivers.

Koyambedu or CMBT is a huge complex that houses thousands of buses to every imaginable destination in the South of India. It is, I felt, man stadiums rolled into one. A sea of humanity is what you see everywhere. There are bus platforms and all kinds of buses…regular State Transport and privately owned.

Before the onset of the journey I was in a bind as to how to travel. Should I be partial to comfort or to experience? There apparently is no connection but there is. The more comfortable you are the lesser the scope for genuine, earthy, honest experiences. The world is different behind a tinted glass.

Once I reached Koyambedu at around 8 P.M, I looked for a Coffee Shop. Not a coffee day or barista, but the regular ‘filter coffee’ stall. I bought an 8 rupee coupon and got a glassful. Shame on you Barista and CCD, I ejaculated immediately. This was coffee to wake up your sense, calm them and excite them all at the same time.

I went to the road transport bureau and asked for an AC bus, was said there were none or very late and so I bought a ticket to Tirupati for 61 rupees.

Now there are 2 Tirupati’s. One is the town at the foothills of the mountain and the second is the mountain on which the Lord resides. I got the last seat on the last row, a window seat number 44.

There was the smell of sweat all over. The bus was to begin its journey at 9 P.M. The seats were honestly not bad but that was the end of all things sensible. Once the bus left the city it was a crazy ride. Many a time I was convinced that we had met with an accident or about to meet with one. This driver could be an F1 participant I thought. At around 12, just about to hit my stop, you hit the ghats. The road there is not in the best of shape. Most of the people around me had slept off. The few remaining one were either in wakeful-sleep or were used to a feeling I call ‘death-in-waiting’. At breakneck speed, my man drive through the ghats and no science of sleep could have assailed me at this juncture!

Finally I reached my destination and I got off with a sigh of relief. Going up to the main temple town with this driver at the wheel!!

I had visited Tirupati last some 8 years back. Even at 1 in the night I could figure out that things have changed drastically. I reached the Lodge where my sister was staying with her family, knocked and awoke the wrong family, who cursed me, before finding my way.

Next morning was the journey to Kalahasti. It was hot at 8 in the morning. After an hour’s drive we reached the temple town, saved our slippers at an offering shop and began our prayer-journey. Stand in line, wait and follow the diktat’s of the priest. My sister has 2 daughters. Nimeshita is the elder and Niharika is the younger. They are terrific terrorists, especially the younger. They had already stood in various queues including the Balaji on the hill and were quite fed up of all this God business. They played as long as they could and then felt tired and pissed off. Why should we wait, they asked? We had no answers.

After a heavy and very tasty (I over ate) meal, we made our journey back to the foothills. This time again it was a state bus, a good one. This one had a female conductor. She was courteous, pleasant and did her job efficiently. I also saw women auto-drivers in Tirupati who were riding the bigger Autos (Garud I think they are called) that are popular nowadays.

My job was done. Now was the darshan of Balaji on the hill. I was not keen on waiting for 14 hours or so for the ‘dharma darshan’. I could not buy the sevas because they are sold months in advance. The next day was the beginning of a weekend and all the technology available there (yes, they give you bands on your wrists with time on it) could only guarantee a very late darshan.

So, I asked for forgiveness and told of my decision to come back without the darshan. My parents were worried for a bit. On my return I decided to take a train to Chennai. The tickets are again for Rs 61 and it takes almost an hour and a half less than the bus. Again an auto from Chennai Central to Meenambakam. I had to wait for almost 6 hours for my flight.

I bought a book. Read a short story and then the IPL began. It was the 2^nd day. Sitting next to me was a gentlewoman of 55 +. She was with a troupe of tourists from Bangalore, who were on their way back from Sri Lanka. She shared her experiences with me. She was also a cricket enthusiast who was a wee bit confused with all the team names and who was playing. So was I.

Finally the plane to Mumbai came and off I flew. Back to home.

This Miss is a Sure Hit

astralwicks — Mon, 21 Apr 2008 12:32:29 +0000

It is a HIT. The fours, the sixes, the claps, the eyeballs. It is a resounding success. Mr. Lalit Modi and team are laughing all the way to the banks. All doubts, speculation about the economic feasibility of the T20 league in India have been put to rest in the inaugural 2 matches. 2 hundreds in the first 2 matches. Hundreds in 50 balls! Scores of 240 in 20 overs!

What does this mean? One thing for sure – cricket has been changed forever.

It is the biggest thing to have happened since 1 day cricket. Just as the nay-sayers of that era became practitioners and devotees of the 50 over format, the critiques of T20 will be victims of the party in the coming 3 days months and years.

Millions are riding on it. And billions will be earned in the future! Foes who sledged yesterday are your locker – room mates of today! Your national team – mate of today is your arch enemy of tomorrow!

Ponting in the same team as Harbhajan is a possibility! What does this mean to traditional rivalries? Will the next time India visit Australia, bonhomie will be the staple much to everybody’s dislike? Will we suddenly regret by the dilution of the so called ‘sporting – hate’ of yore? Nah, not possible.

But one thing is for sure – there is a chance of understanding better each other’s cultural mores and differences. You can still dislike but it will be based on more understanding and less on assumptions.

Will this also lead to the end of the 1 day or 50 over format, with more and more games of the T20 kind? Too early but that day is not far when the 50 over format; its rhythm, pace, build-up, pacing, slogging etc will be lauded for possessing a purity that the T20, the populist upstart, has allegedly corrupted. Similar to the complaints our fathers had, against the 1 dayers.

The pure bludgeoning spirit of the T20 will please many. It is the season of 3 hours of highlights. Every ball promises a sixer, a four or a wicket. More bang for the same shrinking buck. More risks for the plebian spectator to walk the tight-rope and lose or win – at the same time feeling patriotic about the hometown or city. One’s national obsessions will now be shifted to the local and regional.

Another inevitable result will be the birth of more local talent. For so long at the mercy of talent scouts playing the card of regionalism, the uncelebrated, waiting - in – the - wings player will get a chance to display his skills. And become a hero.

Cricket has had a re-birth. Probably a badly needed one, and in time, struggling as it was after the match – fixing allegations some 10 years back. An entire generation of cricket fanatics had suddenly cut the umbilical cord. The adrenaline of the T20 format might me the rush that can bring them back.

Till cricket gets even more shorter.

India as on 16th April 2008

astralwicks — Wed, 16 Apr 2008 12:17:13 +0000

I met up with friends as usual after work. We talk small talk. What do friends talk after a long friendship? There are long periods of silences sometimes. And nobody feels awkward. The tv sometimes plays in the background. Other times, we have music for company. There is also wine. Red preferably. Most of us also have quit smoking, which is commendable.

Anyways, this post is not about friends or friendship. It is what one of my friends said in the midst of all the talk. He said that he is increasingly disliking the country; its people. Some years back it would have elicited a vehement reaction from me. My father used to continuously criticize India when I was a child.

He liked Europe and its precision, order and professionalism. My streak of patriotism was largely reactionary – to oppose his constant dislike of India. If he was not so vocal, probably I would have contributed to the brain drain. That notion anyways is old. The world has shrunk. Have money, will get visa. But even in the early 90’s my world was not as open as it is now.

I think we were discussing honking; that perennial problem. How rude, insensitive, foolish and thoughtless. How can the educated, the chic, the literate, the illiterate all be so partial to the horn when all vital signs on a given stretch of road unilaterally mean 1 thing – immobility? Was I as conscious of this fact when I used to travel less? Yes. Will I be as cautious of it when I have my personal car with good insulation and all? Yes, because it hurts.

But horns cannot make us hate one’s country. That’s extreme, we all agreed.

Something was niggling? What?

Everywhere you look, people are spitting. Is spitting the reason?

People bumping against you? Problem of space probably, we argued.

People want to throw us out of Bombay?

Police corruption best exemplified by the Scarlette murder in Goa?

Missing organs from Scarlette’s body?

Censorship?

Bollywood copying films ad - nauseum and justifying it?

Indian politics?

Our propensity to dirty first and then destroy public property?

Perpetually stupid Pop music that talks only of love?

Our obsession with castes?

Our obsession with color?

Our suspicion of a person who doesn’t speak the same language?

Who doesn’t wear the same kind of dress?

Police abusing common folk?

Our pride in our languages, regions, customs, traditions but not in common decency?

Our obeisance to dynasties?

Lack of idols?

Do people of 30+ have idols? They have stupid. They have.

Do these things matter? Should we be blind and move on. Happy at double digit growth and T20 matches and Bollywood at Madame Tussauds and burgeoning Television and celebrity gossip?

Has age finally caught up with us? Are we old now, out of sync with the young India? What does the young India want? What did we as youngster’s want? Cricket and more of cricket.

We also wanted The Doors. We wanted a repeat of Woodstock. We wanted the hippy to be back. We wanted Nirvana and grunge.

Now we listen to electronica and minimal. We dance to club numbers (in private though). That’s how things change and we don’t even know. We want perpetual euphoria and no sadness. We want victory at all costs.

Victory at all costs.

Jump the lane, the line, the queue, push, trip but move on.

Yes, this is what the new country wants. The new country doesn’t want the old country. The old country of cows and power-cuts. The new doesn’t want the slow to hamper their rush. The city doesn’t want the town and the town doesn’t want the village. The village hates itself. It moves to the city and the city hates the bumpkin. The slow creature from the dust-bowl. And the slow creature learns to honk, to push, to trip.

Still they will not like each other. Both know what they have lost and can’t reclaim unlike the sea or river. Both can’t go back. And they move on. They have to join the nation in motion. Or they will be lost, forgotten and trampled.

And I will become a hateful poor aristocrat. Full circle. Everybody hates the other.