(The Hindu Sunday Magazine, July 24, 2011)
With his latest show on in London, artist Baiju Parthan reflects on how his exploration of mythology and technology contributes to his art.
He once floated through the halls of a media house, his glasses glinting with an almost-childlike glee as he saw the world from a different perspective. Baiju Parthan drew, he said mildly. From his prolific pen and fertile mind came illustrations that seemed otherworldly, often surreal, bizarre, from a reality that was not easy to visualise, leave alone comprehend; until suddenly, startlingly, it all came together brilliantly. And then he vanished, as suddenly, emerging anew as an artist with the same view of his world, his art selling like the proverbial hotcakes; his image as an artist soaring, albeit in the same gentle, detached, off-earthly way that he always seemed to have around him.
Tell him this and he will laugh, still gently, vaguely embarrassed. He lives in a world that to him is real, though perhaps not always practical, and he sees his art and his former job in the same light.
“I haven't categorised it as ‘practical', but respond to a kind of feedback from the condition I live in. At one point in time I needed to survive, but those conditions changed when the job became non-essential. I am not saying that I did not have that idealistic notion when I was a student, that art was art and life were separate and that one should not sell art, etc., but I started looking at it differently. When you are a student you are full of idealism and when you are out of college, you are full of realism. Unless, of course, your tummy is full, you can't produce art!”
Learning something new
Study is a fact of life for Parthan, even today, ‘established' as he is as a reputed artist. But to call him an ‘intellectual', as many do, makes him blush. “The intellectual side was nurtured when I was a student; I kept on studying, enrolled for distance learning courses. It is a personal quirk of mine; I believe that as long as you keep learning something new, you feel young and hopeful. But I do not think I am an ‘intellectual' in the sense of someone who is possessed with the notion of ideas. I am interested in knowledge.” And he is also passionate about science, technology and the realm that computers have opened up to him. “I work essentially with 3D graphics directly linked with animation and virtual reality. I am now learning a bit of programming with Python, a scripted language used in 3D procedural animation.”
This kind of not-all-there air hides a very sharp mind that is open and absorbing. And that has come from his youth, reveals Parthan, who is originally from Kerala but studied art in Goa. “I came from a very Marxian background with extremely well defined ideas to conform to social norms. I met this group of people that were the opposite and were much happier and for the first time I realised that I had a choice. This changed me. I was exposed to a lot of not-so-mainstream literature that was mind-bending and loosened up my ideas of the world. I did get very interested in anthropological studies, sculpture, mythology, all adding to my artistic growth.” And he created his own reality in the process. As Parthan says, “Reality is what you make of it; it is up to you to extract meaning from it, depending on the peculiarities of your perceptual framework. You see the world depending on who you are and what you are. My whole idea of art itself got shaken up, almost 30 years ago. We were taught Western art history, as part of the curriculum; I was quite disillusioned that you had to be of British or Western origin to be an artist of substance. That was when I started becoming realist and earned a living.”
From there on, it was all about exploration for Parthan. “At some point I got deeply involved in philosophy: the definition of the self in the western and eastern modes of thinking. The western self is self-aware and separated from what is around to become what you are; the eastern is more an inclusion that makes you what you are. The eastern self is also more inclined towards metaphysical thinking, while the western sees cause and effect. The way the self is organized defines how you make art.” His own quest is something to do with knowledge “Every new piece of knowledge, once imbibed, can never be undone. I try and transform myself through learning…how far you can extend yourself into yourself, your immediate family, the community, the nation. I have lived in a personal bubble, totally involved with my own pursuits ... job, art, whatever. One blocks out the environment to do what one is doing. At some point I decided that maybe I was being unfair to the rest of my life.”
Symbiotic
His interest in technology, married to his passion for mythology is reflected in his art. Parthan sees them as symbiotic. “I think technology and mythology feed off each other. I am always hunting for metaphors that can be translated into symbols used in art. I studied mythology and got a chance to pit different systems against each other and find motifs like the hero myth, creation, etc. I am a hardcore science fiction junkie – that is where the two meet for me. Metaphysical becomes science fiction – Matrix is essentially the hero myth in a cyberpunk environment! You start finding parallels in these worlds.” All narratives are indirectly quests of some kind. I enjoy the whole aspect of technology because it shifts perceptions, makes us extend our own selves in newer ways into the environment we live in.”
The Show
Dislocation: Milljunction Part II @ Aicon Gallery, London, July 15 – August 20, 2011.
Baiju Parthan's new show at the Aicon Gallery in London is a solo, Dislocation: Milljunction Part II, which includes painting, photography, video and lenticular prints. Different styles of painting coexist within a single frame in some works, while in others, there seems to be a time-space continuum, with two different realities working together. There is a mirror effect in some; in others, computer code races vertically. Which world are you in, as a viewer? Are you in today or a time that is long past, that may not actually have existed? And should you be joyous, maddened, angered or just plain confused? That depends on you. Parthan just handles the controls in a subtle, clever, almost disturbing manner.
The artist explains: “This is actually part two of my solo, Mill Junction, held in New York in March, 2010. It was originally planned as a dual location show simultaneously opening in two venues of the Aicon Gallery, but I couldn't come up with the required number of works at the time. Hence the slightly modified title - Displacement- Mill Junction 2. It is about 'Bombay/Mumbai' as a city that exists in retrospect, solely as memory or recollection. It is also about how these memories get erased or modified through technological and social change.” Parthan uses the city's iconic presences to describe the vestiges of a fast-changing cityscape. “The most coherent aspect of Bombay is the mill area – there's really no coherence otherwise through the city, since so many people live so many lives. In all Bollywood movies, the early black and white ones especially, the mill and the worker is so prominent. I haven't lived here during that time, but the vestiges of that reality still exist, seen in the symbols and motifs strewn around. As we move forward in time, the motifs vanish gradually – the mills become towers, the taxis give way to cars. I am trying to relate to them more personally, making a point of view.”
The show has “paintings as well as modified photographs or photoworks, a combination of photographs and 3D graphics elements. The paintings form a series of ‘soft graffiti' and are derived from photographic references. The paintings are intentionally defaced with over-painted ASCII computer code - today the (digital) photograph is actually a document made up of ASCII code which is parsed/translated into the image by the computer.” Three photo-works titled Lunch Break present the city environment from the vantage point of someone engaged in a First Person Shooter game (FPS computer games), an oblique reference to the vandalism the city is often subjected to by some political party or the other. Two large photoworks Titled Chorus and Monument are lenticular prints that create a virtual 3D-like space.
According to Parthan, “The show is also about the softening of our reality experience as information/digital technology and economy conquers every domain of human activity. Probably this is the first time in our intellectual history that we have two categories of reality overlapping each other – virtual and real - we have augmented our reality with virtuality.” But the virtual transactions that we do, from paying bills to shopping to social networking, which happen away from hard-edged physical reality, soften the experience of everyday reality.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Saturday, July 23, 2011
The new Iron Lady comes to tea
(bdnews24.com, July 22, 2011)
She came, she saw, she spoke and she conquered a few sceptics with her neat logic and undoubted enthusiasm. But Hillary Clinton’s main strength is perhaps her genuine interest in my country, India. She was here earlier this week, speaking of many issues that concerned not only India and the United States as friends and political allies, such as they are, but the subcontinent as a whole and its people in general. While the eyes of the world were fixed on her clothes, her hair, her mien and her handshakes, we looked into what she was saying and wondered whether it was more eyewash than concrete plans to get things moving, to make this part of the world a safer place to live in, to change certain realities that, for the world, are not exactly positive and progressive.
Clinton’s speech wherever she went focussed on her “vision for the 21st century” and the desire of the United States to “forge multi-faceted ties with India”. Her reason: “We understand that much of the history of the 21st century will be written in Asia…and that much of the future of Asia will be shaped by decisions not just by the Indian government but by governments across India and by the 1.3 billion people who live in this country,” according to her and so, presumably, her government. Even as China is a nation that has perhaps the strongest and more enduring ties with the United States, a fact that has been proven again and again through time, we found – as we have known for a while – that the American politic looks at us to be a “steward” in the region, a presence that will set the standards and the rules for the behaviour of governments across this part of the world. And the reason for this is fairly simple, one that we well recognise and accept as fact: India is, after all, the largest country in the subcontinent and can channel that power into being the most influential. If we do things right, that is.
But one aspect of existence in the region is of concern now, has been for a while and will remain so, until it is dealt with in a more effective and permanent manner: counter-terrorism. This was the prime focus this time, since Mumbai became the victim of terrorism once again just a few days ago, when three bombs exploded in the most crowded parts of the city, one quickly after the other…and then the third. The United States, in a message and via Clinton, has once again pledged its full support to Indian efforts to deal with terrorist threats and with security to prevent such activities, and has also promised to stress the point with Pakistan – often the first suspect in any terror events on Indian soil – in its drive to ‘clean up’ the region. In this direction, Clinton has suggested that India should be more proactive and strong in its responses to any threats and actions that jeopardise the security of the subcontinent.
As she put it, “India’s leadership has the potential to positively shape the future of the Asia-Pacific… and we encourage you not just to look east, but continue to engage and act east as well,” and play its role as an ally of the United States in regional meets such as ASEAN and the East Asia Summit planned for later this year. As she said, “We are betting that India’s vibrant pluralistic society will inspire others to follow a similar path of tolerance. We are making this bet not out of blind faith but because we have watched your progress with great admiration.”
On the whole, Clinton’s visit to my country was seen as a positive one, full of promise for the future and for increased interactions and cooperation between India and the United States, And she left us with three key agreements: an “end-use monitoring” deal that will give the United States the ability and freedom to track arms supplies to India to ensure that there is no further trade in these weapons to third and perhaps hostile elements. The technical-safeguards agreement is set to give India the capability of launching non-commercial satellites containing American components, in conjunction with a science and technology cooperation agreement. And there will be, as there tends to be, a strategic dialogue on a whole range of issues – from education to climate change, terrorism to nuclear non-proliferation.
All this sounds great, especially in the light of the current political situation and the goal that India has of earning a permanent seat in the United Nations Security Council. But who gets the better deal in this set of bargains? It sounds as if the United States is giving more than it is getting, but that country has not achieved its power and position in the world political scenario by being altruistic. Somewhere along the way, we have to be sure that we have not got hold of the short end of the stick and that we are indeed the power that Hillary Clinton has told us we are. And, if we are, we need to be sure that we know how to use it, be truly powerful, without abusing what we are and what we can be…
She came, she saw, she spoke and she conquered a few sceptics with her neat logic and undoubted enthusiasm. But Hillary Clinton’s main strength is perhaps her genuine interest in my country, India. She was here earlier this week, speaking of many issues that concerned not only India and the United States as friends and political allies, such as they are, but the subcontinent as a whole and its people in general. While the eyes of the world were fixed on her clothes, her hair, her mien and her handshakes, we looked into what she was saying and wondered whether it was more eyewash than concrete plans to get things moving, to make this part of the world a safer place to live in, to change certain realities that, for the world, are not exactly positive and progressive.
Clinton’s speech wherever she went focussed on her “vision for the 21st century” and the desire of the United States to “forge multi-faceted ties with India”. Her reason: “We understand that much of the history of the 21st century will be written in Asia…and that much of the future of Asia will be shaped by decisions not just by the Indian government but by governments across India and by the 1.3 billion people who live in this country,” according to her and so, presumably, her government. Even as China is a nation that has perhaps the strongest and more enduring ties with the United States, a fact that has been proven again and again through time, we found – as we have known for a while – that the American politic looks at us to be a “steward” in the region, a presence that will set the standards and the rules for the behaviour of governments across this part of the world. And the reason for this is fairly simple, one that we well recognise and accept as fact: India is, after all, the largest country in the subcontinent and can channel that power into being the most influential. If we do things right, that is.
But one aspect of existence in the region is of concern now, has been for a while and will remain so, until it is dealt with in a more effective and permanent manner: counter-terrorism. This was the prime focus this time, since Mumbai became the victim of terrorism once again just a few days ago, when three bombs exploded in the most crowded parts of the city, one quickly after the other…and then the third. The United States, in a message and via Clinton, has once again pledged its full support to Indian efforts to deal with terrorist threats and with security to prevent such activities, and has also promised to stress the point with Pakistan – often the first suspect in any terror events on Indian soil – in its drive to ‘clean up’ the region. In this direction, Clinton has suggested that India should be more proactive and strong in its responses to any threats and actions that jeopardise the security of the subcontinent.
As she put it, “India’s leadership has the potential to positively shape the future of the Asia-Pacific… and we encourage you not just to look east, but continue to engage and act east as well,” and play its role as an ally of the United States in regional meets such as ASEAN and the East Asia Summit planned for later this year. As she said, “We are betting that India’s vibrant pluralistic society will inspire others to follow a similar path of tolerance. We are making this bet not out of blind faith but because we have watched your progress with great admiration.”
On the whole, Clinton’s visit to my country was seen as a positive one, full of promise for the future and for increased interactions and cooperation between India and the United States, And she left us with three key agreements: an “end-use monitoring” deal that will give the United States the ability and freedom to track arms supplies to India to ensure that there is no further trade in these weapons to third and perhaps hostile elements. The technical-safeguards agreement is set to give India the capability of launching non-commercial satellites containing American components, in conjunction with a science and technology cooperation agreement. And there will be, as there tends to be, a strategic dialogue on a whole range of issues – from education to climate change, terrorism to nuclear non-proliferation.
All this sounds great, especially in the light of the current political situation and the goal that India has of earning a permanent seat in the United Nations Security Council. But who gets the better deal in this set of bargains? It sounds as if the United States is giving more than it is getting, but that country has not achieved its power and position in the world political scenario by being altruistic. Somewhere along the way, we have to be sure that we have not got hold of the short end of the stick and that we are indeed the power that Hillary Clinton has told us we are. And, if we are, we need to be sure that we know how to use it, be truly powerful, without abusing what we are and what we can be…
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Blood on the streets, again
(bdnews24.com, July 15, 2011)
It seems to be a never-ending story. Back in 1993, about 18 years ago, a series of bombs went off across the city of Mumbai – or Bombay, as it still was then. I was in the city then, doing a little shopping very close to the Stock Exchange building, where the blast tore through the side of the fairly new tower. Not too far away, another bomb went off, blowing a hole into the base of the Air India building, a South Mumbai landmark and part of what is considered among the most expensive real estate in the world. In quick succession, there were more bombs and more deaths – near the Passport Office, near a gas station, at a hotel, in a crowded market. In all, 13 bombs went off. When the carnage was over, the bodies were counted. About 700 people were hurt, some very seriously; about 250 people died.
A few years later, it seemed to be happening again. Between 1997 and 2003, there were 9 reported bomb blasts, with about 29 people dead and 199 injured. Par for the course, some would say, and certainly far fewer than the number killed or hurt in everyday accidents, illness or criminal acts. And then came August 2003, when twin blasts echoed through the mean streets of my city, leaving 50 dead and 150, at least, badly hurt. About three years later, seven bombs went off in local trains, the city’s commuter network, injuring 890 and killing 181. This was in 2006.
In 2008, November 26, something happened that shook not just the city, but the world. Terrorists attacked Mumbai, choosing crowded locations to kill and shock; the difference: this time, the targets were elitist enclaves too, two multi-star hotels – the Taj Mahal and the Trident – as well as the main railway station, our historic Victoria Terminus, now known as Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus. At the end of the three days that the attack lasted, 166 had died, over 300 were injured.
And now it is as if those black days have come back. Two days ago, on July 13, three bombs went off in my city. The first, at 6:45 pm, blew up at the very crowded Zaveri Bazaar, in the heart of the diamond market. The second, at 6:46 pm, blasted into the evening crowds at Opera House, just outside the main diamond export centre. The third, at 7:05 pm, occurred at the Kabutar Khana in Dadar, near a key railway terminus.
The sites were well chosen – there would be people milling, pushing and shoving to get to their trains or buses to go home, not really noticing anyone who did not belong, who was acting in any way unusually, who carried a high-intensity explosive designed to destroy. When the sound of the pouring rain could be heard again, before the sounds of pain and death echoed through the blood-soaked streets, 18 people had died; 131 were being treated for injuries, some life-threatening. No one had seen it coming; there were no warnings at all, the government insists. Nothing could have been done.
But there is something that could be done, at least now. While various government bodies, parties and politicians debate the who, where, why, what and how of the whole nightmare, we are citizens of India’s commercial capital – and we as citizens of the country and the world, in general – can do something to make ourselves and our lives and loves safer. To start with, for the moment, we can all stop blaming each other and the authorities and deal with the situation as it is now, as people have so valiantly been doing ever since that first drop of blood spattered on the ground. We can all stop pointing fingers at terrorist groups – be it Al-Quaeda, Lashkar-e-taiba, Indian Mujahideen, whatever, whoever – and at the government that we think is not doing enough, and take a good hard look at what we may be doing wrong.
Hang on, I am not saying that we are to blame. All I am saying is that we are not helping any by playing the blame game and shoving responsibility on to other people. We need to look at what we are doing – or not, really – to keep ourselves, our surroundings and our city (or cities) safe. We still pack a lot into very little where space is concerned; true, we need to, but there is a neat and clean and SAFE way to do that, too, where there are escape routes, where anything untoward would be noticed, where clutter is not a way of life, but a temporary inconvenience that does, indeed, stay strictly temporary and is cleared out within minutes or at least hours.
We need, regrettably, to be a little less accepting of strangers and what they are doing, not just in the community, or the city as a whole, but as a nation, making sure that those who want access to our world are worthy of existing in it.
There is so much more that we can do, but so little that we actually do. But we need to learn to do it, as much as I need to learn to do it, soon, before the next bomb goes off in this city that is my home.
It seems to be a never-ending story. Back in 1993, about 18 years ago, a series of bombs went off across the city of Mumbai – or Bombay, as it still was then. I was in the city then, doing a little shopping very close to the Stock Exchange building, where the blast tore through the side of the fairly new tower. Not too far away, another bomb went off, blowing a hole into the base of the Air India building, a South Mumbai landmark and part of what is considered among the most expensive real estate in the world. In quick succession, there were more bombs and more deaths – near the Passport Office, near a gas station, at a hotel, in a crowded market. In all, 13 bombs went off. When the carnage was over, the bodies were counted. About 700 people were hurt, some very seriously; about 250 people died.
A few years later, it seemed to be happening again. Between 1997 and 2003, there were 9 reported bomb blasts, with about 29 people dead and 199 injured. Par for the course, some would say, and certainly far fewer than the number killed or hurt in everyday accidents, illness or criminal acts. And then came August 2003, when twin blasts echoed through the mean streets of my city, leaving 50 dead and 150, at least, badly hurt. About three years later, seven bombs went off in local trains, the city’s commuter network, injuring 890 and killing 181. This was in 2006.
In 2008, November 26, something happened that shook not just the city, but the world. Terrorists attacked Mumbai, choosing crowded locations to kill and shock; the difference: this time, the targets were elitist enclaves too, two multi-star hotels – the Taj Mahal and the Trident – as well as the main railway station, our historic Victoria Terminus, now known as Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus. At the end of the three days that the attack lasted, 166 had died, over 300 were injured.
And now it is as if those black days have come back. Two days ago, on July 13, three bombs went off in my city. The first, at 6:45 pm, blew up at the very crowded Zaveri Bazaar, in the heart of the diamond market. The second, at 6:46 pm, blasted into the evening crowds at Opera House, just outside the main diamond export centre. The third, at 7:05 pm, occurred at the Kabutar Khana in Dadar, near a key railway terminus.
The sites were well chosen – there would be people milling, pushing and shoving to get to their trains or buses to go home, not really noticing anyone who did not belong, who was acting in any way unusually, who carried a high-intensity explosive designed to destroy. When the sound of the pouring rain could be heard again, before the sounds of pain and death echoed through the blood-soaked streets, 18 people had died; 131 were being treated for injuries, some life-threatening. No one had seen it coming; there were no warnings at all, the government insists. Nothing could have been done.
But there is something that could be done, at least now. While various government bodies, parties and politicians debate the who, where, why, what and how of the whole nightmare, we are citizens of India’s commercial capital – and we as citizens of the country and the world, in general – can do something to make ourselves and our lives and loves safer. To start with, for the moment, we can all stop blaming each other and the authorities and deal with the situation as it is now, as people have so valiantly been doing ever since that first drop of blood spattered on the ground. We can all stop pointing fingers at terrorist groups – be it Al-Quaeda, Lashkar-e-taiba, Indian Mujahideen, whatever, whoever – and at the government that we think is not doing enough, and take a good hard look at what we may be doing wrong.
Hang on, I am not saying that we are to blame. All I am saying is that we are not helping any by playing the blame game and shoving responsibility on to other people. We need to look at what we are doing – or not, really – to keep ourselves, our surroundings and our city (or cities) safe. We still pack a lot into very little where space is concerned; true, we need to, but there is a neat and clean and SAFE way to do that, too, where there are escape routes, where anything untoward would be noticed, where clutter is not a way of life, but a temporary inconvenience that does, indeed, stay strictly temporary and is cleared out within minutes or at least hours.
We need, regrettably, to be a little less accepting of strangers and what they are doing, not just in the community, or the city as a whole, but as a nation, making sure that those who want access to our world are worthy of existing in it.
There is so much more that we can do, but so little that we actually do. But we need to learn to do it, as much as I need to learn to do it, soon, before the next bomb goes off in this city that is my home.
Monday, July 11, 2011
Singing on the rain
(bdnews24.com, July 8, 2011)
The monsoon has just revived in Mumbai after a few weeks of muggy weather and people are celebrating. Yes, there are problems with flooded roads, stalled trains, water logging, slugs and worms, fungus, damp clothes, smelly carpets and much more, but it is that time of year when the temperatures suddenly and pleasurably drop after too long being too high, the earth and air smell fresh and clean and the water is cool and sweet. And even as the average Mumbaikar complains about the rain and says many rude words at having to travel to work in the wet, he or she will almost always start humming one or the other of the many songs that are associated with this time of year. And almost all of them will be from Bollywood productions.
Even I, who do not watch movies very often but run a film website with my team, have been heard bursting into song when the rain is coming down, preferably outside my window and not on my head. And when there is rain, when there is song, the two together will invariably spell romance, with a capital ‘R’, the kind that needs an umbrella built for two, the kind that is about chai and pakoras, the kind that doesn’t really need a significant other but works with one too.
Sometimes the rain reminds me of romance classic style. Like in Shri 420, when Nargis and Raj Kapoor sang Pyar hua ikrar hua hai. It is considered to be iconic of the genre, with two rain-washed faces gazing lovingly at each other under a large black umbrella. The couple under the shelter are soaking wet, but don’t seem to notice, and the rumoured real-life love story of the leading lady and gentleman (in those days they were, I am told!) made the scene even more romantic.
In contrast was the cutely funny ditty from Kishore Kumar’s Chalti ka Naam Gaadi, with the delectable Madhubala. As he sings, softly at first, then louder, Ek ladki bheegi bhaagi si, I never fail to smile, in empathy, in amusement, in some degree of wistful wishful thinking. There is such fun in the lyrics and such liveliness in the tune, and such a happy sound when the two come together to create one unforgettable moment!
More elaborate harmony and difficult vocals come with Rimjhim gire saawan, from Manzil. It comes in two versions, for male and female voice, and both are superb. The first, with Kishore Kumar, shows off the strength, the power, the force of the rain pounding down on the ground, on roofs, on bare heads, while the softer feminine version is more soulful, plaintive, gentle, with Lata Mangeshkar evoking visions of giggling girls, hot tea pouring into a cup, rain drizzling on flowers, the fresh wetness of grass tickling bare feet.
Lagaan had a more contemporary take on this, as the villagers wait for the long-delayed rain to give them and their fields and wells some respite from the heat and drought. As Aamir Khan and Gracy Singh join the rest of the community to sing Ghanan ghanan ghir ghir aye badara, in an AR Rahman composition, you can almost hear the rain rattling down on a wooden roof, pattering into an almost-empty well, drenching the cows and village folk alike as it soaks quickly into arid ground.
And then there is the seduction of the rain, a gentle, lazy, swaying kind of rhythm that lulls frazzled minds and nerves into soft lethargy. In Bheegi bheegi raaton main, from Ajnabee, Zeenat Aman manages to seduce Rajesh Khanna and everyone watching her – or even just listening to the song – with the gorgeous lyrics: Bheegi bheegi raaton main, meethi meethi baaton main aisi barsaaton main kaisa lagta hai? (in the rain-soaked nights, with sweet words and the monsoon season, how do you feel?). More seduction comes in the shape of a sexy Sridevi singing Kaate nahin katte in Mr India, with a mesmerised Anil Kapoor keeping her company, though invisibly as the object of his adoration sings Lo aaj main kehti hoon…I love you (Listen, I will say it today…I love you!)
But there are so many different ways to play in the rain, some of them a lot more energetic and young, maybe not even romantic, but great fun. In the Aamir Khan-Sonali Bendre starrer Sarfarosh, they sing to each other, Jo haal dil ka idhar ho raha hai (The condition of the heart that is happening here…), there is love, romance, seduction, fun, but all in a joking, jesting, teasing way, with a driving beat and very western tune. And Kareena Kapoor danced in the pouring rain to first try and seduce a rather staid Rahul Bose and then in sheer joy of being washed clean by the rain in Chameli, singing Beheta hai mann kahin, kahaan jaante nahin, koyi rokle yahin..Bhaage re mann kahin, in her character as a prostitute.
Of course, no writing on fun-filmi-fabulous rain songs would be complete without speaking of one that is not from Bollywood, but has that contemporary beat and a beautiful voice backing it – Shubha Mudgal’s Ab ke saawan aise barse…that one could inspire anyone to go running out to dance in the rain. Even me!
The monsoon has just revived in Mumbai after a few weeks of muggy weather and people are celebrating. Yes, there are problems with flooded roads, stalled trains, water logging, slugs and worms, fungus, damp clothes, smelly carpets and much more, but it is that time of year when the temperatures suddenly and pleasurably drop after too long being too high, the earth and air smell fresh and clean and the water is cool and sweet. And even as the average Mumbaikar complains about the rain and says many rude words at having to travel to work in the wet, he or she will almost always start humming one or the other of the many songs that are associated with this time of year. And almost all of them will be from Bollywood productions.
Even I, who do not watch movies very often but run a film website with my team, have been heard bursting into song when the rain is coming down, preferably outside my window and not on my head. And when there is rain, when there is song, the two together will invariably spell romance, with a capital ‘R’, the kind that needs an umbrella built for two, the kind that is about chai and pakoras, the kind that doesn’t really need a significant other but works with one too.
Sometimes the rain reminds me of romance classic style. Like in Shri 420, when Nargis and Raj Kapoor sang Pyar hua ikrar hua hai. It is considered to be iconic of the genre, with two rain-washed faces gazing lovingly at each other under a large black umbrella. The couple under the shelter are soaking wet, but don’t seem to notice, and the rumoured real-life love story of the leading lady and gentleman (in those days they were, I am told!) made the scene even more romantic.
In contrast was the cutely funny ditty from Kishore Kumar’s Chalti ka Naam Gaadi, with the delectable Madhubala. As he sings, softly at first, then louder, Ek ladki bheegi bhaagi si, I never fail to smile, in empathy, in amusement, in some degree of wistful wishful thinking. There is such fun in the lyrics and such liveliness in the tune, and such a happy sound when the two come together to create one unforgettable moment!
More elaborate harmony and difficult vocals come with Rimjhim gire saawan, from Manzil. It comes in two versions, for male and female voice, and both are superb. The first, with Kishore Kumar, shows off the strength, the power, the force of the rain pounding down on the ground, on roofs, on bare heads, while the softer feminine version is more soulful, plaintive, gentle, with Lata Mangeshkar evoking visions of giggling girls, hot tea pouring into a cup, rain drizzling on flowers, the fresh wetness of grass tickling bare feet.
Lagaan had a more contemporary take on this, as the villagers wait for the long-delayed rain to give them and their fields and wells some respite from the heat and drought. As Aamir Khan and Gracy Singh join the rest of the community to sing Ghanan ghanan ghir ghir aye badara, in an AR Rahman composition, you can almost hear the rain rattling down on a wooden roof, pattering into an almost-empty well, drenching the cows and village folk alike as it soaks quickly into arid ground.
And then there is the seduction of the rain, a gentle, lazy, swaying kind of rhythm that lulls frazzled minds and nerves into soft lethargy. In Bheegi bheegi raaton main, from Ajnabee, Zeenat Aman manages to seduce Rajesh Khanna and everyone watching her – or even just listening to the song – with the gorgeous lyrics: Bheegi bheegi raaton main, meethi meethi baaton main aisi barsaaton main kaisa lagta hai? (in the rain-soaked nights, with sweet words and the monsoon season, how do you feel?). More seduction comes in the shape of a sexy Sridevi singing Kaate nahin katte in Mr India, with a mesmerised Anil Kapoor keeping her company, though invisibly as the object of his adoration sings Lo aaj main kehti hoon…I love you (Listen, I will say it today…I love you!)
But there are so many different ways to play in the rain, some of them a lot more energetic and young, maybe not even romantic, but great fun. In the Aamir Khan-Sonali Bendre starrer Sarfarosh, they sing to each other, Jo haal dil ka idhar ho raha hai (The condition of the heart that is happening here…), there is love, romance, seduction, fun, but all in a joking, jesting, teasing way, with a driving beat and very western tune. And Kareena Kapoor danced in the pouring rain to first try and seduce a rather staid Rahul Bose and then in sheer joy of being washed clean by the rain in Chameli, singing Beheta hai mann kahin, kahaan jaante nahin, koyi rokle yahin..Bhaage re mann kahin, in her character as a prostitute.
Of course, no writing on fun-filmi-fabulous rain songs would be complete without speaking of one that is not from Bollywood, but has that contemporary beat and a beautiful voice backing it – Shubha Mudgal’s Ab ke saawan aise barse…that one could inspire anyone to go running out to dance in the rain. Even me!
Saturday, July 02, 2011
Book review
(The Hindu Magazine, June 18, 2011)
The Konkani Saraswat Cookbook by Asha S Philar
The perfect cookbook is easy to use. The perfect cookbook has lovely pictures that whet the appetite and culinary ambition, inspiring people to try the recipes in it. The perfect cookbook is made of the right paper; that is easy to write on, easy to read even through various identifiable and anonymous stains of spices, oils and the occasional singed hole. And the perfect cookbook has pages that stay open to a page; that can be turned with the handle of a ladle, wiped clean of spilled stock or coconut milk and put away without any worries that a damp volume could cause a whole shelf of books to catch fungus. Along the way, the perfect cookbook makes cooking simple, fun and not too stressful, with delicious results.
Unfortunately, Indian food being the genre it is, and publishers of Indian cookbooks interested more in a mass buyer base and low prices than the contents, very few Indian cookbooks handle any of the above-mentioned issues to any degree of satisfaction, making them in general very difficult to like...for me, at least.
This one has its moments, though not enough. It is exciting because the food is usually found in a home kitchen rather than a public eating space, and the recipes may vary from kitchen to kitchen, cook to cook, eater to eater. As with any recipe book speaking of food that is not familiar or comfortably classifiable, everything is subjective and a little tinkering works better than following every instruction faithfully. Fortunately, the organisation of the recipes was immaculate; from breakfast to festival menus, food segued smoothly through the day...and the year.
Once the aspiring cook (myself) of Konkani-Saraswat cuisine untangled the minor mysteries involved — since here usli equals upma, both of which are rather different in the Tam-Bram repertoire, some translation and de-confusing had to be done — and got past the phonetically graphic imagery of Mashinga Saang Ghalnu Kholmbo, it was fun to work on. Goli Baje, which sounded like a song from a Hindi movie, was a fritter that developed interesting shapes in the hot oil and tastes fabulous with a more western yoghurt dip. Gradually, things got more familiar with the Ravey Unde earning demands for more, the level of the Tomato Jam falling faster than manna from heaven and the Batate ‘High Jump' causing its fan club to leap up to catch the last, slightly crispy morsel of sautéed potato. The seafood, for which the Konkan region and the Saraswat kitchen are so well reputed, were highly spiced, redolent with the sweetness of grated coconut or coconut milk and ideal with thick buttery roti or a heap of fresh, hot, ghee-laden rice.
Does this book meet all the requirements for a perfect cookbook? No, but for its sheer ‘home food' value, for the little notes that the writer adds as helpful hints at the end of some recipes, for the effort and the involvement that has gone into it, the book is a treasure worth owning. Also, perhaps by the end of it, the user can figure out just what Konkani-Saraswat life is all about!
The Konkani Saraswat Cookbook by Asha S Philar
The perfect cookbook is easy to use. The perfect cookbook has lovely pictures that whet the appetite and culinary ambition, inspiring people to try the recipes in it. The perfect cookbook is made of the right paper; that is easy to write on, easy to read even through various identifiable and anonymous stains of spices, oils and the occasional singed hole. And the perfect cookbook has pages that stay open to a page; that can be turned with the handle of a ladle, wiped clean of spilled stock or coconut milk and put away without any worries that a damp volume could cause a whole shelf of books to catch fungus. Along the way, the perfect cookbook makes cooking simple, fun and not too stressful, with delicious results.
Unfortunately, Indian food being the genre it is, and publishers of Indian cookbooks interested more in a mass buyer base and low prices than the contents, very few Indian cookbooks handle any of the above-mentioned issues to any degree of satisfaction, making them in general very difficult to like...for me, at least.
This one has its moments, though not enough. It is exciting because the food is usually found in a home kitchen rather than a public eating space, and the recipes may vary from kitchen to kitchen, cook to cook, eater to eater. As with any recipe book speaking of food that is not familiar or comfortably classifiable, everything is subjective and a little tinkering works better than following every instruction faithfully. Fortunately, the organisation of the recipes was immaculate; from breakfast to festival menus, food segued smoothly through the day...and the year.
Once the aspiring cook (myself) of Konkani-Saraswat cuisine untangled the minor mysteries involved — since here usli equals upma, both of which are rather different in the Tam-Bram repertoire, some translation and de-confusing had to be done — and got past the phonetically graphic imagery of Mashinga Saang Ghalnu Kholmbo, it was fun to work on. Goli Baje, which sounded like a song from a Hindi movie, was a fritter that developed interesting shapes in the hot oil and tastes fabulous with a more western yoghurt dip. Gradually, things got more familiar with the Ravey Unde earning demands for more, the level of the Tomato Jam falling faster than manna from heaven and the Batate ‘High Jump' causing its fan club to leap up to catch the last, slightly crispy morsel of sautéed potato. The seafood, for which the Konkan region and the Saraswat kitchen are so well reputed, were highly spiced, redolent with the sweetness of grated coconut or coconut milk and ideal with thick buttery roti or a heap of fresh, hot, ghee-laden rice.
Does this book meet all the requirements for a perfect cookbook? No, but for its sheer ‘home food' value, for the little notes that the writer adds as helpful hints at the end of some recipes, for the effort and the involvement that has gone into it, the book is a treasure worth owning. Also, perhaps by the end of it, the user can figure out just what Konkani-Saraswat life is all about!
Book review
(Times of India Crest Edition, July 2, 2011)
SUMMER AND THE CITY by Candace Bushnell
Once upon a time there was a naïve, simple, small town girl called Carrie Bradshaw. She made friends, she lost them and, once in a rare while, found them again. But along the way, with each person that she met, she grew up a little, learned a little more about life and living it and found friends that could, fingers crossed, be forever. When she moved to the Big Apple, she was initially swept away by the glitz and glamour of New York City. But again, that growing up thing happened and she found herself in a place that she, over time, graduated to calling her own.
The Carrie Diaries told that story. This one takes up where the other left off – Carrie finds herself in her new friend Samantha’s apartment, the plan she was supposed to take sliding right off track and out of her mind. The older woman was kind, but in a sort of absent-minded though affectionate manner, and took Carrie to all sorts of interesting parties without keeping tabs on her or behaving in any way like an inhibiting adult. Samantha made the introductions, Carrie could do what she wanted with them.
A dream existence for any young person who wanted to live the glamorous life. But is that what college in the big, bad city was all about? Parties, getting drunk, making out, meeting famous people? Carrie was there to study, to become a writer to find herself and hone her skills. She did do a little more playing around than she had planned to, but found her groove soon enough and settled into making a career of her writing.
Along the way, she met some fascinating men. She liked one, but found that she was not important enough in his life. She was sought after by others, but did not want them to be important to her life. How she finds the balance between love and living, life and work, friends, family and professional contacts is what the books is all about.
Writing done with a happy, fluffy kind of tone, knowing itself not to be a serious, significant piece of literature is perhaps what makes the book work, as a quick read, one bought for a flight and perhaps left on the plane. There are insider jokes and insights right through, and a solid awareness that this is embroidery on an American television icon – the best-selling, high TRP Sex and the City series. And take it all with a huge pinch of salt, preferably the designer kind, and sip on a Manhattan while you read…
SUMMER AND THE CITY by Candace Bushnell
Once upon a time there was a naïve, simple, small town girl called Carrie Bradshaw. She made friends, she lost them and, once in a rare while, found them again. But along the way, with each person that she met, she grew up a little, learned a little more about life and living it and found friends that could, fingers crossed, be forever. When she moved to the Big Apple, she was initially swept away by the glitz and glamour of New York City. But again, that growing up thing happened and she found herself in a place that she, over time, graduated to calling her own.
The Carrie Diaries told that story. This one takes up where the other left off – Carrie finds herself in her new friend Samantha’s apartment, the plan she was supposed to take sliding right off track and out of her mind. The older woman was kind, but in a sort of absent-minded though affectionate manner, and took Carrie to all sorts of interesting parties without keeping tabs on her or behaving in any way like an inhibiting adult. Samantha made the introductions, Carrie could do what she wanted with them.
A dream existence for any young person who wanted to live the glamorous life. But is that what college in the big, bad city was all about? Parties, getting drunk, making out, meeting famous people? Carrie was there to study, to become a writer to find herself and hone her skills. She did do a little more playing around than she had planned to, but found her groove soon enough and settled into making a career of her writing.
Along the way, she met some fascinating men. She liked one, but found that she was not important enough in his life. She was sought after by others, but did not want them to be important to her life. How she finds the balance between love and living, life and work, friends, family and professional contacts is what the books is all about.
Writing done with a happy, fluffy kind of tone, knowing itself not to be a serious, significant piece of literature is perhaps what makes the book work, as a quick read, one bought for a flight and perhaps left on the plane. There are insider jokes and insights right through, and a solid awareness that this is embroidery on an American television icon – the best-selling, high TRP Sex and the City series. And take it all with a huge pinch of salt, preferably the designer kind, and sip on a Manhattan while you read…
Getting away with murder
(bdnews24.com, July 1, 2001)
Grabbing headlines and TV slots in India lately, is one big deal of a case: murder. About three years ago, on May 7, 2008, a young man called Neeraj Grover was brutally killed by an ex-navy officer called Emile Jerome Mathew in the apartment of a Kannada actress called Maria Susairaj. Mathew and Susairaj were in a relationship, but she also had a ‘sleeping partnership’ with Grover, a producer with a private television channel. The story was almost farcical, but had tragic consequences.
As far as it can be reconstructed, this is how the morning went: Grover was at Susairaj’s apartment early that morning. Unfortunately for him, his presence could not be put down to his being a colleague or a reporter or even an electrician or deliver man, since he was naked. Susairaj’s regular boyfriend, Mathew dropped in without warning and lost his temper at seeing an unclad man in the flat. In a fit of passion, he stabbed Grover with a kitchen knife. Grover collapsed and died soon after.
But there is more to the story. First, Mathew had heard Grover’s voice in the background the evening before, when he called Susairaj on the phone. The woman told her boyfriend that Grover was merely helping her move into her new apartment, but Mathew warned her not to let the ‘friend’ stay overnight. The anger in his mind over the new man in his lady love’s life had already been ignited.
Second, and worst of all, once the murder had been committed, Mathew and Susairaj apparently had sex, with the body in the same room, before dismembering the corpse and then packing it in plastic before getting rid of it. And the disposal was as macabre – they wrapped each part of the cut-up body in garbage bags that they went out to buy, then stuffed the bags into the boot of a borrowed car, took it to a wooded area on the outskirts of Mumbai, poured liquid fuel on the remains and set fire to the heap.
Then came the great cover-up. They reported Grover missing, they made up stories about knowing him or not, they lied at every corner and with every word they spoke.
And, after all that, they got caught. Susairaj has spent the last three years in jail. So has Mathew. And while they have done their time, the case has been fought in court, all the evidence presented and debated.
Yesterday, the verdict was pronounced. And Mumbai is stunned. Maria Susairaj was sentenced to three years in jail for attempting to conceal evidence, while Emile Jerome Mathew was given ten years in jail for culpable homicide not amounting to murder and attempting to conceal evidence.
This means that Susairaj will walk free, having already served that term, while Mathew has just seven years to go, probably getting out earlier for good behaviour, if he manages that. Grover’s parents are shocked and demand that the case be reopened.
His father has told the press: “We were expecting death sentence for both Maria and Jerome. I think the investigating agency has not probed the case properly. I am not going to sit quiet. I will spend every single penny of mine to get Neeraj’s killers the death sentence.”
It is not just Mumbai and the Grover family, but the judiciary that is horrified by this sentence. Most judges and lawyers asked their opinion believe that there has been a grave miscarriage of justice.
The public, of course, has been voicing their collective protest on the matter and its outcome. Most want to know how such a blatant and horrific murder could be excused so easily. Is it that easy to kill and get away with it, with no consequences? That is the questions many are asking.
The same kind of question was asked some years ago, when a young model called Jessica Lal was shot and killed by Manu Sharma when she refused to serve him another drink. The murder happened in front of a huge party of people well known in the Delhi circuit, but Sharma managed to walk free for many years… until the power of public opinion went to work and managed to get the case reopened, re-heard, re-judged and the murderer re-accused.
Justice did get served in that instance, with the killer being handed a life sentence. It took years of fighting by the media, by Jessica’s sister and by those who believed that the law should be upheld honourably and fairly, for an unnatural death to be appropriately dealt with.
Is that what needs to happen in this case, when a young man’s fault was to be enamoured of a pretty young woman? And will any murder, done for passion, be considered so trivial a pursuit that the killer can walk free without too much trouble? Is this what justice is all about?
Is anyone listening?
Grabbing headlines and TV slots in India lately, is one big deal of a case: murder. About three years ago, on May 7, 2008, a young man called Neeraj Grover was brutally killed by an ex-navy officer called Emile Jerome Mathew in the apartment of a Kannada actress called Maria Susairaj. Mathew and Susairaj were in a relationship, but she also had a ‘sleeping partnership’ with Grover, a producer with a private television channel. The story was almost farcical, but had tragic consequences.
As far as it can be reconstructed, this is how the morning went: Grover was at Susairaj’s apartment early that morning. Unfortunately for him, his presence could not be put down to his being a colleague or a reporter or even an electrician or deliver man, since he was naked. Susairaj’s regular boyfriend, Mathew dropped in without warning and lost his temper at seeing an unclad man in the flat. In a fit of passion, he stabbed Grover with a kitchen knife. Grover collapsed and died soon after.
But there is more to the story. First, Mathew had heard Grover’s voice in the background the evening before, when he called Susairaj on the phone. The woman told her boyfriend that Grover was merely helping her move into her new apartment, but Mathew warned her not to let the ‘friend’ stay overnight. The anger in his mind over the new man in his lady love’s life had already been ignited.
Second, and worst of all, once the murder had been committed, Mathew and Susairaj apparently had sex, with the body in the same room, before dismembering the corpse and then packing it in plastic before getting rid of it. And the disposal was as macabre – they wrapped each part of the cut-up body in garbage bags that they went out to buy, then stuffed the bags into the boot of a borrowed car, took it to a wooded area on the outskirts of Mumbai, poured liquid fuel on the remains and set fire to the heap.
Then came the great cover-up. They reported Grover missing, they made up stories about knowing him or not, they lied at every corner and with every word they spoke.
And, after all that, they got caught. Susairaj has spent the last three years in jail. So has Mathew. And while they have done their time, the case has been fought in court, all the evidence presented and debated.
Yesterday, the verdict was pronounced. And Mumbai is stunned. Maria Susairaj was sentenced to three years in jail for attempting to conceal evidence, while Emile Jerome Mathew was given ten years in jail for culpable homicide not amounting to murder and attempting to conceal evidence.
This means that Susairaj will walk free, having already served that term, while Mathew has just seven years to go, probably getting out earlier for good behaviour, if he manages that. Grover’s parents are shocked and demand that the case be reopened.
His father has told the press: “We were expecting death sentence for both Maria and Jerome. I think the investigating agency has not probed the case properly. I am not going to sit quiet. I will spend every single penny of mine to get Neeraj’s killers the death sentence.”
It is not just Mumbai and the Grover family, but the judiciary that is horrified by this sentence. Most judges and lawyers asked their opinion believe that there has been a grave miscarriage of justice.
The public, of course, has been voicing their collective protest on the matter and its outcome. Most want to know how such a blatant and horrific murder could be excused so easily. Is it that easy to kill and get away with it, with no consequences? That is the questions many are asking.
The same kind of question was asked some years ago, when a young model called Jessica Lal was shot and killed by Manu Sharma when she refused to serve him another drink. The murder happened in front of a huge party of people well known in the Delhi circuit, but Sharma managed to walk free for many years… until the power of public opinion went to work and managed to get the case reopened, re-heard, re-judged and the murderer re-accused.
Justice did get served in that instance, with the killer being handed a life sentence. It took years of fighting by the media, by Jessica’s sister and by those who believed that the law should be upheld honourably and fairly, for an unnatural death to be appropriately dealt with.
Is that what needs to happen in this case, when a young man’s fault was to be enamoured of a pretty young woman? And will any murder, done for passion, be considered so trivial a pursuit that the killer can walk free without too much trouble? Is this what justice is all about?
Is anyone listening?
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