Monday, 16 July 2007

grrrrrrr!!!!!

well...it never lasts does it. the levitating feeling of goodness. surrealism, i always had a problem contemplating and understanding that word. but now i get it. getting back to a rut, and finding yourself not where you started but miles behind the damn race-course....phew....

blogging, like so man other hapless souls caught my attention because of the vent it offered. grumbling confessions, condescensions and virtual reality unfolding is quite ok. have sure learnt my lessons....and would always think before yielding. sicking by the originals and the standard beliefs keeps peace and keeping that in mind i guess i have to move ahead.

i dont know when i would get back to writing sense. its been long and it fells miserable. the books too dont feel the same. it all feels so cynical and made up. i hope VS NAIPAUL can bail me out....kiran desai has no effect on me any more...im too numb for that....damn.

shall get back afresh with something new....im sure and i hope soon....will get back to where i started and stay, stay, stay.......

Thursday, 12 July 2007

The Monkey & His "Mushy" antics...

The resounding popular opinion has finally undergone the ultimate catharsis, it has received the final approval of the gunshot and yes, now it has moved to being-A FACT. President George W Bush is indeed a fine jester and he is quite capable of running a circus. The "Monkey" is back to grab attention & entertain with its perverse antics. He does make the world dance though....doesn't matter even if everybody laughs and shows condescension.

The whole drama-packed episode with the grand finale that we witnessed a few days ago-WHAT WAS IT?? Musharaff finally realising that there indeed is a mosque power-packed with ammunition, terrorists, extremists, hostages...bang in the middle of Islamabad-cheers-the rest of the world would drink to his new-found enlightenment. What took him so long to move the veil? or is he just trying to distract attention and change headlines to "Pakistan fighting terrorism- Musharaff cracking his whip on extremists" from "ooh!..the uncouth slander of justice in Pakistan- Musharaff, the Dictator!".

Well, Politics is a gimmick-played to fool and make-believe. Sounds like fiction but it sure isn't. Killing 200 "militants" & the cleric at Lal Masjid could just be a pawn in a game of chess. The King is still to be moved to light and Of course, that would never happen. By taking the stand he took Musharaff has gained his million dollar earnings from the USA & the UN. a share of which would surely find its way to the secret Swiss bank account-but there might just be a possibility of him not being alive long enough to enjoy the money. It all boils down to greed, money and expensive gifts and compliments from the "BIG BOSS". In his unrealistic hope to clamber into the Hall of Fame "Of The Saviours of the World and The Warriors of Terrorism"- he like his counterparts (Tony Blair & George Bush) has now been cornered by his own people in his own country. He now faces the threat of not only losing the election or his wonderful chair of honour but his LIFE. He is free to play cat and mouse with all his country's and his own resources to save his life. Can one get any more NARCISSISTIC? The Editor of The Outlook very scathingly said that he would like to remind Mr.Musharaff of "Operation Bluestar"-Mrs.Gandhi was afterall finally assassinated by her own bodyguards.

President Musharaff is trying to soothe fire with air. His country's stability is at stake & he is trying to quench his thirst. The world just got interesting again & more debates, discussions, films & documentaries are to follow.

We, at India with our stereotypical animosity are watching with shock in our eyes, glee on our lips & relief in our minds.
TERRORISM is afterall a global phenomenon and is funded by "Monkeys", supported by the "Mushy" and they all would let us hope LIVE to see us all LIVE in PEACE.

Thursday, 5 July 2007

The Rime of the Ancient Mariner

It is an ancient Mariner,
And he stoppeth one of three.

`By thy long beard and glittering eye,
Now wherefore stopp'st thou me ?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,
And I am next of kin ;
The guests are met, the feast is set :
May'st hear the merry din.'

He holds him with his skinny hand,
`There was a ship,' quoth he.
`Hold off ! unhand me, grey-beard loon !'
Eftsoons his hand dropt he.


He holds him with his glittering eye--
The Wedding-Guest stood still,
And listens like a three years' child :
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding-Guest sat on a stone :
He cannot choose but hear ;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.

`The ship was cheered, the harbour cleared,
Merrily did we drop
Below the kirk, below the hill,
Below the lighthouse top.


The Sun came up upon the left,
Out of the sea came he !
And he shone bright, and on the right
Went down into the sea.

Higher and higher every day,
Till over the mast at noon--'
The Wedding-Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.


The bride hath paced into the hall,
Red as a rose is she ;
Nodding their heads before her goes
The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding-Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear ;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner.


`And now the STORM-BLAST came, and he
Was tyrannous and strong :
He struck with his o'ertaking wings,
And chased us south along.

With sloping masts and dipping prow,
As who pursued with yell and blow
Still treads the shadow of his foe,
And forward bends his head,
The ship drove fast, loud roared the blast,
The southward aye we fled.

And now there came both mist and snow,
And it grew wondrous cold :
And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.


And through the drifts the snowy clifts
Did send a dismal sheen :
Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken--
The ice was all between.

The ice was here, the ice was there,
The ice was all around :
It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound !


At length did cross an Albatross,
Thorough the fog it came ;
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.

It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit ;
The helmsman steered us through !


And a good south wind sprung up behind ;
The Albatross did follow,
And every day, for food or play,
Came to the mariner's hollo !

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine ;
Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white Moon-shine.'


`God save thee, ancient Mariner !
From the fiends, that plague thee thus !--
Why look'st thou so ?'--With my cross-bow
I shot the ALBATROSS.

Facile credo, plures esse Naturas invisibiles quam visibiles in rerum universitate. Sed horum omnium familiam quis nobis enarrabit ? et gradus et cognationes et discrimina et singulorum munera ? Quid agunt ? quae loca habitant ? Harum rerum notitiam semper ambivit ingenium humanum, nunquam attigit. Juvat, interea, non diffiteor, quandoque in animo, tanquam in tabulâ, majoris et melioris mundi imaginem contemplari : ne mens assuefacta hodiernae vitae minutiis se contrahat nimis, et tota subsidat in pusillas cogitationes. Sed veritati interea invigilandum est, modusque servandus, ut certa ab incertis, diem a nocte, distinguamus. - T. Burnet, Archaeol. Phil., p. 68

Sunday, 24 June 2007

Plagiarism and music

Plagiarism and music

There was a time when I actually found Hindi music catchy and appealing. There was also a time when I found rehashed classics, also known as remixes, interesting to say the least. In retrospect I’m left wondering what was going through my mind back then. Maybe it was just the fact that I couldn’t yet appreciate the classic rock n roll that the Beatles and Elvis were dishing out on my pop’s stereo. Maybe I was just stupid, but alas realisation is bound to dawn on you one fine day and I’ve come to realise how myopic and dead Hindi film music really is. Just a few stupid lyrics and a non existent score both contribute to an utterly boring and disgraceful front for the sacred name of music. If the song was a hit among the ignorant masses then there’s sure to be a rip off of the song, conveniently rechristened as a remix for the next generation. How dare these fools that go by the tag of “disk jockeys” mess with and degrade what were once revered classics of Indian music, jewels with immense lyrical and poetic value, even if the musical component was a little less prominent. Who do these Akbar Sami’s and Suketus cater to? The brain dead svelte and swish set of the city, with a truck load of cash to blow? Are these the levels that Indian music has stooped? Are we so devoid of creativity that we are left to cleverly rehash foreign tunes to suit the Indian ear canal and then claim to have drawn inspiration from them? Inspiration? That can mislead the uneducated masses who have been brought up on filmi music, but not the educated and specially those exposed to international music.

No wonder that those jerks who constitute the so called Indian music industry are put to shame, no are literally confined to the gutters where they rightly belong. Why does Indian music, with its rich and varied styles to draw from, fail miserable at the international level? “Directors” stake claim to the fact that they package Hindi music to suit the masses are liars. Blasphemous liars who know nothing about music, all they do is cater to the ordinary junta who are bought up on those embellished nursery rhymes called film music. They know nothing either, it’s just a vicious cycle of the ignorant blindly following those who have the guts to take the lead. Down with the cheapos, let the cream rise. I’m not claiming to be much of a aficionado or an authority when it comes to Hindi music, but I know good music when I hear it. Jal, Junoon, Strings and the like have been the pioneers of an alternate style of music; Sufi infused rock with infectious riffs and lyrics. That’s the way to go folks.

Ravi Iyer, Banks, and that bald guy who’s on Launchpad (Nitin Malik) were all there when musical styles were changing and its good to have some advocates of the counter culture around to bring it to the masses. I heard and liked the work of one band on Launchpad in particular, Decibel, specially their rework of the classic nagin refrain. Lovely work that. And oh yeah speaking of Launchpad, its great to see a platform finally materialise that promises to make successful musicians of out struggling, long haired axe men and skin beaters. Long live them.

And the Hindi bashing continues now. But the scene is not all that grim. There were some songs that I really appreciate that I’ve “seen” in some Hindi movies. Examples include the ones in that Amir Khan starrer, Dil Chahata hain. Now that was Indian music at its best. But look at the new crop of nonsense. Himesh that lunatic, with that stupid cap on his head, pouring out the musical equivalent of sour milk. Now what does he know about music? Does he play an instrument? Can he? I don’t think so. But why single him out, most of those so called playback singers cant wither. But all they can do is hog all the limelight after a song’s success. What about the underpaid musicians whose fingers and mouths are put to use to provide the strains behind that “great” singing? Who gives a thought to them? Who even knows their names? Not many.

And what of all those so called talent shows that claim to provide a platform for budding singers to be seen? What happens to the eventual winners? 15 minutes of fame and then obscurity? Isn’t that the rule more than the exception?

Who cares about them anyway? Fools.

But look at the emerging bands all across the country, writing their own music from the bottom up. I’d pay to buy their work anyday. Let them grow and compete with the world’s best. Let them shine. Pentagram, Vaayu, Bhayanak Maut, Decibel, Level 9, Parikrama et al. Go!

Why stagnate and mull over the past? Let it die with them losers. Let’s move forward and take Indian music to even greater heights.

Peace.

Sunday, 10 June 2007

Another one about the train




What is it about those metal monsters that has made then an inseparable part of the city of Bombay (adamantly, not Mumbai)? Is it the seamless amalgamation of technology of the fifties and the 21st century? Or is it the colourful souls who use them daily? Or is it the sight of the meandering tracks that seem to stretch forth in front of you for miles on end? Or is it the sight of the same iron lines, ground till they shine by the weight of an overcrowded train above it? Is it how the lines seem to bend and blend so easily into each other when viewed from the grilled windows of the train?

I can’t quite seem to put my finger on it and neither can I explain how I never seem to tire of seeing the same stations on my journey to and from college. What is it about them that makes every train journey worth the pushing, shoving and body odour? What makes it seem magical? There may be those among the regular travellers who would beg to doffer, after all being hardened by years and years of unforgiving train travel does kill off a part of you in a way, but to them the magic of train travel is lost as it has attained a purely functional meaning for them. A little imagination is all that is needed to appreciate the invisible yet tangible sense of camaraderie and unity that engulfs you as the train engulfs you in its crushing yet soft embrace. A world of opposites is what you enter. The second class, populated by those who are too stingy to afford a more comfortable means of travel and the scum of the city, the people who make it tick, the ticket less traveller. The first class is the domain of all those who scorn on the city’s grease and can’t bear to lower themselves to interacting with those of a lower financial standing than themselves. They take comfort in ejecting those whose appearances are not befitting to the sterile green environs of class one. The ladies compartment is the place where vegetables are cut, tales spun and gossip flies through the air in such a thick stream that it can be cut with a knife. Friends meet, new ones are made and the headlines read across a shoulder.

All in the train. Sure the more developed countries may have a more efficient network that specialises in getting you from point A to B, but that’s it for them. Purely functional. The magic has been lost to modernism and efficiency. Nowhere in the world will you find what you find here.

The local train.