A Time To Reflect

charukesi May 21st, 2007

As I turned the corner and entered Pondy Bazaar, my senses went into overdrive. The sounds of cars and buses honking me into deafness… the colors of the plastic bangles, garish - some may say, but eye-catching and inexpensive, just right for the wear and throw use of hundreds of college girls who buy them everyday… the calls of the vendors - just come and look, no charge for seeing, madam - and some of them actually in English - single woman, short hair and out comes the English. The political hoardings, the ubiquitous posters for Sivaji, due for release very soon, the sign boards for shops selling everything from fast foods to lingerie (always written as lingery - pronounce as written - in Tamil)… the heat, the smell of sugarcane being ground into fresh juice, the sudden cool blast on your face as you cross a shop with air-conditioning on. Cars parked in complete randomness all along the sides of the roads - and above them the ugliest stuffed toys for sale, perched on the roofs, silly smiles on their faces, absolute monarchs of all they survey.

Shoppers, tired of mall hopping, back to where the real action is, jostling against each other in the narrow lanes between the pavements and the shops, where the street vendors set up their wares. The younger ones stopping at each tiny shop and bargainng for their life over two rupees, the older ones resting their tired feet where they find place…

[down but not out]

Shops being set up and dismantled in front of your eyes…

[danger? what it is?]

And in the middle of all this, a familiar fragrance carried by the air… memories from long ago, malligaipoo (jasmine) and its more colorful friends… the flower sellers of Pondy Bazar, busy through the year. If it is the wedding season, we get orders worth thousands of rupees, otherwise there is always good business - after all, people buy garlands and flowers for god through the year - there is no season for that…

We buy fresh flowers every day and make these garlands and bouquets… but people prefer the plastic flowers, that is the fashion now… so we sell bouquets of plastic flowers also… the money is more in that anyway

Surprisingly (for me), most of those involved in the larger units making garlands and dressy stuff for the hair are men. They stand together in little groups, silent as their hands fly, tying the flowers together with the thread, now inserting a red rose amidst the pure white jasmine, and then a dash of green to set off the milder tones.

The women work alone, by themselves, finding little spots between the larger shops or in the side lanes where they bring their baskets of flowers day after day. Madras is full of these pookkarammas (women flower sellers) whose fingers fly over the mallipoo and kanakambaram but who rarely themselves have flowers in their hair. I wonder what their stories are…

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charukesi May 13th, 2007

Life in a.. Metro. Caught the show first day (a thing I rarely manage). The movie juggles (mostly unsuccessfully, I think - simply because you just sit and wait for the act to fall apart) several characters, each of them related to others in the movie one way or the other. (Just to tell you - I developed a crick in my already painful neck from keeping track of who’s bonking who and who the who is actually married to and who is related to who else how). The actors all did their bit very well but somehow I kept thinking of what I read somewhere - that Konkana Sen Sharma had signed on the movie without even hearing the script. Not that she got a bad deal - she with Irfan felt the most real… kept the movie together in some ways.

What I loved was how the rain was almost a distinct character in the movie… For all the references to metro (local trains), the rain was what defined the city best in the movie - sudden showers, umbrellas open, people going about their work as usual. Sharman Joshi throwing away his umbrella just to walk under the same umbrella as his love, Kangana Ranaut… ek aleki chhatri me aadhe aadhe bheeg rahe thae… Uma and Baradwaj in their reviews of Metro have mentioned the rain, each giving a different meaning to its role in the movie…

I can think of only two other movies (songs actually) where the Bombay monsoon has been the central character, the actors flitting in and out of it, almost peripheral to the rain which sets the mood. Rimjhim girey sawan - the one sung by Lata, not Kishore (which while is wonderful, does not show Bombay comes to life during the first spells of afternoon showers in June) - Maushmi Chatterji getting wet in the rain in gorgeous, squeaky-cleaned-by-the-rain South Bombay - pehli bhi yun toh barsey hain badal, pehli bhi yun toh bheega tha anchal - but now with romance in her life (a smooth-talking Amitabh Bachhan) the rains suddenly assume new meaning in her life.

And then sawan barse tarse dil in Hariharan’s melting (he surely deserves much beter than what Bollywood has given him so far?) and Sadhna Sargam’s melodious (and non-sqeaky) voices (listen to it here - opens only on ie)- I remember a longish stint I had in Chennai in 2000; unwell and jobless, I was watching television when I caught this song for the first time - and I ached to be back in Bombay. Bheege balam, phisle kadam barkha bahar me - all the romance and magic of the monsoon, with all the mundane and inconvenient phisle kadam (the girl falls in love with a most unsuitable boy - from another caste? religion?).

The rains in Bombay are like your long-awaited trips home - or an eagerly expected guest - the first few days are magical, wonderful, everything you hoped and waited for all this while - and before the week is out, real life slowly pinches its way in… Life goes on as earlier, you work your way around the rain (or the guest) - and also enjoy those rare flashes when you realize all over again how grateful you are for this - the rain - or this trip home with a family that dotes on you…

But for all the slippery muddy roads, the post 26th July paranoia, the clothes that never dry, the trains that run late, the slush and the misery, Bombay rains make me mushy. They mean to me long drives to the hills. The monsoon to me is a time to dream, when you look for excuses to stay back from work, and sit at home, sipping chai, listening to the rain outside. When you want to drive to Marine Drive in those short no-rain spells, just to breathe the smell of corn getting charred on coal, and feel the giant waves leave gentle salty drops on your cheeks.

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charukesi February 15th, 2007

Now that the Kala Ghoda arts festival is over, I can finally take a break from all that hectic blogging at the KGAF blog and give my own blog the attention it demands and rarely gets. (If you have been regularly reading the Kala Ghoda Gazette or drop by there now, you will probably figure out - as an exceptionally intelligent and discerning reader of this blog - that I have contributed a staggering total of five - or was it, four? posts to the KGAF blog - and I know I snuck in a couple of totally pointless unrelated-to-any-event posts there too - but believe me, even that was hectic). Anyway.

More than the events, ranging from the brilliant to the terribly ordinary, what I enjoy about the kgaf is the way the area gets transformed. Everything comes out into the street - and I mean that in the best possible manner - visual displays, stalls, food, performers - check out Harini’s great post - Visual Arts at the KGF - on the kgaf blog with lovely photos. I love walking up and down the area aimlessly, camera in hand, blank look on face (mirroring usual state of mind, I confess). I enjoy watching the kids enjoy themselves, unmindful and slightly disdainful of the boring adult world around them…

Speaking of kids… I came across the puppet show organized by childline - one puppet explaining to the other about childline’s work, singing dus nau aath dial karo - dial 1098 for help and so on…

Watching the puppet show open-eyed, squatting on the ground, street kid barely 4-5 years old, holding on her lap a bawling baby half her age and more than half her size…

And barely three hundred meters away, this…

and this…

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charukesi February 13th, 2007

It was raining when I left Kolkata in the morning - the short flight to Bhubaneshwar was through dangerously turbulent skies. By the time we landed in Bhubaneshwar, the rain had cleared and the su was peeping out nervously. As I walked to the arrival area from the aircraft, I decided that I liked the city. Any city whose airport has rows of bright cheerful marigold flowers near the runway is bound to appeal to me. And closer to the arrival gate, a large Konarky wheel looking neglected but appealing all the same. Konark plans as of now on hold thanks to the rain that started then and has not stopped yet.

The local Oriya girl who does work for us off and on told me proudly about her new government job. Her dream come true. School teacher in a village in rural Orissa. Class I to VII. Over four hundred students. And four teachers. Two helpers who generally take care of the kids who do not have a teacher around, look after the midday meal, clean the premises and so on. She went on to add, the school does not have the money to pay the teachers, the government does not pay them - so a couple of days in a month, the food meant for the midday meal is sold and the money is given to these women. I must have looked startled for she refused to tell me more. Rural education…

I also met another girl Banoshri here - she was translating some things for me from Oriya - Banoshri is just appearing for her XII std exams this March. she wants to become an air-hostess after this. As she told me this, she looked down on her smal figure and told me - I know I am short and dark - I dont know if I will get to be an air-hostess. Anyway I am trying. She has been religiously applying various miracle fairness creams for the last few months, ever since her dream took shape. Here is hoping her dream takes wings too…

The hotel I went to this afternoon to meet my local contacts has several interesting notices - there is a ‘behavior for the perfect hotel guest’ guide pasted somewhere near the lobby (and I am told, in guest rooms too) containing a list of stern warnings - first of them being - please do not practice any unfair practices that are forbidden in the eyes of the law and god in side the premise. That of course rules out anything slightly fun under the sun, making the “premise” a highly aseptic if boring place.

And the hotel I am staying at also has this arresting line on the home page of their website - …makes it an ideal place for all who carve for peace, privacy and poise.

With that I am off to do my bit for world peace and poise by carving the night away.. and hoping the rain stops soon.

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charukesi February 4th, 2007

The Kala Ghoda Arts Festival is on in Mumbai. Street installations and street food (actually restaurant food at restaurant prices on the street but what the heck!), dance and music, heritage walks, special events for children, literary events… it’s all there.

Aamchi Helicoptook…

And again this year, the Kala Ghoda Gazette is up and running at Caferati. Check it out for great posts and pictures of the events. And this morning, a fascinating vintage car rally… followed by Morning Ragas with Jayateerth Mevundi. Sunday bliss.

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charukesi February 1st, 2007

The “maximum” city gets more and more paranoid with each day. Last week, it took me more than two hours to reach Bandra from Vashi - the check naka at Mankhurd just after Vashi creek had nakabandi in full force - there were three barriers side by side on the road and the police was letting one car pass at a time. The queue of waiting vehicles reached half-way to Pune. It was the evening before Republic Day.

Same situation last night. An hour to Chembur, over half an hour in line to get past the nakabandi.

Republic day eve. Republic Day. Election eve. Elections. Whatever.

Flashing signboards in red at all major junctions - slow traffic - nakabandi in progress for your safety. No doubt. Metal detectors at movie halls, shopping malls, open spaces. Bag checks. Suspicious glances too?

The last straw - sign on a BEST bus reading roughly - instead of looking out of the window, look around for suspicious people around you. I mean, what? Fuel paranoia that anyway exists. And breed paranoia if and where none does?

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charukesi January 26th, 2007

I have never believed that it is possible to be moved by rhythm - I am a melody person myself - melody that is soft and lingers inside your head long after you have heard it… wispy feathery tunes, pale ghosts that follow you through the day and night, slipping away just as you reach out to it… as opposed to rhythm that is here and now, a sudden quickening of the pulse, a rush of blood to the head, a momentary sway of the senses.

I was at Horniman circle garden on Tuesday night listening to the thayambaka performance led by Mattannur Srikanth and Sriraj. I watched spellbound as the performers started off with the rhtyhm slow and steady, now mild, now rising for the first hour; performing for themselves, immersed in the rhythm.

And the last hour, performing for the audience, their fingers now caressing the drum slowly, very softly, and then suddenly rising to fever pitch; the audience clapping and cheering and in the last ten minutes, all on their feet, crowding around the stage as the artists took the crowd with them on a rhythm trip, sweating with the effort of two hours and smiling with the response of the crowd.

From this, .. to this…

Wiki says of thayambaka - thayambaka is a solo Chenda (drum) performance that is unique to Kerala state of south India, where the performer uses one stick and the other hand to play the instrument (Chenda) instead of the usual two sticks.

Thayambaka is generally performed by a lead drummer surrounded by about 3-4 assistant drummers(Veekku Chenda) , and 3-4 Elathalam players. It is a concert like performance of percussion instruments alone lasting approximately 90-120 minutes
.

Imagine 120 minutes of non-stop drumming; I found my hands tired after 30 seconds of clapping high in the air…

The performance was organized by Keli, a Mumbai-based organization dedicated to the preservation, development and propagation of the traditional classical art forms. More from the Keli website…

…there were also others for whom traditional values were sacrosanct and compromise was unthinkable. They were an endangered species, so to speak, of absolute aesthetics and creative integrity, intolerant of mediocrity and arrogance. Keli felt the need to trace them and bring them to the world outside their familiar hamlets.

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charukesi January 22nd, 2007

January is a wonderful time to be in Bombay. The weather is just right… cool enough to encourage walks during the day and open air events in the evenings… and to stay under the rug in the morning (with the excuse of the sun hasn’t risen yet, so why should I) and pretend for a minute that you are in Delhi… to wave away the cold bhelpuri and give in to temptation just this once with that steaming plate of ragda pattice…

and not cold enough to let you ignore that slight foolish feeling when you want to cover yourself up with a sweater - or a shawl at the very least - after mere minutes out in the open. Slight nip in the air, you tell your friends sheepishly. You who, alas, live in Bombay, and not Delhi, for all that late morning pretense, and are not used to “winter”..

If December is full of year-end closings and chasing up on those elusive client payments and even more elusive tickets to your away-from-it-all place for that new year’s eve long weekend, january is all about soaking in the smoky smells of garam bhutta and channa chor garam, and starting the year on a festive note.

Sankranti comes and goes, kites hover in the air two weeks hence, lost and forlorn, not too happy with the no-strings-attached state. All of Bombay sweats and cheers for the Marathon (the world huffs and puffs while the Kenyans walk their way to the first few places, no sweat). The Strand Sale calls out enticingly to those of us with the strong spirit and weak credit history. The Banganga festival (which I always intend to catch, and always miss) takes place - music in the open, seemingly from the deep.

The IMG janfest happens late in the month; the weekend saw L Subramaniam on Saturday night and Sunday evening with Kumar Mardur’s Yaman and Hamsadhwani, Shubha Mudgal, her smile as dazzling as her music and finally Pt Jasraj. IMG also had, as part of their photo-exhibition, an audio visual feature on Ustad Bismillah Khan - bright eyes, childlike glee mein paanch saal ka tha jab mere haath mere mamu ki shehnai lagi… main kuch toh baja raha tha par mujhe maloom nahi tha ki yeh kya hai… phir mamu ne poccha, bacche tum kya baja rahe ho…?

Then the Mumbai Festival goes on from 14th - 28th January… Bandra Reclamation grounds has Maharashtra Maaza, an open handicrafts and food fair… here I need to say that eating aforementioned ragda pattice, with a live shehnai concert for background music is a not-to-be-missed experience.

We caught the dance festival on Saturday at the Land’s End ampitheatre in Bandra; there is something magical about watching music and dance performances in the open… Short performances of Odissi, Bharatanatyam, Kathak and Mohiniattam. And at each break in the performance, just cheeel cheeel filtering in loud and uninvited from the hotel disco…

Feet that speak…

… sometimes aruge with the tabalchi

… and are sometimes silent too

Rukmini Jaiswal, one of the prettiest dancers I have ever seen, all the way from Lucknow… Kathak, a narrative dance form characterized by fast footwork (tatkar), spins (chakkar) and innovative use of bhav in abhinaya. It has today a form that has been influenced at various times in the past by mythological narratives by kathakas, temple dances, the bhakti movement (both Vaishnavism and Shaivite), and Persian influence of the Mughal courts in the 16th century onwards…

Bharatanatyam, a modified form of the sadir, the traditional dance of the temples of Tamilnadu…

The word Bharata is interpreted as the dance form created by sage Bharata, has within it the essence and uniqueness associated with Bharatanatyam:Bha for Bhava or abhinaya and expression, Ra for raga or melody, and Ta for tala or rhythm

Sujatha Nair, performing Mohiniattam, the dance of the enchantress

The vocal music of Mohiniattam involves variations in rhythmic structure known as chollu. The lyrics are in Manipravala, a mixture of Sanskrit and Malayalam. The mohiniattam dance is performed to this accompaniment by the subtle gestures and footwork of the danseuse. The performer uses the eyes in a very coy yet sensual manner, the purpose being to enchant the mind without enticing the senses

Here Shabari tastes the fruit before offering them to rama wandering in the forests…

hey, these fruit are yummy, says lord rama…

I cannot say this enough - I love Bombay, and I love winter in Bombay slightly more…

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charukesi January 15th, 2007

The 2007 Mumbai Festival began officially at the Gateway of India yesterday. An hour late. With the organizer (Shashi Vyas?) calling out - hullo, sound guy, start playing the Mumbai meri jaan theme song. Sound guy? Does sound guy have a name? With Nayya Singh (who is she, god, who is she? and why is she?) bad-libbing her way on stage in a way calculated to make the audience cringe with every word she uttered. (And here is the bit, she is the face - voice, whatever - of the festival that is going to put “Mumbai on the international map“. Uh? Is there some map out there with a huge blank space where Mumbai ought to be?).

Taj at night!

The insipid theme song ‘Mumbai meri jaan’ sung by Shankar Mahadevan and Shreya Ghoshal and the female voice is none other than Shreya Ghoshal - celebrating the “spirit of Mumbai”. Dev Anand on stage celebrating the spirit of Mumbai some more. Long speeches on the idea behind the Mumbai festival. Gushing thanks to the sponsors (while on this, why is Big FM the radio partner of a festival that has the Times of India as their chief sponsor - what ever happened to Radio Mirchi?) And then some more on the spirit of Mumbai.

Waiting for the show to begin…

Which left rather less time for the actual festival - the performances, that is. The festival finally started with a lovely performance by Jhelum Paranjpe’s troupe - traditional Odissi set to songs from Hindi movies (I don’t know about you but I refuse to accept songs like “ae mere pyare watan” and “hoton pe aisi baat” as Bollywood hite, as Nayya sugested - as you can see, I have taken a ready and steady dislike to her). And then a very short and wonderful recital by Pandit Ajay Pohankar with his son Abhijit on the keyboard and a stunning guitarist. Alas, Urban Raga ended before it began - for lack of time - there was a ten p.m. deadline and Australia was waiting with Strange Fruit. But I definitely intend to catch more of the Pohankars and Urban Raga as soon as I can.

The Pohankars’ Urban Raga

And finally, the show I had gone there for… Strange Fruit all the way from Australia. Yesteray’s theme was Spheres… Strange Fruit was mesmerising - one man and three women suspended on poles high above the ground… a fantasy world of light and color… balloons and pixies and fairies… strange haunting music and lots of humour…

Here is what their website says - Originally based on the image of a field of wheat swaying in the breeze, the poles’ extreme strength and flexibility allow the performer to bow to impossible angles, swaying back and forth in a hypnotising dance as the audience looks up in wonder.

Strange Fruit is performning today and tomorrow again at the Gateway - I am planning to be there tomorrow - and I strongly recommend it to you too…

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charukesi December 29th, 2006

He tries to whirl a whirling dervish out of whirl. And does it too. With great charm and grace and ease. In what is a highy colorful a touristy version of the whirling dervish’s deeply religious offering to god.

The dancer accompanied by the three drummers (dhafliwale) walk towards the stage and as the three clad in pure white climb on to the stage to stand in front of the mikes, the dancer stops just belowthe stage. And breaks out into a huge smile as he waves to the excited crowds in front of, and all around him. And then begins the magic, with the dancer in a heavy complicated outfit with two layers of skirts over his bright full length body-hugging costume and colorful headgear. He moves wih fluid grace to the sound of the drums behind him and the accompanying claps of the fascinated audience.

As we watch, and gape, and cheer, the first skirt is rolled round and round and round and suddenly the dancer is cuddling an infant in his arms as he continues dancing. There is an audible gasp among the audience; he smiles impishly and unravels the infant in front of our eyes, twirls it some more and throws it off.

As the dance and rhythm progress, the skirts come off one by one, gracefully and imaginatively…. Now it is a fan and then suddenly it becomes an umbrella…

Here is some information I found on the origin and meaning of the ritual, known as sema

The Sema ceremony represents the human being’s spiritual journey, an ascent by means of intelligence and love to Perfection (Kemal). Turning toward the truth, he grows through love, transcends the ego, meets the truth, and arrives at Perfection. Then he returns from this spiritual journey as one who has reached maturity and completion, able to love and serve the whole of creation and all creatures without discriminating in regard to belief, class, or race.

And so the dancer whirled on and on and on…

***
From a performance I witnessed recently in Dubai. Coming soon on Itchy Feet - my post on the long holiday weekend I spent there - Dubai or not to buy - my reflections on a city that is obsessed with size and scale, and all the mall madness revolving around the Dubai Shopping Festivl and surprise, surprise, Christmas.

But before that, I am off to Goa this evening. So, if you wish to wait with bated breath for the promised post, do so by all means. In the meanwhile, here is wishing all of you a wonderful and happy new year.

While on the subject of the year to come and that which is just on its way out, it was a good year for my Itchy Feet - lots of long and short weekend breaks. Shekhawati havelis and overnight cruises with Jain cuisine. A time to reflect very quietly celebrated its third anniversary sometime late August and my roadblog account on flickr saw my camera-eye improve by leaps and bounds (yes, even if I am sayng it myelf - you check it out too!)

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