"Can I help you, Sir?" or How I purchased a DVD player and lived to tell the tale.

It had been over a year since my DVD player went on strike. It was an old model, a Pioneer DV626 I'd purchased around 1998. How ancient, even antiquated, it was can be gauged from the fact that it couldn't play mp3s! No DVD player could, in those Dark Ages.But it was absolutely wonderful at its job, with top-notch audio and video reproduction. But in early 2005 it started acting up and by mid-2005, whatever disc I inserted into it, DVD, VCD,audio CD, scratched, in good condition or virginal, fresh from the box,it would, with total disinterest, display "NO DISC".Extending Adam Smith's "laissez faire" philosophy to consumer electronics, I ignored both it and the family's howls of protest, in the belief that it would heal itself.

A full year of electronic (and fiscal) conservatism down the line, the sleeping dog (in this case, DVD player) continued its impersonation of Rip van Winkle.My better half, and our teen-aged collaboration no longer howled but subsided into regular nagging. It was when the wife threatened to supplement the nagging with denial of privileges ( Stop snigerring, it was food I meant.) that I decided to take a more activist approach. Picking up the old, unco-operative box ( Cool down,ladies. I said box, not hag.) I took it to a Sales & Service Centre. "Can I help you, Sir?", a young shop assistant said in a tone of voice which clearly belied the words. Having been forced to suspend his tête-a-tête with sweet young co-worker to attend to me hadn't done his mood much good. "Could you repair this DVD player, please?", I asked. Learning that I only needed my player repaired and wasn't interested in purchasing anything did nothing to cheer him up. I left my player with him and he promised to ring me up in a couple of days. To his credit he kept his word. Two days later he called me up to inform me that the estimate for repairs was Rs.3500/-. Considering that new players were available on the market from Rs.1800/- onwards, this seemed to me to be a bit steep and I told him so. Not surprisingly, he agreed with me and promptly started his sales pitch. I went back to the shop, took my player back to my bosom, looked at the few models they had for sale, and left. The family lost no time in moving in for the kill. "Enough is enough" was the refrain. I was given a deadline by which a replacement had to be purchased. Or else!
The next day I set out on my quest. I walked into a nearby consumer electronics store. "Can I help you, Sir?" a PYT asked in dulcet tones. Inwardly cursing myself for having worn my holiday worst, I put on my best smile and said that I was interested in purchasing a DVD player. She beckoned to an underling and said, "Show Uncle the DVD section." I came down to earth with a thud. "These are the DVD players, Sir", the assistant said, gesturing vaguely towards the rear of the store. "Could you show me,please? And I'd like some details, some specifications." "The prices are mentioned on each player", he replied. I gestured towards the nearest one."Tell me something about this one." Pat came the reply,"It plays DVDs, Sir." "Wow, and I thought it makes coffee and vacuums the room!" I nearly said but restrained myself. "Does it play anything else?" "DVDs, VCDs, MP3, everything.", he recited like a waiter in an Udipi restaurant. "Which DVD formats does it support?", I asked. A simple enough question to someone trying to sell DVD players, you'd think. It turned out not to be so.The bored and supercilious expression on his face faded, to be replaced by a puzzled look that clearly spelled "Duh". "Formats", I repeated, continuing my attack. "It plays MP3s, Sir", he finally replied with a determined, "Put that in your pipe and smoke it!" look on his face. It was a challenge I was unequal to and, thanking him with as much politeness as I could muster, I left. The story repeated itself with minor variations at the second, third and fourth shops I visited.At the fifth a tie-bedecked pip-squeak condescendingly informed me that they only sold Home Theatre systems and not stand-alone DVD players. He then proceeded to look at me from head to toe with undisguised contempt and his face said clearly what he didn't put into words - that his shop was not for cheapskates like me. At that stage I was on the point of throwing in the towel. Only the thought of the fate which awaited me at home if I returned empty-handed kept me going. The next shop proved itself a shade better. "Formats"? was confidently met with Dolby Digital, DTS, MP3,WMA,Divx, DVD, DVD-R, DVD-RW, DVD+R, DVD+RW. He'd mixed up hardware, software and encoding but I'd at least got the information I was looking for. Heaving a sigh of relief I brought out my next question - "Does it have optical output or co-axial or both?" Pat came the answer,"You've to connect it to your amplifier, Sir." I clenched my teeth, slowly counted to ten and asked,"Yes, but with what?". "With a wire, Sir", he said with the air of a long-suffering teacher trying to drill something into the head of a particularly obtuse student. Chastened,I moved on to shop number seven with somewhat better results.The salesman there seemed to understand. "Just a minute, Sir, I'll check." He then proceeded to turn the display piece around and peered at the connections at the rear. Co-axial was the answer. Final question ( As a matter of fact,I'd listed many more but decided not to press my luck too far.): Is it region-free? A correct answer here and my travails were over. 'Twas not to be. "Compatible with HDTV? Region-free? Er..What's that?" Evidently I hadn't quite finished paying for my past sins.The fates weren't done with me yet. It was at shop number thirteen that I finally attained moksha (salvation). All the earlier questions were answered. Some confidently, some after consultations, hesitantly, but they were answered. "HDMI?" "Of course." Region-free?" "It's region-coded, Sir, but we'll unlock it for you before delivery.In fact we can do it for you right away. Would you like to buy it, Sir?" Sir would. He brought up a boxed piece for me, opened and connected it, and used the remote control to make it region-free. I asked for the code in case it got region locked again by accident, a very real possibility in a household with a remote-happy teenager. "Sorry, Sir, we can't tell you that. It's confidential." I got the impression that I was asking for the keys to the Treasury! "But what if it locks up again?", I pleaded with him. To no avail. He was unmoved, unbending only enough to say,"Call us if that ever happens.We'll unlock it for you again." Weary in spirit and body, I bought it, came home, Googled for the hack and found it in three minutes. I've now connected the player, slipped in one of my favourite movies, fixed myself a long, strong drink, kicked off my slippers, and put my sore, aching feet up. Please do not disturb!

Manmohan Singh throws off his mask

The mask is off.Officially. Manmohan Singh has now gone public with what had so far only been suspected by many of us Indians. I quote,

"They (Muslims) must have the first claim on resources."

We Hindus are back to being second-class citizens in our own country, The minorities (read Muslims) have priority in everything - the country's resources, education, wealth, opportunities - everything. If any of us had dared to say this aloud before yesterday, the pseudo-secularists would have shouted him down. There would have been howls of protests from the Left and the Congress and the person who said it would have been labelled immediately as a "rabid Hindu, fascist, fanatic, communalist, obscurantist, etc. etc." And these are only the printable names he would have been called. But the cat is now out of the bag. The Prime Minister of India, no less, the Honourable Manmohan Singh,has declared in a public speech that the minorities take priority. Period.At one stroke fifty-nine years of independence have come to nought and we Hindus are back to being what we were for a thousand years before 1947 - inconsequential slaves about whom the rulers do not care two hoots. We are back to the days of Aurangzeb and the hated 'jizia' tax. Once again, to be born a Hindu in India is a crime.


Yet again, it is our own fault. We elected a government where the power behind the throne is a Catholic foreigner, the figurehead Prime Minister is a Sikh and the President, a Muslim. We were gullible enough to believe that this was a symbol of our 'tolerance', our 'secularism', our 'assimilative culture'. We proved that we have learnt nothing from the multiple Muslim invasions of our land, from centuries of Muslim and British rule, from Mir Jaffar and Plassey. We continued to bury our heads in the sand. Like the Bourbons, we have learnt nothing and forgotten nothing.We continued to be our own worst enemies, to fiddle while our hard-won independence was undermined. It is our somnolence, our refusal to stand up for our rights, our pusillanimity that has emboldened Mr.Manmohan Singh to go public with his government's so far hidden anti-majority agenda.
The response to this most outrageous of statements by the Prime Minister has been even more shocking. The television news channels, otherwise always on the hunt for 'Breaking news', have barely mentioned it in passing, devoting far more time to the latest film gossip. The newspaper I read,DNA, had a front page headline and article about how the corporate world is unable to find good CEOs. Manmohan's missile was hidden away on page 7. Blink and you'll miss it.The channels have no time for serious issues and are slaves to TRPs.The print media is in the hands of Leftists and government toadies.The internet and the blogosphere is probably our last chance. Let us at least raise our voices of protest here. Before they are silenced forever.

Tum hi kaho karenge kya yaad jo humko aaoge

From ‘Geet-Yatree’ by the late Shri Madhav Moholkar. 

I saw and heard Geeta for the last time on the night of ‘Yaad-e-Shakeel’.I little imagined then that it was to be her final concert in my life. I’d previously heard her sing in 4-5 programmes. She always sang with great feeling, whether it was a heart-rending song or a flighty, light-hearted one. At Yaad-e-Shakeel, apart from Geeta many others sang - Rafi, Mukesh, Mahendra Kapoor, Ravi, Chandru... But the queen of the night was, undoubtedly, Lata.Everyone’s attention was centred on her. Most of the audience was eager to hear her sing. On the stage, everyone danced attendance on her. When she was to sing the musicians would be alert, the music director would stand and conduct the orchestra. She’d come and sing like an empress. For Geeta there was no orchestra, no one on stage bustling about, no thunderous welcoming applause. She slowly walked onto the stage, pulled up a harmonium and started to sing. Slightly disarranged hair, sad face, eyes filled with pathos - she’d intermittently shut them while singing - and that huge Shanmukhanand Hall filled with her extra-ordinary, sad voice:

‘Aankhon mein noor, dil mein ujale nahin rahein
jalwe wohi hain, dekhnewale nahin rahein’

Geeta poured her soul into the song but I wonder how many hearts that non-film ghazal of Shakeel’s touched that night. For there were no cries of ‘Once more’ as there had been for Lata and Rafi.Looking at her, she didn’t seem to be singing for anyone but herself. In the same pathos-laden voice and with eyes shut, she started singing another one of Shakeel’s songs:
 

’Koi door se awaaz de, chale aao..., chale aao...’

For a second, it didn’t seem to be a human voice at all. It was the cry of a tormented soul roaming the skies.Geeta never could sing with her throat. It was her soul that sang. Those words coming from the depths of the unknown: ‘Chale aao...chale aao...’
Who was calling her from afar?
After that I never saw her again. But one night, having dozed off while lying in the dark listening to the radio, I woke up with a start. The radio was still playing and in the dark I could hear Geeta sing:

’Koi chupke se aake, sapne sulake, mujhko jagake bole
ke main aa raha hoon...’

It’d been ages since I’d heard a new song of Geeta’s.It felt as if my past had returned. Perhaps the hope that Geeta was living on would be fulfilled after all. Who could say? Hadn’t a miracle happened in Kishore Kumar’s case. Geeta had said: Everyone ran after Kishore Kumar once two of his songs from Aradhana became hits, otherwise it was only Burmandada (S.D.) who had any time for him? If two of my songs become hits, it might be the same with me.
 

It was not to be. Miracles don’t happen in everyone’s life. One day, with great determination, she broke all the bonds, not just to the film world but to the real one as well. Leaving behind for us:  ’Ek din hamko yaad karoge...’
 

The same emotive voice...I was running to school one hot and sunny morning. I’d barely reached McConkey Chowk when, from behind, came the words:

’Tadpoge, fariyaad karoge,
ek din hamko yaad karoge...’

I quietly turned back and went and stood outside Usmania restaurant. The first time I received a caning from the Headmaster for being late to school was for Geeta Roy. Before classes commenced, we’d shut the classroom doors and sing in chorus the songs of those days...’Ek din hamko yaad karoge’. No one who sang in that chorus will have forgotten Geeta in the hurly-burly of dreary, routine existence. To forget her is to forget one’s own past, to forget oneself. Had I known she would depart so suddenly, I’d have reminded her of her song from Savera:

’Aankhon se door jaake bhi dil se na jaane paoge
tum hi kaho karenge kya yaad jo hamko aaoge’

Geeta didn’t have to plead with anyone to get a chance to sing in films. Her magical voice brought the film world to her doorstep. One day as she was singing in her house, a noted music director of that time, Shri Hanuman Prasad was walking down that street. Hearing her voice, he could go no further. He turned back and found the house the song was emanating from. A slim, dark girl was sitting with her back to the door, singing, lost to the world. Impressed, Hanuman Prasad took her father’s permission to use Geeta as a playback singer - and Geeta sang her first song in ‘Bhakt Prahlad’ under his baton.
 

The (then) young music director S.D.Burman, saw indications of his future success in that voice. His film ‘Shikari’ had had good songs but they hadn’t become as popular as Naushad’s songs from ‘Ratan’. He was convinced that if this 15-16 year old girl was to sing for him, his songs would be hits. So, brushing aside the established singers of the era like Shamshad, Zohra, Rajkumari, & Ameerbai, he insisted on using Geeta’s voice for ‘Do Bhai’, going to the extent of fighting with Filmistan’s Rai Bahadur Chunilal, to do so. His confidence turned out to be fully justified. Geeta brought him unprecedented success. Her songs were on everyone’s lips through the length and breadth of Hindustan:

’Mera sundar sapna beet gaya...
main prem mein sab kuch haar gayee, bedard zamana jeet gaya...
Mera sundar sapna beet gaya...’

A friend who was studying in a college in Lucknow at that time said that in those days even the ‘kothas’ of the ‘tawaifs’ would resonate with ‘Mera sundar sapna beet gaya...’ rather than the usual thumris and ghazals.
 

I liked a song of Rafi’s from ‘Do Bhai’: ‘Duniya mein meri aaj andhera hi andhera...Bhagwan kahaan hai meri kismatka sitara...’ But Geeta’s were the songs to achieve great popularity - ‘Ek din hamko yaad karoge’, ‘Hamein chhod piya kis des gaye, piya lautke aana bhool gaye’, and ‘Mera sundar sapna beet gya’.Her incorrect short enunciation of the long ‘bhoo’ in ‘piya laut ke aana bhool gaye’ jarred, but, the prolonged ‘bee’ in ‘Mera sundar sapna beet gaya’ conveyed effectively and with great feeling the sadness, the distress at the fact that everything was ended,finished, , that it would never return.”Sapna toot gaya’ was common in film songs, but ‘sapna beet gaya’ had never been heard before or since. I was used to reading ‘din beet gaya’ but, even at that young age, I could appreciate the poetry in ‘sapna beet gaya’.The lyricist was Raja Mehdi Ali Khan, who’d come to Mumbai to become an actor, had even essayed a role in ‘Aath Din’. But from ‘Do Bhai’ onwards he came to the fore as a lyricist. His touching verse must be given its due share of credit for the success of the music of ‘Do Bhai’ along with S.D.Burman’s music and Geeta’s singing.

Ghulam Haider was the music director of the Dilip Kumar-Kamini Kaushal film ‘Shaheed’ in which Lalita Deolkar had sung ‘Bachpan ki yaad dheere dheere pyar ban gayee’, and Surinder Kaur had sung ‘Badnaam na ho jaye mohabbat ka fasana’, Hum tumko na payenge, tum humko na paoge’, and ‘Taqdeer ki aandhi aisi chali, kashti se kinara chhoot gaya’. But it was in Geeta’s voice that Raja Mehdi Ali Khan’s words found true expression:

‘Main do din ki mehmaan piya

mohe chhod chale hain pran piya, pranpiya

aaya gham ka ek toofan piya, pranpiya

hai deepak banker kaanp rahe hain pran hamare

main to bisaroon balma, mera dil na bisare…’

To watch a dying Kamini Kaushal sing ‘hai deepak banker kaanp rahe hain pran hamare…’ in Geeta’s helpless tone was an agonising experience. She looks down from the balcony (or window?) at the funeral procession of her lover, a freedom-fighter who has given his life for the country, and collapses. Chandramohan was last seen in this film. If memory serves me right, Geeta also sang in Ghulam Haider’s ‘Majboor’. That film had one of Lata’s earliest songs ‘Ab darneki koi baat nahin, angrezi chhora chala gaya…’. I vaguely remember some discrete lines of Geeta’s songs – ‘meri bagiya mein phool khile’, ‘jab nain se nain mile’, ‘main to rah gayee aaj akeli re…’

Apart from Ghulam Haider, among the earlier generation of music directors, Geeta also sang in Shyamsundar’s ‘Actress’, which starred Rehana and Shyam.Rehana later went to Pakistan and the handsome Shyam fell from a horse while shooting for ‘Shabistan’ and died. I remember three songs from ‘Actress’ – First Rafi’s ‘Ai dil meri aahon mein itna to asar aaye, jab aankh khule unki tasveer nazar aaye’, second, the Rafi-Shamshad duet ‘Dheere dheere bol, bol mohabbatwale bol’, and third, the Shamshad –Geeta duet

‘Aankhon aankhon mein dil se dil ki baatein keh gaye…’

Hum tadapte hain ke armaan dil ke dil mein rah gaye…’

Shamshad’s, the joyful voice of a woman whose eyes have conveyed her love, while Geeta’s had all the pathos of one whose feelings remained unsaid.

Khemchand Prakash’s ‘Jaanpehchaan’ had songs by Geeta, Talat and Shankar Dasgupta. I saw that film many times.Not just the songs, even the background music of ‘Jaanpehchaan’ was wonderful.The film itself, however, was over-romantic, unrealistic, and filled with inconsistencies.But I was at an age when any reason would suffice to see a film over and over again – a song, a particular scene, dialogues, background music, dances…Talat-Geeta’s sweet duet was on my lips for a long time:

“Armaanbhare dil ki lagan tere liye hain

Nagari mere jeevan ki sajan tere liye hai…

Loota hai mere dil ne mohabbat ka khazana

Jo teri kahani hai wohi mera fasana

Ye phool, ye khushboo, ye chaman tere liye hai…

Ye chand, ye dharti, ye gagan tere liye hai…”

Hazy memories of many songs play around in my mind. I feel they’re related to Geeta…but it’s difficult to be certain. ‘Door se ek pardesi aaya, poochho kya kya laya’ was one of Geeta’s songs from that era which I used to like a lot. I can still remember the tune. But which film was it from? Was it Geeta who sang with Rafi the duet ‘Kyon karta maan jawani ka, tu ek bulbula paani ka’ in Husnlal-Bhagatram’s ‘Naach’? Sometimes I remember ‘Tera kaaton se hai pyar, tera kaaton se…’- was it a Rafi-Geeta duet from Anil Biswas-C.Ramchandra’s ‘Girls’ School’? Was one stanza in ‘Kya bataoon mohabbat hai kya’ from Shankar-Jaikishan’s ‘Parbat’ sung by Geeta? My old like-minded friends are no longer around to answer these questions.

I would grieve over meaningless things which seemed, then, to matter far more than the everyday troubles of real life. Why doesn’t Naushad give Geeta Roy 12-14 songs in a music-oriented film? He’d done time and again for many singers keeping in mind the characteristics and limitations of their voices.Those songs, those singers never faded from people’s memories. Saigal, Surendra, Umadevi, Talat, Mukesh, Rafi, Lata…Geeta should have figured on that list.If only Geeta had sung in at least one of Naushad’s films…A doubt rears its head sometimes: One stanza of Suraiya-Shyamkumar’s ‘Tu mera chand main teri chandni’ from “Dillagi” is picturised on a little girl on a swing.Her voice resembled Geeta’s.Was it Geeta’s?

Basically Geeta had a typical Bengali voice, born to sing soulful songs in Bengali tunes. Monochromatic.Playback singing converted it into a multi-coloured rainbow.Once, when I was newly acquainted with Geeta’s voice, I was fooled.I heard Madan Mohan’s ‘Mori atariya pe kagaa bole’ from ‘Aankhen’ and was convinced that it was sung by Geeta.But when, immediately afterwards I heard “Humein chhod piya kis des gaye’ which was on the other side of the record, I realized my mistake.’Mori atariya pe’ was definitely not Geeta’s voice though there was some resemblance.The singer was Meena Kapoor.She had a decent voice but blunt as compared to Geeta’s.The same was the case with Sandhya Mukherjee.Geeta Roy’s voice was sharp and ‘shiny’. In the words of the poet Grace ‘…the silken, gleaming knife blade of Geeta Roy’s voice…’so sharp and fine that it could effortlessly pierce one’s heart. I can’t say why but the stanza ‘har raat meri Diwali thi, main piya ki honewali thi’ from ‘Mera sundar sapna beet gaya’ creates the illusion of Ameerbai Karnataki.

In the early stages of Geeta's career, only her sad songs used to be heard everywhere.A voice that spoke of the pain and hopelessness of life. It seemed to be a limitation of that voice. It seemed that she would keep singing the same sort of songs. Of course, every singer has limitations. I still remember that when I was young I felt that Talat was singing the same song again and again.Would the same happen with Geeta? ‘Mera sundar sapna beet gaya’, ‘Ek din humko yaad karoge’, and ‘Piya lautke aana bhool gaye’ from ‘Do Bhai’ were essentially of the same type.It seemed that Geeta would keep singing within this limited perimeter.But Geeta was to prove everybody wrong!

There was a Muslim boy in my school who used to wear a bright red shirt, white trousers, and a green handkerchief around his neck. When he spoke of someone with affection he’d call him ‘salaa’. About Geeta he’d complain,”Saali gaati acchha hai par roti bahut hai”. He was a great fan of Shamshad Begum and Zohra and was very fond of Zohra’s songs like ‘Saamnewali gali mein mera ghar hai, pataa mera bhool na jaana’, ‘Mere jobana ka dekho ubhaar’, ‘Mera husn lootne aaya albela’. When Shamshad gave jhatkas on words like ‘wui ma’, ‘hai daiyya’, ‘hai ram’, he’d put his hands on his heart and exclaim “hai, hai”! On hearing Chitalkar’s ‘Jawani ki rail chali jaaye re’ he’d lose all self-control and emit ear-splitting whistles. Once he came running to my class during recess, grabed my wrist and said “Chal”. Without bothering to answer my “Where?” he dragged me to Jikriya restaurant and told the man at the counter, “Woh naya record lagao!” Well pleased with confused expression on my face as I Listened to the song, he said,”Abe saaley, ye wohi hai teri ronewaali!”

Geeta was singing in a seductive voice – Time is rapidly passing, love and beauty are transient.Youth is short-lived, laugh and enjoy it.

“Husn bhi faani aur ishq bhi faani hai

hanske bitaale, do ghadi ki jawani hai

o re jeenewaale, o re bholebhaale, sona na, khona na

suno gajar kya gaaye, samay gujarta jaaye…”

It was hard to believe that this was the same Geeta who’d sung ‘Ek din humko yaad karoge’ and ‘Mera sundar sapna beet gaya’. This was the start of a new era in Geeta’s career.Her voice acquired a heady, intoxicating quality. It became increasingly apparent that Geeta’s voice was alluring, provocative, sensual.The same S.D.Burman who had recognized the pain in Geeta’s voice and given her sad songs in ‘Do Bhai’ recognized her sensuality and gave her the club dancer’s songs in ‘Baazi’. But the one who later made full use of the sex-appeal in her voice was O.P.Nayyar. Geeta’s voice – a heady brew of teasing flightiness, youth and intoxication - often reminds me of Neeraj’s lines: ‘Shokhiyon mein ghola jaaye phoolon ka shabab, usmein phir milayee jaaye thodisi sharab…’

She was a little younger than Lata.Both arrived on the scene at about the same time. Yet, unlike Lata, right from the start Geeta seemed to be in full bloom. The voices of Zohra, Shamshad, Rajkumari, Ameerbai, Noorjehan, Suraiya, and Surinder Kaur were the mature voices of women.Geeta’s voice, too, was that of a young woman.In Lata, for the first time, was heard the sweet, coaxing, tender voice of a girl.That voice so bewitched everyone that the few new female voices that entered films thereafter were of the same type – Suman Hemmady, Asha Bhosle, Sudha Malhotra, Madhubala Jhaveri, Hemlata, Sulakshana Pandit…Asha’s voice had Shamshad’s sharpness and Geeta’s allure but the type was that of Lata.After all these years Lata’s voice still sounds like a girl’s: smoother and more polished now, with the passage of time, but having lost its earlier softness and vulnerability.

Lata ruled our hearts for years but our love for Geeta never lessened, such was the enchantment of her eternally youthful voice. Lata was sugar, Geeta, sometimes sweet and sometimes spicy. Her voice wasn’t flat; it had depth. Compared to Lata’s it was multi-dimensional. It was changeable, flexible; with the ability to assume any form.Geeta sang ‘Baat chalat nayee chunari rang dali…’ so well that if she hadn’t entered films she could have become a singer to rival Lakshmishankar. Was classical music the true form of her voice? But then she’d suddenly become a ‘Jogan’ and sing ‘Main to giridhar ke ghar jaaon…’

Who wrote that sublime story of a Yogini and the discontented, atheistic young man who created ripples in her quiet life? As I recollect, the film’s credits had a question mark after ‘Story’. Many say that the story of ‘Jogan’ was written by Sardar Chandulal Shah. Dilip Kumar and Nargis’ scenes are still imprinted on my mind. Bulo C.Rani’s music served to enhance the intensity of the film.I liked Talat’s ‘Sundarta ke sabhi shikari, koi nahin hai pujari…’ but the atmosphere of the entire film was permeated with Geeta’s voice.Eyes filled with the kohl of dark clouds and the heart with their thunder…

‘Zara tham ja tu ai sawan…

Mere sajan ko aane de...aane de…aane de…’

I used to like Juthika Roy as a bhajan singer.But her voice tended to sound monotonous. The first time in my life that I was overcome with emotion was when I heard Kabir and Meera in Geeta’s voice.In ‘Jogan’ Geeta’s voice was ethereal, glowing with the touch of the divine, with a mystical spiritual force.

‘Main to Giridhar ke ghar jaaoon

Giridhar mharo sacho preetam

Dekhat roop lubhaooon…’

Her singing was a revelation of the sweetness of love and worship.The eternal love of Meera and Krishna…without him there was not a moment of peace for her:

‘Meri unki preet purani

Un bin kal na paoon…

Main to Giridhar ke ghar jaaoon…’

Geeta had submerged herself in Meera’s ‘sagun’ worship.With equal ease and devotion she sang Kabir’s mystical ‘nirgun’ song:

‘Suney mandir, suney mandir diya jalake

Asan se mat dol re, tohe piya milenge…’

Singing these lines, she created an illusion of the forlorn emptiness of an ancient, vast, cavernous, deserted temple.Bulo C.Rani’s mastery of his craft is shown in his use of not just the sitar but the veena too, as accompaniment.The strings of the sitar dance softly in ‘Main to giridhar ke ghar jaaoon’; in ‘Mat ja, mat ja…’ their solemn resonance creates an atmosphere of frightening silence, of a great tragedy which has just happened before our very eyes. The heart-rending echoes of Geeta’s ‘Jogi’ would pierce the soul, bring tears to the eye.

‘Prem-bhakti ko panth hi nyaaro, humko gail bata ja

Jogi, humko gail bata ja

Chandan ki main chita rachaoon, apne haath jala ja

Mat ja, mat ja, jogi, paon padoon main tore’

This was the destiny of ‘prem-bhakti’! ‘I’ve burnt to ashes. At least anoint yourself with my ash before leaving.’ Those pleas were to fall on deaf ears.He would not remain.Neither did Geeta.

Nargis starred in ‘Jogan’ and Madhubala in ‘Sangdil’.She was a ‘Devdasi’ forbidden to marry.But the suffering, besotted youth in both films was the same – Dilip Kumar. He ‘lived’ both the roles. In ‘Sangdil’ as in ‘Jogan’, the Devdasi sang in Geeta’s voice:

‘Darshan pyaasi aai dasi, jagmag deep jalaye…’

‘Darshan pyasi’ Geeta, in ‘Pyaasa’ thirsts, at a spiritual level, for the embrace of her beloved:

‘Aaj sajan mohe ang lagalo, janam safal ho jaaye

Hriday ki peeda, deh ki agni, sab sheetal ho jaaye…’

Again and again I wonder: Which was the real Geeta? The yogini in white, ektaari in hand, completely immersed in devotion, or, the half-naked seductive, intoxicating vamp? The Geeta who introduces herself as ‘Mera naam Chin Chin Chu’ or the one singing ‘Jai Jagdish Hare’? The one who sings ‘Tora manwa kyon ghabraye re, lakh deen dukhiyaare praani jag mein mukti paaye Ramji ke dwar se’ to reassure the frightened, disturbed mortal standing at the temple door, or the Geeta encouraging him to write his destiny with his own hands: ‘Tadbeer se bigdi hui taqdeer bana le, apne pe bharosa hai to ye daav laga le’?

‘Tadbeer se bigdi hui taqdeer bana le’ brings back memories of the ‘Baazi’ days.Geeta’s and mine.Even at that time people would confuse tadbeer and taqdeer. ‘Tadbeer se bigdi hui taqdeer bana le’ or ‘Taqdeer se bigdi hui tadbeer bana le’? When Geeta passed away, all the papers mentioned this song but the confusion remained. One even printed it as ‘Taqdeer se bigdi hui tasveeer bana le’! Poor Sahir.Club dancer Geeta Bali sings this song to encourage Dev Anand who has lost his all while gambling:

‘Darta hai zamane ki nigahon se bhala kyon

Insaaf tere saath hai, ilzaam utha le

Apne pe bharosa hai to ye daav laga le’

‘Baazi’ marked Sahir’s re-entry into films.He’d written this song in the form of a ghazal but Burman’s tune was western.This song of Geta’s became so popular that a wave of similar songs followed. Baazi created a new trend in film music.The credit for that goes, along with S.D.Burman, to Geeta’s multi-faceted voice.’Suno gajar kya gaaye’ from Baazi would create such tension –

‘Bichada zamana kabhi haath na aayega

Dosh na dena mujhe, phir pachtayega’

Geeta would lengthen the last syllable and give a slight jhatka on it. Geeta Bali’s dance on ‘Tip tip tip tip’ was attractive:

‘Dekh ke akeli mohe barkha sataye re

Gaalon ko chumey, kabhi cheetein udaaye re

Tip tip tip tip tip tip…’

Geeta’s naughty tone and Geeta Bali’s acting gelled wonderfully.

Baazi’s heroine Kalpana Kartik was neither beautiful nor an accomplished actress. Later, when we heard that Dev Anand had married her, we unanimously held Geeta responsible.In fact, at that time rumours were rife about Dev Anand and Suraiya’s romance.

In Baazi, Dev Anand came into Kalpana Kartik’s life and her heart started pounding.She expressed her happiness in Geeta’s voice:

‘Ye kaun aaya ki mere dil ki duniya mein bahar aayeeee’

Geeta’s voice, overflowing with joy, climbed higher and higher at‘eeee’.

‘Dulhan banke jawani ki umangein gungunati hai

Basa hai kaun aankhon mein ki aankhen muskurati hai

Bikharke kis ki baahon pe ye meri zulf lehrayee

Ye kaun aaya…’

The loving entreaty Geeta conveyed in her pronunciation of ‘baalam’ in the line ‘Tum bhi na bhoolo baalam, hum bhi na bhoolein’from ‘Lakh zamanewale dale dilon pe taalein’ touched the heart.With dreams in her eyes Kalpana poured her heart out to Dev in Geeta’s voice:

‘Dil ki kahani apni zubani, tumko sunane aayee hoon

Aankhon mein leke sapne suhane apna banane aayee hoon

Aaj ki raat piya dil na todo, man ki baat piya man lo

Aj ki raat piyaaaa…’

Geeta’s pleas were so sincere, so heartfelt that Dev was unable to break Kalpana’s heart.We used to laugh that Dev wouldn’t have married Kalpana had it not been for Geeta’s singing.

Baazi’s director was Guru Dutt.Was it because he stepped into Geeta’s life that she sang ‘Ye kaun aaya ki mere dil ki duniya mein bahar aayee’? Was it love which caused her to sing

‘Achanak ye mere haathon mein kis ka haath aaya hai

Na main janoon, na dil jaane, wo apna hai ya paraya hai…’?

And was she serenading him with ‘Man ki baat piya maan lo’? Only Geeta knows!

Then came Guru Dutt’s ‘Jaal’.Though it was Dev Anand, Geeta Bali and S.D.Burman’s film, it wasn’t fully Geeta’s. Lata sang ‘Ye raat ye chandni phir kahaan’ with Hemant Kumar but Geeta sang the light duet with Kishore Kumar.When Kishore sang ‘De bhi chuke hum dil nazrana’ Geeta would brush him off with ‘Chhodo ji ye raag purrana dil ka…’Geeta sang ‘purrana’ ( for purana ), ‘acchha’, ja ja’ with all the teasing allure that suited Geeta Bali right down to the ground.She also sang in a chorus song in Jaal:’Jor lagake haiya, pair jamake haiya…’

Geeta’s voice rarely conjures up images of Meena Kumari or Waheeda Rehman.The mind sees Kamini Kaushal or Geeta Bali.Geeta was heard in Guru Dutt-Geeta Bali’s ‘Baaz’ too, in her challenging

‘Zara saamne aa, zara aankh mila

Tera shukriya kar doon ada…’

Kishore Kumar would often repeat a line of a song at a higher pitch, e.g. in ‘Are bhai nikal ke aa gharse’ and ‘Apne labon pe dekho aaj bhi tarane hai-dan dar dan dar dan dar da’. In the song ‘Maajhi albele’ from Baaz, Geeta, too, has similarly sung the line ‘Man ki naiya dagmag dole’ at a higher pitch. In Guru Dutt-Geeta Bali’s ‘Sailaab’ there’s a Geeta song which transports one to a different plane:

‘Hai ye duniya kaunsi, ai dil mujhe kya ho gaya…’

When Shami Kapoor entered Geeta Bali’s life in ‘Coffee House’ she warned him in Geeta’s voice:

‘Is mehfil mein aana bachke…’

And in Geeta Bali-Raj Kapoor’s ‘Bawre nain’ is the evergreen ‘Khayalon mein kisike is tarah aaya nahin karte’ which Geeta has sung (with Mukesh) for Vijayalakshmi.

Kamini Kaushal starred in ‘Do Bhai’, as she did in ‘Shagun’ in which she was paired with Dilip Kumar.Apprehensive that he might run away at night, unknown to him, she ties a rope to him and keeps the other end in her hand. As soon as he tries to tiptoe away at night, she pulls the rope, he stumbles, and she asks him in Geeta’s voice:

‘Mera dil tadpake kahaan chala

Itna to batake ja…’

Shabnam also had a Geeta-Mukesh duet that spoke of the pain of separation:

‘Kismat mein bichadna tha, hui kyon unse mulaqat re…’

Na roothke humse ja, ki mera dil nahi mere pas re…’

Then swims before my eyes Kamini Kaushal’s innocent face singing ‘Tu kaun hai ye maaloom nahi, phir dil kyon tujhe bulata hai…’, and sometimes Bina Rai in Anarkali – ‘Aa jaane-e-wafa’, ‘Duniya ki nazar ishq ke kadamon pe jhuka de’.Geeta singing for Nirupa Roy in ‘Har har Mahadev’ – ‘Kankar kankar se main poochoon Shankar mera kahaan hai’, or asking with pleasurable anticipation ‘Gungun gungun karta bhanwara, tum kaun sandesa laaye’.

When Waheeda Rehman and Meena Kumari sang Geeta’s songs, she was no longer at the summit. Lata-Asha had overtaken her and Geeta was on the downslide. When Waheeda became ‘Chaudveen Ka Chand’, Geeta had been eclipsed to the point where she was not heard in Guru Dutt’s own film.

S.D.Burman was the music directorfor Guru Dutt’s ‘Baazi’ and ‘Jaal’; but for ‘Aarpaar’ came O.P.Nayyar. Nayyar made Geeta sing in her intoxicating tone for ‘Aarpaar’:

‘Haan bade dhoke hain is raah mein

Babuji dheere chalna, pyar mein jara sambhalna’

Asha Bhosle’s ‘Man more gaa jhoomke’ from Nayyar’s ‘Mangu’ which came later, reminded me of ‘Babuji dheere chalna’.Geeta’s ‘haaan’ and Asha’s ‘gaaa’ had the same zing.But Asha sometimes allowed her voice to sound a little cheap, or vulgar.This was never the case with Geeta.She was seductive, sensual ,yes, but never cheap. Her surrender in ‘Ye lo main hari piya, hui teri jeet re…’ when newly in love sounded very sweet. Nayyar’s ‘Aasman’ did not have the style of ‘Aarpaar’ but Geeta’s ‘Dekho jaadubhare more nain’ and ‘Dil hai diwana’ were lovely.The music of Geeta’s ‘Pom pom baaja bole’ from the same film used to be played in Binaca Geet Mala.

Till Asha arrived on the scene, Nayyar’s songs were heard in Geeta’s voice. Sometimes she’d ask ‘Jaata kahaan hai deewane’ and sometimes relate her love story in ‘Aankhon hi aankhon mein ishaara ho gaya’. Sometimes she’d plead ‘Acchha ji maaf kar do’ or ‘Tumhi ne dard diya hai tumhi dawa dena’.’Thandi hawa kali ghata’ from Mr. & Mrs. 55 was popular but my favourite was ‘Preetam aan milo’.

In fact C.H.Atma’s Saigal-style rendition of ‘Preetam aan milo’was justly famous; but Geeta did not suffer in comparison. No one could forget the longing, the anguish in her ‘Preetam aan milo’. Lata-Asha lost to male singers, not Geeta.When the same song was sung by Lata/Asha and a male singer, their songs faded from memory while the male singer’s version became famous. Kishore’s ‘Jeevan ke safar mein rahi milte hai bichad jaane ko’ is far better known than Lata’s. Talat’s ‘Jaaye to jaaye kahaan’ eclipsed Lata’s version.His ‘Ae gham-e-dil kya karoon’ from Thokar is far better known than Asha’s. More such examples can be given. This never happened to Geeta. Her despairing ‘Kaise koi jiye, zeher hai zindagi’from ‘Badbaan’, set to music by Timir Baran and S.K.Pal, is remembered more than Hemant Kumar’s. Her ‘Hai ye duniya kaunsi ai dil mujhe kya ho gaya’ from ‘Sailab’ comes to mind far more than Hemant Kumar’s. Though Hemant Kumar has sung ‘Na ye chand hoga na taare rahenge’ as well as Geeta, it is Geeta’s that haunts us:

‘Nazar dhoondhati thi jise pa liya hai

Ummeedon ke phoolon se daman bhara hai

Ye din humko sab din se pyaare rahenge…’

This Geeta-Hemant Kumar duet from ‘Shart’ had entranced me at that time. It’s hard to believe that this soft, sentimental song was written by the same lyricist who wrote songs like ‘Kajra mohabbatwala, ankhiyon mein aisa dala, kajre ne le li meri jaan’ for O.P.Nayyar – S.H.Bihari. Even today, when I hear ‘Na ye chand hoga’ my mind is troubled by the memory of an unknown lover.A piece of news I’d read long ago buried in the inner pages of a newspaper. A broken-hearted young man, unsuccessful in love, committed suicide by throwing himself in front of a train. In his pocket was found a piece of paper addressed to the girl he’d loved. It bore only the following lines:

‘Zamana agar kuch kahe bhi to kya

Magar tum na kehna humein bewafa

Tumhare liye hai, tumhare rahenge

Na ye chand hoga, na taare rahenge

Magar hum hamesha tumhare rahenge…’

Then there was Geeta’s sweet love song with Hemant Kumar from ‘Shrimatiji’ – ‘Do naina tumhare pyare pyare, gagan ke tare karein ye ishaarein, dil dil se milayenge’. And the duet in ‘Hum Bhi Insaan Hai’ which she’d sung with Subir Sen, whose voice resembled Hemant Kumar’s, - ‘Gori tore natkhat naina, vaar karein, chhup jaayein...’

In Hemant Kumar’s ‘Sahib, Bibi Aur Ghulam’ ‘chhoti bahu’ Meena Kumari’s mute suffering found an outlet in Geeta’s voice – the poignant voice of a lonely woman who has waited long…far too long:

‘Jiya bujha bujha, naina thake thake…

Piya dheere dheere chale aao…

Koi door se awaaz de, chale aao…chale aao…chale aao…chale aao…’

Meena, adorning, anointing herself to win the love of her fickle, adulterous husband:

‘Piya aiso jiya mein samay gayo re

Ki main tan-man ki sudhbudh ganwaay baithee…

Har aahat pe samjhi wo aaye gayo re

Jhat ghunghat mein mukhda chhupa baithee…’

Meena realizing that even drinking alcohol at his behest has failed to stop him:

‘Na jao saiyan chhudake baiyan

Kasam tumhari main ro padoongi…’

In both the early and the latter parts of Geeta’s career the songs she recorded for S.D.Burman became popular.Her songs from ‘Pyaasa’ and ‘Kagaz Ke Phool’, both Guru Dutt films with music by S.D.Burman, could be heard everywhere.After all these years I still feel like humming Geeta’s song from Burman’s ‘Pyaar’ starring Raj Kapoor and Nargis. Nargis sings this song on her way to an assignation with raj:

‘Aa gayee re aa gayee

Banke ki ranee aa gayee’

Geeta’s voice brims with enthusiasm and ecstasy. Her dreamy tone said it all – ‘Wo sapnewali raat, milan ki raat kabhi to aayegi…’. As an aside, in ‘Pyaar’ Kishore gave playback for Raj Kapoor. He’d sung a sad song:’Mohabbat ka chhotasa aashiana, kisine banaya, kisine mitaya…’. In Burman’s ‘Sujata’ Geeta had sung ‘Bachpan ke din bhi kya din the’ (with Asha) and ‘Nanhi pari sone chali’. Her ‘Aan milo, aan milo’ from ‘Devdas’ was unforgettable. And Asha-Geeta’s conversational duet of two friends who’ve divined each other’s secret, written by Shailendra for ’Insaan Jaag Utha’:

‘Jaanu jaanu re kahe khanke hai tora kangana

Main bhi jaanu re chupke kaun aaya tore angana’

In ‘Pyaasa’ Waheeda sings as if to mesmerise Guru Dutt:

‘Jaane kya tune kahi, jaane kya maine suni

Baat kuch ban hi gayee…’

The allure, the solicitation in Geeta’s voice and Burman’s creativity in using Chinese blocks made this song distinctive.And Geeta’s mischievousness in her duet with Rafi – Rafi would ask ‘Hum aapki aankhon mein is dil ko basa de to’? To which Geeta would reply ‘Hum moond ke palkon ko is dil ko saja de to’? And the same Geeta entreating her beloved to shower her with love to soothe the ache in her heart, to quench the fire in her body:

‘Aaj sajan mohe ang laga lo…’

After ‘Pyaasa’ came ‘Kagaz Ke Phool’ – another lyrical film. Like ‘Pyaasa’, ‘Kagaz Ke Phool’ too was unforgettable.And even if one somehow managed, with great effort, to forget everything else about it, how could one forget Geeta’s

‘Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam

Tum rahe na tum, hum rahe na hum’

Two minds passionately drawn towards each other, yet unaware of what they seek, of their destination, knitting dreams with each breath…

‘Jaayenge kahaan soojhta nahin, chal pade magar rasta nahin

Kya talash hai kuch pata nahin

Bun rahein hai dil khwab dum-ba-dum

Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam…’

I was studying in college in 1953 when Geeta and Guru Dutt got married. I’d felt very happy when I’d read this news. Much later I’d mentioned this to Shailendra while reminiscing about old times. Mischievously, while tapping the ash from his cigarette into the ash-tray, he’d remarked,”Begaani shaadi mein Abdullah diwana…’At that time I had the naïve idea that when two artistic souls came together their life was bound to be filled with happiness. What’s the point in searching for reasons? Whatever the causes, whether it was anyone’s fault or not, despite Geeta leading the life of a virtuous Indian wife, the marriage was not a happy one. Perhaps it was ordained by the stars in the skies? First came disagreements, then the arguments and quarrels, and finally a frightening, explosive silence…Guru Dutt, in a moment of weakness, took the easy way out of this suffering, leaving Geeta alone with her children in this pitiless world.

Her love story was over. And the music in her life? She’d already sacrificed that for love.Guru Dutt did not want his wife to continue working as a playback singer after marriage.He found it infuriating to come home tired from the studio and find Madam gone for a recording.For a while Geeta tried to walk the tightrope.She’d go for recordings but as evening fell, panic would grip her, causing her to lose control over ‘taal’ and ‘sur’.Finally, as always, she accepted defeat and fell in with her husband’s wishes. She stopped singing for any films other than his. After his death singing became a matter of financial necessity, but, by then the film world had shut its doors on her. Geeta’s days were over. Asha had taken her place.She had quit music for love and now was left with neither:

‘Meri premkahani khatam hui, mere jeevan ka sangeet gaya…

Mera sundar sapna beet gaya…’

I’d loved Geeta’s ‘Waqt ne kiya kya haseen sitam’ as one would love a flesh and blood human being. It was much later that I came to realize that not all the injustices of time are beautiful, or desirable. Geeta’s voice was the same, we were the same; but the world around us had , unknown to us, changed. I’d heard rumours about Geeta’s drinking but had refused to believe them. People say that when Meena was living the role of ‘Choti bahu’ in ‘Sahib,Bibi Aur Ghulam’ and Geeta was voicing her anguish, both were slowly falling prey to the demon drink. Again, what’s the point in looking for causes? The bottom-line is that Geeta, who promised us, ‘Na ye chand hoga, na taarein rahenge, magar hum hamesha tumhare rahenge’, left us half-way…

Geeta died on 20^th July. I learnt of her death the next day, from the newspapers. A concert of Juthika Roy was scheduled to be held at Birla Matushree Sabhagaar on 22nd July. I’d already purchased tickets for it. I hadn’t attended a programme of Juthika Roy’s in years, and, apart from her, Talat, Jagmohan and Surendra were to sing as well. When the entire assemblage stood up in silence to pay respects to Geeta I felt as if I’d found the right place to express my feelings. It’s often difficult to freely express our emotions about those whom we love. When Saigal died, the students of a college wanted to hold a condolence meeting but the Principal refused permission. Again and again they pleaded, saying,” We don’t want a holiday, we just want to express what we feel about Saigal.” Permission was denied. Undeterred, they gathered together with great determination, voiced their feelings about Saigal and then quietly dispersed to their classrooms.

Juthika Roy came onto the stage and started singing a bhajan of Meera’s: ‘Pag ghunghroo bandh Meera naachi re’. Once, Geeta had sat there with her harmonium singing ‘Main to Giridhar ke ghar jaaoon’. Juthika was singing ‘Mat ja, mat ja, jogi’; but it was Geeta I could hear. Her favourite Bhairavi. The entire audience was clapping to the rhythm of Jagmohan’s ‘The spring is coming’ and my mind was echoing Geeta’s ‘Barkha ki raat mein he ha ho’ from ‘Sardar’ which he’d set to music. That day, Talat sang well but my mind was elsewhere. He was singing ‘Jhoome re’ and I was wondering: Which was that stormy duet of Talat-Geeta? How could I forget? And suddenly Shailendra came to mind. It was his song from ‘Anandmath’: ‘Kaise rokoge aise toofan ko’. Talat joining in before Geeta’s notes could fade and vice versa…Surendra came onto the stage. I used to know a duet he had sung with Geeta. Was it from ‘Meri Kahani’? ‘Har dil ko hai duniya mein dil ka sahara…’ Surendra’s melancholy ‘Kyon yaad aa rahe hain gujare hue zamanein, dukhbhare fasanein, rote hue taranein’ touched a raw nerve. He was singing ‘Hum bhor ke diye hain, bujhte hi ja rahe hain’.

Saigal, Khemchand Prakash, Ghulam Haider, Shyamsundar passed away when the mind was still young and vulnerable. They were followed by Ghulam Mohammad, Husnlal, Shailendra, Shakeel, Roshan and Jaikishan – and now Geeta…

A part of us dies with the passing away of each person who has been part of the emotional fabric of our lives. We are lamps of the dawn, flickering into oblivion…

‘Hum bhor ke diye hain, bujhte hi ja rahein hain…’

---The End---

"Alone"

Edgar Allan Poe has always been one of my favourite author-poets. He appeals to me even more when I'm in a blue or sombre mood. Not being a Literature student I'm not sure if the adjective Gothic could be applied to his oeuvre but it's certainly dark and, often, macabre. He may not be everyone's cup of tea, especially in this 'fast-food' era where reflection and contemplation are often sneered at as outdated and a waste of time. Yet I, perhaps out of step with the modern world, remain defiantly attached to such writing. I reproduce below a poem of his which is one of my personal favourites : Alone.


From childhood's hour I have not been
As others were; I have not seen
As others saw; I could not bring
My passions from a common spring.
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow; I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone;
And all I loved, I loved alone.
Then—in my childhood, in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From every depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still:
From the torrent, or the fountain,
From the red cliff of the mountain,
From the sun that round me rolled
In its autumn tint of gold,
From the lightning in the sky
As it passed me flying by,
From the thunder and the storm,
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view.


As an aside, the last line was used by Ruth Rendell as the title of one of her best known murder mysteries, 'A Demon In My View'for which she won the Crime Writer's Association Gold Dagger award in 1976.

'Hu's ' Arunachal is it anyway?

Just a few days before the Chinese President is due to arrive in India, the Chinese ambassador declares to a news channel that Arunachal Pradesh is a part of China. Typical of the Indian government, there is no strong condemnation of the statement, just a milksop statement that this is just a re-iteration of the known Chinese position. True, but the Chinese never shoot from the hip in diplomacy.This statement to the press at this juncture is a part of carefully thought-out strategy to raise the ante ahead of any negotiations that Hu Jintao may have with Manmohan Singh.We, on the other hand continue to stick to our time-honoured tradition of ad hocism and of dealing with issues only when they explode in our faces.

Pranab Mukherjee, the new Foreign Minister tried to put on a brave face in front of the cameras and said that the whole of Arunachal is a part of India and that there could be no exchange of populated areas. But the damage has already been done. The Chinese have succeeded in setting a cat among the pigeons. There has been no response from Manmohan or from the super-PM, Madame Italiano. The Indian Commies are scrambling for cover & wondering how they are going to justify this Chinese salvo. Till their Chinese masters dropped this bomb, these self-same Commies were pressurising the Indian government to allow Hu to address a joint session of the Indian Parliament, a privilege we hadn't extended even to George Bush! Karat, Yechury & company were also raising Cain because Chinese companies were not allowed to bid for projects in Indian ports or to invest in sectors like telecommunications, etc. for security reasons. Next, they'll want us to allow the Chinese and Pakistanis to design software for our armed forces and our intelligence agencies. After all, fools rush in where angels fear to tread.

Blog hacking - my new toy

I've spent the last few days tinkering with my blog templates leaving me with no time to actually write anything. I've found the whole process absolutely fascinating and my better half assures me that I now resemble nothing so much as a child with a new toy.

I know nothing of HTML, CSS, style sheets and all the rest of the nuts and bolts of blog hacking. Fortunately there are some kind and talented people on the web who've created web-sites and blogs to help the rest of us tech-challenged bloggers. For fellow-ignorant but interested bloggers who wish to set their blogs firmly apart from the ho-hum standard Blogger templates , let me give a few links. Visit them and start beautifying your blogs. And ,hey, you can have fun doing it. Put those toy trains away for a while and start playing in your very own e-sand pit. Now where did I put that dratted trowel?

BlogU
Hackosphere
Beautiful Beta
Hoctro's Place
Mandarin Design

Heartbreaking but hardly surprising

The result of the India-Australia match on 29th October could hardly be said to be unexpected. The Aussies, though an increasingly ageing side and no longer invincible, are still the strongest team in world cricket. The Indians, on current form, probably rank just above Zimbabwe, Bangladesh and England.
To any objective observer of the game (unfortunately that seems to rule out a huge percentage of Indian fans) the Indian team's decline in the last 8-10 months has been obvious. Yet, ostrich-like, the great Indian cricket-loving public continued, till yesterday, to bury their collective heads in the sand. After every defeat the captain would claim that 'the boys' had done their best, winning isn't everything, etc. etc. Before the start of each match he'd claim that they'd put the past behind them. Regrettably the past seems to have other ideas and is currently clinging to Dravid & co. like a limpet or a long-lost brother.
Since every cricket-loving Indian has either seen the game on the idiot-box or has read all about it in today's newspaper, I'll skip the match details. (Nobody's paying me to do a report on the match!) Rather, I'd like to put to the blogosphere at large a few questions which have been nagging me since the game ended.

1)How many members of the Indian team were actually playing for India as opposed to playing to secure a spot on the South African tour? Kaif's stubborn refusal to play shots almost certainly forced Dravid to play the horrible stroke which cost him his wicket. Dinesh Mongia's prime concern seemed to be to get to 30-40 odd at any cost, no matter how long it took him. The less said about Raina the better. And while Dhoni managed a run a ball, he seems to forgotten how to hit boundaries. This is no longer the free-spirited Dhoni who used to wield his bat like a mace.

2)Can anyone remember when was the last time Sachin Tendulkar came good when the chips were down ?

3)Why was Kaif sent in to bat ahead of Dhoni when acceleration was the need of the hour?

4)Why does the Indian team always slow down to a near crawl between the twentieth and the fortieth overs thereby frittering away any advantage a good start may have given them? A propos the same point, why does every Greg, Dick and Harry in the support staff have a laptop if they can't do simple multiplication tables to work out when the batsmen should start putting their feet on the accelerator? Rocket science it isn't.

5)Why did the Indian team walk out to field believing it had already lost? Their body language made it obvious that they were simply going through the motions.

There are many more such questions but answers, frank answers, do not seem to be forthcoming. Meanwhile Indian cricket goes round in circles losing on the swings what we'd gained on the round-abouts. "Plus ça change, plus c'est la meme chose " which translates as "The more things change, the more things stay the same"

The Loneliness of the Long-Ignored Blogger

I found this cartoon at the Geek and Poke blog. It expresses perfectly the feelings of millions of bloggers like me who spend their days waiting for and praying for visitors to their blog.

Friend, bloggers, and fellow manic-depressives - I come not to bury my blog but to praise it...though the stat-counter remains immobile; and the stat-counter is an honourable *#$@&^% little so-and-so. Unread bloggers of the blogosphere, unite. You have nothing to lose except your marbles. Sooner or later(usually later rather than sooner) you'll find your virgin blog gently deflowered by a stray comment. Hey, the guy got lucky. Till that ecstatic moment of fulfilment, carry on writing. And if doesn't happen, console yourself. It's not you. The world is full of barbarians and Philistines.

Champions' Trophy

The Champions' Trophy is gathering steam now. Zimbabwe and Bangladesh, who owe their status as full members of the ICC purely to the value of their votes, having been bid a polite adieu, the real fights have begun.

Most of the matches so far have been keenly fought and not without their share of surprises. Pakistan, after all their recent travails, bested Sri Lanka. The New Zealanders beat the South Africans in a tense, low-scoring match. They deserved to win because they held their nerve better than the Proteas. The Australian juggernaut was halted in its tracks by a doughty West Indian performance. Despite losing four early wickets, Lara and Morton took them to a reasonable total. Their bowlers continued where these two had left off. Though the Windies do not have any bowlers who've been hyped up the media, unlike the Aussies ( if I hear any more about McGrath's 'nagging line and length' I'm going to scream!), they believed that they could win this one. Even when Gilchrist and Clarke were looking ominous, they stuck to their task manfully. And when they broke through that partnership, they broke through the Aussies' arrogant over-confidence. Taylor's hat-trick was the silver bullet that slew the werewolf.
To my mind the best feature of the matches so far has been that cricket has, once more, become an equal contest between the bat and the ball. Far, far too often these days the pitches are doctored to be dead as the dodos. The batsmen make merry and the bowlers resemble, more and more, helpless lambs who're led onto the field only to be slaughtered. It may make for a good carnival. Cricket, it isn't. Yet so used have the players got to these one-sided pitches, that as soon as they have to play on one where the bowlers have a fair chance, they start whingeing and whining, as Graeme Smith did after losing. Get real, Mr.Smith. Even in the gladiatorial arenas of ancient Rome, those thrown to the lions were given a few token weapons to defend themselves. In the ODIs the bowlers have none.

Bleak picture

Now why does this picture give me an overpowering sensation of deja-vu ?

The Human Race - or Ostriches ?

I'd rather not know, thank you very much! Now, where's my little patch of sand?

Pop goes the NPT

So Kim Jong Il yesterday proved to the world what everyone knew anyway. The North Koreans have had the atomic bomb for some time now.

9th October 2006 was just the day they made it official. Yet all the big guns have suddenly started running around like headless chickens. The U.S., Japan, China, Russia, the E.U. all making the usual threatening but essentially meaningless noises. The funniest sight was John Howard, the Australian Prime Minister making bellicose statements in the Australian Parliament. Good show, John.I'll bet Kim and his friends were quaking in their boots. Psst, John, it isn't as easy as decimating the poor Aboriginals. Even the Americans couldn't win the Korean war, remember ?
The frustrated Americans can sabre-rattle all they want but the reality is that they can't do much.The military option was ruled out (unless the North Koreans themselves start a war) some years ago when it became evident that the Koreans had developed the bomb. Otherwise George W. would have invaded North Korea instead of Iraq.After all, it was numero uno in his 'Axis of Evil' comprising N.Korea, Iran and Iraq. Since the South Koreans and the Japanese would rather not have nuclear-tipped ballistic missiles raining down on them, Iraq seemed the easier option at the time. As for sanctions, there are already quite a few sanctions in place. N.Korea is economically in such bad shape that things can hardly get any worse for them. Not being burdened with the necessity of having to face elections as the free world knows them, the regime does not have to bother about public opinion. Media pressure pre-supposes the existence of independent media - again, something Kim doesn't have to lose any sleep over. Therefore, unless the U.S.A. can get China to turn off food and oil supplies to its recalcitrant ally there isn't much George and Condi can do but gnash their teeth. Perhaps John Howard got it right after all. Since there is nothing else to be done, chest-thumping at least gets a decent press !

ICC's 'Hair'oics - Between a rock and a hard place

With Inboxes full of 'Hair'y puns (and SMSes galore) this is Hairdly the best time to be punny In zy humble opinion of this blogger. ( Yeah, that was a really pathetic one, wasn't it ? But, as Oscar Wilde famously said, "I can resist everything except temptation.") All right, nauseating jokes and puns aside, where do we go from here? If the ball wasn't tampered with, Hair and Doctrove made a gigantic blunder. It makes Hair's position on the Elite panel of umpires untenable. Other umpires before him have been booted off the panel for far lesser booboos. How long can the ICC continue to shield him? On the other hand, there are bound to be mutterings, especially from the Australian media and establishment, that the adjudicator and the ICC bowed to Asian money power and made Hair the scapegoat. The ICC's strange behaviour certainly lends credence to that view. It seems to want to run with the Hairs( sorry, hares) and hunt with the hounds. It wants to keep everybody happy - the Pakis and the rest of the Asians by proclaiming that there was no ball-tampering, and the white bloc by continuing to have Hair on the Elite panel. I wonder if they've heard of the phrase 'falling between two stools' ?

Cricket, Commentary, and Cliches

Perhaps, with advancing age, I'm becoming less and less tolerant. These days, everytime I watch a cricket match on the idiot box, I find myself gnashing my teeth at the 'commentary'. Commentary, my eye. It's an unending stream of cliches, delivered with monotonous, clockwork regularity by the so-called experts. A few, one can put up with. They can even serve to spice the discussion. It's when they replace the discussion that the whole mish-mash becomes intolerable. Barring a few honourable exceptions, most of these 'commentators' could be replaced with a tape-recorder.Who would know the difference ? 'The pitch looks like it may do something early on', 'Concentrate on line and length', 'He needs to play himself in for a few overs', 'Running between the wickets is the key', 'Catches win matches'...I could go on and on but I need to go and puke.
These statements may all be true but every toddler in the country knows them by heart by now.That's not what you are being paid a packet for, guys. Could we have some insight, some analysis of the state of the game, the play, the players, please ? Yes, as I mentioned earlier, there are a few exceptions, a few who stand out in this morass of mediocrity. First, Richie Benaud - he defines, for me, what television cricket commentary is, or should be, all about. Sharp, witty, analytical and to the point. Geoffrey Boycott (barring his soft corner for Saurav Ganguly) - unafraid to call a spade a spade. A typical Yorkshireman with no patience for niceties and diplomatese. Michael Holding - once one get's used to his West Indian accent, his grasp of the finer points of the game, his strength-weakness analysis of the players and his in-depth knowledge of the art and science of fast bowling is impressive. Ian Chappel - a no-holds-barred Aussie who tells it the way he sees it. A shrewd cricketing brain combined with a very Australian in-your-face attitude, no respecter of reputations. Sunil Gavaskar makes it to this list - just ! He has everything going for him - knowledge, vast experience, clarity of thought & the ability to express himself well. He suffers from two major handicaps, however. One, he never forgets that he is Sunil Gavaskar and, consciously or unconsciously, this egotism seems to permeate and colour his obiter dicta. Secondly, he has a huge blind spot where Sachin Tendulkar is concerned, a fault he shares with over 90 % of Indian cricket-lovers . While this may be acceptable in an ordinary spectator, a commentator must be able to put his personal prejudices aside. Barry Richards - I've only heard him a few times but, on those occasions, his commentary seemed as classy as his batting used to be.
Those were the Oscars. Now for the rozzies. And the winner is ( no prizes for guessing correctly, I'm afraid.) - Ravi Shastri. The unquestioned, unchallenged king of cliches. What ails the man ? He was a fairly good player ( despite the golden Audi, I refuse to rate him any higher), he understands the game well, a fact which manages to sneak through his volley of cliches sometimes, he's good-looking with a personality to match, and fluent in English with the sort of rapid-fire, error-a-minute convent-educated fluency that passes for good English in India. Yet all he can produce is cliche-laden verbal garbage masquerading as expert analysis. Could someone take him aside and tell him that verbosity is no substitute for intellectual rigour? While you're at it, please, please tell him that the correct phrase is 'Rest assured' and not 'Be rest assured' ? In fact, ask him to give that phrase a rest altogether. In each fifteen minute stint of commentary he must be using it at least ten times, if not more. Skip it, Ravi, please. Now for a few others. Arun Lal - a more colourless commentator I've yet to see. A man who has nothing new to say and says it ad nauseum.
An unctuous, oily man who has no business being where he is, who spends his time with the microphone toadying up to Pawar ("Yes Sir, Yes Sir, You're absolutely right, Sir ", So nice of you to be here, Sir",We're deeply grateful to you, Sir"...) and to his white fellow comentators. L.Sivaramakrishnan - listen to him and you get the impression that's he's speaking in BLOCK CAPITALS all the time. Lighten up ,Siva. The Lankans - to a man the Sri Lankan commentators are biased, apart from being cliched, of course. The same can be said of the Pakistanis, barring Imran Khan. Rameez Raja has his moments. The others can be safely ignored.
Finally, I would like to clarify that all the above applies and refers only to ex-cricketers who have now turned to commentating and not to professional commentators (e.g. Harsh Bhogle) who are a breed on the road to extinction anyway.

Autumn lurks

For some reason I've been depressed today. Outwardly normal yet not at peace with myself. I doubt if anyone noticed anything amiss in my behaviour for I've gone about the business of daily life much as usual. Yet I continuously felt as if I were a ghost, outside my body, standing beside it and watching, bemused, as it went through the rigmarole of existence - a surreal, out-of-body experience. I'd mentioned Landor in my last post.Today, another of his poems kept coming to mind again and again. Was it a reminder of mortality - if any was needed ?

The leaves are falling; so am I;
The few late flowers have moisture in the eye;
So have I too.
Scarcely on any bough is heard
Joyous, or even unjoyous, bird
The whole wood through.

Winter may come : he brings but nigher
His circle ( yearly narrowing ) to the fire
Where old friends meet.
Let him; now Heaven is overcast
And spring and summer both are past,
And all things sweet.

-Walter Savage Landor

It stinks !

I watched the India-West Indies ODI yesterday and I'm still rubbing my eyes in disbelief. An incredible performance - by the West Indians! Normally I don't subscribe to conspiracy theories but this result was too much to swallow even for a die-hard India supporter. That the 'famed' Indian batting folded for 162 wasn't a surprise. Take away the media hype and there's nothing unusual about the Indian batsmen taking the day off every other match. But the West Indian capitulation stretches credibility beyond breaking point. Not to put too fine a point on it, a highly suspicious result. Two distinct possibilities spring to mind - one, that the match was fixed to ensure that India still has a chance to reach the finals ( I don't think anyone in his right mind expects them to beat Australia with a bonus point. It's going to be hard enough to defeat them anyway.) Two, that the West Indians deliberately tanked the match because they would rather face India in the finals than the Aussies. Brian Lara coming in at number nine, for God's sake! That puts even Wavell Hinds' tortoise act to shame. Sorry, Rahul and co., but this 'victory' sticks in my craw! Walter Savage Landor had said,

" I warmed both hands before the fire of life
It sinks and I am ready to depart"

My reaction to this match is to change one word from the second line :

'It stinks and I am ready to depart'

Hauled over the coals

Having been hauled over the coals by R in my last post, I've now approached my blog with more than a little trepidation. It has been driven home to me that I've become mentally lazy as far as writing is concerned. In a sense that's understandable because prior to this blog there has been no critical scrutiny of my barbaric assaults on the Queen's language since I was in twelfth grade - which was so long ago that it's lost in the mists of time. But now, through those mists I can faintly discern my teachers reading my essays with furrowed brows and hear them clicking their collective tongues in disapproval. I must thank R for bringing back these long-forgotten memories. I must also make a mental note to be more rigorous in checking whatever I've written and not slothfully submit the first draft. Laugh, and the world laughs with you ( Did someone else really say that first? Great minds think alike.) Cock up and it kicks you on the a*** with malignant glee, and then proceeds to rub your face in mud.

My 'Form'al illiteracy

At all other times I've absolutely no doubts about my literacy. A person who can speak, read and write ( all within reasonable limits, let me hasten to add) three languages can, I hope, lay claim to being literate, at the very least. In fact, at times, I can detect within myself a certain element of pride - you know, that thing which reputedly goes before a fall - in my 'proficiency' . This delusion lasts right upto the time I have to fill a form for anything - an account-opening form, a government form, a form to reserve tickets, online form, paper form, you name it. I just have to come face to face with a form to be reduced to a trembling, nervous wreckage of a human being. All these forms make me wonder if there exist two versions of each language - one meant for people to communicate with each other, to understand each other, and the other specifically designed to confuse them, to obfuscate issues , and to cloak facts under the garbage of legalese, bureaucratese and/or officialese - all 'languages' created by the Devil himself!

What is the matter with these people? Is it so difficult to prepare forms which ordinary people can understand without needing the services of a lawyer? Why do I have to struggle through a maze of verbiage to understand that all they are asking for is my name, age and address? I would like to be a fly on the wall when these organisations recruit the people who create these forms. It would be an educative experience. I'm sure that the men who design these forms are blood- brothers to those who devise those hellishly cryptic crosswords and spiritual descendants of Torquemada and Marquis de Sade. There must be a very strong streak of sadism and cruelty in their make-up.

You must be wondering why I've launched this diatribe today. Well, today morning an 'Office Assistant' ( we're not supposed to call them peons any longer, I'm told. Just as there are no salesmen in this world anymore, they've all been transmogrified into 'Sales Executives'. ) from a bank brought me an Account Opening form. Before I could say a word, he took out his ball-point pen, marked out the places where my signature was needed, and said simply, "Sign". Insulted, I said I would have to read it first. He permitted himself a ghost of a smile and said , " Sir, You won't understand it. " I leafed frostily through the form. He was right. But I had my amour propre to think of. ( "How many times do I have to tell you never to end a sentence with a preposition, Milind?", my venerable English teacher used to say.) To accept my 'form'al illiteracy in front of a peon would be a matter of shame. With what little dignity I had left, I told him to leave the form with me, saying that I would go through it in detail later, and that he could return in the evening to pick it up. Somehow, I don't think he was taken in by my bravado.

Thirteen long years

Finally, after thirteen long years, a verdict. But let's not start celebrating just yet. At his present rate of eight a day, it'll take the judge a few weeks just to deliver his verdicts. That's the easy part. Then comes the sentencing. The lawyers of those convicted will speak at great length (yawn) extolling their clients' many virtues, portraying them as being more sinned against than sinners. In turn, the prosecutors will demand the maximum penalty leviable. Finally the judge will decide and hand down the sentences. The bad guys will be hauled off to jail to pay for their crimes. End of ( a rather long-winded ) story.

Wrong!! Only a foreigner or a retard would believe in that rather naive ending. Haven't you heard of the 'Great Indian Appeal Circus'? All those convicted will appeal to the higher courts protesting their innocence, and the prosecution will appeal against all acquitals. That process should, at a conservative estimate, take the best part of five years. All through this enthralling spectacle there will be entertaining side -shows about bail, permission to leave the country for work, etc. [After all, poor Sanju baba has all those films to shoot! Did I hear mutterings about thousands of undertrials rotting in jail waiting for their day in court, even their appeals for bail awaiting a first hearing? Hey, this is India. We don't believe in all that Western tommy-rot about the law being the same for all. A film star with a film star-politician father and a politician sister and with connections to the Dynasty! How can you equate him with those people? ]

"Satyamev jayate" - Truth alone triumphs - is the motto of the Indian judicial system. Like most mottos these days, it sounds more like a forlorn expression of hope than anything else.Two famous quotations spring to mind

1. "Though the mills of God grind slowly, yet they grind exceeding small.'
2. " Justice delayed is justice denied."

It doesn't need an Einstein to figure out which is applicable, does it? So, don't open that champagne just yet.

P.S.
For those of you who can read Marathi, here's my Marathi take on the issue : अधीर

A conversation between me and my inner self

A conversation between me ( the party of the first part hereinafter to be referred to as 'I') and my inner self (the party of the second part hereinafter to be referred to as 'Smartypants') :

I: Nine days, seven posts and only one response.
Smartypants : I'm surprised too.
I : That's the first time in years you've agreed with me. Thanks.
Smartypants : I'm surprised you managed even one, nutcase!
I : (sotto voce) Should have known better than to ask you.
Smartypants : What's the good of whispering, fool? I'm your inner self, remember? I can read your mind.
I : Go, take a running jump at yourself.
I : People just don't appreciate good writing these days.
Smartypants : Sure they do. That's exactly why they avoid your blog like the plague. Just who do you think you are - Hemingway? Shakespeare?
I : What about the good lady who has posted an appreciative comment?Tell me that.
Smartypants : You've answered your own question, dunderhead. She's a good, kind lady who happened to stumble upon your blog by sheer accident. She just took pity on you. Don't let it go to your head.
I : And what about R's mail saying she liked my blogs?
Smartypants : She's your sis-in-law. Hardly qualifies as an unbiased opinion. Besides, what option did she have after you e-mailed her asking her to read it? She had to at least pretend ( all right, all right, I know I've split an infinitive here. Stop nit-picking, will you.) that she'd read your nonsense. Take my advice - stop this blogging. You aren't cut out for it. Better yet, delete this blog.
I : (sullenly) I won't.
Smartypants : Why not? No one reads it anyway. As Vijay Merchant had said, "It's better to go when people ask why rather than when they ask why not."
I : I'm not a cricketer.
Smartypants : No, and you're not a writer either.( snigger, snigger)
I : You're just jealous.
Smartypants : Ha ha ha. Very funny. I haven't had a good laugh like that since the 'India Shining' campaign. Now, if only you could distill some of that humour into your 'literary' efforts, you might yet have a future.

Vande mataram

In the end the Vande mataram centenary turned out to be like the Y2K issue - much ado about nothing. Our politicians behaved in their usual divisive, fractious manner, turning every question into a Hindu-Muslim issue, spouting asinine garbage and playing to their respective galleries as the ordinary Bharatiya on the street watched helplessly! Last week a news channel had waylaid many of our 'rulers' - MPs and ministers outside Parliament and had asked them simple questions like who wrote 'Jana gana mana', what was Gandhi's full name, etc. Over 90% of them hadn't a clue! Yet these self-same ignoramuses waxed eloquent on both sides of the Vande mataram controversy. Hardly any of them can even quote two lines of either 'Jana gana mana' or 'Vande mataram'. As to understanding what the poems mean, perish the thought.

When will public debate in Bharat ever rise above gutter level? When will informed and reasoned arguments take the place of illogical insults, name-calling, distortion of historical facts? Watch the so-called debates on television - they are nothing but slanging matches with each political lout trying to outshout the others. Parrot the party line and impress the 'High Command', do not preserve even the basic decencies of debate, do not allow anyone else to have his say, and duck all uncomfortable questions by burying them under a barrelful of verbal diarrhoea! Is anyone really interested in finding solutions, in reaching the truth? You must be joking, mate!

And what about the media? Is it any better? That rant can wait for another post.

Life, what is it but a dream?

I would like to share with you one of my favourite poems by a poet who, I've always felt, did not get the accolades he deserved simply because of his phenomenal success as a writer of children's books - Lewis Carroll. The success of Alice in Wonderland overshadowed his poetry - despite the fact that many of his poems actually feature in his prose writings as an integral part of the story. As a writer of humorous verse and nonsense verse he has few peers. Unfortunately, as in prose so in poetry, humorous writers tend not to be taken seriously when the talk veers round to literary greatness.This is a poem in a different, dreamier, mood. Whenever I find myself exasperated by people talking about the feverish pace of modern life this poem springs to mind , especially the last five lines.

A Boat, beneath a sunny sky
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July -

Children three that nestle near,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Pleased a simple tale to hear-

Long has paled that sunny sky:
Echoes fade and memories die:
Autmun frosts have slain July.

Still she haunts me, phantomwise.
Alice moving under skies
Never seen by waking eyes.

Children yet, the tale to hear,
Eager eye and willing ear,
Lovingly shall nestle near.

In a Wonderland they lie,
Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in a golden gleam -
Life, what is it but a dream?

[The initial letters of this poem when read downward give the full name of the original Alice (in Wonderland) - Alice
Pleasance Liddell]

Apropos of what I've written above , I remain deeply sceptical about whether life has really become fast-paced. I'm often tempted to tell these 'fast-paced' people the story of the donkey chasing a carrot dangling in front of him, tantalisingly out of reach, unable to understand that it's dangling from a stick tied to his own body and that he's never going to be able reach it. The Promised Land is always going to be 'just around the next corner'. No, we've simply lost the ability to slow down, relax, introspect, to think of something other than the 'rat race'. Are we increasinly losing touch with our inner selves, with nature, with the finer things in life, things which cannot be measured in money? W.H.Davies had it right :

What is this life if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

No time to stand beneath the boughs

And stare as long as sheep or cows.

No time to see, when woods we pass,

Where squirrels hide their nuts in grass.

No time to see, in broad daylight,

Streams full of stars, like skies at night.

No time to turn at Beauty's glance,

And watch her feet, how they can dance.

No time to wait till her mouth can

Enrich that smile her eyes began.

A poor life this if, full of care,

We have no time to stand and stare.

I've often been accused of being impractical and out of touch with the times. There was a time when I would be ready to argue the point spiritedly but these days, I just smile and let it go. Why give myself hypertension and ulcers? As for me, I'd rather be

Dreaming as the days go by,
Dreaming as the summers die:

Ever drifting down the stream -
Lingering in a golden gleam

After all

Life, what is it but a dream?

Good-bye, friend.

His annual holiday having drawn to a close, my friend returns to his parents' abode today. His father and mother are quite strict in this respect. Not a day's extension is permitted, no excuses acceptable. Much as we would like him to stay longer, we know in our hearts that he cannot. His father, though kind and generous to a fault, has a well-deserved reputation for being hot-tempered .His mother - well, like most mothers she probably can't bear to be separated from her 'baby' for long, and often comes here to fetch him herself. A wonderful,beauteous lady, devoted mother and loving wife. My friend, her younger son, is the apple of her eye (his elder brother is often subject to pangs of jealousy and sibling rivalry on that account!).

Though the weather here is not what he is accustomed to, I've never heard him complain about the heat,humidity or rains. (That's more than you can say of most local residents!). Considering the fact that he is a (grand)child of the mountains he must find our climate unsalubrious, to say the least. Yet he unfailingly visits us year after year.

Good-bye - no, never!! Au revoir, Ganapati. We shall meet again next year.